Raindrops soaked the soil, making it thick and sticky. Soon, mud clung to Eric's shoes, and the murky water seeped inside.
Eric buried the bow, which had snapped in two, in the soil. He stood up and wiped the mud from his hands on a tree trunk.
'I hope she won't make me pay for it later.'
He hadn't practiced Archery much. In fact, he'd never really had the chance.
With Swordsmanship, he could at least grind for experience with a Wooden Sword. But for a bow, he had to buy one, and so far, he hadn't gotten a Bow and Arrow from any of his quests.
That's why his current Archery skill wasn't even at a beginner's level.
Besides, Frank Knights valued a Lance charge far more than the Bow and Arrow. They believed that only the scrawny Pechenegs and Magyars would choose to use such weapons.
He'd assumed all bows were difficult to draw, but he had accidentally snapped this one. The hunt was over before it even began.
'But paying for the bow isn't the most important thing right now. The important thing is... I think I'm lost?'
He looked at the map in his hand.
"North is up, south is down, west is left, east is right... this is completely useless, damn it."
Eric threw the map on the ground. He had no choice but to press on. Suddenly, his foot stepped on something.
He crouched down. Before him were three or four patches of deep red earth, the color clashing with the surrounding soil. He could see more of them dotting the path ahead. Obvious wheel ruts, not yet washed away by the rain, were pressed into the ground. The ruts were deep, suggesting they were made by something carrying a heavy load.
He pinched some of the deep red earth between his fingers and sniffed it. Though masked by the earthy scent, he could still detect the smell of blood.
"And... fucking shit!"
'And it seems to be human...'
He plunged his fingers into the soil and pulled hard. There was an iron chain buried within, and locked to it was a severed hand. The blood at the stump had already begun to turn black.
On the back of the severed hand was a faint Cross marking.
"Brother, may God have mercy on your body and mind, and may your soul find its way to Heaven..."
Though he didn't know if the man had escaped with his life, Eric decided to pray for him and mourn his fate.
'This Forest isn't safe...'
'I hope it was just bandits, and not... otherwise, this is very bad.'
'I wonder about Emma...'
Just then, a series of heavy footsteps echoed through the woods, accompanied by the rustling of bushes, and then a strange cry.
Soon, a large man burst from the bushes, a struggling, writhing pig tucked under his arm. He was so big that he trampled a wide path through the flowers, shrubs, and saplings in his wake.
A string of shouts and curses followed him, a clear sign of pursuit.
The large man wore a hood. Despite his burly frame, his movements were surprisingly agile.
The large man clearly saw Eric. For some reason, instead of turning away, he charged straight toward him.
The instant the large man was about to brush past, Eric kicked out at the back of his right knee. The sudden blow threw the burly man off balance, sending him crashing to the ground, face-first into the mud.
The piglet he'd been clutching broke free. Just as it was about to flee, THUD! A Nail Hammer slammed into the ground in front of it. The little pig, terrified, trembled and let out a panicked squeal.
"Stop! Stop right there!"
A middle-aged man came running toward Eric. He was in such a hurry that he tripped and fell. Scrambling back up, he seemed to have injured his leg, as he hobbled forward on one foot.
Eric quickly recognized the person in front of him. It was the man he had saved a few days ago, Martha's father, Tom.
The middle-aged man paid Eric no mind, instead scrambling to grab the piglet. He clutched it and laughed as if he'd found a priceless treasure, completely ignoring that he was now covered head to toe in mud.
"It's you."
"Priest, it's you! What are you doing out here?"
The last time, he'd nearly lost his life over a matter of wages. Although Eric's appearance had allowed him to get some payback and retrieve his salary, he couldn't expect to be lucky enough to run into a "savior" every time.
England wasn't what it used to be. His dream of building a magnificent Church was doomed to fail. Perhaps it was time to accept that, leave this so-called big city, go somewhere small, buy a modest plot of land, and work as a simple home builder.
Besides, his wife was pregnant. He really couldn't afford to take any more chances.
But misfortune always seemed to find him. He had barely left Xialing when he ran into bandits, and now his wife was about to go into labor.
Tom moved to tie up the large man with a rope, but Eric stopped him. Tom gave Eric a suspicious look.
"Are you alone?"
"No, my wife and children are with me. We're leaving Hereford. I was just about to..."
"Quick, take me there," Eric cut in.
Though Tom was clearly unhappy about it, he still led Eric deeper into the Forest.
His wife, Agnes, was leaning against a sturdy oak tree, clutching her stomach and frowning in pain. Martha watched her mother with a worried expression. A tall, lanky young man, Tom's son Welf, was there too, speaking animatedly to his mother.
"I jumped up and hit that bandit on the head three times in a row! Three whole times! I'm sure I scared him senseless. I'm a natural-born Warrior! I've been waiting for this moment my whole life," Welf said with gusto.
His audience, however, was in the middle of agonizing pain and had no interest in hearing about his exploits.
"You mean the part where you let our pig get stolen?" Tom cut in, his voice laced with anger. He was fuming, his anger burning like sour cider in his stomach. The foolish boy hadn't even noticed his mother's suffering.
"Eric!"
Martha immediately tried to throw herself into Eric's arms.
"Hold on. First, I need to make sure you've eaten. I don't have any spare meat on my bones right now."
Eric sidestepped her and then, chuckling, gently pinched Martha's soft cheek.
"Eric, you can tease me all you want later! Something's wrong with my mom... please, ask God to save her!" Martha pleaded, her eyes red as she tugged on the hem of his clothes, her voice choked with tears.
"Don't talk nonsense, Martha!" Tom snapped.
"There's no need to worry. She's just going into labor."
An unfamiliar voice spoke up. Only then did Eric notice a red-haired girl beside Agnes. She wore a short leather tunic, revealing tanned, supple limbs. Her face was fair, with bright red hair cut into bangs across her forehead. Her deep-set, honey-gold eyes were focused intently on Agnes, lending her entire countenance a mysterious air.
'I feel like I've seen her somewhere before.'
"She's some kind of traveling doctor, I think. She just saved Martha—that guy knocked her unconscious, and the doctor woke her up," Welf chimed in, his eyes fixed on the red-haired girl. He was clearly smitten.
The large man, restrained by Eric, seemed provoked by Welf's words. He began shaking his head frantically. He appeared to be mute, only able to make guttural "urgh, urgh" sounds, as if in protest.
"So he's a mute."
Welf walked over to the large man and, as he spoke, drew back his fist to punch him in the stomach.
But Eric caught his fist. Welf tried to pull away, but Eric's hand was like an iron vise; he couldn't break free no matter how he struggled.
With a slight exertion of force, Eric shoved Welf aside. He stumbled back and hit a large tree. Tom rushed to catch his son, then looked at Eric with a wary expression.
The harmonious, almost jocular, atmosphere instantly froze.
"It's true, Eric. She saved me. She's a good person." The look on Eric's face was a little frightening, but Martha still mustered her courage and hugged his arm.
"Is that so."
Eric's eyes fell on a gash on Martha's head, the blood on it still wet.