Chapter 1
Orbis Alius
Water drizzled from the metal cans that Lansius carried with the help of a wooden pole. As he passed, the soil around the green vegetable patches grew darker. Strong earthy scent rose as the ground received more moisture.
Despite having done this dozens of times, he couldn’t help but think that he could’ve done it faster if he had sneakers or boots. Alas, all he got was a sad-looking medieval leather shoe with hardened soles.
“Lans, are your legs getting wobbly already?” Marc taunted from the well.
Lansius chuckled, returned to the well for a refill, but suddenly lunged his wooden pole at Marc.
“Hah!” Marc parried with his pitchfork and launched a counter sweep.
Lansius blocked it, and the two got into a friendly spar, with Marc easily blocking, even dodging Lansius’ slow swings and taunting him along the way.
After a few more tries, Lansius finally threw his arms up. “No more… hard to breathe.”
Marc didn’t even break a sweat. Being trained to wield a poleaxe, a plain pitchfork was no challenge for him. “Seems like the maester soldier wannabe has bad stamina,” he taunted with a smirk.
“Quiet you,” Lansius chuckled breathlessly.
Marc picked the wooden pole, refilled the metal cans, and went his way to water their family plot. Slowly, but surely, he covered all their spring vegetables. Their livelihood was depending on it.
Unlike last year, now Lansius could help with the work. However, he could only do so much before getting sluggish and exhausted. Still, he found satisfaction from knowing that he wasn’t a freeloader anymore.
“Marc, is there - no other work?” he asked in a broken language as they cleaned up.
Marc grinned. “Easier work for you, bro?”
Lansius could only nod. He was yet to master the language adequately to argue.
“Still won’t do the wool shop?”
Oof, anything but that...
Lansius shook his head.
Marc snickered. “You can’t cook, can’t do carpentry, and can’t write. So either the wool shop or the tannery.”
The thought of working in the tannery made Lansius’ stomach churn. Tannery used a lot of urine and manure to treat the leather. Not only that, they even used blood, brains, and other animal waste in their process.
“Well, at least you’re a freeman,” Marc said to cheer him up.
“Freeman?” Lansius found a new vocabulary and sort of guessed what it meant.
“Yeah, unlike us, you can go wherever you want and find work elsewhere.”
Lansius knitted his brows. “You - not free?”
“Well, we could if we pay our debts. The land, the house, and the tool are provided by the Lord. But we needed money to fix things, buy clothes, or make new fences,” Marc explained.
Lansius was worried. This was the first time he heard about this problem.
“No worries. It’s only a small sum,” Marc reassured him. “But at this rate...”
Lansius followed where Marc was looking and understood the situation. They were planting not even a quarter of the allotted land. Moreover, the yield was small and vegetables had little value.
“Oi, don’t give me that look,” Marc said. “It’s true that we’re in debt, but we’re not planning to move, so it’s fine.”
“You like it here?” Lansius asked while looking at the vast green meadows.
“Yep, father took us here when we were little. It’s far from the Capital area but it’s much safer from war.” Marc seemed to recall a fond memory of his late father.
The wind blew and offered them some comfort. Spring almost ended, and now the wind carried a unique scent and dryness in them.
“Marc, Lans!” a little girl called from outside the field.
“Tanya, why are you here?” Marc, the little girl’s brother, asked.
Tanya grinned from ear to ear and said, “Mother bought meat from the market.”
“Whoops, gotta go.” Marc carried all his gears and ran home as fast as he could.
“Aiyo,” Lansius protested. He had no stamina to chase after Marc, so he took his time to clean up. His stomach growled because of the lost opportunity. Meat was a rarity. If mother Arryn purchased one, it was bone for broth, which scarcely had meat in it.
The sun had turned completely orange and was perched low on the horizon by the time Lansius finished cleaning up. As he walked home, he spotted the little girl waiting behind the wooden fence. Her golden hair shone brightly against the backdrop of the sunset. She was the only blonde in the village, as the rest, including his brother and mother, had brown hair.
“Tanya, why - not with Marc?” he asked while trying to remember his vocabulary.
“I rather walk home with you,” she replied with a grin, flashing her missing tooth.
Lansius couldn't help but chuckle. He truly enjoyed Tanya's company. Of the three people he knew in this world, she was the closest to him, the one who had kept him sane during the lowest point of his life.
“Hey, let’s talk about something. Mm, have you got your memory back?” she suddenly asked.
“Eh, umm... no, I remember some, but not much.”
“Aww, I really want to hear what’s your home and village look like.” Like other kids, Tanya was curious about the world outside Bellandia.
“Maybe after I - learn to speak more.”
“You’re doing good. Last year you only talk with hand signals,” she said while barring her cute smile.
Lansius couldn’t resist the little girl’s charm any longer, so he stopped, knelt down, and gestured for her to climb on his back for a piggyback ride.
“Yay!” She hopped and wrapped her arms around his shoulder.
“Uff, you - heavier,” he muttered.
Tanya laughed while pressing her knees as if riding a horse. In reality, she was underweight like many other children in the village.
Lansius obeyed and proceeded to jog. He adored this little girl.
When Lansius found himself in this unknown place the previous year, he was severely sick and nearly died. However, nobody rushed him to the hospital or even administered first aid. Not knowing the language or his location, he could only assume that he had an accident in a rural part of the world.
After he recovered, he realized something unbelievable had happened. No matter where he looked, he found no lamps in Bellandia. Not even a humble wall clock or a pack of tissues. The medieval-looking place was, in fact, truly medieval.
For someone who grew up in the modern age, the prospect of living in a medieval era looked bleak, with wars, plagues, and backbreaking labor. Lansius became depressed, barely eating, and succumbing to a series of fevers. There was little hope for him if not for Tanya.
The little girl cared for him and kept him engaged with her curiosity. Gradually, her words became familiar to him, and he began to open up and trust her to keep on going.
***
The season changed, and summer arrived in Bellandia. Even in the heartland of the Arvena highland, the sun was scorching hot despite the cool mountain wind. Farmers who had cultivated their land took shelter in the comfort of their homes during this time of the year, fixing their tools or mending their clothes.
The land surrounding the village was ripening with yellowing crops, just a season away from harvest. Unlike crop farmers, vegetable farmers had different and shorter timetables, planting and replanting multiple times throughout the year. As a result, Mother Arryn’s family kept working during this inhospitable season.
Lansius also helped on the farm today, but after two hours of hard work, he was drenched in sweat and had to give up. He leaned against the cool stone well, groaning as his body ached in the shade of its roof.
So hot... damn it... I can’t believe the summer sun is this hot.
“Ha, I told you,” Mark exclaimed under his comically big straw hat.
“Leave him alone and help me with this,” Mother Arryn yelled.
With a resigned sigh, Marc returned to work under the relentless heat of the sun.
This is so pathetic... at this rate, I’ll be forever depending on them.
Lansius looked at Marc and Arryn. Despite the heat, the two were diligently taking care of the cabbage and turnips plots, weeding and replanting if necessary.
The summer sun was nothing like the spring. The humidity, intensity, and heat were too much for him. Since the season changed, he had tried several times, thinking he could adapt or he would get better. But he always ended up with a nosebleed or a fever.
I need a different job. Something other than manual labor if I want to stand on my own.
“Probably you’re better off accompanying Tanya in the wool shop?” Arryn suggested after they were done for the day.
“Maybe...” Lansius answered indifferently while cleaning up the tools. His palms were in pain, but he wanted to help.
Lansius’ stubbornness made Arryn think that he was being too hard on himself. Meanwhile, Marc guessed that Lansius, despite being unfit for farming, was still too proud to take a woman’s job.
The wool shop was exactly as its name suggested, a place where wool was colored and spun into yarn. While Lansius didn't have a problem with this kind of work, the pay was meager, and in reality, the shop was more like a gathering place for village housewives to chat and gossip while they worked. As an introvert, it would be his worst nightmare.
Arryn and Marc allowed Lansius to make his own decision. Despite their hardships, they didn't depend on his help. Lansius was not built like Marc, he had soft arms and delicate hands. He also ate sparingly, was picky, especially with boiled water for drinking, but he took care of himself mostly. While there were areas where he needed help, they were not too serious.
As the sun approached sundown, the three went to fetch Tanya from the wool shop and headed home.
That night, Lansius started feeling a fever coming on and his blistered hand needed some ointment. Tanya applied a thin layer of salve on his injured palms and kept him from brooding by sharing stories she had heard at the shop.
While Lansius felt incompetent, the other family members were grateful for his effort. He was learning the language and showing his willingness to help. Moreover, Marc was old enough to answer the Lord of Arvena's call, and small farmers like them were required to fulfill military services instead of paying taxes. When selected, men from the village would follow the Lord into battle for up to four months each year. When that happened, Arryn would work alone. Lansius' presence gave Marc some peace of mind.
However, Lansius could not see it that way. His inability to work like the other men wrecked his spirit. Even without an intact memory, he knew his old life was paradise in comparison. He felt that medieval farming was nothing less than cruel, and the term "backbreaking" sounded like an understatement until he experienced it himself. That night, like many other nights when struck by sickness, he vowed to escape from the farming life.
***
The wet season arrived and drizzle fell almost every day. Winter was still a month away, but there was enough cold to chill one’s bone.
“Gah,” Lansius panted as they endured the cold, light rain.
“A bit more, keep it up,” Marc encouraged him.
The two carried firewood for the village chief. Marc carried a stack of wood on each shoulder. Meanwhile, Lansius only carried one.
“I-is there no other job?” Lansius asked. His shoulder was in pain and his hips felt burning.
“Heh, you’re still asking about that?” Marc teased.
Lansius exhaled deeply.
Easy for him to say. I don’t want muscle-head's jobs.
Unfortunately, most were manual labor. While there were some other trades, they were usually passed down from father to son and were too small-scale to require any additional help.
“Move it fast, lads. It’s getting wet,” begged the old man in dry, thick clothes as soon as he saw them approaching. In contrast, the two youngsters only wore two layers of coarse garments.
The two picked up their paces and hurriedly entered an old but sturdy-looking wooden shed. The place was the old man’s. As the village chief, he was rich enough to have a separate shed to store firewood.
Both carefully dropped their stacks of wood on the floor and panted heavily. They had jogged to avoid getting wet, but still ended up drenched.
“Took you so long,” the chief complained as he worried about the firewood getting wet. Nothing surprising there. He was known to be rude, senile, and cheap. Marc only took the job because the chief’s wife always shared some food.
But before they could take the cake...
“Hey, where are you two going? Stack them first, neatly,” he ordered.
Mark and Lansius groaned but turned around and stacked the firewood as requested. Unlike the small branches they used in their home, the ones they stacked were thick logs which were properly dried. They were smokeless and burned longer.
When the two were done, the chief scratched his head about something.
“What’s the matter?” Lansius asked while rubbing his hands for warmth.
“Tsk- it’s nothing. I just forgot to count them before stacking. Now it’s hard to count.”
“The logs? Why, it’s thirty-six,” Lansius answered flatly.
The Chief immediately looked at Lansius with doubt. Even Marc, who was busy cleaning his clothes from wood chips, watched with suspicion.
Hold on, why give me the look?
“I-it’s only six and six…” Lansius explained while searching his vocabulary for the exact word for multiply. He couldn’t find it and starting to realize what went wrong.
“You can count?” Marc asked in disbelief.
“Y-yes,” Lansius said.
They can’t count...? But of course. They have no formal education.... This might be my way out... to it's math, and not something big like making gunpowder or antibiotics.
Marc looked ecstatic, but the chief wasn’t buying it. "Count how many legs in three horses, you can use- “
“Twelve,” Lansius blurted out without trying.
His answer startled the old man. “Eleven plus seven?”
“Eighteen.”
“How about, if five cows each give birth to two calves, how many total calves are there?"
“Ten calves,” Lansius answered with a grin.
The chief furiously counted using his fingers. When he arrived at the same result, he grew slightly frustrated. He prided himself on being the smart one in the village. Yet that was his limit. Now, watching Lansius count without needing fingers shocked him. "Young man, have you regained your memory? Are you perhaps an apprentice to a merchant?"
The tone was less rude than usual.
Lansius shivered, not from cold, but from the realization that this could be his ticket out.
***
STOP! Before you comment that the math problem is impossibly easy and cheapens the story: This is a historical facts. The beauty of modern education is that schoolchildren can master mental multiplication, but in the medieval era, this method was not known by many and certainly not by a village chieftain. More source and other information is in the spoiler.
Chapter 1
Orbis Alius
Water drizzled from the metal cans that Lansius carried with the help of a wooden pole. As he passed, the soil around the green vegetable patches grew darker. Strong earthy scent rose as the ground received more moisture.
Despite having done this dozens of times, he couldn’t help but think that he could’ve done it faster if he had sneakers or boots. Alas, all he got was a sad-looking medieval leather shoe with hardened soles.
“Lans, are your legs getting wobbly already?” Marc taunted from the well.
Lansius chuckled, returned to the well for a refill, but suddenly lunged his wooden pole at Marc.
“Hah!” Marc parried with his pitchfork and launched a counter sweep.
Lansius blocked it, and the two got into a friendly spar, with Marc easily blocking, even dodging Lansius’ slow swings and taunting him along the way.
After a few more tries, Lansius finally threw his arms up. “No more… hard to breathe.”
Marc didn’t even break a sweat. Being trained to wield a poleaxe, a plain pitchfork was no challenge for him. “Seems like the maester soldier wannabe has bad stamina,” he taunted with a smirk.
“Quiet you,” Lansius chuckled breathlessly.
Marc picked the wooden pole, refilled the metal cans, and went his way to water their family plot. Slowly, but surely, he covered all their spring vegetables. Their livelihood was depending on it.
Unlike last year, now Lansius could help with the work. However, he could only do so much before getting sluggish and exhausted. Still, he found satisfaction from knowing that he wasn’t a freeloader anymore.
“Marc, is there - no other work?” he asked in a broken language as they cleaned up.
Marc grinned. “Easier work for you, bro?”
Lansius could only nod. He was yet to master the language adequately to argue.
“Still won’t do the wool shop?”
Oof, anything but that...
Lansius shook his head.
Marc snickered. “You can’t cook, can’t do carpentry, and can’t write. So either the wool shop or the tannery.”
The thought of working in the tannery made Lansius’ stomach churn. Tannery used a lot of urine and manure to treat the leather. Not only that, they even used blood, brains, and other animal waste in their process.
“Well, at least you’re a freeman,” Marc said to cheer him up.
“Freeman?” Lansius found a new vocabulary and sort of guessed what it meant.
“Yeah, unlike us, you can go wherever you want and find work elsewhere.”
Lansius knitted his brows. “You - not free?”
“Well, we could if we pay our debts. The land, the house, and the tool are provided by the Lord. But we needed money to fix things, buy clothes, or make new fences,” Marc explained.
Lansius was worried. This was the first time he heard about this problem.
“No worries. It’s only a small sum,” Marc reassured him. “But at this rate...”
Lansius followed where Marc was looking and understood the situation. They were planting not even a quarter of the allotted land. Moreover, the yield was small and vegetables had little value.
“Oi, don’t give me that look,” Marc said. “It’s true that we’re in debt, but we’re not planning to move, so it’s fine.”
“You like it here?” Lansius asked while looking at the vast green meadows.
“Yep, father took us here when we were little. It’s far from the Capital area but it’s much safer from war.” Marc seemed to recall a fond memory of his late father.
The wind blew and offered them some comfort. Spring almost ended, and now the wind carried a unique scent and dryness in them.
“Marc, Lans!” a little girl called from outside the field.
“Tanya, why are you here?” Marc, the little girl’s brother, asked.
Tanya grinned from ear to ear and said, “Mother bought meat from the market.”
“Whoops, gotta go.” Marc carried all his gears and ran home as fast as he could.
“Aiyo,” Lansius protested. He had no stamina to chase after Marc, so he took his time to clean up. His stomach growled because of the lost opportunity. Meat was a rarity. If mother Arryn purchased one, it was bone for broth, which scarcely had meat in it.
The sun had turned completely orange and was perched low on the horizon by the time Lansius finished cleaning up. As he walked home, he spotted the little girl waiting behind the wooden fence. Her golden hair shone brightly against the backdrop of the sunset. She was the only blonde in the village, as the rest, including his brother and mother, had brown hair.
“Tanya, why - not with Marc?” he asked while trying to remember his vocabulary.
“I rather walk home with you,” she replied with a grin, flashing her missing tooth.
Lansius couldn't help but chuckle. He truly enjoyed Tanya's company. Of the three people he knew in this world, she was the closest to him, the one who had kept him sane during the lowest point of his life.
“Hey, let’s talk about something. Mm, have you got your memory back?” she suddenly asked.
“Eh, umm... no, I remember some, but not much.”
“Aww, I really want to hear what’s your home and village look like.” Like other kids, Tanya was curious about the world outside Bellandia.
“Maybe after I - learn to speak more.”
“You’re doing good. Last year you only talk with hand signals,” she said while barring her cute smile.
Lansius couldn’t resist the little girl’s charm any longer, so he stopped, knelt down, and gestured for her to climb on his back for a piggyback ride.
“Yay!” She hopped and wrapped her arms around his shoulder.
“Uff, you - heavier,” he muttered.
Tanya laughed while pressing her knees as if riding a horse. In reality, she was underweight like many other children in the village.
Lansius obeyed and proceeded to jog. He adored this little girl.
When Lansius found himself in this unknown place the previous year, he was severely sick and nearly died. However, nobody rushed him to the hospital or even administered first aid. Not knowing the language or his location, he could only assume that he had an accident in a rural part of the world.
After he recovered, he realized something unbelievable had happened. No matter where he looked, he found no lamps in Bellandia. Not even a humble wall clock or a pack of tissues. The medieval-looking place was, in fact, truly medieval.
For someone who grew up in the modern age, the prospect of living in a medieval era looked bleak, with wars, plagues, and backbreaking labor. Lansius became depressed, barely eating, and succumbing to a series of fevers. There was little hope for him if not for Tanya.
The little girl cared for him and kept him engaged with her curiosity. Gradually, her words became familiar to him, and he began to open up and trust her to keep on going.
***
The season changed, and summer arrived in Bellandia. Even in the heartland of the Arvena highland, the sun was scorching hot despite the cool mountain wind. Farmers who had cultivated their land took shelter in the comfort of their homes during this time of the year, fixing their tools or mending their clothes.
The land surrounding the village was ripening with yellowing crops, just a season away from harvest. Unlike crop farmers, vegetable farmers had different and shorter timetables, planting and replanting multiple times throughout the year. As a result, Mother Arryn’s family kept working during this inhospitable season.
Lansius also helped on the farm today, but after two hours of hard work, he was drenched in sweat and had to give up. He leaned against the cool stone well, groaning as his body ached in the shade of its roof.
So hot... damn it... I can’t believe the summer sun is this hot.
“Ha, I told you,” Mark exclaimed under his comically big straw hat.
“Leave him alone and help me with this,” Mother Arryn yelled.
With a resigned sigh, Marc returned to work under the relentless heat of the sun.
This is so pathetic... at this rate, I’ll be forever depending on them.
Lansius looked at Marc and Arryn. Despite the heat, the two were diligently taking care of the cabbage and turnips plots, weeding and replanting if necessary.
The summer sun was nothing like the spring. The humidity, intensity, and heat were too much for him. Since the season changed, he had tried several times, thinking he could adapt or he would get better. But he always ended up with a nosebleed or a fever.
I need a different job. Something other than manual labor if I want to stand on my own.
“Probably you’re better off accompanying Tanya in the wool shop?” Arryn suggested after they were done for the day.
“Maybe...” Lansius answered indifferently while cleaning up the tools. His palms were in pain, but he wanted to help.
Lansius’ stubbornness made Arryn think that he was being too hard on himself. Meanwhile, Marc guessed that Lansius, despite being unfit for farming, was still too proud to take a woman’s job.
The wool shop was exactly as its name suggested, a place where wool was colored and spun into yarn. While Lansius didn't have a problem with this kind of work, the pay was meager, and in reality, the shop was more like a gathering place for village housewives to chat and gossip while they worked. As an introvert, it would be his worst nightmare.
Arryn and Marc allowed Lansius to make his own decision. Despite their hardships, they didn't depend on his help. Lansius was not built like Marc, he had soft arms and delicate hands. He also ate sparingly, was picky, especially with boiled water for drinking, but he took care of himself mostly. While there were areas where he needed help, they were not too serious.
As the sun approached sundown, the three went to fetch Tanya from the wool shop and headed home.
That night, Lansius started feeling a fever coming on and his blistered hand needed some ointment. Tanya applied a thin layer of salve on his injured palms and kept him from brooding by sharing stories she had heard at the shop.
While Lansius felt incompetent, the other family members were grateful for his effort. He was learning the language and showing his willingness to help. Moreover, Marc was old enough to answer the Lord of Arvena's call, and small farmers like them were required to fulfill military services instead of paying taxes. When selected, men from the village would follow the Lord into battle for up to four months each year. When that happened, Arryn would work alone. Lansius' presence gave Marc some peace of mind.
However, Lansius could not see it that way. His inability to work like the other men wrecked his spirit. Even without an intact memory, he knew his old life was paradise in comparison. He felt that medieval farming was nothing less than cruel, and the term "backbreaking" sounded like an understatement until he experienced it himself. That night, like many other nights when struck by sickness, he vowed to escape from the farming life.
***
The wet season arrived and drizzle fell almost every day. Winter was still a month away, but there was enough cold to chill one’s bone.
“Gah,” Lansius panted as they endured the cold, light rain.
“A bit more, keep it up,” Marc encouraged him.
The two carried firewood for the village chief. Marc carried a stack of wood on each shoulder. Meanwhile, Lansius only carried one.
“I-is there no other job?” Lansius asked. His shoulder was in pain and his hips felt burning.
“Heh, you’re still asking about that?” Marc teased.
Lansius exhaled deeply.
Easy for him to say. I don’t want muscle-head's jobs.
Unfortunately, most were manual labor. While there were some other trades, they were usually passed down from father to son and were too small-scale to require any additional help.
“Move it fast, lads. It’s getting wet,” begged the old man in dry, thick clothes as soon as he saw them approaching. In contrast, the two youngsters only wore two layers of coarse garments.
The two picked up their paces and hurriedly entered an old but sturdy-looking wooden shed. The place was the old man’s. As the village chief, he was rich enough to have a separate shed to store firewood.
Both carefully dropped their stacks of wood on the floor and panted heavily. They had jogged to avoid getting wet, but still ended up drenched.
“Took you so long,” the chief complained as he worried about the firewood getting wet. Nothing surprising there. He was known to be rude, senile, and cheap. Marc only took the job because the chief’s wife always shared some food.
But before they could take the cake...
“Hey, where are you two going? Stack them first, neatly,” he ordered.
Mark and Lansius groaned but turned around and stacked the firewood as requested. Unlike the small branches they used in their home, the ones they stacked were thick logs which were properly dried. They were smokeless and burned longer.
When the two were done, the chief scratched his head about something.
“What’s the matter?” Lansius asked while rubbing his hands for warmth.
“Tsk- it’s nothing. I just forgot to count them before stacking. Now it’s hard to count.”
“The logs? Why, it’s thirty-six,” Lansius answered flatly.
The Chief immediately looked at Lansius with doubt. Even Marc, who was busy cleaning his clothes from wood chips, watched with suspicion.
Hold on, why give me the look?
“I-it’s only six and six…” Lansius explained while searching his vocabulary for the exact word for multiply. He couldn’t find it and starting to realize what went wrong.
“You can count?” Marc asked in disbelief.
“Y-yes,” Lansius said.
They can’t count...? But of course. They have no formal education.... This might be my way out... to it's math, and not something big like making gunpowder or antibiotics.
Marc looked ecstatic, but the chief wasn’t buying it. "Count how many legs in three horses, you can use- “
“Twelve,” Lansius blurted out without trying.
His answer startled the old man. “Eleven plus seven?”
“Eighteen.”
“How about, if five cows each give birth to two calves, how many total calves are there?"
“Ten calves,” Lansius answered with a grin.
The chief furiously counted using his fingers. When he arrived at the same result, he grew slightly frustrated. He prided himself on being the smart one in the village. Yet that was his limit. Now, watching Lansius count without needing fingers shocked him. "Young man, have you regained your memory? Are you perhaps an apprentice to a merchant?"
The tone was less rude than usual.
Lansius shivered, not from cold, but from the realization that this could be his ticket out.
***
STOP! Before you comment that the math problem is impossibly easy and cheapens the story: This is a historical facts. The beauty of modern education is that schoolchildren can master mental multiplication, but in the medieval era, this method was not known by many and certainly not by a village chieftain. More source and other information is in the spoiler.
