In a well-formed hut situated in the middle of the village, a muscular man was looking at a bunch of documents. His dark eyes hovered over a couple of words momentarily before switching his attention towards the map of the surrounding area.
The map marked three little villages.
[Homr Village], [Worl Village], [Legh Village]
It detailed complex trading relations between the three villages and the potential raiding routes. The Village Cheif already had detailed plans on how to take Worl Village. Being the only village with a Magic Academy, his people were strong and numbered enough to take Worl Village's livestock and women. However, the Village-Head was wary of the relationship between Worl Village and Legh Village. The combined might between those two villages would be detrimental to his village.
He breathed in deeply and exhaled in a way that activated his energy. A cozy stream of comfort flooded his body and his shaking body stopped. He squinted his eyes and thought grimly about the number of his people who would die because of this cold.
Heavy fur was expensive to purchase and they already lost the only hunter in the village. Not only that, but the remaining hard workers could not keep themselves warm enough to continue working. Even if they could, their minds would be more focused on their family back home, wondering if they were warm enough, wondering if they would see them again.
The village head knew well what it meant to be a father. What it meant to be the provider. He even abandoned the relationship with his best friend to secure his oldest son's future.
Knowing all that, the Village Cheif could not put it within himself to force abled men to continue working. But in doing so, his village could not trade with the largest merchant group that comes around every winter.
This was not just a, 'guess I can't afford to trade with the Merchant Group' problem. Due to the negligence of the tribunes and the aediles, representatives of the commoners, Merchant Groups essentially became bandits who could do anything to small villages.
If the Village Cheif did not make the trip worth it for them, death awaited the entire village.
The Village Cheif was considering a raid on Worl Village seriously. The Winter was too strong for his people to survive. Even wild animals were getting hard to find. Not to mention the other villages were getting too close to his Homr Village's hunting grounds. If his people eliminated the Worl Village, then he would have plentiful food and clothes to go around.
The Village-Head cursed loudly and continued staring at the documents. Fighting the Merchants would mean death to everyone. Submitting would mean his people starving. Doing nothing would mean his people would die in the cold.
"Hail to Father Earth, The Mighty Enemy of aggressors!" The Village-Head prayed deeply.
[A/N: This is to ask for protection against robbers and looters]
The Village-Head opened his eyes with a menacing glint. Just like his father before him, he would do everything to protect his family and in extension, the village.
'We have to survive this Winter. Then everything we've worked for will bear its fruit.'
..
In the roughly crafted hut, Haler woke up slowly. His vision was groggily, and he was seeing two of everything. His brain was slamming at his skull and his eyes were getting watery. The cold entered his room once again and blew at his face. His ears were numb and he could see his exhale.
He raised his hand and touched his temple.
"Ah!" He screamed in pain.
Not only was his brain pounding, the swift change from the freezing temperature to extreme heat set off pain receptors in his hand. After the shock of pain, Haler was left with the realization that he had a fever. A fever.
How many commoners die of fever in the winter? Way too much. Hundreds of millions die every single winter in the Avalon Continent. Accounting the whole world, it was not an understatement to say billions die every winter.
Fever in this kind of weather happening to a kid without any resources was fatal. Death was almost guaranteed in times like this. If it was not for his high constitution, Haler was sure to have died.
'What do I do?' Haler asked frightened.
He could not muster any strength to get up. He lived alone meaning everyone would not know he was ill until it was too late. Not to mention that they would probably not be able to help either. Everyone was struggling to protect themselves and their own family.
Haler did not want to die like this. He wanted to live. He wanted to experience life. He wanted to eat the meat of a pheasant. He wanted to dance with bards singing the tales of knights. He wanted to see places that were sunny all year round.
Sniffling, Haler clenched his fists weakly. 'I can't die here!'
Haler closed his eyes and dealt with the fever the only way he knew how.
[Entering the Mouse Borrow]
His body materialized into the lit-up cave.
Haler figured that if he could raise his stats high enough, he would be able to hang on until the fever subsided. He already knew that consuming crystals in the dream world also affected his body in the real world.
He gripped his hand and saw his strength was still at peak performance. Haler gave a sigh of relief. He was unsure if he would exhibit the same prowess depending on the state of his physical body. Luckily, he was just thinking too deeply about it.
Instead of enjoying the state of comfort he was in, Haler rushed to the broken bowl. He retrieved the sharp stick and went straight to a massacre. Tens of mice fell under his rapid attacks however none dropped any Astral Crystals.
Due to the surge of dead bodies, Haler's stats increased by two. His agility transcended to the Legendary Sequence and his slaughtering continued. With every stab, he was getting more experienced. With every death, he was absorbing more and more valuable knowledge. The tricky maneuvers the mice made were getting less complicated for him.
Fifteen.
Twenty-five.
Forty-one.
By now, there was little ground that was not covered in thick blood. This addition to the topography made it difficult for the mice to control their erratic movements. They would often find themselves moving too far and sliding into Haler's 'spear'. This saved Haler a lot of energy.
Even with the two stats increase, it was difficult for Haler to maintain his [Lightning Speed – 8]. He found himself lacking the energy after the forty-fifth kill. Yet even without the [Lightning Speed – 8], his basic stats were too high for the mice. At this stage, there needs to be hundreds of them attacking him at the same time to kill him.
Haler spit on the floor and gasped for air. He was getting concerned because there were no Astral Crystal drops. But he understood that the only thing he could do in this situation was continue killing. He understood that dying here with the state of his body probably meant dying in the real world as well. Therefore, he could only continue to be more tactical and use hit and run methods.