## chapter 4: The Attack
Life for Alexander, formerly known as Max, had settled into a predictable rhythm. His days began with the sunrise, starting with simple chores like fetching water and gathering firewood. After a meager breakfast of stale bread or thin porridge, he would head to the village school.
School began promptly at sunrise and ended by mid-afternoon, allowing the children time to help with village tasks before dusk. The building was old and rickety, with wooden desks that creaked under any weight and a chalkboard that was more dust than slate.
Mr. Wickham, the elderly teacher, was a kind but often absent-minded man who had a habit of dozing off mid-lesson. Despite this, the children adored him for his vast knowledge and gentle demeanor.
Classes at the school were basic but diverse. The morning lessons covered practical subjects such as Herbal Remedies and Basic Magic, while the afternoons were reserved for Economics and History of the Realm. Though the subjects were different from anything Max had studied in his previous life, he found them surprisingly engaging. Learning about the uses of various herbs and the history of the kingdom added a sense of wonder and purpose to his new existence.
One crisp autumn day, as Alexander and his classmates were learning about the ancient kingdoms of the realm, a sudden commotion interrupted their lesson. The sound of distant shouting and the clatter of hooves echoed through the village. Mr. Wickham, startled from his drowsiness, rushed to the window.
"Children, stay here," he commanded, his voice unusually firm. "I'll be right back."
The students exchanged worried glances, but they obeyed, sitting quietly in the small, dim classroom. Alexander's heart pounded in his chest, a sense of foreboding settling over him.
Minutes turned into an hour, and the noise outside grew louder. Unable to contain his curiosity and concern, Alexander quietly slipped out of the classroom and made his way toward the village center. What he saw made his blood run cold.
Previously while max alexander waited quietly,
The village was under attack. Rough-looking men on horseback were ransacking the huts, their leader barking orders. This man, a tall and imposing figure with a scar running down his cheek, seemed to be in charge. His cold, calculating eyes scanned the villagers with disdain.
"You worthless lot!" he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. "You promised us more food, and this is all you have? Pathetic!"
The village head, an elderly man with a stooped back, tried to reason with him. "Please, sir, we had a poor harvest. We have nothing more to give."
The bandit leader's eyes narrowed.
"Then you will pay in other ways."
His gaze fell upon Marjorie, who was trying to shield a group of children.
Despite her ragged clothes and lean frame, her fair skin, blue eyes, and delicate features marked her as a rare beauty.
Even in her simple, ragged dress, Marjorie's beauty was undeniable. Her long, auburn hair cascaded down her back, framing a face with delicate features and piercing blue eyes that shone with defiance despite the fear.
The bandit leader dismounted and strode towards her, roughly grabbing her arm. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he sneered, his eyes roving over her.
"You'll come with us. A fair trade for your lack of tribute."
Marjorie struggled, trying to pull away, but the bandit leader's grip was ironclad. "Let me go!" she cried out, her voice filled with both fear and fury.
The bandit leader laughed, a cruel sound that sent chills down the spines of the onlookers. "I think not," he said. "You're coming with me. You'll make a fine personal slave. As for the rest of you," he shouted to his men, "take any woman you fancy. We'll teach this village a lesson they won't soon forget."
Alexander arrived at the village center just as the bandits were leaving. He saw the destruction they had caused—huts ransacked, villagers wounded and weeping. Panic surged through him as he searched for Marjorie. When he couldn't find her, he rushed to the village head, who was nursing a bleeding wound on his forehead.
"What happened? Where's my mother?" Alexander demanded, his voice trembling.
The village head looked at him with sorrowful eyes. "I'm sorry, Alexander. The bandits took her. They took several women from the village."
Alexander's heart sank. Anger and fear mixed in his chest, creating a storm of emotions. "We have to get them back! Who will help me?"
He looked around at the gathered villagers, but they averted their eyes, shuffling their feet and avoiding his gaze. Anger boiled over. "Cowards! You're all cowards! How can you let them take our people without a fight?"
Alexander's anger was not just about the attack. He had been transported to this world without a single clue, nothing to show for it. On Earth, he had left behind a single mother who had suffered a stroke. Although he knew his dependable sister would take care of their mother, the only semblance of a person he could say he knew in this godforsaken world had been taken from him. He didn't know what to do. He was angry, frustrated, and scared. The sense of helplessness from his previous life fueled his rage and determination in this one. He had to do something. He had to save her, no matter what.
Despite his harsh words, Alexander knew he couldn't do it alone. He needed a plan and he needed allies. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. If the villagers wouldn't help him, he would have to find another way.
He spent the next few days gathering information, learning all he could about the bandits and their hideout. He found out that they were camped in the nearby forest, a place that was dangerous and difficult to navigate.
One evening, as he sat by the fire in his small hut, Alexander formulated a plan. He would need supplies—food, water, and weapons. But more importantly, he needed allies, even if they weren't from the village.
"After all, what could a twelve year old do all by himself " Alexander thought