It turned out that "going" was meant in the literal sense. My companion explained that the creaking of the cart wouldn't allow us to hear the approach of predators in time. So we abandoned it and moved on foot. Moreover, I was leading the horse, while the old man walked about ten meters behind and "covered".
The feeling that I was being used as bait didn't go away, but there were no options. Fortunately, only three kilometers remained to the village.
Several times the old man hissed, and we froze. Once we stood for more than ten minutes. We got lucky. No attack occurred.
Fortunately, the stars that had spilled out onto the sky and the half-discs of two small moons allowed us to see at least something. And when the dark silhouettes of the first houses and several lit windows appeared ahead, I completely relaxed and again set myself up for the mood of adventure.
After all, only in difficulties can you temper your character and level up! Here's what, I'm not going to be fourth level in four years, like my late opponent. Fortieth minimum! And better — ninety-ninth!
The fence, or rather palisade, surrounding the village, I must say, was quite flimsy. Only about two meters high. It wouldn't even allow protection from those same wolves. But apparently, it was enough for the locals.
When we passed through the open gates, three men armed with spears and swords immediately ran up to us.
"Why so long, Viziliy? Where's the cart? Who is this? And this?..."
The tallest one asked questions as he distinguished new details.
"This guy killed pockmarked Stefan. He's right there on the horse. We left the cart because the wolves came very close. We killed three. By the way, put out additional people on the fence. The toothy ones were behaving very boldly today."
"Svara," the big man immediately turned to one of his men, "call Lyudin, Tisha, and Slas with his brother."
"Understood!"
One of the silhouettes dissolved into the darkness.
"And where to put these?"
The meaning and, most importantly, the respectful tone of the questions clearly indicated that the old man I had met was far from the last person in this settlement and, most likely, had not gone out at night for a simple evening stroll.
"Throw the pockmarked one somewhere. The main thing is that wolves don't eat him at night. And the guy needs to be fed."
"I doubt about feeding," the big man mumbled. "No one came to the tavern today. Vilsh started drinking from noon. He's probably asleep now."
"Well, wake up his daughter. Let her throw something cold together," the old man grumbled in frustration. "The pockmarked one, by the way, killed his nephew... And let her prepare a room!"
"I'll do it!"
This time the big man ran away himself, and the last greeter went to close the gates.
"How about you, want to chew on something?" Viziliy turned to me with a grin when we were alone again. "Or maybe you're full?"
"For a rainy day, I have raw hryuk meat in my inventory, but if they offer something better, I'd be happy."
"The bodies of the hryuks were whole," Viziliy again showed his observance (suspicion).
"I told you right away that I killed three today. I conducted experiments on the first one."
"Conducted what?"
"Experiments."
"Ah."
The old man stood for a few seconds, and then took the horse by the bridle:
"Let's go, it's not far from here."
By my usual standards, everything here was not far.
The horse with the body was intercepted by the big man returning from the tavern.
"Sinila wasn't asleep, and even the oven is still warm, so everything will be ready soon!" he cheered us up and immediately disappeared.
The tavern turned out to be a house about twice as large as the neighboring ones. On the ground floor in the hall, there were four long tables covered with tablecloths, each of which could accommodate about twelve people. Through the door was the kitchen, and on the second floor, besides a separate block with two owner's rooms, there were four guest rooms.
The old man told me all this while we were sitting down at the table, on which two candles were burning, standing on saucers.
"Will you drink?" asked the companion after we had settled opposite each other.
Actually, I had a controversial relationship with alcohol. There were times when I didn't drink for two years. Even on holidays. And sometimes such melancholy and despair would come over me that I couldn't resist.
I drank, threw off the blanket, shouted, beat my immobile legs, applied all my strength to move them, moved them with my hands... Shouted again and drank again...
And then it would let go of me. Or rather, by force of will, I would switch and pour out my pain onto the pages of books.
"Something light, like beer," I replied.
"Easy. Sin!" he called quietly.
Immediately the door to the kitchen creaked, and a young girl's face peeked through the crack. Wow!
It was as if something hit me, both in the head and below the belt. I had never seen such a cute girl: a small upturned nose, large brown eyes, plump lips, and framing all this magnificence, black hair falling down...
"The food will be ready soon, Viziliy."
"Sin, be so kind, bring beer for me and my friend."
"Right away."
"Did you like her?" the perceptive old man asked with a smile when the kitchen door closed.
Even if he knew all the circumstances, it would be difficult for me to explain to him everything that was happening to me.
I had seen beautiful women, and many of them even showed me signs of attention. Hell, sometimes they even put their hands in my pants, because I was rich. But due to the paralyzed lower half of my body, their actions didn't evoke a response there. And consequently, in my head either. But now...
For the first time in my life, I was touched everywhere simultaneously... And although I perfectly understood that this was pure physiology, multiplied by many years of fantasies and desires, but...
"I've never been with women," I answered, finally settling on the path of maximum honesty. "I really liked her."
"Hm..." the old man tilted his head, examining my face. "Can I speak frankly?"
"I think that's a rhetorical question."
"What kind?"
"The one that doesn't require an answer."
"That's right..."
He thought again, as if remembering something.
"You lied to me. I know this... But I heard your thoughts, followed your reactions, including when I brought the wolves to you... In general, despite your lie, you seem like a good guy to me. And I want to give you a second chance..."
The kitchen door opened, and Sinila fluttered out with two clay mugs in each hand. Now I had the opportunity to assess her figure, but I quickly averted my gaze, as two seconds were enough to understand — she was perfect, and further examination could throw me off balance, which I really didn't want right now.
"Here you are."
"Thank you, girl."
"Thank you!"
How I managed not to look after her is a mystery.
The door slammed.
The old man grabbed the mug and raised it.
"To our acquaintance! I'm Viziliy."
"Ilya."
I put the mug to my lips and emptied it halfway in several gulps. The cold, foamy drink gave me confidence and immediately hit my head much faster and stronger than on Earth. It must have been due to the young body unaccustomed to poisons, the strength of the drink, and nerves.
"Did you really hit your head falling from a horse?" the old man stunned my relaxed brain.
One didn't need to be a genius to understand that at this moment, if my fate wasn't being decided, it was at least some kind of key turning point.
"No, I didn't fall from a horse," I said, looking into the interlocutor's eyes, "but I have no idea what happened to me before today. All my apparently eighteen years seem to have disappeared..."
"And they are born eighteen years old..." the old man whispered barely audibly.
"Who?" I asked, not sure if I had heard correctly.
"Those to whom you seem to belong," the old man sighed and, after taking a few more sips from the mug, greatly lowered his voice. "They're called different things... Suddeners, memoryless, outsiders, runaways... But most often — the cursed..."