After a brief but freezing winter, another spring arrived in the Arvena highlands. The snow melted, and the scenery changed dramatically. Meadows turned colorful with purple and yellow wildflowers while the wind carried whiffs of floral scent as the land returned to life once again.
Like most villagers, the Arryn family spent their first week cleaning their yard and maintaining their thatched roof. Afterward, the village welcomed the new spring with a week-long festival. Only after the soil was soft enough did they return to farming.
Last year, Lansius had unexpectedly assisted with the village's annual report, a job typically reserved for the village chief, scribe, or officials. However, his hopes for rapid advancement were quickly dashed. In a rural farming community, there were seldom job that required such skills.
Despite the setbacks, the townsfolk began to see Lansius in a different light. They now viewed him as a foreign merchant apprentice who was robbed and lost in the woods, explaining his odd-looking clothing and inability to speak the common language.
Since Lansius lost his memory, the rumor went unchallenged. Even the village chief wrote such in his reports. The officials learned about the appearance of a foreign straggler, but with the nobles locked in conflicts, they saw it as an unnecessary tidbit.
The Arryn family followed their work routine as usual. During the warm spring season, Lansius was able to help out and they planted more than usual. Things were looking promising.
After the planting season was over, Marc convinced Lansius to accompany him for daily strolls just before sundown. They would make their way around the village plaza, where the young people would socialize under the watchful eyes of their elders. Despite his social awkwardness, Lansius engaged in small talk and gradually improved his speaking skills.
In this world, the common tongue was rough-hewn and direct. Words were utilitarian tools, not elegant and well-articulated. Conversation was a matter of conveying necessity, not crafting poetry. The more polite and formal the conversation, the stiffer it became.
On one such evening, the two found themselves wandering aimlessly and ended up at the butcher shop. Though they were penniless as usual, they still went inside to catch up on the latest gossip and perhaps offer their help in exchange for some slices of meat.
The owner, a retired butcher from the city required no help that day, but he halted them. "Lad, I heard you can do calculations?"
Lansius' eyes widened. "Yes, I can."
Connor, the owner, was tall, muscular, with a graying mustache. "Next week I'm going to deliver a new batch of meat jerky to the city. I'm thinking to buy some supplies. Problem is, I don't know whether my savings will suffice."
Hmm... shouldn't be too difficult.
"Can I have something to write?" Lansius asked.
Connor gave him a waxed tablet and a wooden stylus. "Would this suffice?"
"Gratitude. This will do," he said, his words fluent and formal. "Now, name the items you wish to purchase, along with their prices and quantities."
Connor informed him about the goods.
Lansius tallied them and compared the sum against the savings. "You're still forty copper short."
"About three silvers short, eh?" Connor approximated while rubbing his chin.
Sensing an opportunity, Marc grinned and hyped it up. "Wow, you sure can count fast. Not even the chief can calculate that much."
Lansius could only smile sheepishly, but Connor nodding his head. "Indeed, lad, you're pretty good with this."
Marc found an opening. "Surely such assistance begets some-"
"But of course," Connor said happily.
They went home with three iron coins and a sausage. The treat was a pleasant surprise for Tanya and Arryn. Before eating, the boys smelled their cut multiple times to savor it. The meat was juicy, unlike the dry salted meat they had on festivals.
One small favor led to another. In the following weeks, the number of people asking for help, while random and inconsistent, steadily grew. Lansius was happy, but knew that he couldn't count on them for a living.
When spring almost came to a close, Connor returned from his trip. He happily reported that Lansius' calculation had saved him from taking out loans. Now, he wanted Lansius to teach his oldest child calculation.
Lansius, ever in a hurry to escape from farming life, immediately agreed. With mother Arryn's blessing, he took two students under his wing. At first, he thought that this was doomed to fail, but he soon realized that he was dealing with teenagers, not kids. They were well-behaved and curious, so the teaching went smoothly.
For his effort, he earned six iron coins or half a copper daily. A copper was the price of a full meal with ale, so Lansius' rate was abysmal. Earning half a meal per day was not a living wage, but he was content.
The road to financial independence is never easy.
Afterward, things took a positive turn. During the summer, he gained two additional students: the village chief's son and the baker's child. With more students, his income increased, allowing him to earn a copper a day. Summer passed smoothly, but when autumn arrived, tutoring came to an abrupt halt as the entire village turned its attention to the harvest.
Harvest was the biggest celebration of the year, and other festivities like marriage and feast were commonly arranged around it. Only after the festivity ended, did things slow down as people prepared for winter.
One day, on a clear but windy day, without warning, hundreds of armed men marched towards Bellandia. It was then that the villagers learned that Arvena was at war. Young lord Arte led a column of men, including wounded soldiers and refugees, towards Bellandia. They camped outside Bellandia and waited for reinforcements. Marc and the other villagers were called for training.
This unforeseen event made Lansius worried. He had never had any experience with war or fighting before. Although he never said it, he felt sickened by not knowing what was going to happen. In his mind, the situation could worsen at any moment.
Days passed in more or less the same routine. The only difference was that Lansius frequently spent his free time with other men from the village. During one such gathering, the topic of magic was raised. Some believed that the lord might employ a mage or a saint candidate as a healer.
Intrigued, Lansius found himself increasingly drawn to the subject. Magic was something he had always yearned to witness. Thus, he followed the crowds to the newly established camp nearby to listen and learn about the world beyond his village.
However, rather than learning about magic, Lansius found himself becoming an object of curiosity. The men at the camp were intrigued by his foreign features. No one had seen dark hair like his before. While they were familiar with various shades of blonde and lighter brown, his near black hair was a novelty. Even men who hailed from distant lands, such as the Mercantile Kingdom in the Far East or the Navalnia Empire, hadn't encountered someone with such distinct hair color.
Lansius came to realize his distinctiveness. Then, abruptly, a voice rang out. "You with the dark hair, the young lord wants to see you," someone declared in a commanding tone.
Lansius looked around and saw that everyone's gaze had turned toward him as an imposing man in a fresh white tunic approached. The man motioned for Lansius to follow him.
The crowd's eyes dutifully followed as Lansius and the knight headed toward a particularly large tree.
Lansius saw young lord Arte sitting regally on a small wooden chair, surrounded by burly men, presumably his knights.
Gulping, Lansius stammered, "My lord." The words felt foreign. He had never addressed a lord before.
"No need to be so tense," Arte responded. "I just heard a story of a foreigner who was robbed, lost his memory, and couldn't even speak the language."
"Indeed, that is my story," Lansius confirmed, relieved that he found the right words.
"Do you remember anything about your home?"
Lansius shook his head. "I can't remember."
"Ah," the young lord mumbled, then changed his tone. "Tell me, what do you do in this village?"
"I teach children to calculate," Lansius managed, feeling the constraints of his limited vocabulary.
The young lord laughed upon hearing this, appearing pleased about something.
"If you can count, why not calculate the number of our troops or something? Entertain us, will you?" said one of the burly men.
"That's a good idea. Can you do it?" the young lord agreed.
Lansius hesitated for a moment. However, his interaction with the young lord validated what others had said about him. The young lord seemed genuine. Thus, he answered, "I believe I can."
"Excellent," Arte replied, clearly excited.
The knight who had approached Lansius earlier now signaled to some men. "Assemble the men who can walk. No armor, no weapons. And make no unnecessary commotion."
Slowly, the camp came to life with calls and shouts as everyone who was able sprang into action, readying themselves for formation. The knights watched from the sidelines, clearly considering themselves above the call. For them, this was merely entertainment.
"My lord, the men are ready," the knight reported to Arte.
The young lord stood and inquired, "Well, can you calculate the number of men in their current formation?"
Nodding, Lansius realized that his actions had led hundreds of men to assemble, many of whom were wounded. The pressure was immense, and the villagers watched intently.
Observing the formation, he noted that the men were arranged in five deep ranks. The first and subsequent ranks consisted of equal numbers, only the last was missing a few men.
The front consisted of 22 men and 5 ranks deep. So, 110. But they are missing three to complete the formation.
"My lord, it's 107," Lansius answered. Clearly, Arte had fully expected him to count manually or to use a stylus and multiplication table.
"Oui, that was quick. Are you certain?" Arte asked a fierce glint in his young eyes, perhaps a byproduct of this violent era.
"More or less, my lord," Lansius confirmed.
Fascinated, Arte ordered, "Send in the squires."
Three teenagers hurriedly began to count the men manually, each starting from a different point. They divided the formation into thirds and ran while counting. It was evident that they were accustomed to this method.
After a short wait, the squires returned and announced, "My lord, it's 107."
Lansius was inwardly pleased. The count matched his own calculation exactly.
The knights looked pleased, as did the young lord who dispersed the formation. The 107 men also appeared amused by the recent events. Many eyes turned toward Lansius, a level of attention he was unaccustomed to.
Arte returned to his seat and asked, "What is your name, man?"
"It's Lansius, my lord," he responded, surprised that Arte would even ask. The social chasm between them was so wide that it would normally be unthinkable for Arte to need to remember the name of a lowly subject like him.
"Lansius, you're an interesting man. How about joining my retinue?" Arte's offer drew chuckles from his knights.
At this, Lansius was dumbfounded, struggling to process the unexpected offer.