Tycoon May: Chapter 27 (Patreon)

Chapter 27

Grant woke up to the world swaying gently from side to side.  He sat up with a groan, looking around to see what had happened to him.  The first thing he saw was the scruffy face of Evander snoring in his face, his breath hitting him like a physical force.

“Ugh.”  Grant sat up, expecting to feel pain.  Instead, he felt fine.  Better than fine.  He felt great.  “What happened?”

<Oh, sleeping beauty decided to join the land of the living finally?>  Grant turned around, seeing Sarge poking up from the pile of grain sacks filling the back of the wagon he was riding in.  His sword was next to his mud-stained armor, which was piled haphazardly on top of his other items.  <I can’t believe you left me sticking out of a pile of mud like some sword reject.  At least stick me in a stone or something next time.  It would make it more dramatic when someone pulled me free.>

“Huh?”

<Never mind, don’t worry about it.>  Sarge grumbled something about uncultured cultivators before raising his voice back to an audible level.  <You were both concussed and poisoned.  If it weren’t for your Regeneration helping those potions do their job, you’d be dead right now.>

Grant pulled aside the tunic he was wearing to look at where the crossbow bolt had hit him.  It had left a dark, star-shaped scar on his ribs just below his right pectoral muscle.  A pang of hunger hit, reminding him of how important it was to eat after Regeneration had done its work.  “Wow.  I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

<Your liver is a very important part of your body.  Ironically, it’s what filters poison out of your blood, and that’s what was damaged the most when you were shot.>  Grant then rubbed at his head, feeling a sensitive lump where he had been hit.  <That one should have cracked your skull.  It shouldn’t come as a shock that you have a thicker than average brain holder.  Not that you use it as much as you should.>

“Hey, I’m getting better.  I might have gotten hurt, but I took on five House Saturday Vassals and won.”  Grant crawled over to his gear, checking over his armor.  “That’s way better than everyone else managed to do.  They faced four of them, and I don’t think they killed any of them.”

<Stop comparing yourself to everyone else.  It’s not about how well they perform.  It’s about how well you do compared to what you are capable of doing.>

“That… actually makes a lot of sense.  Thanks Sarge.”  Grant took a moment to look around.  Instead of plains with the occasional hill, it was a much more forested region they were traveling through.  Not that the scraggly trees were much to look at.  They would barely reach his height if he was standing flat-footed.  The terrain was much rougher, with the abundant hills cutting down visibility from his viewpoint to almost nothing.  Grant was still in the rear-most wagon, and didn’t see anyone behind them serving as a rear guard.  The snoring figure of Evander made Grant wince.  If they had been attacked while he was sleeping, Adria would have killed the big man.  “It looks like the wagons have made good progress.  I don’t recognize anything around us.”

<That’s because you’ve been asleep for most of the day.  They were packed and ready to go before the sun came up, and haven’t stopped since.>  Grant did some mental math, thinking about how many days he had left before the end of the month.  <Don’t worry about the exact time.  You just need to stop taking naps that last a really long time.>

“What happens if I go a day or two past the end of the month?  Am I trapped here, destined to die?”  Grant felt the end of the month coming like a headsman’s noose tightening around his throat.

<No, you shouldn't be trapped.  You just won’t have as much time in the next month to do what you need to do.>  Grant let out a sigh of relief.  <And considering it’s only going to get harder as you move through the Districts, you might end up in District October or November by the end of the year.>  The sense of relief evaporated.  <Just focus on what you can do right now, not what could happen.  I suggest getting your armor fixed as a first step.>

“Right.”  Grant shook his head to clear it.  “One thing at a time.”  Considering the amount of practice he had at using Apprentice Repair, it didn’t take long for his breastplate to get fixed.  Cleaning the dried mud off took a little longer, but in less than an hour Grant was fully dressed and ready to go.

His next task was repairing his body.  He needed food to replace what he had lost, so Grant hopped down from the wagon and gave a wave to the white-haired old man who was driving.

Jogging further up the line, he eventually made it to the supply wagon near the middle of their little convoy.  It rattled with the pots and pans hanging from the sides, and tickled his nose with the hint of spices coming out from under the canvas covering the back.  He was surprised to see Sam steering the wagon, and hopped up on the bench seat to join him.

“Ah, Grant!  It’s great to see you up and about.”  Sam slapped him on the back.  “You seemed pretty bad off for quite a bit of time there.”

“Yeah, but I’m all better now.  Just a bit hungry, is all.”  Grant happily took a small sack that Sam handed him from under the seat.  “Thanks.”

“Ah, I’m not really hungry at the moment, so you can have my lunch.”  Sam shook his head, tugging on the leather straps in his hands.  “I, ah, just can’t believe we were attacked like that.  It doesn’t make any sense.”  He motioned at the other wagons.  “Nothing we have is worth stealing by such a powerful group.  At least, as far as I can tell.”

“There’s actually something I wanted to ask you.”  Grant took a bite of the carrot and mustard sandwich, wincing at the odd flavor combination.  It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good either.  “I think I remember them saying something about you being from House Sunday.  Was that true?”

“Ah, yeah, I used to be.”  Sam shrugged, once again tugging on the reins.  “The thing is, House Thursday runs pretty much everything in District May, so I left House Sunday when it became clear that being a healer didn’t have much of a future in it.”

“You can do that?”  Grant shook his head in disbelief.  “How would House Sunday be okay with it?”

“There’s only so many Wielded Weapons to go around.  When, ah, someone doesn’t want to stay, there’s always some second son or daughter waiting for one to be handed to them.”  The wagon hit a bump, causing Sam to sway in his seat.  “And House Thursday is always happy to bring in more merchants.  Especially since House Sunday married into House Thursday.  It makes the transition an easy one.”

“So, you gave up being a Wielder in House Sunday to join House Thursday?  Did they offer you a weapon to make up for it?”  Grant could never imagine giving up his Wielded Weapon, and his was going to kill him if he couldn’t accomplish the impossible.  “I mean, why would it be worth it otherwise?”

“Ah, no.  They offered to make me a Vassal of May Second, but I turned it down.”  Sam looked down at his hands, flexing them into fists before relaxing his grip with a sigh.  “A long time ago, a Wielded Weapon used to hold the responsibility of caring for the people.  Now, it’s more of a status symbol.  It didn’t feel right to have one, when money and power are all people care about.”

“Do you ever regret making that choice?”  Grant took another bite of the sandwich, finishing it off.  “I mean, would you ever take your weapon back if someone offered it to you?”

Sam thought for a moment, looking up at the cloudy sky.  “I would only do it if things were like they used to be.  Wielders and Vassals protecting people, instead of using them.”  He shrugged his shoulders once more.  “Unless Tycoon May—and his mother—are in charge, nothing is going to change.”

“I… I see.”  Grant definitely didn’t see.  There was no way to change a broken system like that unless it was from the inside, and surrendering your weapon took away any chance of fixing it.  Grant scooted to the edge of the bench to hop down.  “Thanks for the lunch.”

“Ah, no problem Grant.  Take care of yourself.  I’ll let Adria know you’re up and about the next time she comes to see me.”  Sam gave him a subdued wave as he jumped down.  “And keep an eye out!”

Grant tossed the empty bag in the back of the wagon as it rumbled past, waiting for his wagon to catch up.  He liked Sam, but he didn’t understand his choices.  Grant would never make the same decisions he had made.

<It’s this District, Grant.  It has broken people.  Instead of staying in the system, Sam chose to leave.  Considering the situation, that decision carried a certain kind of courage.  Not the same kind that you need to have to survive, but courage nonetheless.>

“I guess I can kind of see that, Sarge.  But I don’t think I would make the same choices.”  Grant paused as his wagon rolled past, and then turned to catch up with it.  “I’d fight to make things better.”

<Yes, you would, and you might even win.  Now, stop thinking about big, important things, and get ready to start training!>

The sword spirit was happy to ignore his groans of complaint.