A few stones later, he stopped abruptly. He had lost control of his impulses, his face distorting into a scowl; this was a dangerous place where at any moment something could jump out of a hidden corner, attract attention, and getting tired was foolish. It had probably been a side effect of the potion.

"Well, that explains a little the aggressiveness and recklessness of orc warriors in battle" - It was said that they threw themselves into battle like bloodthirsty maniacs. It was one of the reasons that made them so valued as mercenaries besides, of course, their size and superior physical strength.

He had been using magic to fortify himself since the ground had turned harder, no more than necessary as he had learned. If caught without magic in battle was a death sentence, and he would not take such a risk these were no longer his beautiful city or its peaceful plains. Danger lurked along the way now.

A path that would take almost a month to traverse. He needed to avoid roads, and this crooked path was perfect for that. Moreover, he hoped to make a good head start with the potion if they pursued him even here, which was a possibility under the circumstances.

The rest of the day passed without incident as he continued without stopping. The potion was impressive, despite bouts of euphoria that attacked him from time to time. However, with the mind already prepared for this, it was much easier to control. With the coming of nightfall, he took another that kicked him like the first and continued on his way.

After four days of taking the potion, he had come a long way. So far, the great dangers he has encountered besides some fall to certain death, in giant cracks that strangely appear in the land and disappear into the darkness. In addition, a few particularly, large cunning cats that watched him judging the odds, and a few fat, long snakes that lurked in the shadows.

He had also recently started a shiver with chills from time to time, which were getting worse as he continued to take the potion. But the worst thing was the feeling of dirt: the hair was stiff and greasy mixed with filth. His skin itched against the heavy, warm leather armor and, his gloves were stiff with sweat and stank of rancidity. And he didn't even want to imagine how his feet were doing; he just knew his corns hurt terribly.

The hunger for something hot also raged in his mind. The thought of a ham dripping grease onto a fire was becoming constant. But the only thing she had now was the dry, salty meat with a hard bread that needed a lot of saliva and water to soften and was becoming increasingly difficult to swallow.

The fifth day dawned dark and with a terrible storm. Which Rod was grateful for, as it would erase any marks from his passing, as well as helping to clear the feeling of dirt a bit. He even took off his hood to try to clean up his hair a bit, as he headed through the rain. He also noticed that he did not feel any cold, even though he was completely soaked. It was probably another side effect of the potion.

The rain eased sometime before dusk, clearing the sky as it drifted away. Watching the storm pull away, he decided he would not need the last dose anymore. He noticed some wisps of smoke rising from the middle of the forest in the distance. They looked like chimneys. Driven by what appeared to be the possibility of a hot bath and good food, he started toward him.

After getting a little closer, he climbed up onto an elevated spot for a better view. He could see a clearing with several old ax-chipped wooden houses with stone chimneys and dark, mossy stonewalls between the houses; with a single street made of stone in the center of the village that ran from one end to the other. In the center, the road split and ran around what looked like an indistinct stone ornament in the distance.

Rod perked up, but before he took a step, he froze, a shiver settling in the back of his neck along with a terrible fear. His mind turned to several tales and stories about small hidden villages where outsiders arrived seeking shelter and never to be seen again. What terrible secrets might be hiding in this small village; he certainly did not intend to find out.

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He returned to the path and walked away from the city thinking, that perhaps he had been too cautious and superstition had gotten the better of him. However, maybe it had saved his neck and, he intended to get as far away from there as possible while it was still daylight. He also had to find a safe place, as he would not take the last dose, and the effect would wear off at the end of the day.

Soon he found what he was looking for: a giant rock that towers high above the trees. It was slippery and very long, but he thinly made it to the top. It was flat and wide and; from the edge, you could see the crowns well below; no wonder it was so difficult to climb. Noticing as night approached, he intended to eat something warm and had therefore gathered some not-so-damp branches that he had found before starting to clamber.

He took the magic bag and pulled out an iron tripod with a hook and pan. He also took out a flint with a thick blade and a bundle of burlap from which he tore some and put it between the sticks to light a fire. He took the knife and scraped the stone with force making it rain sparks, lighting the tow; the wood was a bit wet, but soon it lit too.

Putting the tripod with the pan over the fire, he filled the pan with water, cut pieces of dried meat into it. A few smithereens of bread and some wheat flour, some seasoning, and some parts of raw chicken preserved in salt, some dried vegetables, and roots and began to turn everything with a spoon.

As it warmed up, he took rolled-up rubble of rags out of the bag; the only things left inside were two quivers of arrows, a few other potions, provisions locked in small boxes, and some books. He looked at the bag and marveled at how useful it was. It was weightless and could carry on a belt. No doubt, the price is justified; without it, would have been a large and clumsy backpack that would certainly; carry less and hamper you at all.

Keeping those thoughts away, he picked up the rubble and unrolled it until he had a fleece-lined sleeping bag inside, which he spread over the flattest part of the stone. After finishing arranging everything, he put the rest back in the bag and tied it back to his belt. He took an iron plate, served the stew, and sat again. It looked like the best stew in the world; he went to help himself again. He would have taken the pot if it had not been hot.

He sat back, looking at the last rays of sunlight that were fading into the horizon. Soon the potion would run out and, he wondered what the effects would be, or rather how it would happen. He was also worried he had to eat fast, finish before the withdrawal effects started, take the spoon to his mouth, and then. he woke up...

He tried to open his eyes, but could not, his eyelids were stuck together. He tried to move his body, but the only thing he could do was sway a little, he couldn't feel his right arm underneath. He tried desperately to move, but he was locked in place, the stiff muscles not responding. He could not even cry out, his tongue hanging in his dry mouth. The terrible thirst numbed and fueled more despair in him.

It took a long time to get his mind under control and calm down. Slowly he tried to move its fingers; they felt like rusty hinges, stiff and aching. However, he had calmed down; and calmly controlled his breathing with light, leisurely exercises, focusing his mind, seeking the magic within himself, pulling slowly, not to strengthen anymore to help him recover.

Slowly, comfortable warmth spread through his body as he increasingly expanded his lungs, drawing in air. The diaphragm muscles creaked and protested painfully. It took a long time before he finally managed to shift a little and roll to the side. It took a little longer before he managed to move his left one to feel the other arm.

It was cold and unfeeling, like a corpse. The fear returned as he tried to move his arm and massaged without any response for a long time. - "What a fucking way to lose an arm," - he muttered inwardly.

His fears eased as he began to feel a tingle slowly spread. Soon a sharp pain and a terrible cold spread quickly as the sensations returned; it also eased his mind as he slowly opened and closed his hand. He was weak and difficult to move, but at least he had not lost him.

It took some time before he finally managed to sit up. With his eyes still closed, he groped for the canteen; when he found it, he began hurriedly to drink until he could not get more. Then he began to clean the scabs sticking to the eyelids and slowly opened them, getting used to the light.

It was already past mid-morning. He passed out and fell to the side of where he was sitting. With Part of his body on top of the sleeping bag. He had not moved until he woke up. That had been scary; it was lucky he was still alive and, sure, this rock he was on had contributed.

He sat there for a while until he finally managed to get up. He started to feel hunger and weakness, the water had relieved, but it looked like he had not eaten for days. He walked over to the pan and was immediately assailed by a rotten stench when he looked inside. It was putrid, and worms stirred in the pan. -“ Shit, how long did I sleep? ” –. Of course, there was no way it could rot overnight.