During the week of rest — well-deserved, I must admit — I continued to dedicate myself to my studies, even away from Margareth's mansion. As I still hadn't fully mastered reading in this world, my mother, who apparently deeply felt my daily absence, took it upon herself to teach me the letters, words, and spelling rules of the local language.
— I never imagined she was so talented at teaching — I reflected silently, observing her patience and method.
Contemplating the radiant expression of happiness she displayed while instructing me evoked a mixture of joy and melancholy, as it became evident how much time I lost by spending most of my days at Mistress Margareth's residence, depriving myself of family time. Although I understood that my parents, like me, wished for me to learn to master the arcane arts, it was undeniable that my mother longed for more moments with me, with Vivian, and with my father.
As I watched her attentively during one of our lessons, a genuine curiosity arose in my mind: how had she and my father met? So, assuming the innocence characteristic of the child my body represented — though my consciousness was far beyond that —, I asked naturally:
— Mother, how did you meet Father?
Curiously, even in my previous life, when I was already nineteen years old — before the tragic end that brought me to this world —, at various times when addressing my biological father, I used the affectionate term "papai" (daddy). Thus, it didn't feel strange to use the same expression now.
She delicately interrupted Vivian's feeding — who, at only a few months old, still depended entirely on her care —, gently settled her into a small basket where the baby fell asleep almost instantly, looking like a tiny celestial being, and turned to me with a smile that overflowed with loving reminiscences:
— We met when I was just twelve years old, during a ball organized especially for knight families — she paused briefly, reflectively, before continuing: — We never mentioned to you that we both descend from knightly lineages, did we? Well, in the noble hierarchy, they occupy a lower position than baronets, which explains why they are rarely invited to high nobility events.
She emphasized the word "nobles" by making air quotes with her fingers, revealing a certain disdain for the rigidity of social conventions, before returning to the main topic of her narrative.
"I need to ask my father about these hierarchical matters later," I mentally noted.
— On that specific occasion, a kind of competition was organized among the young men present to determine who would have the privilege of inviting the young ladies for a stroll. It was precisely in this context that your father and I exchanged glances for the first time. He was already seventeen years old at the time, an age when he would normally already be betrothed to some suitor — she momentarily interrupted her narrative, with a nostalgic expression and a discreet smile playing at the corner of her lips, before continuing:
— We exchanged only two significant glances. The first occurred the moment he entered the hall and our eyes casually met. I felt my youthful heart involuntarily quicken, for he possessed remarkable beauty. Your father had a robust physique, with hair that reached his shoulders, though he kept it neatly tied in a ponytail.
— The second decisive glance — she continued, with a special sparkle illuminating her eyes — happened when he saw me laughing uninhibitedly with one of the other young ladies present. It was at that precise moment that he decided to participate in the competition.
She let out a soft, restrained laugh, delicately covering her lips, as if she had momentarily returned to that innocent phase of her life.
— He was visibly awkward, you see? He had none of the refined gallantry that characterized the sons of dukes or counts. However, there was something unique... something special that manifested through his gaze. An unwavering determination. Although he was defeated in the competition, he showed courage by approaching me afterward. He declared that he considered it inappropriate to dispute the right to invite someone without even checking if the person in question wished to be invited.
She inhaled deeply, her gaze lost in distant memories.
— That attitude completely captivated me. It represented the first time someone showed genuine interest in me as a person, and not merely for what I socially symbolized.
Approaching tenderly, she gently ran her fingers through my hair and smiled again, now with that maternal expression that warmed my heart.
— And well... the rest of the story followed its natural course. We corresponded for several years. He legitimately earned the title of knight, and when I turned fifteen, he formally proposed marriage.
— And your parents readily consented? — I inquired, genuinely interested.
She responded with a spontaneous laugh, as if my question revealed an enchanting naivety.
— Absolutely not! My father reacted with indignation! He categorically declared that he would never allow a simple knight without a superior noble title to obtain my hand. However... fate intervened when the war against the Kingdom of Alafia unexpectedly erupted. Your paternal grandfather perished in the conflict, and Lucius, by his merits, earned the respectable title of Arcane Baronet, receiving this fiefdom as a reward for his services. Faced with this new reality, my father found no more arguments to refuse, considering that even an Arcane Baronet holds a higher hierarchical position than a house of traditional Knights.
"Arcane Baronet... I definitely need to ask my father about that specific title later," I mentally registered.
She gave me a complicit wink, like someone sharing a precious confidence.
— But I confess a secret: even if he hadn't obtained the noble title... I would have run away with him without hesitation. With my eyes completely closed, trusting only my heart.
We continued our conversation for some time longer, until lunchtime approached.
Lucius, who returned to the residence at that time, had a visibly dejected expression. Noticing his uneasiness, my mother questioned him about his well-being. He merely nodded briefly, stating that everything was fine.
"I can clearly discern that he is hiding something, but there's not much I can do at this moment," I reflected internally.
In an attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere, I suggested that he take me to the village belonging to our fiefdom, a place I had not yet had the opportunity to visit.
He looked at me briefly and replied with a laconic "yes" — notably devoid of enthusiasm.
Evidently, something worrying had happened in the fiefdom, and he deliberately avoided sharing it so as not to transmit his uneasiness to my mother.
★★★
After we finished our meal, our small family — my father, my mother, my sister, and I — headed to the village, which was located approximately five hundred meters from our manorial residence.
By the way, Mistress Margareth's mansion is considerably further away. And, to be completely frank, I still don't fully understand why she owns such an imposing property on lands that, technically, belong to the jurisdiction of our fiefdom.
Upon entering the village limits, the reality of local poverty immediately became evident. According to my rough estimate, the population should not exceed four hundred inhabitants.
1. The dwellings were predominantly built with mud and wood, and the roofs, for the most part, were covered with dry straw. Various aromas permeated the environment: the comforting smell of freshly baked bread, the smoke from fireplaces... and also the unmistakable odor of equine manure.
At the center of the village stood a modest church, around which the residences were organized in concentric circles. Some local merchants offered their products directly on the public roads, while, on the outskirts of the village, a river with relatively clear waters flowed — an essential source for the supply of drinking water and hygiene for the residents.
"Exactly like an authentic medieval village," I mentally observed, drawing parallels with my historical knowledge from my previous life.
We continued our walk until we reached a small local bakery. My father asked if I wanted any delicacy. I politely declined. He then extended the same courtesy to my mother, who accepted a traditional sweet.
Shortly after, an elderly man approached to speak with my father. His appearance and attire were visibly superior to those of the other inhabitants — was he a prosperous merchant? Or perhaps a landowner?
As if he had perceived my silent curiosity, my father clarified:
— Elian, I present to you Omar, the respected leader of this village.
I greeted him with appropriate deference.
As I mentioned earlier, Omar wore noticeably neater clothes. His clothes were clean and well-maintained, in contrast to the general appearance of the other residents. I estimated he was approximately sixty years old, possibly older.
After returning my greeting, he turned to my father with a worried expression:
— Lord Lucius, as I reported this morning, we are facing a significant sanitary problem. Our workers are falling ill in increasing numbers, and we have not yet identified the precise cause of this illness.
Ah, so this was the source of the concern my father had shown earlier.
Lucius observed him with a grave expression and inquired:
— Could this situation compromise our food reserves for the winter period?
— It will depend on the evolution of the situation. If the number of sick continues to increase, there will certainly be a considerable impact.
Lucius ran his hand through his hair in a characteristic gesture of anxiety — evidently, the situation deeply worried him.
At this moment, my mother intervened with a pertinent question:
— What symptoms are these workers manifesting, Lucius?
He looked at Omar, silently requesting him to provide the specific details.
— Lady Maria, those affected present intense abdominal pain, feverish states, episodes of emesis... they are unable to eat properly. Consequently, they lose the vitality necessary for agricultural activities, for the construction of dams, and other essential works. This situation threatens not only our food reserves but also the expected tax collection. — Omar sighed heavily before continuing: — Our community already suffers from a scarcity of young people, compared to the past. If the older members also start to manifest the same symptoms, the consequences could be truly serious.
That set of symptoms — gastric pain, fever, vomiting, general weakness — was extremely familiar to me from my previous existence. Could it be a viral infection?
After a few moments of reflection, I addressed my father:
— Father, I accessed information about this condition in some medical books in Mistress Margareth's library. I believe this illness corresponds to what we call a virus.
He looked at me with evident surprise, which encouraged me to continue:
— According to the consulted texts, there are certain medicinal herbs that significantly aid in treatment. They provide symptomatic relief and can accelerate the recovery process.
— And what would these specific herbs be? — Omar inquired, showing immediate interest.
I turned to him and replied confidently:
— Ginger, mint, chamomile, and lemon have suitable therapeutic properties for this case.
— Mint, chamomile, and lemon are grown in our fiefdom... — Omar murmured thoughtfully. — And what would be the recommended preparation method?
— Prepare an infusion. It is imperative that it be served hot, never cold — I explained methodically. — Additionally, as a preventive measure against new contaminations, it is fundamental to boil the water before consumption. — I paused briefly to emphasize the next point: — It is also essential that the sick observe a minimum period of eight hours of daily sleep and remain in absolute rest for five days, abstaining from any work activity. The body needs this recovery period.
Omar nodded with an expression of gratitude, formally thanked, bid farewell to my father, and withdrew, presumably to implement the suggested measures as soon as possible.
We continued our stroll through the village, exploring some other sectors, before returning to our residence.