The journey to Gasok continued along the dirt road as Aurelian and Lysander sat quietly in the carriage.
Two days of nonstop travel had already passed, and if everything went as expected, they would arrive at Gasok by the third day.
"We've been on the road for two days without taking a single stop. I suggest we find a spot to camp," Lysander said to Aurelian, waving a tired hand.
"I don't think we should slow the pace," Aurelian countered. "We've endured two days already. What's one more going to do?"
"You talk as if a day isn't twenty-four hours," Lysander replied. "And that would be what? Ten thousand seconds or more. Could you count that long without going mad?"
With a sigh, Aurelian understood the man's tiredness. He himself was already sick of being on the road without a break, but he had made a promise to Thaleia that he would be quick on his journey to Gasok.
After pondering for a bit, he finally agreed to a break, but only for a couple of hours. That way, he wouldn't be completely ignoring Thaleia's request while still considering their exhaustion.
"Alright, we can take a break," Aurelian said. "But only for a few minutes."
"A few minutes?" Lysander scoffed. "That won't work. I need to truly relax and recharge."
"Recharge yourself?" Aurelian asked. "You mean sleep. If it's sleep you want, you can do that perfectly well in this carriage while it's moving. The side of the bench is all yours."
Lysander laughed, his head tilting back as he became clearly amused by Aurelian's words.
"Hahaha!! Aurelian, this may be the last time I'm recommending this text to you. In it contains words that can be used in replace of more explicit ones. It is a vocabulary for the sophisticated man."
Lysander tapped the cover of the book, "As this work of art entails, a man can only be truly functional if he has recharged. And by recharging I mean... well, you know. That."
'Can't believe there are slangs in this era now,' Aurelian thought, rubbing his temples. 'This stupid book is ruining my reincarnation world. I expected stoic philosophers, not whatever this is.'
"But still, how would you have sex in the middle of nowhere?" Aurelian countered, gesturing to the empty, rolling hills outside the carriage window. "I don't think any prostitutes are in a radius of this area. Unless... No. No, I don't swing that way, buddy. Stay on your side of the bench."
Lysander's expression shifted to one of pure outrage. "Ridiculous!! Don't look at me like that. I'm a man of culture! I myself don't appreciate the thought of another man's... buttyhole."
'Thank goodness!!' Aurelian sighed internally.
"But that doesn't answer my question," Aurelian pressed. "How are you going to recharge out?"
Lysander let out a theatrical groan of despair, looking up at the roof of the carriage. "Ignorant as ever! What does it take for another man of culture to find his fellow practitioners? Oh gracious! How can this cultured man explain to this cultureless buffoon that a man can engage in solo sex?"
Aurelian froze. The carriage wheel hit a rock, jolting them both, but Aurelian barely felt it. "Solo sex?? Wait... don't tell me."
HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!!!!!
Aurelian broke into a fit of hysterical, high-pitched laughter that echoed off the carriage.
"You don't mean it, do you??" Aurelian asked, his voice deadpan.
HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
"You have solo sex? You're pathetic," Aurelian said, unable to stop a smirk from forming. "Go find yourself a woman."
"Laugh all you want, but everything I do is bound by logic!" Lysander shot back. "The book explains it perfectly. If the urge is a physical pressure, then the release is a physical necessity. Why wait for the cooperation of another when the tools of salvation are literally attached to your own body? It is the ultimate form of self-reliance!"
With that, Lysander quickly opened a page of the book and handed it over to Aurelian to have a look.
'He's actually serious,' Aurelian thought. 'He's rebranded it as a philosophy to make himself feel like a scholar instead of a degenerate.'
He began to read the opened paragraphs in his head.
'When a man finds himself devoid of a partner, he must not let the sacred fluids stagnate and turn to bile within his humors. He must take up the mantle of his own destiny. The hand is a loyal servant, one that requires no dinner, no jewelry, and no conversation about its mother. To engage in the solo act is to commune with the self in the most honest form possible. It is a private symposium where the only guest is your own virility.'
'A private symposium?' Aurelian's lip twitched. 'That's a very fancy way to describe what teenage boys do when their parents are not looking.'
'The rhythmic motion of the self-recharge is a metronome for the universe. Each stroke is a prayer to the gods of fertility, a reminder that the fire still burns even in the cold isolation of the wilderness. Do not be ashamed of the friction; be proud of the friction. For in the heat of the palm, the spirit of man is forged anew. A man who has recharged himself is a man who can look a King in the eye without trembling, for he has already conquered his own internal storm.'
'Women often provide a distraction of emotion and complexity that can muddy the pure clarity of the peak. By removing the external factor, a man reaches a state. In this state, the mind is briefly cleared of all worldly concerns, such as debt, war, or the fact that he is actually lonely. It is the cheapest and most effective medicine for the soul, provided one has a sturdy wrist and a moment of privacy.'
Aurelian shut the book with a snap. The comedic absurdity of the text was starting to outweigh the shock. He looked at Lysander, who was now beaming with pride, as if he had just explained the secrets of the cosmos.
"You really believe this?"
"Absolutely," Lysander said, leaning forward.
Aurelian shook his head, looking back at the last paragraph he had skimmed. He couldn't help but laugh as he read the final, crushing sentence of the chapter.
"Well, Lysander, I hope your 'private symposium' is worth it," Aurelian said, pointing to a line in the book.
With a smirk Lysander countered Aurelian,
"Now you understand the art of this culture, I suggest you agree to a break in the journey so I can quickly perform the needy. The pressure is becoming... philosophically distracting."
'Now that he put it like that, I find it very disturbing agreeing to a break,' Aurelian thought. He opened his mouth to tell Lysander to keep his "philosophy" to himself until they reached Gasok, but the words never left his throat.
NEEEIIIIGH!
The horses let out a collective scream of terror. The carriage didn't just stop; it jerked violently to the left, as Aurelian felt the sensation of weightlessness for a split second before the world tilted.
CRASH!
The carriage slammed onto its side. Wood splintered and leather tore as the vehicle skidded across the dirt path. Aurelian was thrown against the ceiling, which was now a wall, while Lysander and his book tumbled at the bottom.
Outside, the chaos continued. The horses managed to snap their traces, their hooves thundering away into the treeline. Aurelian heard the driver scramble off his perch, his boots hitting the ground in a frantic sprint.
"To Hades with this! I'm not dying for eight silver!" the driver screamed, his voice fading rapidly into the distance.
Aurelian kicked the upward-facing door open and hauled himself out. He reached back down, grabbing a disoriented Lysander by the collar and dragging him out onto the overturned side of the carriage.
Aurelian then dropped to the ground, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his blade. Ten yards away, crouched over the carcass of a mountain goat, was a nightmare. It was a human-sized bat, its leathery wings folded like a tattered cloak around a torso covered in matted black fur. Most disturbing of all was its face—it didn't have two eyes, but a cluster of them, a dozen milky-white orbs staring in different directions, all weeping a yellowish fluid.
The creature tore a chunk of meat from the goat, its needle-like teeth gnashing with a wet, sickening sound.
Lysander crouched beside Aurelian, his breathing shallow. He whispered two words: "Gasoian Bat."
Aurelian looked at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. "A what?"
Lysander let out a sharp, mocking huff despite the danger. "Oh my, you really are a backwater provincial, aren't you? Ignorant of the very beast that has plagued the trade routes of Gasok for months?"
"Didn't know I was meant to be acquainted with every rodent in Gasok."
"It is no mere rodent, you buffoon," Lysander hissed. "The myth says that Dionysus, in a drunken stupor, left a flask of his most potent wine in the heart of the Gasok forest. This creature—once a simple fruit bat—drank the god's wine. The divine acidity rotted its mind and mutated its flesh into this multi-eyed abomination."
The bat's ears twitched. A couple of its eyes swiveled toward the carriage. It let out a low, vibrating hiss that made the air feel heavy.
Aurelian tightened his grip on his sword.
This was it. His first real encounter with a monster since his reincarnation. He had the stats, he had the sword, and he had the drive to level up. He began to draw his blade, the steel sliding out.
"Stay back," Aurelian muttered. "I'll handle this."
He felt confident. He was a Legendary Paladin, and with all the skills that came with it, he was truly at the peak. He could easily time the wing-beats, sidestep the bite, and drive his blade through that cluster of eyes.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Lysander stepped forward, stretching his arm out to signal Aurelian to step back.
"The rational decision for a man of your... limited talents... would be to run," Lysander said. "But I am a Magi. A practitioner of the arcane arts."
Aurelian blinked. "You're a magi?"
Lysander ignored him, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "It would be a shame to run from an opportunity to slay such a beast. Think of the glory. Think of the gratitude of the people of Gasok. Think of the women who throw themselves at a man now deemed a hero."
Lysander held out his right hand. Tiny, jagged arcs of blue lightning began to crackle between his fingers, as he began to chant in a low, rhythmic tongue.
"Die you foul rodent!" Lysander muttered, as he stepped forward into action.