Max felt torn about what to do next. Should he look for Kurt? He had no clue where he would be. Was it worth his time to interrogate Pompey? It probably wasn’t a good idea in case he shut down even more. There was still a chance he would reveal more before the deadline took his life. Go back to Cy? That would mean helping him run Nik’s workshop. Stuck, Max sat at the top of the stairs.

  Hoping the system would lead the way, Max checked his HUD to see a worrying lack of sub-goals steering him forward.

  Selecting the hint from the first sub-goal was just as confusing as last time. A mixture of garbled numbers. 1,290,393 / 502,192 / 78,291 / 1,249 / 3. Meaningless…

  After tapping away at the top of his knees, he heard a pair of footsteps approaching. “You sure took your… time.” Max had to push the rest of his sentence out when he realised he was talking to the wrong person. Barely in his view was a young nun.

  She paused on the stairs when she saw him. There was something familiar about her. Peeking out from the veil was a youthful and pretty face. Her face and eyebrows were sharp, and there were a few strands of light brown hair refusing to be covered by the bandeau. Hanging from her left arm was a covered, wicker basket. Her tunic had been washed, ironed, and carefully maintained. A thick, wooden cross rested clearly on her chest.

  “You were expecting me?” She tilted her head in curiosity, as a slight smile appeared on her lips.

  “Sorry, I thought you were Kurt… Lord Landrut,” Max quickly corrected himself. Without knowing exactly how nobility worked in this word, it was better to err on the side of caution. There were too many unknowns. Was she a before? During? Neither? A real nun? A fake one? Without Cy, he was blind.

  “I saw Lord Landrut had returned to the estate.” She turned slightly to gesture behind her. “His actions have been keeping the local glassworkers’ afloat; praise be.”

  Her humour was not lost on Max, who shared her smile. So far, there was no animosity coming from her nor any surprise about the system’s countdown. “Are you here to see Pompey?” Max gestured with his thumb over his shoulder at the only door at the end of the stairs.

  “The poor soul needs something to look forward to throughout the day.” The nun lifted the cover of her basket to show an assortment of dried fruit and a thick book, undoubtedly a Bible or a close comparison. “Have you paid him a visit?”

  “I have,” Max admitted, trying to figure out if he should ask her where Kurt could be or go back into Pompey’s room with the nun. “He spoke to me for a bit before giving me the silent treatment. Kurt went to get him something to eat.”

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  “God bless your kind soul,” the nun continued up the stairs. “Shall we wait for Lord Landrut, together?”

  “Mn.” Max watched her open the door to the frail man’s room. Pompey was lying in the middle of his bed again, as if Max had never visited earlier.

  “Pompey,” the nun cooed before placing the wicker basket on the bedside chair. “Your visitor has returned.” He ignored her completely. “Would you like to remind him of your name?”

  “It’s Max.” There was something off about Pompey’s movements. His eyes were desperately trying to avoid eye contact, but his body stayed completely still. “I was here a little earlier.”

  They waited patiently for some kind of verbal response, but none ever came. “Perhaps reading from the good book will stir his spirits.” The nun began to unpack her basket when Max noticed Pompey’s mouth was quivering. Did he not want to be read to? Maybe a favour for a favour will make him more talkative.

  “Could I have a look at that?” Max froze before quickly following it up with his necessary lie. “Actually, never mind, I can’t read so… It’s kind of a waste.” It felt shameful to admit such a weakness. Much worse than when he had to confess to Nik the other day.

  Without hesitation, the nun gave him the book. “The word of God is important for all to see, even for those who can’t read.” She then gave him an understanding smile. “Which is why this version has a few pictures in it.” Quickly flicking through, it was a bit nostalgic how familiar the words, pictures, and stories were. “Are you a religious man, Max?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he answered honestly.

  “Your accent is a little unusual.” Max’s thoughts paused in surprise; he had an accent? No one mentioned it until now. “How did you come to befriend Lord Landrut?”

  “We come from the same village,” he simplified.

  Her eyes suddenly sparkled with enthusiasm. “Lord Landrut often talks fondly about the family who raised him. You must know the villagers as well. He often tells funny stories about them. Do you know the… problematic mayor?”

  It was only then that it clicked in Max’s mind who this person was. She looked a lot like her brother, but her mind seemed incredibly sharp in comparison. She was Sister Delilah. The only daughter of the mayor. The baby who was born to lose her life, as instructed by the system.

  “I left not long after Lord Landrut, but I heard the mayor fell ill.”

  Her face scrunched up in worry. “Fell ill?”

  “I think it was a stroke.” Max looked down at the religious text in guilt. It didn’t help Revelation 21:8 was looking back up at him.

  “Ah, you are talking about the former mayor. Praise the Lord for giving him the strength to survive such a horrible experience.”

  “The former mayor?” It did make sense. He couldn’t possibly continue his work after enduring such a medical emergency during medieval times. “Who’s the mayor now?”

  “His son took the position.”

  Max thought about the scattered brained man, who was so focused on the arts and interior design. “And how’s he handling it?”

  Sister Delilah’s smile twitched. “I keep him in my prayers.”

  There was a growing pressure for Max to return the religious text. Sister Delilah’s eyes were occasionally glancing towards it. Pompey’s silent thoughts were urging him to keep it. Eventually, Max decided on what to do all by himself. “Here you go,” he handed the book back. “Maybe instead of reading the stories to Pompey, I could tell both of you tales from the village where Lord Landrut and I are from.”

  “What a wonderful idea!” Sister Delilah’s smile changed into a wide grin before she dropped the sacred text into the wicker basket. She then moved the whole thing to the floor, so she could sit on the chair. Impatiently, her restless legs began to tap. It was quite unbecoming of a nun. “Tell me a story, Max!”

  “And then a meteorite crashed landed on the farm.” Max felt a bit tired from recounting the surreal story of his life on this world so far. Life on Bessie’s farm was back-and-forth between mundane and absurd. Luckily, his audience was listening intensely. Sister Delilah was on the edge of her seat, and Pompey was sitting up now to watch Max’s wild gestures and dramatic recreations. “It was a massive, ginormous rock with slime oozing out of it. The local shepherd boy went to take a look before slipping into the slime!”

  “And then what happened?” Sister Delilah squealed.

  Max began to dramatically demonstrate a monstrous transformation before declaring. “He. Became. A. MONSTER!” Pompey jumped a little from the final word causing a small peep came out from him. Both Max and Sister Delilah couldn’t help laughing from his reaction.

  “That’s the most focused I’ve seen him since moving here!” She said as a compliment for twentieth time.

  There was something nostalgic about this moment that Max couldn’t put his finger on before reality dawned on him. This wasn’t a fantasy. This was real life. The shepherd boy was unfortunately caught up in the system’s plans. He could only hope he was a before person, since it would mean he would have another certain chance at life.

  “Then?” Pompey chocked out. His silent treatment had ended ages ago, but the only words coming out from him were him asking for Max to continue. Occasionally, his nervous eyes would refocus on the nun before relaxing from her glee.

  “Oh, well, he tripped down a well and died.” Max quickly finished the story. It seemed a little cruel to continue with making a mockery of the worst time during the shepherd boy’s life.

  “May he rest in peace,” Sister Delilah said a little prayer causing the other two to participate. They weren’t religious, but it felt like the right thing to do. “Do you think the meteorite was connected to the aliens?”

  “Maybe?” Max had no clue.

  “Perhaps, during the next service, I should warn the attendees about slimy meteorites.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt. How long have the aliens been coming here?”

  “Hmm, for a couple of months now.” Sister Delilah looked over at Pompey, who hesitatingly nodded his head in agreement. He was looking a bit impatient with the delay in Max’s stories.

  “I heard the abducted some people.”

  “That’s correct, may God watch over them.”

  “Do they have any memories?”

  “Many get sent back down without any memories.” Then it looked like a thought crossed her mind, making her stare at Max wide-eyed. “I heard from one troubled soul that whoever took him asked a few questions in a pitch-black room. It sounded like they were looking for something.”

  “Do you know what?”

  Pompey quickly chocked out. “The crystal. Landrut’s crystal to stop the magic people. They want it but can’t get it. It’s part of the system’s plan.”

  “Now, now, enough of this nonsense about a system planning. The only plan is his plan, of which we must have faith.” Sister Delilah looked irritated, as if this was not the first time they had this argument.

  “I’ve got a psychic friend. Is there any way around the crystal? My friend needs to use his abilities here.”

  “Carve his name into the crystal.”

  It was the answer Max was looking for. “Thanks, Pompey.”

  “Max!”

  In an instant, his blood ran cold. That wasn’t Kurt’s voice. How?

  “How have you been? It feels like we haven’t talked in ages!”

  Standing at the doorway was Adelaide, looking identical to the last time he saw her.

  There was a notification from the system.