Child of the Farmer

"Did you hear? Old Mol's kid got hit by a horse."

"Poor child. If I remember correctly, he's only thirteen this year. He'll probably be bedridden for life."

"You're talking about what happened a few days ago. The new news is that Roy has woken up, but unfortunately, his mind seems to be gone. He just stands in the yard daydreaming all day."

A few farmers stood on the ridge, whispering to each other. Behind them, a tall, middle-aged man quietly put down his hoe, clenched his fists, his face filled with anger and helplessness.

He was the Old Mol the farmers spoke of, also a lowly peasant. He had spent half his life honestly farming, with an ordinary appearance, no skills, and no property. It wasn't until he was twenty-three that a woman willing to marry him, without any complaints, came along.

The couple didn't have a child until they were twenty-five, considered late parents in this world and era where many people became parents at fifteen or sixteen. They naturally doted on this child, never daring to let him do any farm work.

Their son, Roy, was also obedient, quiet, and gentle, never causing trouble. He always had a shy smile, completely unlike the little rascals running around wildly in the village.

"What a well-behaved child..."

Thinking of this, Old Mol felt even more pain. Good times don't last. Just four days ago, a woman rode her horse through the village at full speed, accidentally brushing past the poor Roy. He immediately fell unconscious.

The village's shoddy herbal doctor couldn't find any external injuries. Even more surprisingly, the child woke up naturally after being unconscious for a day. Then, he seemed like a different person, with vacant eyes, not speaking, not responding, just staring blankly at the sky.

Like an idiot!

"Sigh..." Old Mol worried about his son. Seeing that it was getting late, he picked up his hoe and jogged home.

The houses in the village were made of thatch and wood, simple and dilapidated, as if a gust of wind could blow them away. The entire village was small, with only about a hundred households.

Old Mol's house was at the westernmost end of the village. It was high noon, the sun was at its fiercest, yet a small figure faced the dazzling sun in the sky, his eyes unblinking, like a soulless puppet.

Beside him in the yard, a farmer with rough skin was bending over, feeding chickens.

"Staring at the sun like that, what if you hurt your eyes? Susie! Didn't I tell you to watch the child? Look what he's doing!"

Old Mol rushed into his overgrown yard, put his arms around his son's waist, and placed him by the doorstep. He touched the boy's short, black hair, a hint of tenderness appearing on his tanned, sallow face.

"Little Roy, listen to your dad. Don't do such foolish things again."

"Hmm? Dad..." A while ago, Roy, after waking up, had ignored Old Mol's words. But today, a ripple appeared on his delicate face, his dazed eyes clearing up. His mouth opened and closed, mumbling, "Roy Yi... Roy... Right, my name is Roy now."

"The child is speaking?" The farmer, overjoyed, leaned his ear close to his son's mouth.

He finally confirmed that his son, who hadn't spoken for three days and three nights, hadn't become mute.

"Susie, hurry! Son is speaking! Stop fussing with those animals!"

After this exclamation, the farmer's wife hurried in from outside.

The couple hugged Roy from either side. Hearing him call their names, they were instantly moved to tears.

Roy then carefully observed the parents of this life – Old Mol and Susie. Their faces were ordinary, they wore old clothes woven from linen, their skin was rough, and their bodies were thin and gaunt from overwork, exuding a rustic simplicity typical of village farmers.

"These are my parents."

Roy's eyes stung, and his heart was suddenly touched. He simultaneously put his arms around the couple's shoulders.

At this moment, in his mind, two completely different memories had completely merged. He was both Roy Yi, an eighteen-year-old dropout high school student from Huaguo on Earth, and the son of a farmer in Kayye, a small village on the southern border of the country of Aedirn in this other world.

As Roy Yi, his parents had died unexpectedly, causing him to drop out of school and become addicted to the virtual world of games, planning to join his parents once he ran out of compensation money.

He was an orphan with no car, no money, addicted to games, and destined to die soon.

Roy, though the son of a lowly farmer, lived a poor life, but he enjoyed a familial affection he had long lost.

He was both Roy Yi and Roy.

"I played games so frantically just to fill the emptiness in my heart."

"This is heaven's chance to make amends." Now, he had inherited all of Roy's memories and emotions, naturally feeling a blood-related closeness to the couple.

"Roy, what happened to you a few days ago? You worried us to death!"

"I... I was so scared by the horse, I just remember being very afraid, and I don't know anything else..."

"Stop asking nonsense!" Old Mol yelled at his wife, then affectionately stroked Roy's head. "It's good that the child is alright, it's good he's alright..."

After calming his agitated parents, Roy began to look around his new home, a wry smile appearing on his face.

Within the uneven walls, the entire house contained only a fireplace, an iron pot, two or three tables and chairs, and two "beds." If the layer of dry grass and cloth spread on the floor could be called beds.

Not long after, the woman prepared lunch: several dry and hard loaves of bread that looked like deformed taro, an egg, two salted fish, and a thick stew of vegetables like potatoes. Most importantly, there were no seasonings. In this home, even having a little salt was a luxury.

Roy suppressed his strange feelings and took a bite. "Why complain? It's not easy to eat such natural, pollution-free vegetables in my previous life."

Perhaps influenced by the instincts of this body, he quickly accepted the taste of the food. Coupled with not having eaten much in the past few days, he was starving and ate ravenously without restraint.

The already meager meal rapidly diminished.

"Eat slowly, child, don't choke."

The couple beside him watched their son with silly smiles, constantly refilling his plate with food, while they themselves barely touched the small pot of grain.

They only occasionally took a bite of the salted dried fish.

In the afternoon, after Old Mol and Susie left to discuss killing a chicken to nourish their son that evening, Roy's expression turned serious.

Aedirn. Having once been obsessed with Witcher 3, how could he not know?

"One of the four Northern Kingdoms, this is a world of Witchers, mages, and Monsters."

In this world, in this era, bandits, Monsters, plagues, and natural disasters run rampant, and people's lives are incredibly difficult.

"Without Strength or power, who knows when misfortune might strike."

According to the memories from his original body in his mind, the year is now 1260.

If nothing unexpected happens, three years from now, the brilliant and ambitious Emperor Emhyr var Emreis of the southern Nilfgaardian Empire, known as the 'White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Foes,' will launch the First Northern War. Although the war begins far to the west of Xiabosada, in the Kingdom of Cintra, who can guarantee that no deserters will roam here and cause trouble?

Furthermore, in 1267, seven years later, the Second Northern War will break out, and Aedirn will not be spared.

"What abilities do I have? What should I do? At the very least, I need to protect Old Mol and Susie." Thirteen-year-old Roy doesn't have much time to spare.

However, his transmigration to this world wasn't in vain; like many transmigrators, he brought a Golden Finger with him.