A cold rain drizzled in the dark. Cyril got up from the ground, trying to shake off the wet earth. He wanted to clean his hands together, but only smeared the sticky dirt. Cyril picked up a bundle of wet straw from the ground and scrubbed his bare stomach, arms, legs, and ass. He couldn't reach his back.

"Fucking donkey's cock." He grumbled, looking around the scene of the accident.

The donkey snorted at his remark, then roared. The poor animal sat with its hind legs tucked up and its harness leaning against it.

The cart lost a wheel and fell to the left side. The blanket that had saved Cyril for an hour was now permanently buried in a puddle.

"Leg." Whimpered an unhappy voice from the pile of straw.

Cyril stopped scanning the area and lowered his gaze. The alchemist was sniffling and digging in the dirt, but he couldn't get to his feet.

"What happened?" Cyril asked.

Although it was night and there were almost no lights in the area, Cyril could see clearly in the dark. The new ability was still a mystery to him, but there was no point in thinking about it now.

"My leg is pinned down." Kalim groaned. "I can't get it out."

"You shouldn't have jumped up." Cyril snapped.

"Stop humiliating me!" Kalim screamed, slapping the puddle with his hand. "I'm not a herbalist, I'm an alchemist!"

"It's no use being offended by the truth." Cyril grumbled, not even thinking to help. First the hunger, then the cold, and now the sticky mud and even the loss of the precious blanket had finally killed the good guy in him.

"I'm sorry I freaked out." Kalim said in a calmer voice. "Help me to escape."

"I'm cold." Cyril said. "Go help yourself. Where are we?"

He looked around again.

Piece of shit. He thought. Seeing in the dark is also no good if you don't know the city.

"Help me out and I'll find you a map." Kalim sighed.

The incident with the paid lunch and two mugs of beer taught the alchemist one thing. This strange guy didn't do anything for nothing.

"Weakling." Cyril growled, and stooped to pick up the fallen cart.

The old cart didn't weigh much, and it gave way easily. The alchemist pulled up his pinned leg, climbed out of the pile of wet straw, and stood up unsteadily. Kalim was afraid of breaking or dislocating his leg, but nothing happened.

"What about the donkey?" Cyril asked as he lowered the cart back down. "What about the wheel?"

"I don't know how to fix carts." Kalim sighed, and pulled something from the folds of his robe.

The donkey roared piteously.

"Then do your magic." Cyril snapped.

"I'm not a mage!" Kalim exclaimed, and struck a match.

Flames flared and lit up the fallen cart. Cyril estimated the size of the match. The match was as long as the palm of his hand, and it seemed to burn even when wet.

"It's a shame, isn't it?" Cyril asked. "So I'm not a mechanic. Because of you, we have to walk now."

With these words, Cyril went to the nearest shabby house. He didn't want to be stuck in the middle of a rain-drenched road.

"I'm sorry, but it's your fault." Kalim said from behind him.

"Oh, really?" Cyril turned to him. "Is it my fault that you can't control your emotions and pop like a fucking horse when you're riding on a shaky cart?"

Cyril began to get angry. Naked again, his teeth chattered from the cold. It seemed that the whole world was just throwing him trouble so small and stupid that it was not worth paying attention to; however, with these troubles together, he was pretty tired of it.

Calm down, Cyril. He told himself again. Don't get angry if you don't wanna kill him.

He really didn't want to lose control of his body again. Yes, his body had new abilities. It became almost invulnerable, stronger and more enduring. It was adept at fighting and killing with its bare hands, although Cyril has never even taken part in a street fight with bullies from a parallel class, let alone martial arts. Cyril even learned to see in the dark.

However, all the abilities of his body did not protect him from cold and hunger. They did not help him navigate in space and did not help him achieve the desired goal. But if Cyril lost control, got angry, or put himself in danger, his body took control, and then innocent people died.

So now Cyril was angry, too. He was hurt, too. He had to learn to control emotions such as anger and fear, but the herbalist, wrapped in a warm robe, allowed himself to be offended by things that Cyril saw no reason to be offended by.

Although he probably really wanted to be a magician, and now he has to play with matches. Cyril agreed. It's depressing.

He calmed down, but walked away from the cart. He didn't want to waste a minute.

"We can't leave the donkey." Kalim called from behind.

The alchemist did not intend to leave, but stood stubbornly in a shallow puddle, illuminating the donkey and cart.

"Dyck will kill us." Kalim whimpered, remembering the bartender's ghastly face.

"Just you." Cyril said.

While we're here saving the donkey, the precious corpse is decomposing in the shed.

"I'm beginning to regret hiring such an autocrat." The alchemist said. Shaking his head, he followed Cyril. After all, he also wanted to revive the dead, and without Cyril, that was problematic.

He caught up with Cyril and lit up the wall of the house. They could see a street sign on the mud wall, streaked with water. The windows were dark, and if anyone had lived in the house, they were fast asleep. Kalim smiled confidently and waved his hand.

"This way!"

They were walking steadily on when the donkey roared again behind them. A drunkard in one of the houses was even woken up by it's desperate roar, but he immediately took a drink from the jug by the bed and passed out again.

"Wait here." Cyril said, and went back to the cart.

Cyril focused on his right hand again, straightened his fingers, and swung his hand like an axe. A straight hand sliced through the shaft. He walked around the donkey without looking the animal in the eye and did the same with the second shaft.

"Go home." Cyril said, and went back to where the alchemist was shining a huge match.

The donkey cursed in a donkey's tounge, probably calling Cyril a bastard, but stood up and limped off in the direction of the tavern. Cyril and the alchemist splashed through the puddles until the match went out.