The room was empty now. Only Aeneas remained. He suppressed the lingering aches. Sat up slowly on the bed. Then he rubbed his stiff shoulders.
The sunlight outside the window was sharp. Bright. A reminder—no air conditioning in ancient life.
He took a deep breath. Curiosity drove him to explore.
He moved carefully toward the door. His fingers brushed the rough wooden handle. He pulled it open gently.
The courtyard was small. Neatly arranged. The ground was paved with irregular flagstones. A few Mediterranean plants shimmered emerald green in the sun.
A simple weapon rack stood in one corner. It held wooden swords and spears. A practice straw target stood beside it.
A massive olive tree provided cool shade. Beneath it were three flat-topped stones. They served as a table and seats.
In another corner stood a low stone structure—Aeneas couldn't help but wrinkle his nose.
The evening sun was still strong. The air was fresh enough to make you want to breathe deep. But it held the smell of livestock. Fermenting olive oil. And—well, the natural scent of life without sewers.
Aeneas grumbled inwardly:
"This all-natural, additive-free air… is just fucking great!"
He stood under the tree's shade. Watched the slave in the courtyard. The man was sweeping the ground with a crude broom and wooden shovel. His movements were practiced. Silent.
The view of the valley was breathtaking. The rolling slopes of Mount Ida were cloaked in vibrant green forest. In the distance, the outline of Troy shimmered. The surface of the Aegean Sea glittered. Like scattered silver.
Below, the winding Scamander River was wide and swift. The valley plain was dotted with farmland and small settlements.
Aeneas took a deep breath. Tried to immerse himself in the beauty.
"The view is stunning… but the quality of life… sigh~"
He took a few more deep, bracing breaths.
"Alright, Uncle Allen, you've got to hold it together. It's fine here! Just no heating. No coffee. No shops…"
He almost made himself cry saying it.
In the courtyard, sunlight, tree shadows, and sea breeze wove a strange atmosphere.
Aeneas stepped on the flagstones. Moved slowly toward the straw target. His fingers lightly touched the wooden shaft of a spear. Everything felt alien. And curious.
Aeneas wandered the courtyard. Finally stopped at the stone table.
A clay basin sat on it. It held clean water, halfway full.
He squinted. A Bronze Age washbasin… No soap. No hand wash. Relying on air-drying to kill germs?
His gaze drifted to the low stone structure in the corner. The latrine.
It looked like a squatting turtle. Its shadow seemed to emit a "stay away" odor.
A complex expression crossed Aeneas's face.
"The flush toilet is one of humanity's greatest inventions. I miss you."
He turned away. Pretended not to see it. Great. Now what about bathing?
He imagined someone throwing a bucket of cold water over him. Shivering violently.
"No wonder ancient people didn't bathe much… No water heater. A cold could kill you!"
Just then, a fly buzzed past. Circled his ear.
Aeneas flinched. "Shoo! Get away!" He waved his hand. The fly kept circling.
"Cholera! Typhus! Infectious diseases! I need insecticide!"
Aeneas finally couldn't take it. He let out a pained groan to the sky.
"No Wi-Fi! No coffee! No flush toilet! Is this any way to live?!"
A young slave from the neighboring courtyard peeked out. Looked at him curiously.
Aeneas immediately fake-coughed. Forced composure. "Calm down! Don't scare the natives! Don't disgrace time-travelers everywhere!"
Distant bleating echoed. "Baa… baa…"
"The main menu… Mutton? Again? Only mutton, right?" he muttered helplessly.
Roasted lamb leg, sprinkled with salt, drizzled with a scoop of olive oil: "Seriously? Salt is the only seasoning? No chili, no pepper, no sauces… gone."
A servant happened to pass through the courtyard. He carried a fat leg of lamb. He smiled and bowed.
Aeneas responded with a noble's polite smile. Thought to himself: "Alright then… Enjoy your meal…"
Thinking of dinner, a more terrifying reality hit him—this era had no potatoes. No tomatoes. No corn. Even rice from Asia hadn't spread here yet.
"Damn it! French fries, pasta, popcorn, sushi… all… gone?"
He picked up a clay cup from the table. Shook it. It held a little leftover wine.
Clear, but slightly cloudy. The taste was weak. Watery. He sniffed it. Couldn't help but frown.
"This wine… Is it watered down? And unfiltered?"
His throat was dry. He forced a swallow. His face twisted.
He looked up at the sky, utterly defeated. Sighed deeply!
He walked over to a rough stone stool. Sat down.
"Alright. Calm. Calm down!"
The forty-five-year-old Allen within his soul needed to settle an important question. What next?
Option one: Get. Out. Of. Troy.
His mind instantly pictured himself alone. Fleeing into the mountain forests. Surrounded by wild beasts. And bands of bandits.
"Come on, this is the Bronze Age version of a survival game! Forget lasting three seasons, I probably wouldn't last three episodes."
He shivered involuntarily.
Option two: Surrender to the Greeks.
Aeneas's mind conjured faces full of murderous intent: Achilles, Ajax the Great…
"Sacking cities is their standard procedure. Surrender? Ha. That's just serving my own head on a platter. And my conscience wouldn't allow it!"
That path got a hard no.
Finally, option three: Stay. Strengthen Troy. Find a way to change fate.
His fingers tapped absently on the stone table. But his heartbeat slowly steadied.
"I am a prince of Troy. A minor one, sure. But I have the status. The position. And a mother named Aphrodite…"
He looked up. Gazed at the distant, glittering Aegean Sea. A glimmer of resolve slowly kindled in his eyes.
In the courtyard. Aeneas sat on the stone bench quietly.
Sunlight spilled down from Mount Ida's peaks. It fell on his black-gold curls.
He closed his eyes. Two distinct streams of memory flooded his mind.
The part that belonged to "Aeneas":
The heavy feel of a longsword. The smell of sweat dripping onto the training ground's flagstones. His father Anchises's earnest advice.
The other part was "Allen's" legacy:
Historical spoilers from millennia in the future. Basic knowledge of military and agricultural technology.
"Alright. A forty-five-year-old unemployed web novelist. Only one kind of cheat code—knowledge!"
He opened his eyes. Let out a breath. Looked at this backward, yet utterly real, world before him.
From beyond the small courtyard came his mother Aresya's gentle voice. In the distance, the little maid Terani's laughter.
"If I choose to give up… what would their future be?"
He murmured to himself. There was nothing left to hesitate about.
He looked toward the distant walls of Troy.
"Alright, Troy! Since I've become Aeneas, let me try to rewrite the script!"
Creak~ A young man pushed open the courtyard's wooden gate. Strode in.
The sun traced gold on his broad shoulders.
His face showed fond exasperation.
Like: "What foolish thing now?"
"Aeneas!" His deep voice rang in the courtyard. "You're finally awake! You always have to worry us like this!"
Aeneas looked up. A trace of amusement in his eyes.
"Well, if it isn't my personal bodyguard. Relax, I'm still in one piece."
He flicked his hand casually. This was Achates. The 'older brother' he'd grown up with.
Achates stepped closer. His eyes scanned him appraisingly.
Then he raised an eyebrow. Teasing. "Heard you took on a giant boar single-handed? A bit reckless, weren't you?"
Aeneas couldn't help but laugh.
"Bringing you along wouldn't be reckless. Next time I meet the boar king, I'll definitely bring you to gang up on it."
"You…" Achates shook his head with a laugh.
He fell silent for a moment. Spoke gravely. "Whatever you plan to do. Adventure or battle. I'll be at your side."
The courtyard fell quiet for an instant. Only the distant murmur of the Scamander River remained.
The faint unease in Aeneas's heart seemed to lessen at these words.
"Then it's settled!"
"Don't you dare run off when the time comes, or I'll write you as the villain in the epic."
Achates blinked. Then he laughed. Clapped Aeneas on the shoulder.
"Don't worry. I've got more pride than that."
They looked at each other. The atmosphere suddenly felt lighter.
Aeneas leaned on the stone table. His eyes drifted to the Aegean.
"Achates," he said.
Achates straightened at once. His eyes grew wary—when the young lord used that tone, it usually meant trouble was brewing!
Aeneas cleared his throat.
"I've decided. If Hercules could accomplish so many great labors, I should try to keep up. The boar was just the start. Next, well…"
He paused. Finally put on a perfectly serious face. "I'll go to Nemea and kill a lion!"
The words left his mouth. The courtyard went still.
Achates's eyes nearly popped. Like bronze bells. His mouth opened and closed. Not a sound came out.
Aeneas watched his rigid expression. Held it for a few seconds. Finally couldn't contain his laughter. A mischievous, "successful prank" grin spread across his face.
Achates stared for two full seconds. Then it hit him. He let out a long, relieved breath.
"Gods, young lord!" He couldn't help swatting Aeneas's arm. "You nearly scared me to death!"
"That's how you know it worked!" Aeneas roared with laughter.
Achates was caught up in it too. He burst out laughing.
They erupted into hearty, shared laughter. It shook the little flagstone courtyard.
Just then, Terani burst into the courtyard like a fawn let off its leash. She bounced and skipped her way in.
Her round face was red. A bit of flour stuck on her nose.
"Young master! Achates!" She waved her hands in the air. "The Lady says come to the hall! Dinner is ready! There's freshly baked bread and stew tonight!"
The flour jumped from her with her excited movements. Landed on her tunic.
Achates's previously stern expression melted at the sight of her.
He nodded. "We're coming now."
Aeneas watched her innocent manner. Couldn't help thinking to himself—
"At least the smiles in this era are real. No posing or pretending to be cute."
Seeing her mission accomplished, Terani immediately turned. She bounced back to the gate, light as a sparrow.
At the doorway, she turned and added, "Hurry up! The bread won't wait!"
The courtyard was left to the two young men.
The evening wind blew down from Mount Ida. It carried the scent of dinner, mixed with sea salt.
Aeneas and Achates looked at each other. They laughed simultaneously.
"She has more energy than you," Achates joked.
"Obviously," Aeneas retorted. "If I had hot bread and stew waiting, I'd bounce higher than her."
Achates laughed and swore fondly. He slung an arm over the young lord's shoulders.
They walked side by side toward the hall.