I made it about three miles before I remembered that Level 1 stamina is, effectively, garbage.
My lungs were burning, my legs felt like lead, and the adrenaline that had propelled me out of the village had long since evaporated, leaving me bent double by the side of a dirt road, wheezing like a broken accordion.
"Stupid," I gasped, wiping sweat from my eyes. "Four years of farming and I have the cardio of a potato."
I checked the position of the sun. It was nearing noon. Oakhaven was a three-day walk for a fit adventurer. For me? It might as well be on the moon. If the massacre was scripted to happen tonight or tomorrow, walking wasn't an option.
I needed wheels.
I scanned the road. It was the main trade route heading West, but traffic was thin. In the peaceful timeline—the one I had erased—this road would be bustling with caravans. Here, it was quiet. The air felt tense, like the calm before a storm.
A rhythmic creaking sound came from around the bend.
