Dragon's blood

Chapter 1. A World Where They're Trying to Kill Me

I had never been to Japan. And never really wanted to go. Probably why I immediately knew this wasn't a dream.

I generally rarely have realistic dreams where someone is actively trying to kill me.

So the narrow-eyed guy with a topknot (on his head) and a sword in his hands made me worried right away. Especially after he tried, without even saying hello, to cut me, my dear self, into two parts.

He barked something in a non-Russian language, stepped towards me, raised the sword above his head, and sharply brought it down aiming for the part in my hair.

I jumped to the side quite sharply but still felt a piece of sharpened, polished metal whistle past my ear, cutting hair, and then hit me on the shoulder.

Holy crap, a barbershop with a straight razor!

I looked down at my left shoulder. When a cut is made by a very sharp object, you might not feel any pain at all. Maybe my arm was already half-severed?

To my luck and surprise, my shoulder and arm were fine. From my neck to my elbow, my carcass was covered in shiny black plates that had honorably withstood the blow from the narrow-eyed terrorist. Who, clearly dissatisfied with the result, was getting ready to continue his lesson on chopping wood with medieval bladed weaponry, using me as the log.

Oh no, Papa Carlo, you picked the wrong guy! I stepped towards him and, without waiting for him to finish another heroic swing with a yell and a roar, landed a right hook squarely on this nutjob's swarthy jaw.

I felt a satisfying sensation of teeth, unprotected by a mouthguard, cracking. After that, this damn samurai rolled his eyes and fell to the floor. True, he didn't let go of his katana (or whatever that piece of iron is called). He clung to it like a professional drunk clings to a bottle. So there he lay on the mosaic floor in a picturesque pose on his side, raising his sword-holding hand like the Motherland Calls statue.

Speaking of the mosaic floor, and the mosaic walls too. What the hell, where am I?!

What am I doing in this hall, with decor reminiscent of either a Catholic church or a Turkish hammam? Why am I wearing medieval armor, and why did someone just try to cut me down?

Speaking of cutting... I saw a drop of blood fall on the floor. My own, damn, blood! But from where? The armor held, didn't it? I felt my shoulder, arm, then my head. I felt moisture. That bastard had sliced off a piece of skin from the edge of my ear.

I should note, I don't handle the sight of blood very well. Even though I went to medical school to become a surgeon, I never could look at bleeding calmly. Especially my own!

If this is some kind of joke by damn reenactors, then where's their trauma center? Where's the doctor or nurse? Or at the very least, a first-aid kit with iodine and a band-aid? I can't feel calm while my blood is leaking out. Even a drop.

Since early childhood, I've felt that you mustn't lose blood. I'd immediately clamp down and bandage any cut. And if I spilled blood, I'd always wipe it up and wash it away under running water. I was afraid someone might be able to take my blood. It's my own unique phobia.

Getting blood tests at the clinic was an incredible shock. And here my blood is just dripping down my injured ear, and I don't even have a band-aid. Bastards!

After spending a couple of minutes in this room, I realized I shouldn't stay. I don't know why, but I was sure it was dangerous, and I started planning an escape plan. To prevent the madman who attacked me from jumping me again, I thoroughly tied his hands behind his back with his own belt. I'd seen how to do it in an old scout manual, so the knot wouldn't come undone. While I was busy with that, I realized the armor that saved my life was by no means light. Thankfully, it didn't hinder my movements much. The metal plates lay over my limbs and joints, and a rigid cuirass protected my chest. I didn't have a sword, although there was a scabbard. It was nice that my attacker's weapon fit perfectly in it. It was very hard to pry it from his hand, but after applying the right force... The sword would serve a more mentally balanced master. No, it's not that I like rummaging through other people's pockets, but I couldn't help but take a pouch with coins from his belt. I don't know if they're game tokens or real gold and silver, but for me, it's compensation for moral and physical damages!

When I finished, my ears gave me a danger signal. Someone opened the room door. It was a girl with a tray holding a teapot and a few cups. A look, a spark, a storm! The tray falls to the floor, porcelain shatters, the girl screams, I see something like a window, open it, and immediately jump through. I was lucky; it was the first floor, and it was no more than two meters down to the sloping ground. Yeah... I was lucky... I feel that after losing a piece of my ear and almost saying goodbye to life, I'm due for some luck for a while!

My thoughts flew out of me along with the air as I rolled down the loose earth, catching on some thorns. I tucked in and managed to somersault a couple of times before coming to a stop.

I opened my eyes. My body was lying in some bushes further down the slope below the window. I saw several people run into the house I had just tumbled out of. They were shouting something, but I didn't understand a single word. But my body understood. I jumped to my feet and ran away from that lovely place. Those who had just entered the building immediately gave chase. They also drew weapons and ran after me with furious shouts.

Whether it was the adrenaline or something else, I flew over a stone wall as if it weren't even there, even though it was twice my height. The shouts were left behind, and ahead was a forest, into which I ran without thinking or looking back.

The forest was quite dense and not at all like the ones I was used to near Moscow. It seems I'm somewhere in the mountains. Somewhere beyond the trees, shouts in a foreign, guttural language could be heard, which for some reason felt familiar. And I'm also subconsciously sure that I need to be as far away from those shouts and that house as possible if I want to remain in one piece.

The next half hour merged into one long run over very rugged terrain. The sun wasn't visible through the trees, but it seemed to be setting. And it got dark quickly, like it does near the equator. I tried to run for a while longer, but after falling a couple of times and nearly twisting my ankle, I decided to hide in some bushes. There, in the darkness, dampness, and cold, tired and out of breath, I sat and remembered and thought about how I could have ended up in such a situation.

The year 2020… Self-isolation. I'm sitting in front of the TV watching another program about the pandemic… Then either I fell asleep, or I passed out… And then this…

My train of thought was stopped by the light of the night sky. Looking up, I saw the Moon in the brightened sky… and the island it had emerged from. A fucking floating island! I started pinching myself, but then remembered my ear. This was too painful and real to be a dream. I heard in some lecture about dreams that it's hard for the brain to even render hands in a dream… But this…

In complete bewilderment, I tried to understand what was happening, slapped my cheeks, but didn't wake up. Until morning, I wandered through the forest, trying to somehow justify what was happening, but the conclusion suggested itself: this is not Earth. Although my brain tried its best to deny it.

Just before morning, I stumbled upon some berry bushes. Hunger reminded me that I was still a man of flesh and blood, and I had to recall the wilderness survival guide. Picking a couple of berries and rubbing them between my fingers, I smeared the sticky mush on my wrist. After about five minutes, there was still no irritation, so I rubbed two more berries on my lips. Again, nothing. I'll try eating them, since there are so many growing here.

Breakfast was monotonous, light, and too sour. I was thirsty, but there was nothing resembling a water source around. I gathered some berries. They taste disgusting; I'll throw them out as soon as I find something better. I spat out the sour stuff and went wherever my eyes looked.

As I walked, I tried to soberly assess the situation. I clearly lacked clarity of thought during the night.

Basically, I'm still in shock, but I need to start analyzing this new reality. I'll start with myself. Or rather, with the body I'm in. It's not mine! In the sunlight, I examined my hands. I've always done sports, but without fanaticism. But the hands I saw could belong to a professional rock climber.

The muscles weren't very bulky, but they were dense, the wrists woven with tight sinews. Yet the hands weren't rough. The owner of these hands clearly didn't earn a living through manual labor. But on the clean, well-groomed palms, you could feel calluses earned by regular work. They probably look like the palms of someone obsessed with pull-ups and parallel bars.

I tried doing a familiar warm-up. I moved easily, despite a sleepless night spent in the cold forest. The body didn't feel alien. It seemed like it was still me, but lighter and more energetic.

I tried throwing a series of punches. Singles and doubles came easily, but when I tried my signature combination of eight, I got mixed up. It seems not all my reflexes were preserved. Thinking a little, I took out the trophy sword and tried to practice a kata I learned during a brief fascination with Eastern martial arts.

The movements with the weapon came out easily and naturally. Moreover, after finishing the kata, I didn't stop but continued moving, performing a much more intricate fencing warm-up for a katana.

After a series of strikes with changes in position and rolls, I shook the blade, freeing it from hypothetical enemy blood, performed a short bow (more of a nod), and said loudly "Oss!". I even understood what it meant: "Patience!". Although, god strike me dead, I don't know what language I was just shouting in.

Well then, I have a different body that feels like my own and obeys well, but has unfamiliar skills. Including linguistic ones. Good thing I have a stable psyche, or it would be easy to suspect that my attic has started leaking due to the prolonged pandemic.

Next, my clothes. Under the armor, I'm wearing a shirt made of dense fabric, similar to linen. The pants are leather, or more like suede, tapered at the bottom. On my feet are leather shoes resembling moccasins with a rather unusual sole. Pieces of thick leather overlap each other like scales. And the "scales" run from the middle of the foot towards the toe and the heel. A similar principle is used in Nanai winter boots (or chuni). They sew hide with stiff fur on the heels and toes to prevent slipping when ascending or descending.

I felt the sole. It seems a denser material is sewn between the layers of leather to protect the foot and add stiffness. You can run over rough terrain and climb rocks in these moccasins. But they look, despite the dirt collected overnight, more like dress shoes than hiking footwear.

You should always keep your footwear in order. And a change of reality is no reason to abandon good habits. Using a bunch of grass, I started cleaning my moccasins as best I could.

Unexpectedly, I was interrupted by the locals.

– Good job, kid, cleaned them well! Now take them off, I like your tsurumaki.

Turning around, I saw the speaker and two of his companions. How did they approach so quietly that I didn't notice?

The speaker was wearing leather sandals, quite worn but allowing very quiet steps in the forest. He was dressed in short leather pants and a jacket with patches sewn on in several layers on the shoulders, sleeves, and chest. His companions were dressed much more lightly. They had pants and something like long shirts made of coarse fabric. The quality of their clothes was somewhere between "rags" and "tatters." One held a knobby club, the other – a pitchfork. The speaker held an axe with a long handle.

– Where did such a young and nice gentleman come from here? Anyway, wherever you came from, you're a fine lad! My zori are about to fall apart, and you've brought me such a wonderful new pair. Well, and thanks for the excellent keiko. It's not for me to wear such armor, but I know who to sell it to for good money.

The words this local thug was saying clearly had nothing to do with Russian or English lexicon and phonetics. But I understood his guttural speech perfectly. What to do in such a situation, however, I had no idea.

— So don't be shy, — the burly guy with the axe continued with a friendly smile, — hand over the footwear and the armor. Just don't grab for the sword. Draw the blade – we'll cut you down, but this way you'll strip and go on your way light. So let's have no foolishness.

While the leader was talking, distracting me, the other two were flanking me, pinning the victim in a pincer movement.

The audacity of this group really threw me off. Such robbery in broad daylight, and with such fancy phrases too… Although my reaction to thugs is standard. I wanted to smash their faces in.

Hey, guys – I looked over those flanking me without moving – Maybe there are more of you. Maybe you will kill me here. But even so, I'm wearing armor and I have a katana. I can take down one or two of you. And then what? I have nothing to lose, I'll die here. And won't you feel ashamed in front of your dead or maimed comrade? – I quickly glanced at those two and realized I was speaking in a language not my own, but there was no time to think. When they hesitated, I seized the moment and took a few confident steps towards the leader with the axe. He, quite pleased that the victim wasn't running, assumed a defensive stance and raised his axe.

That's what I was waiting for. As soon as he, with a yell (why does everyone yell when they want to strike?), swung back, I landed a right straight to his jaw. He was taller than me, so the punch went upward and with a characteristic sound snapped his teeth together. His head jerked back, the axe fell from his hands, and I immediately took off. There's no better self-defense than running away. Who knows, they might still pin the blame on me? And I'm not ready to kill and take that sin on my soul yet.

Those two ran after me with shouts but quickly fell behind. Running through the forest with a pitchfork or a large club is inconvenient, and those three didn't look like athletes. I'd heard stories about farmers forming criminal gangs during crop failure years. Maybe these are the same kind of opportunists.

Stop! What rumors about farmers? How do I even know these creeps looked like local farmers? Do I know something about this world? A very interesting question. I'll run further away and think about this.

When I was completely sure I had lost them, I switched to walking and changed direction. I can't stay put. Who knows, maybe there's a whole bunch of them roaming around. What if I run into real murderers? They won't even ask questions!

Soon I heard the clatter of hooves. Smearing my armor with mud and grass, I crouched down and crept towards the source of the noise.

It turned out to be a road, not a path. A wide road, on which a whole column of armed-to-the-teeth riders was moving in formation. They were armed in the local fashion. I didn't notice any firearms, just spears, swords, bows, etc.

Behind the riders, wagons with barrels and boxes trailed. Supplies… Hunger was beginning to set in, but it didn't occur to me to ask armed people to feed me. The experience of the last day didn't inspire trust. So I decided to go in the direction opposite to the column. It coincided with my original direction anyway, meaning I wouldn't head back to the place where the crazed samurai, or whatever they're called, attacked me. My orienteering lessons in high school taught me to always remember which way I'm going… I never understood why the teacher was so strict about it, but now I get it. Thank you, Stepan Valeryevich… for that D in Life Safety that I only passed on the fifth try.

Walking on the road was easier. Even though it was also dirt, the layer of forest litter compressed by horses and wooden wheels was much more pleasant than protruding roots and endless changes in terrain. And the bushes were no longer trying to poke my eyes out.

Some problems vanished, but new ones arose. Up to my ears in mud, in dense clothing, and under the scorching sun (the tree crowns along the road only partially shaded it), I was sweating more than during the most intense workouts. It was comparable to a sauna. The dark metal of the cuirass seemed to attract the sun's rays. Maybe I should have given it to the bandits? I'd be traveling light now…

The path led me to some hill. I left the road and climbed it to look around. Fortunately, there were significantly fewer trees on it, and the opposite slope was much steeper. This coincidence allowed me to see a river and a small settlement a couple of kilometers away.

Settling in the shade of a tree, I returned to analyzing the situation.

Now I'm absolutely sure I'm not in my familiar world. I speak a different language. In the place I've ended up, cold weapons are in use. I'm in a forest through which someone's cavalry is currently moving.

And yes, I was almost robbed by three ragged individuals whom I took for ruined farmers. But why did I think that? Not knowing this world and using logic, I could have thought they were, for example, deserters.

But I'm sure they're not deserters or shurda, but specifically farmers? Damn, what shurda? It seems that along with the body, I received not only a new language but also a certain set of concepts. I understand that shurda shouldn't be dressed like that and, most likely, I really encountered ruined free farmers.

I also realized I wasn't truly afraid of them. I felt that my sword skills would be enough to deal with them. I felt anger towards them, but I didn't want to draw the sword because they weren't worthy of dying by a noble weapon. That's an honor that must be earned. For such as them, there's the whip. But I didn't have a whip. What I did have were the fists of a Candidate for Master of Sports in boxing, who doesn't disdain punching a commoner in the smug face.

In my life, I've more than once taught arrogant punks who overestimated their strength. But I knew it's better not to go against a knife with bare fists. I remember Pashka. He ran into three drunk idiots who decided to shake him down for money in the park. When they stopped him and started hassling him with the theme: "lend some cash to the bros or the bros will get offended," Pashka immediately started handing out his favorite hooks. Within seconds, the hoodlums were knocked out, and Pashka spat and walked on, not noticing he'd been killed. While he was swinging his fists, one of the scumbags managed to give him a short, sharp stab from below with a Finnish knife blade.

The cut wasn't deep, but when Pashka, walking home after an easy victory, noticed he was bleeding out, it was too late. Internal bleeding killed him in a few minutes.

Therefore, when I moved towards the burly guy with the axe to knock him out, I was clearly not myself. An axe is serious cold steel. The fact that it's used for chopping wood doesn't mean you can treat it dismissively. Ivan the Terrible's Streltsy were armed with bardiches. And a bardiche is the same kind of poleaxe. And the Streltsy were the first regular troops in Russia. And don't think they were a formidable force because of their arquebuses. In the end, far more people died from bardiches than from lead bullets.

Thinking about it, I realized I walked towards the farmer knowing that he was slow and clumsy compared to me. He couldn't have hit me; he just wouldn't have been fast enough. I could have kicked him like a dog, but earthly habits took over, and I landed an uppercut to the jaw.

So it turns out I'm not entirely me. This body had another owner, whose habits are now influencing my behavior. But what about him now? Did he die or fall asleep? Maybe at any second an alternative ego could wake up in my head and start a showdown with me over the management of the newly acquired house of my immortal soul?

Or maybe this is some kind of simulation? Am I under anesthesia, connected to a virtual reality as part of a mad experiment by insane scientists in the service of the very best state?

No, unlikely. Everything I know about humans from my medical studies speaks against this version.

I also know for sure these aren't hallucinations. I already checked with a simple eyeball test. I pressed on my right and left eyeballs in turn. The image started to double, then restored. Hallucinations wouldn't double. A pity. It would be better to get treated for hallucinations than to end up in a medieval world where they try to kill you twice a day.

Chapter 2. A Wet Introduction and New Memories

The body raises many questions. Now let's look at the world around us. For example, at the settlement located on the riverbank. The river is small but deep, with a noticeable current flowing around protruding stones. A bit downstream, mist hovers over the water. The stream is cold, likely originating somewhere higher in the mountains. Both banks are quite steep. From the settlement side, a path is worn down the slope to the water, with posts and a railing installed along the steepest section. Probably, it would be impossible to walk such a path in the rain otherwise.

The wooden railing is made in a peasant style: simple and crude, but reliable. I had just focused my gaze on them when people appeared nearby. They didn't materialize out of nowhere. They had simply descended quickly and decisively down that very path. Several peasants, urged on by shouts from a few lagging fellow villagers, led a disheveled young man to the railing. He was emotionally exclaiming, trying to prove something.

But it seemed no one was going to listen to the guy. Two sturdy men grabbed him and tossed him over the railing right into the river. A canvas bag with his belongings flew after him.

What I did next was impulsive. I saw the kid being dragged by the current along the rocky riverbed.

At almost a run, I descended from the hill to the bank. I was approaching the settlement against the river's current, so the kicking and screaming guy in the foam and spray was carried straight towards me.

I can barely swim. And this was precisely the situation where a medical professional faces a choice: failure to provide assistance or providing unqualified assistance. However, I'm lucky, so a log lying across the river, about halfway through it, became the support for my actions. Good thing I'd figured out the armor's design beforehand. This allowed me to shed most of it before entering the water.

Twenty minutes of flailing, panic, cold, and choice Russian swear words could start a diesel engine in freezing weather. Let alone a kid half my weight, whom I managed to grab by the belt.

When I pulled him onto the bank, it became clear why he couldn't swim out. His hands and feet were tied, and he reeked of booze, even though he looked younger than the me from my memories.

— Ryu... Kafka... — he introduced himself, coughing. — I don't know who you are, sir... but I... am in your debt... — he breathed heavily, sitting on the clayey bank of the stream. — Allow me to know the name of my savior...

I tried to introduce myself in return, but my body refused to recall my familiar name. Only after half a minute did I utter:

— Dainsleif. Just Dains. — My brain vehemently denied the possibility of me having my old name or even a surname. The first words that came to mind were from a fantasy novel I'd read the day before. Dragon's sword... great. Since I said it, I'll have to bear this name now. — I sighed involuntarily. — And who might you be, Kafka Ryu, right?

— Yes. And I am an alchemist-inventor! I'll show you now! Where's my bag? Where? No-o-o! — He looked at the river and realized he probably wouldn't be able to catch up with all his gear now.

Genuine despair showed on the young man's face, and it was clear he was almost ready to jump back into the river after his bag, despite his bound limbs. But nothing was visible on the water's surface anymore.

— Any item can be replaced, — I tried to comfort the rescued alchemist, cutting his bonds with my sword.

He only sighed deeply at my words, watching the running water and rubbing his freed wrists. Then he finally turned to me:

— So... I worked for the local feudal lord, dealing with fertilizers, then started trying to make potions... And I succeeded! — He punched his chest, confirming the significance of his achievements. — And these ungrateful wretches, after a couple of glasses on credit from the tavern keeper... grr! They will yet learn my name! Kafka Ryu will show them!

— You're too young to be an alchemist... — I started recalling data from dubious reading material of years past and realized that even for basic chemistry, his lifetime wouldn't be enough.

— I have chosen the path of independent comprehension of alchemy's mysteries!

— So, self-taught... — I put my hand to my face. — But can you tell me anything about the local territory and customs? I'm from far away, I was robbed and left without a horse... I'd like to know a bit, so I don't always look like a tourist who knows nothing beyond his own nose.

— Tourist? Hic. What's a tourist? H-i-i-ic! — the young alchemist expressed his lack of understanding of the topic. How much did he drink if the river bath didn't sober him up? After catching his breath a little, he became drowsy again.

Maybe it's for the best; with a clear head, he would have asked far more questions about the story I'd concocted. I certainly blurted out nonsense about a tourist, and I could have kept quiet about the robbery. If he really is in service to the local feudal lord, he might insist on an investigation. If, of course, it's customary here to hunt down and punish robbers in their domain.

But since I said it, I'll stick to this version. I'm from far away, I was grabbed, robbed, and abandoned in unfamiliar territory.

A tourist is a traveler who goes on a journey for entertainment, having paid guides who will take care of his comfort and tell him interesting things about the lands they travel through. In my homeland, such leisure is popular among wealthy people.

Saying this, I helped Kafka up and led him away from the river to a drier spot. We passed a few bushes and came out into a relatively large clearing. The sun was already high.

— So, respected alchemist! We need to take off and hang our wet clothes to dry. They'll take forever to dry on us.

Soon we were undressed. In the process, I learned that in this world, it's customary to wear underwear. I was wearing a version of knee-length drawers. A simple cord replaced the elastic waistband familiar since childhood.

Kafka had similar underwear, but shorter.

I hung the clothes and armor on branches. Then I broke off a couple of sticks and put my tsurumaki on them. Good thing I didn't lose them while fishing the local alchemist out of the water.

Despite the sun, standing in wet underwear was chilly, and my new acquaintance began to sober up a bit.

— Sir, why don't you light a fire? We'll dry faster by the fire.

— I'd love to, but I don't have a flint. Maybe you know how to make fire without one?

— Of course I do! I know 38 ways to quickly produce fire using alchemy. But all my alchemical elements and tools were drowned in the river by those ignorant peasants! They will yet know my wrath! Just let me replenish my supplies! I'll make them regret their disbelief and stupidity. But, my kind sir, endowed with rare virtues, why don't you make the fire? You are of noble birth. Or do you grudge a single drop of blood?

A drop of blood? A strange question. What does my blood have to do with fire? A drop of blood. "Do you grudge a drop of blood?" — the question echoed in my head. But the voice no longer belonged to Kafka Ryu. It was the voice of a young girl. Even more of a girl who would soon become a maiden. She spoke in a capricious, pleading tone. And she was holding out a dagger to me with a hilt beautifully adorned with silver and bone. And I took that dagger and pricked the ring finger on my left hand. Then I squeezed a drop of blood from the puncture and shook it off.

The drop fell on the dry leaves and splattered. The sunlight highlighted every tiny droplet for my eyes, enveloping each in a three-colored rainbow. And then the blood burst into flame. Literally burst into flame, meaning it ignited on the dry leaves piled under the branches.

My sister didn't want to fuss with a flint. She was tasked with lighting the fire while our brothers were out hunting. The dry branches were stacked in a neat teepee. My sister has a heightened sense of beauty. Therefore, the twigs and leaves in the future fire resembled an ikebana arrangement put together by an artist. But she didn't want to light it herself. And I always found it hard to refuse my sister.

Father said that there's a flint for the fire, and burning blood over trifles means shouting to the whole world where you are and who you are. But that didn't stop my sister and me.

Stop! These aren't my memories. I don't have a sister! Well, I do, but a cousin. A lanky, nasty girl with big ears. Diana is two years older than me and always managed to ruin my holidays in the village. But this daughter of a mid-level manager from Kolomna definitely never had a dagger with a bone hilt trimmed in silver. And most importantly, my blood has never ignited under sunlight!

I really disliked cuts, but like any child, I scraped my knees and scratched my hands. Once at the beach, I cut myself on a shell and got blood on my sunglasses. I wore them in the heat under the sun for half a day. I only washed the blood off in the evening when I took the glasses off in the room and noticed the stain on the arm. The blood had dried and turned brown, but it didn't catch fire. And it shouldn't! These are protein cells floating in plasma. It's 92% water. How can it burn? Nonsense. Rubbish.

Chapter 3. Conversations on an Empty Stomach

After looking at the alchemist for half a minute and rummaging through my thoughts, I remembered the blood on my armor. It hadn't caught fire when it landed on it. So I took the knife from Kafka and pricked my ring finger. I recall it's safer to injure than others. The blood dripped onto the dry branches, but it had no effect.

— Well, burn already... — I looked curiously at the teepee of firewood. — Seems it doesn't work that way, you half-baked alchemist! — As I'd said before, I couldn't stand the sight of my own blood, so I almost lunged at Kafka.

But at that very moment, the drop flared up, and the firewood caught fire after it.

— It seems that for the blood to ignite, its presence alone isn't enough. You also need desire and... feelings! — Kafka looked in delight at the burning wood.

— How do you know all this?

— From rumors. An old mage said that nobles, connected by blood to demons, are capable of such things, even knowing nothing about magic or alchemy... But he said very few of them remain...

— So you decided to experiment on me?! — I got even angrier, and the flames grew stronger.

— I beg your forgiveness! — He immediately bowed and raised his clasped hands above his head. — I didn't know it would work myself! Lord Dainsleif, please, put your sword back in its scabbard!

— You... — I only just realized that my hands had reflexively reached for the sword, and I immediately lowered them. — In any case, we need to warm up...

I sat on the ground by the fire and sank into my thoughts. Images of the past floated before my eyes as if I were sitting in front of two monitors. I saw my past. My student years, workouts at my favorite gym, dates, family. But parallel to this, vague, sluggish, incomplete images surfaced, featuring people completely unfamiliar to me... or not people... I understood almost nothing of what was happening there; almost everything was blurry and indistinct.

Meanwhile, my body sat down in the lotus position. I didn't even notice. Again. This body sure comes with traditions. Kafka is already lying on his side, snoozing by the fire, and I'm here "meditating."

Nevertheless, I never liked digging around in my head for long, so I soon stood up and began practicing with the sword. The body clearly handled it well, while my mind was still too unprepared for such things.

Overall, while Kafka slept, I managed to do a bunch of things. Remembering videos where Indians built houses with pools using just a shovel and a machete, I felt inspired and carved a couple of short spears from relatively strong wood. Thankfully, the alchemist's knife is good, so I didn't have to dirty the sword.

While wandering through the forest, I saw many different animals, familiar to me, but there were also unusual specimens. Horned rabbits, for example, that don't run away but charge to ram you.

A sleeping alchemist who snores so loudly you can hear it thirty paces away, hunger that's already making my stomach cramp, a headache from trying to remember something – that's a brief description of my day. So I was really looking forward to handing the sharp sticks to Kafka and, as a hangover cure, sending him off to forage for food. Even if something hinted it was a bad idea, I was eager to implement it.

My clothes had dried. Unfortunately, swimming in clothes doesn't count as washing them, but I got rid of the sweat smell from hours of running over rough terrain. So I gladly pulled on my shirt and pants.

I decided to look at the purse I got along with the katana from the first native I met, this time in sunlight.

The coins were of two types. As far as I could tell, gold and silver. The silver ones were the size of a fingernail. On one side of the coins was a stamped profile of someone, and on the other was depicted the twisted claw of some bird of prey. The silver was tarnished in places, the coins themselves looked worn, and some were dented.

The gold ones were the size of a Soviet ruble with Lenin. One side of the coin had a scale-like pattern, and on the other, a dragon was spewing flame. These monetary tokens looked as if they had been stamped yesterday in a Chinese souvenir factory. Perfectly smooth and shiny in the sun. There were four gold coins in the purse, and about thirty silver ones. I put the money back into the leather pouch and fastened it to my belt. Unfortunately, I had absolutely no idea if I had a lot of money or a little. Was it enough to live well for a couple of years, or just for one lunch?

I examined the armor. The leather base to which the protective plates were attached had also dried. But I didn't suit up as a samurai right away. I noticed that silt had gotten between the plates and had now dried. I sat by the fire and began cleaning the armor with a knife, a wood chip, a bunch of grass, and profanity. When wet, it could have been cleaned in a couple of minutes, but now I'd have to fuss.

I could have worn it as is, but that's disrespectful to myself and to the gear, which is clearly expensive. Scraping out the dried silt and sand, I tried to figure out what the protective plates were made of. The material was dense, though clearly lighter than iron, and strong. I couldn't bend the thinnest plate by pressing it against a stone on the ground. The surface was smoothly polished, but not shiny, rather matte. And judging by the feel, I consider it my own thing, which I've grown accustomed to over time.

While picking out dirt from under the shoulder plate with a chip, I felt I was catching on something. I slipped my pinky finger in and felt a small object firmly stuck near the plate's attachment point. I pried it out with my fingernail. Wiping off the silt, I saw a ring made of white metal with a deep red stone.

While cleaning it, I realized it was stained not only with silt. It seemed the ring had been pressed into a piece of wax to then stick it between the armor plates. But besides wax and silt, this lump seemed to contain congealed blood. An interesting find.

I tried the ring on my ring finger. The size fit, but I wasn't sure it was my ring. Thinking for a moment, I decided to return the find to its hiding place for now. I thoroughly kneaded a piece of wax with my fingers and stuck the ring back under the shoulder plate. I think whoever hid it had reasons to conceal the jewelry from prying eyes. And the congealed blood is cause for concern.

Finishing the cleaning, I put on the keiko (that's what the burly guy with the axe who wanted to rob me called my armor) and tied several straps on the sides, securing the construction. I tried moving around. A bit tight. I loosened one strap. Now it was perfect. I love it when clothes and gear are in order.

But my mood is seriously spoiled by a strong feeling of hunger. In the last twenty-four hours, I've only eaten a handful of dubious berries, and the half-hour swim in the mountain stream burned enough calories for a couple of full meals.

I approached Kafka and started shaking him by the shoulder. The guy either has a very clear conscience or really tied one on. He sleeps like a baby. He'd nestled himself between the fire and a bush on which he'd hung his clothes to dry. I couldn't sleep half-naked like that without a blanket. The fire only warms you from one side. And there's a draft. Either his resilience is more serious than what I had in my past life, or, again, alcohol is calling the shots.

— Respected alchemist, wake up. Your clothes are dry, and I strongly recommend getting dressed to avoid dying from a cold.

The guy finally unstuck his eyes and sat up. For about five seconds he tried to understand what was happening, then his gaze became more conscious.

— Ah, Lord Dansclein, my kind savior. Indeed, I should dress, — the youth hastily pulled his shirt off the bush. Seems he was getting chilly.

— Not Dansclein, but Dainsleif. I told you to call me Dains. That way you won't mess it up as much.

— Sorry, Dains, you have a very unusual name. My name is ordinary, like noodles with broth. Throw three stones into a crowd, and one will definitely hit a Kafka. The not-unknown-to-me esotericist* old Date Musashi once drank a bottle and a half of plum liqueur with me in company and authoritatively told me that the name Kafka exists in all the worlds of the infinite fan…

— Quite possible, my young friend. But answer me, do you know how to forage for food in the forest?

Kafka stared at me in bewilderment. My question seemed to knock him off his favorite topic.

— Not exactly very well, Lord Dains. But why do you ask?

— Because I don't know about you, but I got hungry after the swim, and I have no food.

— I think it's easier to get food in settlements than in the forest. But… But I wouldn't want to return to Ogoz. You see… I want to meet its inhabitants only after I've prepared everything necessary to avenge my suffering! How dare that peasantry treat me like that!? But the next village is about a day's walk away. So, perhaps, your suggestion to look for sustenance in the forest makes sense.

Saying this, Kafka got dressed. Then he went to the middle of the clearing and looked around.

— I see blackberry bushes, but the berries aren't ripe yet. Sour stuff, in a word. We can look for mushrooms. There are quite a few in the forest now, but you can't get full on mushrooms without rice and vegetables.

— What about meat? Are you a hunter?

— Not really. A couple of times I participated in my daimyo's* hunts, when the beaters drove deer and boars. But I don't possess the noble art of the bow, and I lack the courage to face a boar with a spear. The only real hunting I've done is for pongs.

— What are pongs?

— Aren't they found in your lands? They're a type of rodent. They don't come up to a man's knee, they have fluffy fur, a short tail, long ears, and small sharp horns, — Kafka described those very horned rabbits that had charged at me while I was wandering alone through the thicket.

— Is it hard to hunt these pongs?

— Not at all hard. Pongs are amazing because if someone taller than them enters their territory, they charge and butt them with their little horns. They live in colonies of about a hundred in burrows. The adult males attack. There are usually five or seven of them per colony. Their horns break off easily. But pulling them out of a wound is incredibly difficult. They're barbed and crumble if you pull on them. But if you wrap your boots in straw, you don't have to worry much and can deal with them using a spear.

— What do they taste like?

— Their meat is quite tender. But the peasants value their ears the most. They marinate them in a spicy sauce and then fry them over coals until crispy.

— Well, then it seems we're going pong hunting. I've already organized spears for us. Now we just need to wrap something around our legs.

— Sorry, Dains, but counting on catching pongs might be a bit presumptuous. Peasant children regularly search the surroundings for their colonies. So, finding a place where they've made their burrows near the village is practically impossible. Hunting for them mainly consists of the search itself.

— Well then, I suggest we assess the ripeness of the blackberries. Then we'll take our spears and go for a little walk. I actually came across one such pong a while ago. It wanted to butt me, but I met it with the sole of my tsurumaki and sent it flying. Then I noticed another one and decided to move away from the strange horned creatures. They didn't chase me.

— You were very lucky. Pongs guard a territory a few paces around their underground nest. Predators usually leave them alone. Even a small wound from a pong's horn heals very poorly. So neither foxes nor wolves hunt them. But anyway, that's all unimportant. Show me quickly the place where you saw them. My mouth is already watering. I haven't eaten pong in a couple of years.

— And you can cook them over a fire?

— But of course. It's simple. There are two traditional ways to cook pong over a fire, — the alchemist was clearly excited by the upcoming hunt. — In the first method, you skin it. The skin comes off easily, like a stocking. You remove the innards, skewer the carcass on a stick, and roast it over coals for about fifteen minutes. Under the pong's skin there's a layer of fat half a finger thick, and the meat is tender. So it roasts wonderfully. You'll lick your fingers even without salt. The second method takes a bit longer but is a bit simpler. Remove the innards. Then coat it in liquid clay or river silt and bury it in the hot embers. Then you just need to maintain the fire for about an hour. The clay bakes into a hard crust. You get a ceramic vessel inside which is a baked carcass with amazingly juicy and tender meat. Dains, forget this sour blackberry, take me to your pong spot quickly! I'm already drooling on my sandal.

— No, Kafka. First, we'll eat some berries. I saw that place several hours ago and I'm not at all sure I can find it. This way we'll at least put something in the furnace.

— Well, alright... — the alchemist was clearly not thrilled.

Chapter 4. A Hunt Gone Wrong

I used to like cranberries and other similar sour berries. But my companion, apparently, was not a fan of such things, as every berry made him wince.

"How can you even eat these?" the alchemist spat after another handful of blackberries and wiped his lips with his sleeve. "These berries are only good for decoctions! Even with honey, it's just vile sour stuff!"

"Come on, don't be like that. Where I'm from, the berries were even more sour. These are actually sweet," I said, tossing another handful into my mouth. "At least there are plenty of them, and they soothe the stomach."

"Argh! They just irritate it! I can't wait to hunt some pongs..."

"Let's go then. I think it's that way," I said with a confidence I didn't feel. But after half an hour of walking, the area really did seem familiar.

"That's right, Kafka, I passed through here. I even broke branches along the way as markers..."

"Leaving marks in the forest is important," Kafka smiled, washing down the berries with water from his flask. "Even experienced hunters who leave no visible traces use some kind of markers. They say some use witchcraft..." the alchemist started reminiscing about something.

I just listened. Even though in his eyes I looked like an experienced and probably noble gentleman, in reality, I was only three days old in this world, and I myself wanted to learn more about the place where I would have to try to survive.

After an hour of walking, I happened to find out that I was a strange "gentleman." I didn't know far too many simple basics. Usually, people of "my" level dedicate themselves to the art of combat. Less often - to magic. But even though mages are respected among the people, the government actively fights them, either exiling them to remote islands or simply sending them to the scaffold for the slightest offense. So magic has to be hidden.

Along the way, we came across thickets of tall grass, similar to nettle but not stinging to the touch. Kafka said that young grass is used as a salad or a soup seasoning. But now its stems had toughened, and the leaves had developed a bitterness. The grass was no longer good for food, but now fibers could be extracted from it to make ropes or yarn for coarse fabric.

This grass came in handy for us too. We cut several good bundles and fashioned leg protection from them. Three twisted stems could be used as a cord, which we used to tie these bundles to our shins.

Considering the acquired thick, but 100% eco-friendly greaves, we now walked with a waddle, leaning on our spears. Kafka continued to chatter about everything under the sun.

It turned out that the shogunate is divided into four large provinces by cardinal directions. The capital is located at the junction of the northern and western ones, while we were currently in the south. Although this island nation is considered united, the provinces often fight for various reasons, and each has its own center. I was apparently wearing a northern officer's uniform. Kafka had only seen one like it once, when the south last fought the north.

The alchemist had just begun to tell how his father served his lord during the defense of a border fortress when we suddenly heard someone speaking about ten meters away from us.

Kafka fell silent, and we both crouched down. We lowered ourselves smoothly to avoid attracting attention. The voices sounded loud, and it seemed their owners were fighting something or someone.

Curiosity got the better of us, and we decided to find out what was happening. Standing behind large trees in the thick of the forest, we were hard to spot, so we felt confident in our safety.

The scene that unfolded was as follows. On a half-overgrown road stood a small cart. In front of it lay a dead horse with broken legs and a torn neck. Two people were standing on the cart, and three more were around it. Those on the ground held spears and tried to fend off some small creatures. They were hard to see, but we understood they were pongs.

"Look at those rabbits go..." I hissed.

"This doesn't look like their usual behavior. They usually avoid roads. But apparently, this one hasn't been used for so long that they got brave enough to make a nest here," Kafka peered closer. "One of the warriors is wounded. He's limping badly on his leg. If we don't help them now, someone will probably die. The people on the cart don't look like they can fight..."

"Wait," I stopped Kafka, who was ready to rush forward. "This no longer looks like a standard hunt. We could get hurt ourselves. And the people on the cart in black robes... they seem suspicious to me..."

"I agree. Not everyone can afford guards... even dilettantes like these cost silver..." Kafka stopped again and continued observing.

After a few minutes of shouts, we began to make out articulate speech. By this time, all the "guards" had also climbed onto the cart, and the pongs were jumping around and occasionally ramming the vehicle.

"Lord Sato, we have a wounded man. Even if we fend off the pongs now, we won't be able to take the cargo with us."

"This is all your fault!" a rough voice barked back. "You promised us a reliable path that no one knows about, a safe way to get to the Southern Wind fortress! And you led us into some backwoods, got our horse killed, and now you're telling us to abandon the cargo?!" The man in the robe slapped the guard.

"I apologize," he bowed before him, but Lord Sato himself immediately pushed him off the cart.

The pongs didn't wait, and at least three horns pierced the screaming poor wretch's body in different places.

"Brother!" the wounded guard cried out and rushed after him to the ground, but it was too late.

Then the man howled, bared his teeth, and lunged at the man in the robe, for which he received a strong blow to the face. But the momentum was enough for both to fall out of the cart, and, judging by the cries of those two, their bodies were weighed down by a couple of horns inserted into newly formed openings.

"Sato-san!" came the voice of the second person in the robe. It was thinner, which was impossible not to notice.

Its owner jumped to the ground, started shaking the man, but there was no response. Then he opened his clothes and found a horn sticking out of his stomach.

"Looks like there are more than ten pongs," Kafka observed the events quite dispassionately now. "That bastard got what he deserved... a horn in the guts... can't be cured now..."

"Wait... can pongs be black?" I saw one very aggressive-looking beast that kept circling the cart.

It ran back a few meters and then charged the cart in leaps. Gaining speed, it jumped high and landed with its front paws on the side of the cart. There, it was met with a spear blow from the last unharmed guard. He hit it from the side, like a club, knocking the dangerous beast off the edge of the cart like a golf ball. The successful blow seemed to surprise the guard himself. A rather young and clumsy guy lost his balance after the strike and fell to the bottom of the cart.

"They can. And it's very good that this one has no horn left," Kafka squinted. "They're poisonous. It doesn't matter where it strikes, poisoning is poisoning. Without an antidote, at best you'll lie in a fever with terrible pain... and if you're unlucky, your muscles will start contracting and then clench so hard that some bones will break and tendons will tear, your face will twist into a terrible, uncontrollable smile, and then your breathing will stop... it usually takes about six hours... Not sure you'd reach a healer... so it's better to avoid such pongs..."

"A neuroparalytic poison... a terrible thing..." I remembered a few from my world. It most reminded me of tetanus toxin.

At least three more horned rodents were jumping around the cart.

"I didn't understand what you said," Kafka scratched his head. "Decide, Lord Dine... if we don't intervene now, they'll probably all die... These black creatures are not only poisonous but also quite agile." Kafka checked the grass bundles on his legs and tightened his grip on the spear.

"Alright, let's go, but without rushing. You control the movements on the left, I'll take the right. We're moving to the tree next to the cart," I might regret this decision, but I don't want to just watch people die.

We moved out, holding our spears in front of us. The first pong jumped at Kafka when we were about ten steps from the cart. We had just emerged from behind the trees. The horned rodent reacted to the new threat and, pushing off with its powerful hind legs, threw its body at the alchemist. It was flying at a height just below the waist towards his thigh, unprotected by the grass.

"Hok!" the guy shouted and unexpectedly deftly caught the carcass on his spear. The sharpened point entered the pong's neck and exited its back. Kafka twisted the spear with effort, and the now dead rodent flew aside. Just in time. Another horned one was already jumping at the guy. It seemed there were far more than three or four of them here.

Confirming this unpleasant thought, two black carcasses rushed towards me simultaneously. I met the first one with my spear. I don't know how it happened, but I hit the screaming rabbit right in the mouth. The stake went in about halfway through the carcass. I tried to shake my first catch off the spear, but the pong, dying, clenched its teeth dead tight on the stick. With such a fluffy tip, the spear became very difficult to use. I managed to knock the second pong off course, but that was it. It flew past me, brushing against my left knee. I twisted the spear with all my might, but the carcass of the damned pong wouldn't come off.

And the pong that had missed had already turned around and was rushing at me again. I grabbed the spear closer to the end, and when the pong jumped, aiming for my stomach, I dodged, blocking it with the carcass of its kin. The rodent flew back and hit a tree but remained intact enough to charge again. And to my misfortune, another horned one joined it.

The first pong jumps, I dodge, covering myself with the acquired carcass, the second pong jumps, and I repeat the maneuver. Then the first one jumped again. They jumped predictably enough, and I had time to dodge. It somewhat resembled a rodeo, only there were two bulls, they weighed about eight kilograms each, and had fragile, deadly poisonous horns.

This type of pong clearly differed from the white ones not only by the poison on their horns but also by increased jumping ability. The trouble was, they mostly jumped at heights from the knee to the waist. And it was precisely at that height that I had no protection from their horns. We had wrapped our legs with grass only up to the knees, and the high-quality armor protected the torso but did not cover the thighs from a blow from below.

Yeah, just my luck to end up in another world and die from being butted in the rear by a mutant rabbit's horn.

But the situation stopped being funny when two more black beasts started running towards me.

"Sir, drop the spear, use your sword!" Kafka was already standing by the designated tree and had shaken off another pong from his spear. He stood with his back to the tree and fought back in relative safety.

Seems the alchemist thinks faster than me. I dropped my one-time-use spear and grabbed the blade.

I don't know if the owner of this body specifically learned to kill pongs, but cutting them turned out to be surprisingly easy. I noticed where the pong was running from, flexed my knees, took a step to the side, and delivered one strong blow. As a result, the rodent flew past me already in two pieces.

After the sixth chopped-up horned one, the attackers suddenly ended. Peering cautiously into the tall grass, I approached Kafka, at whose feet lay five defeated pongs. One was still alive, kicking its hind legs. Whether trying to attack the enemies or escape, its broken spine wouldn't let it turn over, and only its claws flashed uselessly in the air. Approaching, I ended its suffering, then looked around.

The first thing that caught my attention was the dead horse. The injuries inflicted on the poor animal were frightening.

"Careful!" the person in the robe pointed a finger behind our backs.

There, in the tall grass, something was flickering every now and then. We immediately prepared to repel a new attack from the horned ones. I took a defensive stance, and Kafka took a deep breath, swinging his spear.

At that moment, a prolonged howl, like thunder from a clear sky, echoed throughout the area. The movement in the grass stopped and then quickly moved away from us. The person in the robe, who turned out to be a teenager, immediately fell to his knees and covered his ears. The guard fell onto the cart bed on his backside. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Kafka shudder. My own blood ran cold, and my heart sank into my heels.

Chapter 5. New Acquaintances, New Questions

"Hounds," Kafka said quietly. "We have to run, and urgently. Leave everything!"

His last words were addressed to the people in the cart.

"What hounds?" I asked.

"Wild beasts. Wolves, dogs, or huge rats, who the hell knows. An avalanche of flesh, bones, and teeth, sweeping away everything edible in its path. The smell of blood, pongs, and people can attract them. Usually, these creatures stay in their nests and don't come out until mating season, but apparently, this is a hungry year for them, so they don't mind attacking even pongs. Quickly, wash off the blood if you have anything, and run as fast as you can," he threw down his spear and tore the wrappings from his legs, then ripped the sleeves from his shirt because they had blood droplets on them.

I wiped my sword and used water from a wineskin in the cart to wash off everything on it and my armor. The two survivors in the cart did the same. The guard took off his shirt and washed his hands as best he could, and the mysterious figure in the cloak finally threw it off.

Under the gray-black garment was clothing that, while simple at first glance, its quality betrayed the status of its owner.

A boy in a hat that completely covered his hair, a shirt covering his body up to the neck, and blue-green trousers jumped off the cart with a slightly awkward movement.

"We need to run crosswind," Kafka raised a finger. "If we go against it, they'll find us immediately; if we go with it, we'll run right into the pack."

"Brothers..." The guard looked at his fallen comrades. "I..."

At that moment, I nodded to Kafka and grabbed the guard by the shoulder. He immediately followed us, understanding that honoring his comrades' memory would have to wait. We ran. Moving fast was difficult, especially for the boy, who kept clutching first his right, then his left side. Kafka supported him under the arm. The guard did the same. We ran like that for about an hour in a direction completely unknown to me. We passed a ravine, and Kafka stopped. He pressed his ear to the ground.

"The rumble is fading. We missed them. But there are so many of them. We need to keep running," he brushed the dirt from his face. "Where could so many hounds come from here? You usually don't find them in these forests at all... and a couple of drops of blood wouldn't attract such an avalanche..."

"I saw a column of soldiers moving along the road through the forest while I was going to the river," I remembered that detail for some reason.

"So that's it..." Kafka was breathing heavily, "either the creatures are following them... or... they disturbed them somehow..."

"I wasn't made... for such adventures..." he plopped onto the ground, "two minutes to catch my breath..." he pointed to the boy, who was now just hanging onto the guard.

"Keep listening for the sound," I said to Kafka. "And you, at least introduce yourselves..." I also turned my gaze to our new companions.

"I am Saburo Kichi..." the guard began, "the third brother... We were escorting the masters from the border fortress all the way here... when the eared ones attacked us. We had never seen such beasts. Wolves, bears, even the magical creatures of the north... they're not so desperate and aggressive. And these... you can't scare them off with fire or spears... And they get angrier with each death of their own... so we got stuck here... An old man from the city directed us to this path. My elder brother was friends with him. He said the path was safe... May he rot! If I find him, I'll kill him! I'll stake my head on it, but I'll kill him!"

"Quiet..." I hissed at him. "I'm sorry for your loss. We'll drink to the fallen when we reach a settlement. For now, we need to save our own lives. My name is Dainsleif. Just Dains is fine. I'm a former mercenary. Retired now." I was making up the story on the fly. "And this is Kafka, an alchemist. We've been traveling together recently."

"Iris Fugo..." the boy managed to say. "From the Iris family... Mr. Sato was accompanying me... He was my teacher... of calligraphy..." the young man coughed, "We were supposed to reach the Southern Port. But you know what happened next..." he started coughing again.

Apparently, his body wasn't suited for such exertion. And his shoes bothered me quite a bit. Closed leather shoes, green in color, with a pattern roughly painted over.

"The Northern Iris?" Kafka's eyes widened. "Those Iris?!"

"No, no," the boy started waving his hands, "just namesakes... what would someone of such high birth be doing here at a time like this?"

"You're right..." Kafka put his ear to the ground again. "It's quiet... we got lucky..."

"And where do we go now?" I looked at him questioningly. "Come on, guide. I don't know much around here."

In response, I heard a meaningful rumbling from stomachs. Both mine and Kafka's. We'd been on our feet all day. Evening was approaching. We hadn't had anything but sour berries since yesterday. Our companions looked better, but give them three hours, and they wouldn't be able to take their hands off their stomachs either.

As soon as our breathing stabilized, we all got up together and continued in the same direction. We walked quickly, feeling a serious threat left behind. The boy had the hardest time, but fear helped him keep up with our pace. We allowed ourselves to relax only after about an hour. For most of the way, Saburo's face was either a frozen mask or twitching with a tic. Suddenly, he picked up a stick from the ground and started beating an ash tree with all his might.

"No! No! It shouldn't be like this!" The stick shattered into splinters, and the young man started punching the tree trunk with his fists. "Shito! Kabuko! Why?!"

A minute later, he ran out of strength and sank to the ground, sobbing. Blood from his bruised fists remained on the bark.

Kafka approached the guy and sat down next to him.

"I didn't know your brothers, but accept my condolences. They were warriors and died protecting others from poisonous creatures. It was a worthy death! Your brothers will be reborn into a good world. You couldn't bury them properly, but in war and on the road, the dead don't choose their graves," the alchemist spoke in a quiet but confident voice, and the young guard calmed down a bit. "Do you have parents left?"

"No, father died during the war with the West, and mother died last summer," the guy sobbed once more and then spoke relatively calmly. "After she was gone, Shito suggested we hire ourselves out as guards together. He used to be a mercenary and taught me and Kabuko. If I had trained better, maybe they wouldn't have died! I got scared of those horned ones and jumped into the cart with the masters. Kabuko was wounded, and then..."

"And then your employer pushed your brother off the cart!" I interrupted his self-flagellation. "Shito's death is primarily on his conscience, but he's already paid for it himself."

"Yes, Saburo, there's no point in blaming yourself for others' crimes," Kafka spoke again. "You did what you could. If it weren't for you, the horned ones would have gotten to this boy too. You saved his life today. And if your brothers died, then your duty to your clan is to survive and raise new sons for yourself, for Shito, and for Kabuko."

"Saburo," Fugo spoke in a high, breaking voice, "accept my condolences as well. And also accept my gratitude. You honestly fulfilled your duty. Shito-san acted unworthily in the face of danger. If it weren't for him, Sato might still be alive. And if it weren't for you, I would also be lying next to the cart."

"Ryu Kafka, Lord Dainsleif, I thank you," Fugo continued, "only your intervention allowed Saburo and me to remain alive. You nobly came to our aid, and now I am in your debt."

The boy spoke seriously and carried himself with dignity. Clearly, he wasn't from a family of simple laborers.

"We acted as honest people should," Kafka answered for us, "but thank Lord Dainsleif first. It was he who decisively moved to help you while I was beset by doubts. Moreover, he already saved my life this morning. So if it weren't for him, we would all have gone to rebirth by now."

"Come on, Kafka," I couldn't help but say, "your merits are no less. I didn't know alchemists were so skilled with a spear."

"That's all my father. He never lost hope of making a warrior out of me and drilled the skill of handling weapons into me, although since childhood I preferred spending time reading books. Thanks to my kind mother, she supported me, and I was able to go to study at a terakoya* instead of swinging a wooden sword all day. There I was lucky with a mentor who, like me, longed to uncover the secrets of the universe. His knowledge of the sciences wasn't deep, but he taught me to search for precious veins of knowledge on the pages of books and at the laboratory bench myself. But let's move away from my path as an alchemist and return to pressing matters. Our lives are still in danger. And this time it's not poisonous horned ones or bloody hounds, but the cruelest enemy that is ready to pursue a person all his life! I'm talking about hunger. My stomach, forgive me, is rumbling. Lord Dainsleif and I actually went into the forest looking for lunch, and now it's already dinnertime."

"Our supplies are back in the cart, but we can't return there in the next few hours," said Saburo, who had now quite calmed down. "The nearest settlement I know is several hours' walk from here, but at this time of year, it's easy to find blacknightshade berries in the forest."

"No, no! Not blacknightshade," Kafka grimaced as if he had swallowed half a kilo of lemons. "I can't stand another cluster of that sour stuff."

"Well, then we can find felt cherry, hazelnut, or wood sorrel."

"Just not wood sorrel," Kafka grimaced again. "My jaw aches just from the name. Let's better look for hazelnuts."

And they say a streak of bad luck can't last forever. I readily believe it, because after about an hour of brisk, hungry walking, we stumbled into a bush of wild hazelnuts. Of course, a significant part of it was inedible—it wasn't the season, and the nuts themselves were small—but a whole clearing compensated for quality with quantity.

After some makeshift food that made our companions wince (we, sustained on berries, were already learned in forest life), Saburo started a fire using his flint, dry leaves, and bark. Within half an hour, we were sitting around the fire.

The smell of sweat coming from my body irritated me. Because of the armor, I couldn't dry off properly, so I decided to take off the iron and turn the undergarment inside out. Even though I didn't fully trust my new companions, it was obvious that the more of us there were, the easier it was to survive. Everyone followed my example except the youth. He was probably lightly dressed anyway and had already dried off by the fire.

We roughly distributed the watch schedule based on the amount of firewood. Each had a pile of branches that they added little by little so the fire would last until morning. When the branches ran out, that person would wake the next one. We decided to leave the young one for the early morning. I volunteered to take the last shift.

When my companions had already gone to sleep, there was little to do. The darkness completely consumed the fire's light just ten meters away. Beyond that was only the dim moonlight breaking through the layer of clouds and tree crowns. Staring into the unchanging darkness was boring, and looking at the fire was impractical because afterwards you couldn't see anything in the dark. Under these conditions, I decided to analyze what had happened to me over the last two days.

I had managed to save the alchemist Kafka's hide, and he turned out to be a really useful companion. He's clearly not what he seemed at first. Not a drunken scholar who can't do anything outside his workshop walls, but a young man experienced beyond his years, who knows literally everything about everything. I wonder if he overheard all this while drinking at the tavern or learned it from his own experience... doesn't matter. It's good that he's quite open. You want to trust him. Saburo Kichi didn't look much like an experienced guard, more like a novice. His stance was completely unstable, he had enough stamina, but there was a feeling that he wasn't confident in a single one of his movements. I don't know where these thoughts come from. Probably my body is suggesting them. Nevertheless, he doesn't seem dangerous. Most likely, his head is full of thoughts about losing his brothers. But the boy raises a lot of suspicions in me. Iris Fugo. That's what he called himself. Maybe his teacher was good at hiding information, but the youth himself seems to scream that he's trying to hide something. But let his secret remain a secret until morning. He's been through too much in the past day to say anything...

Meanwhile, my shift was coming to an end. I was about to wake Kafka when I heard a much thinner voice than during the day. "Father... please, I don't want to get married..." The sound came from Fugo, still asleep but tossing and turning considerably.

At that moment, my lips tensed, my eyes rolled, and after a long sigh, my hand, like the manipulator of some cartoon robot, took the last of my firewood and threw it into the fire. A question, cold on one hand, yet extremely emotionally charged, sounded in my head: "What?!"

I ended up in another world and the very next day I save the life of a girl disguised as a boy, who was being taken to be married off against her will... This is such a cliché from fairy tales and fantasy!

I need to double-check the dream or delirium theory... Stop! I was in quarantine. A mutated virus was decimating the population. Symptoms include high fever, loss of taste and smell, headache, etc. Maybe I'm lying at home with a fever of forty and delirious? Could my subconscious have invented a world with floating islands and poisonous horned rabbits, where my blood ignites in the sun?

Given my personal phobia of blood loss, the theory isn't without merit. And the fact that I hardly remember the first night I spent here? I appeared in a building with mosaic walls, where a guy who looked like a samurai almost chopped me down. I knocked him out and ran away, taking his sword and wallet. What's the real chance of defeating a swordsman with your fists? And then several hours of blankness! Only vague memories of running through the forest.

But today was very long and eventful. Right now I'm sitting in an undergarment turned inside out. My back is cold. There's stubble on my cheeks. I already smell noticeably of sweat, and my hands, bitten by mosquitoes during the night, are itching. If I'm delirious, it's very realistic delirium.

And also, someone else's memories are surfacing in my head. Or is it more correct to say that my memory surfaced in someone else's head?

Lost in thought about the incomprehensibility of my existence, I didn't notice that I had sat down in the lotus position again. "Ha-i-e! O-d-du! Ha-i-e! O-d-du... In-h-a-a-a-le! Ex-h-a-a-a-le!" raced through my head.

Habitually, I pulled myself towards the sky by an invisible point on the crown of my head, straightened my back, shifted my tailbone, and began breathing with my diaphragm. A lesson heard and repeated many times surfaced in my memory: "If a warrior feels confusion of spirit, he must clear his mind! In-h-a-a-a-le! Ex-h-a-a-a-le! A warrior inhales only calm and exhales all that is unnecessary! A house can only be built on an empty, level place! In-h-a-a-a-le! Ex-h-a-a-a-le! A correct decision can only be made by clearing one's mind..."

In my former life, I never read tantras and didn't understand meditation as a phenomenon. For me, it was all associated with the heroine Irina Muravyova from an old Soviet film, where she, together with her plain-looking friend, chants in a duet: "I am the most charming and attractive..."

But now I felt that meditation is a real force. First, my well-being improved. As if I had slept well and had breakfast according to healthy lifestyle recommendations. And my emotions subsided; thinking became easier. Only now did I understand what turmoil my poor brain had been in lately.

Continuing to breathe slowly and evenly, I began to remember how Getsu-san taught me meditation. I was sitting in a new kimono on a mat on the veranda of our house and was very proud that I had started training like a real warrior. I had turned five today, and my father had given me my first wooden sword. Sitting with a straight back on the prickly mat was uncomfortable, but I diligently stretched the back of my head towards the sky and breathed deeply, repeating after the mentor: "Ha-i-e! O-d-du! Ha-i-e! O-d-du". The smell of flowering cherry blossoms covering the mountainside tickled my nostrils. Serious concentration was distracted by thoughts of the sakura-mochi* my mother was preparing today. I imagined the taste of the treat so vividly that my stomach rumbled shamefully and I lost my breath.

Repeating the body owner's childhood memories, a serious rumbling also sounded in my stomach. Last night's dinner of unripe nuts was rather meager, and the young body demanded calories after the endured exertion.

To distract myself from thoughts of food, I decided to warm up. I did a ten-minute routine I tried to do in the mornings. Then I started practicing kata with the sword. My stiff body warmed up, the slight soreness in my legs eased. I remembered yesterday's run and the subsequent search for food. We had covered about fifteen to twenty kilometers over mountainous terrain. In my usual body, I wouldn't have been able to get out of bed normally after such exertion.

By the time I finished warming up, it was already fully light. Saburo got up and also did warm-up exercises for about five minutes. His movements showed he was performing a familiar set of exercises, but he still moved rather clumsily in my opinion.

Kafka also woke up but wasn't in a hurry to get up. Instead, he stretched, yawned sweetly, and turned over on his other side. It seemed the fact that he had slept without a blanket on hastily laid branches didn't bother him at all.

Fugo woke up. Or did she wake up? After what I heard at night, I looked more closely. A lean figure was hidden by the cloak. At first I was surprised by such a garment, but last night I wouldn't have refused one myself. The spacious cloak, somewhat resembling a monk's robe, was long, reaching mid-calf. At night, you could just tuck your legs in, curl up, and sleep wrapped in the dense fabric. During the day, he took off his cloak but remained in a spacious shirt. His wrists and ankles were quite thin, his skin clean, his features soft. His lips were rather thin, but his eyelashes were thick and long. All this could belong to a young girl or a teenage boy. And the fact that he muttered "…I don't want to get married" in his sleep doesn't necessarily mean anything. Who knows what a person might dream about. I've got a whole second personality dug into my head, for instance.

It suddenly occurred to me that I could have woken up in this world in a female body. I broke out in a cold sweat at the thought. I got lucky! I'm a young and strong guy, can put on a fire show with a drop of blood. But I could have woken up as a fat woman in her forties, with cellulite and three spoiled children. Phew!

In any case, I won't try to find out the gender of my new acquaintance right now. But there are already many questions about him. He and his teacher were going to the Southern Wind Fortress and were carrying some, probably valuable, cargo, for which they hired guards with the condition that they be taken along a little-traveled road. Even with my lack of understanding of local realities, it's hard not to guess that they were either running from someone or very afraid that the contents of the cart might be stolen.

Too many questions in my head. As a result, I didn't sleep at all. The exertion knocked out the sleepiness, but I didn't get any more energy. Hunger wouldn't be felt as strongly after sleep, but what's done is done. The boy was already finishing his pile of kindling, so I started shaking Kafka awake. Saburo woke up on his own. Apparently, he couldn't sleep deeply either.

Time passed, and dawn soon gave way to a fairly clear morning. The dew disappeared from the grass and bushes, and by that time we were dressed and ready to go. No one wanted to go back to the cart. I didn't even suggest that option. If those "hounds" had been there, we wouldn't find anything good. At least, nothing edible.

In this situation, Saburo decided to become our guide. First, he took off his belt and skillfully climbed a tree to check the direction. I couldn't watch calmly. Just imagining myself in his place made my palms go numb. But this guy deftly climbed to the very top and came down just as quickly.

"I see a hilltop and a gap between the trees, probably a river," he started drawing roughly in the ashes from the fire with a stick, depicting the area. "If I'm not mistaken, the settlement should be right here. It's a small village, but we can find food there. My late brother said he was there about 10 years ago as a mercenary, and they treated him to good wine."

"Is that the village Kafka was thrown out of?" I asked, rubbing my chin.

"Uh-ne-e-e-," he made a long sound. "Those ungrateful pigs live here, if you look from the hill," he pointed with the stick to a place downriver. "It's closer, but I'd rather die of hunger than go back there!"

"Let's take that into account..." I stretched. "Half a day of hungry walking... This has never happened before, and now it's happening again..."

"We need to hurry. I don't want to sleep on the ground. It's too chilly," Saburo put his belt back on and shivered slightly.

We finally put out the fire and set off in the chosen direction, making marks on the trees every three hundred steps. Kafka said that in the forest you can't just walk straight. People always have one leg stronger than the other, so if you trust your body, not your mind, you'll walk in circles. So first we chose a tree to walk towards, reached it, made a notch, turned around, and used two notches to determine a relatively straight path. What can you do if the tree canopies hide the sun and there's no compass?

The path led through a mixed forest. We were lucky to have closed shoes. The grass here was short, so only protruding roots and occasionally encountered stones hindered comfortable walking. Time dragged slowly on the road. I would have given a lot for a player with headphones right now, but you're unlikely to find such a thing here. Conversation could brighten the journey, but it just couldn't start. Each of us was immersed in our own thoughts. I couldn't find words worthy of being spoken. Before, it was just Kafka and me, and I kept asking him questions. Now it feels awkward even to think about it.

Trees replaced each other around. In some places, the grass was different. To the rhythm of four pairs of feet, I started to feel sleepy. To avoid falling on the next step, I began to look more closely at my surroundings. There was a lot of vegetation, but fortunately, bushes were almost completely absent. The trees seemed very spreading. Their crowns merged, their branches growing into each other, trying to reach the light with their leaves. The conifers stood apart, as if marking their boundaries. I remember from my former life that their needles poison the soil around them.

Two hours passed. We were already making the... whatever number mark it was. I sighed again, watching Kafka and Saburo. Fugo was catching his breath and wiping sweat from his forehead. The collective unconscious made us take a short break. During the rest, the tense silence was broken by Kafka's voice.

"Pleasant forest here. No animals in sight, rich vegetation. I saw some medicinal herbs too... If it weren't for the hunger, I'd gather a full bag for myself along the way."

"You're an alchemist... My teacher said alchemists are respected people who make miraculous potions," Fugo spoke up. "So why were you driven out of that village?"

"It's a long and boring story. But briefly, my nerves gave out after working day and night in a field I only knew superficially. Well... And then the bottle, a fight, the river... and Lord Dains..."

"I see."

"And what do you specialize in?" Saburo also asked a question.

"I'm into medicines and poisons. But the locals wanted fertilizers from me. I did what I could, but how do you explain to people that the soil needs rest too? I restored fertility in two years of work, for my skills that's good, but for them it's not enough... They want bigger ears, grains the size of a fist! Let them sort it out themselves now!"

"It's always like that with peasants... Forgive them. It's all from poverty," the guard sighed. "We used to work the land too. When the fields barely cover the tax and the family, no one will reduce them. And if the feudal lord demands more? Ask to plow more land—and you'll get a hundred lashes, won't be able to move for a month..."

"Yeah, it's clear. We all live not as we should, but as we have to," Kafka took off the wineskin he had taken from the cart and drank some water. "Drink. We can last a week without food, but without water, we won't last three days."

We took turns drinking water, gradually lightening the load. Fugo went first, as the youngest. The turn ended with me.

"Let's go. I don't want to arrive after dark..." I stood up, swaying slightly. "Kafka, how far have we walked?"

"I counted 30 marks... about nine thousand steps. The forest is getting denser here, so I can't say exactly what distance we've covered. It would be better if Saburo climbs a tree again and corrects the route," Kafka looked around.

"If we can find a tall one... they're all the same here," he looked up. "Although... This one, I think, will do," the guy started taking off his belt.

Within five minutes, he was at the top, swaying in the wind with the treetop, peering into the surroundings.

"I see it! That way!" the guy shouted to us, pointed with his hand in a direction, and came down quite quickly. "The village is over there. I saw the houses directly from here. Roughly an hour and a half walk, and we'll be there. Many houses. Maybe we can find a place to stay," he tied his belt. "We were going the right way, just deviated a bit north."

"That's excellent. Then let's go!" I even perked up a bit, learning about the proximity of food and a normal place to sleep, so I managed to keep up a conversation about Kafka's past for the rest of the journey.

I had heard most of it before, but even so, it was better than silence and sighs interrupted by the rumbling of stomachs.

Chapter 6. The Village in the Mountains

An hour later, we finally emerged from the forest. For the last few hundred meters, we had been walking along a well-trodden path that slipped out from under the trees and led to a bridge over a fairly full-flowing stream. Beyond the stream began fields. In my opinion—micro-fields. Small plots, no larger than three acres, were divided by clay embankments forming a grid on the gentle slope. Each plot was a small pond where some kind of cereal was growing, probably a local rice. The stems stood in the shallow water like a solid wall, rising noticeably above the level of the clay banks. They reminded me of the reed thickets in the pond near my grandmother's village. Only the stems were thinner. The path ran along the clay embankments between the fields and was sprinkled with coarse straw. Probably to prevent slipping on the clay during rain.

About a hundred meters up the slope, the fields ended at a wall surrounding the settlement. Smoke rose from the hearths above the houses. At the thought of hot food being so close, we walked noticeably faster. I was in the lead, followed by Kafka, then Fugo and Saburo. Having covered about half the distance to the fence, we met the first resident. An old man in short pants and a straw hat was standing knee-deep in water, using a small shovel to repair a washed-out section of the dividing clay bank between two mini-fields.

As we approached, the old man noticed the strangers, took off his hat, and bowed his head.

"Respected sir, we lost our way while avoiding wild hounds. Could we hope for a meal and lodging in your village?" Kafka addressed the old man.

"Of course, noble sirs. Ours is a small village, and there is no inn, but the headman will be able to accommodate you. Also, we have a good sente* at the hot spring. You will be able to rest and freshen up after your difficult journey," the old man did not raise his head, emphasizing his lower status, but there was no fear in his voice or gaze, "Go through the gate and head straight until you see a large house with red shutters. The headman's name is Kizoto."

"Thank you, respected sir," Kafka nodded to the old man, and we continued on our way.

Passing through the gates, we found ourselves among small houses. Surprisingly, the houses were wooden, with thin walls made of straw panels, but each was fenced with a wall of stone and clay. The walls were low, below human height, and in some places barely waist-high, but they were built quite substantially and painted in two colors: brownish-red at the base, and the upper two-thirds in white.

The roofs of the houses were green. From a distance, I thought the locals covered them with turf, like in Norway, but coming closer, I realized I was mistaken. The roof slopes were made of a thick layer of reeds or some local equivalent. The stems were tightly bound in several layers, making the slope about twenty centimeters thick, with moss growing on its surface. On some roofs, light spots were visible. Probably, the roof had been repaired in those spots, and the moss hadn't had time to grow back yet.

The roof overhang was significant, about a meter or so. Verandas of almost the same width were built around the houses. It seemed the houses were built on a foundation completely covered with planks or bamboo. This created a platform raised 40-50 centimeters above the ground, upon which the walls were erected, set back a couple of steps from the platform's edge. And the roof was made wide enough to protect the veranda from the rain as well. The slopes were quite steep, so the edges of the roof were noticeably below eye level.

Looking at the green roofs, I suddenly remembered how my mentor had told me the legend about Egon moss, which is specially cultivated on roofs. In the mountains lived a small nation of warriors who did not want to submit to anyone. But a dragon came and declared all the land his own, demanding submission and tribute. The defiant mountain villages set up tall stakes near every house, and warriors with spears prevented the dragon from entering the settlement. Then the dragon began flying up to the rebellious villages and showering the roofs of the houses with fire.

Many villages burned down, and people had to hide in caves. But then they found moss on the slope of Mount Egon that would not burn if thrown into a fire. The warriors built huts from reeds and covered them with moss gathered from the mountain. The moss quickly spread over the surface of the reed mats if watered. When the huts turned green, the warriors began throwing burning torches onto the roofs, but the reeds, protected by the moss, did not catch fire. Then the proud people returned to their village and rebuilt the wooden houses. On the reed roofs, they planted Egon moss and watered it until it spread, painting the slopes green.

When the dragon learned that people had returned to the defiant village, it flew in to burn their dwellings again. But the dragon's flame could not harm the green roofs, and the warriors with spears would not allow it to land on the ground. So the dragon flew aside, landed on the road, and, turning into a human, approached the village gates. He addressed the people with a speech. He said that in all his lands, there was only one people who had not only refused to submit to him but had also managed to surprise him. The dragon-lord offered the warriors of the village to become his guard, and the chieftain's daughter to become his wife. The dragon made the village the capital of his lands, and the right to cover one's house with a green roof of Egon moss was granted to warriors who had proven their valor and loyalty.

It was a beautiful legend and once again confirmed the unique property of Egon moss. It is completely incapable of burning, which is why it's so popular. If not for this moss, the village, built of wood and reeds, could burn to the ground on a windy day from a single stray spark.

Not far from the village gates stood a small canopy under which a figurine of a bird made of red clay was placed on a shelf. Next to the figurine was a nest woven from reeds, lined with moss inside. Kafka approached the canopy, bowed, and placed a couple of nuts from his bag into the nest. Fugo and Saburo followed us to the canopy. Saburo left a few sorrel berries in the nest, and Fugo tore a button from his sleeve and placed it there too.

"Goi-no, help me find a home and the path to it," Fugo said quietly.

What Kafka and Saburo said, I couldn't hear. I also approached the structure. The clay figurine was quite primitive, but in its simple lines, one keenly felt a conveyed anticipation of movement. The red bird's wings were folded, but it seemed ready to spread them in an instant and take flight. I involuntarily reached for the statue and suddenly felt a wave of heat hit my face, as if someone had abruptly opened the damper of a blazing furnace. The sensation was brief but so vivid that I squeezed my eyes shut, covered my face with my hands, and turned away.

Goi-no, the spirit of the firebird, patron of travelers. It is eternally on the move and is in a thousand places at once. It is born and dies every day. It is the one who sees all roads and can guide or lead astray. Its image is often placed at the exits of settlements so that those departing can ask for help in safely reaching their destination. All this surfaced in my memory, along with one more important nuance. Goi-no travels between worlds! Maybe it's just a character of local folklore, but it seems to me that this local firebird is quite real and could tell me a lot about my displacement.

My companions didn't seem to notice my reaction to the idol. Fugo was (or were) occupied with their own thoughts. And Kafka placed a hand on Saburo's shoulder; he seemed ready again to either scream or burst into tears.

"Don't worry, Saburo! Goi-no respects worthy warriors. Your brothers protected you and Fugo. The fiery wanderer will show their souls the way to a good world. And besides, my friend, you shouldn't give in to despair when we're almost at a bowl of real hot soup."

Ryu's words brought a smile to everyone's faces, and to some, another rumble from their stomachs. Without a word, we moved deeper into the village, and within five minutes we reached a house with reed shutters painted red.

In the yard, two boys, about four or five years old, were enthusiastically waving bamboo sticks, pretending to have a sword fight. A woman in loose, unbleached canvas clothing was walking between the buildings with a wooden bucket. Her black braid already had a lot of gray hair, and a light network of wrinkles lay on her face, but despite her approaching old age, the woman was quite beautiful.

"Prosperity to your home! May we speak with Lord Kizoto?" Kafka addressed the woman.

"I don't know about 'Lord,' but you are already speaking with Kizoto, worthy sirs," the woman bowed, reminding me of the old man in the field. As she bowed, she showed neither fear nor servility. She was simply observing the rules of courtesy.

"So we have come to you, respected headman. Our journey has not gone as we expected. Wild hounds drove us off our path. We have lost most of our belongings and haven't had a proper meal in a long time. We would like to wash, eat, and sleep. And also acquire some clothing and travel supplies," Kafka continued.

"We will gladly pay you for everything," I added, placing a couple of silver coins on a small table. As far as I understand, this is enough to pay for a week's lodging and food at an inn for a party twice our size.

"We do not usually take payment from travelers for lodging and food. But since such generous sirs have come to visit us, I will try to ensure you rest well here and get everything you need for the road. Please, come into the house."

I entered the room with a wooden floor, following my companions. The first room, resembling both a hallway and a pantry, clearly looked like a utility room. All the household utensils, working tools, and many things necessary for a rural person's life were stored here. Simply put—things inconvenient to leave in the shed. There was also a significant recess in the floor, lined with stone and smeared with clay. It contained a stove built into the wall, with a fixed cast-iron pot. The stove itself had an interesting smoke-exhaust system that ran under the entire house to a chimney at the back. Probably, it was used for heating in winter.

"Forgive me, there is no extra footwear in the house, so please take off yours, take some rags, and wrap your feet," the hostess said, having changed her shoes, and went further inside.

We followed her instructions. The rags were very coarse and prickly, but apparently, their mere presence was considered a plus. The lessons from my past life helped me. I remembered the lessons on basic life safety. Our teacher was an old-school military man, so he taught us how to use footwraps. My companions also had no problems. Except for Fugo. The rags kept falling off his feet, making him look around and pale with a sense of shame and anger at the prickly scraps.

After walking about ten short steps on the planks, my companions took the rags off their feet and stepped onto a mat. I did the same as they did and felt it... Natural? My body considered it normal, but I caught myself thinking that all those manipulations with the rags had been unnecessary. Struggling with a feeling of cognitive dissonance, I looked around the room.

A rather empty room, covered with tatami mats. In the corner by the window stood a strange wooden mechanism, probably for weaving. In the center was a low table. In another corner—a structure for storing some kind of pots. In the middle of the wall opposite the window was a niche with a bouquet of somewhat wilted flowers and an old, yellowed scroll.

"My tokonoma is poor," Kizoto said, as if reading the back of my head, "poorer than others in the village. But I sense you are not here for masterpieces of art, please come to the table." She looked at us and smiled.

After these words, my stomach remembered what hope was. And not just mine. Kafka smiled, and Fugo and Saburo almost immediately headed for the table.

During the meal, we determined our exact location and managed to plot a route to the city that interested Fugo and Saburo. Kafka and I had nowhere else to go anyway, so we joined them by silent agreement.

After the meal, we were provided with lodging. Of course, it wasn't a bed, not even a futon. They made a bed for us on hay in a covered storage room. As soon as I lay down on it, I immediately fell asleep.

Chapter 7. New Memories and an Unexpected Encounter at the Bathhouse

Waking up only in the early morning, before dawn, I finally accepted my disrupted sleep schedule and went outside. It was dark, and for some reason, my body wandered off along the well-trodden paths of the village. It was quiet and peaceful all around. But I heard a strange conversation between two men in the window of a nearby house.

"Gotta go to the mountains for that herb," a young man's voice sounded disapproving. "Well, I'm going! It's just a day there and back!" an elderly voice was clearly grumbling.

"Mountains?" A strange thought flashed through my mind. All this time we had been moving through hilly terrain; there were few flat areas, but I hadn't seen any actual mountains. And a day's walk... To the mountains? Where are these mountains then? How could I have wandered for so long and not seen any mountains?

"You think too loudly, Dains," memories began to surface in my head. "This world is not what it seems." The voice belonged to a man who was not young and seemed very warm.

I recognized it as the voice of the mentor. The mentor of the one who previously owned this body. Images of a room floated before me, the smell of tea seemed to arise in my nose again, and the mentor's laughter filled my ears.

"The scarlet bird will open your eyes. Goi-no. Offer him what you have and ask for his knowledge. As long as your path is not finished, he will always help you see the truth, no matter how the streams of magic confuse the images of the world, no matter how strong the illusions of the forces of evil."

After these words in my memory, I quickly walked to the figurine under the canopy and put a coin in the box in front of it. Nothing happened. I was already thinking that I had thrown a now-irreplaceable resource into nowhere for nothing, when I realized. The hour was no longer so early. Many in the village were already awake by that point. I looked around and realized that a huge shadow was looming over the village. And a few seconds after my realization, a mountain appeared before my eyes, blocking the sun. It was extremely close. Had we walked half a day forward, we would have been at its foot, but none of us had seen it. So what did we see? A plain? A patch of forest? An illusion? Or another version of reality that had just changed for me? Since arriving in this world, I had never had so many questions at once.

But besides questions, I also got answers. At least one very important answer. I didn't end up in this world by accident. Goi-no brought me here. He brought me because Rizado asked him to. And also because I wanted it myself. Rizado is the guy whose body I'm currently in.

I remembered the last minutes before he called me. It sounds wild, but right now I am both Rizado, the last of the Greydago line, and Alexey Pochinnikov, a graduate of Pirogov RNIU, a therapist who wanted to become a cardiac surgeon but broke his arm unsuccessfully.

I entered a small mosaic hall in the house of the Krado family. After my father's death, I came to them hoping for help. I had made a long journey, hiding my name. Guido Krado welcomed me warmly. He told a maid to prepare tea for us and suggested we retire to the ceremonial room. Entering the room with frescoes, I, following tradition, left my sword on the table by the entrance, took a few steps towards the table by the fresco depicting Goi-no, and was treacherously killed.

I wanted to avenge my family's death. But to do that, I needed to find out who sent the assassins to our house. The Krado family was part of the Brotherhood of the Fiery Scale, founded by my great-great-grandfather. Guido Krado had sent a letter to my father saying he had found a lead on the killers of the Nuzo family. There used to be seven families in the Brotherhood. A few years before I was born, the last of the Niedo family was killed, followed by the Gaizu and Modo families. The Nuzo family was a strong and numerous clan. Keiko Nuzo and his sister Bina were my childhood playmates. Our families were friendly. But the Greydago family was not as large or wealthy as the Nuzo. When their entire clan was slaughtered on the night before Keiko's older brother's wedding, I was shocked. Nine adult men, among the hundred strongest warriors of the empire, their wives and children, all were killed. And in a fair fight, one of the Nuzo could have handled twenty guards.

The worst part was that no one knew who ordered it. It seemed as if someone powerful had decided to destroy all bearers of the dragon's blood. Father increased the security at home. He secretly sent my sister to my mother's brother's house, and ordered me to go west to Krado to get news. Father himself stayed home with the rest of the Greydago family warriors.

Before the trip, I asked for permission to visit my mentor, who, after finishing my training, had chosen the life of a hermit and settled in the mountains near my family's lands. He had missed me too and persuaded me to spend the night in his cave. I agreed, and that's the only reason I survived. Returning home, I found the surviving servants preparing for the funeral. My father, my mother, my older brother, Uncle Kidon and his two sons were killed. Fourteen shurd warriors and most of the servants also lost their lives.

There were casualties among the attackers, but the killers had taken their bodies with them. I didn't know who killed my family and decided I needed to go to Krado as planned. They might know who sent the shinobi to our house. The scoundrel Guido calculated correctly. He sent that letter specifically to lure the last of the Greydago to him, if any of us survived. And I fell into his trap.

Walking on the mosaic floor, I felt movement behind my back, and a moment later a sharp blade cut my throat. I turned around and gasped, unable to say a word. Guido stepped back a couple of steps, wiped and hid the knife.

I leaned against the wall, trying to stay on my feet, and the last thing I managed to see was a trickle of my blood falling onto the mosaic fresco. Then the room disappeared, I found myself on a road among stones, and Goi-no hovered three steps away from me. He offered to guide me. As far as I know, this is a great honor, not easy to earn. More often, the spirit itself must find the way to the next life. Only the worthy does the fiery bird help find the way. Perhaps my blood spilled on the fresco played a role, or perhaps the fact that I am the last of the Greydago line. But I didn't want to go to rebirth. I longed to return and take revenge. The bird understood me and shook its head.

"I cannot return you; you are dying. If I guide you back, you will turn into a ghost. Few will be able to see you, and you will not be able to touch anyone." "But I want revenge! And to protect my sister! Help! I am ready to give all my future lives for this!" "I cannot help, little scale, but others might. I will ask. Wait!"

For a few moments, Goi-no disappeared. Without his fiery feathers, the world around turned gray and dark, and the road between the stones became barely distinguishable. But then the light flared up again, and Goi-no returned.

"One of your fire-blooded brothers is willing to help you. I will bring him from his world. His body will die there and give life to your body in your world. He will take your place. He will have your body and your memory. He will want to avenge your enemies and help your sister. But it will be him, not you! Your spirit will remain here, in the wastes, until it fades." "I agree!" "Good," the bird flapped its wings as if about to take off, but remained in place. Instead, the world around began to spin, and a moment later everything cut off.

From that moment, Rizado's memories ended. His spirit finally severed the connection with this body. But I had gained it. It's interesting that I don't remember giving my consent to this firebird to move from my world into someone else's body.

But at least now I know what kind of man in a kimono rushed at me in the first minute of my life in this world. That scumbag's name is Guido Krado. I completely agree with Rizado that he deserves a bad death. And I understand why the bastard's sword fit perfectly into my scabbard. When I revived, he tried to cut me down with my own sword, left on the table by the door. But it seems this bastard is much better at cutting throats from behind than he is at swinging a sword at someone looking him in the eye. What a pity I remembered nothing in those moments. I would have finished the scoundrel right away and made this difficult world a little cleaner. And I would have closed half my debt to Rizado. Annoying. But I can find the way to that house...

The memories of my last meeting with the head of the Krado house made me feel my neck. A thin, long scar was felt on it—a reminder that its owner had already been killed once. Revenge is good. But we must not forget that to take revenge, you need to at least survive. And right now, one of the strongest combat clans of the shogunate is hunting me. And considering that their leader is used to employing shinobi for his purposes, my life is hanging by a very thin thread.

I looked once more at the ceramic figurine of Goi-no, turned around, and went back to the lodging place. At the house, I was met by Kizoto.

"I see you woke up very early, sir. Did you sleep poorly?" "No, I slept like a log," I replied to the headwoman, again looking at the peak blocking the horizon. "Your eyes see a little more than your companions', don't they, sir?" A slight smile appeared on Kizoto's face. "Don't worry, sir, we won't tell anyone about you, since you're traveling in secret. We remember our duty, even if someone else has forgotten it. I see the road has not been easy for you. Stay with us today. Visit our sento; it restores strength well. For now, you can wash up. Breakfast will be ready soon." "Thank you, Kizoto," I replied and immediately couldn't resist a tactless question, "but tell me, what is this mountain, and what's on it that not everyone sees it?" "A mountain is a mountain. A forest grows on it where you can find rare herbs. And of course, there are spirits there who don't like to be disturbed often. That's why not everyone can see their refuge." "Evil spirits?" "Why evil? Are there evil stones or an evil river? You can hit a stone painfully, and you can drown in a river, but that doesn't make them evil." "But they are dangerous?" "Yes, sir, the spirits of the mountain are quite strong. And strength is always dangerous. We respect their strength and try not to disturb them unnecessarily." "I see. Well, then I have no choice but to respect the local order," I tried to answer politely, while I myself was still immersed in thoughts about the previous owner of my current body. "Good day to you, sir. The sun has already risen, and work awaits me. Food for your companions is already on the table, so you can find me in the fields if you need anything." "Thank you. Good day," I sank back into my thoughts, watching the woman's retreating back.

"Spirits might know more than people. They are spirits, after all, and live on earth much longer than mortals." Like a resonance between the memories of my past life and my current one, the thought was so loud that I even said it out loud.

After thinking about the necessity of going to the mountain, I returned to the house. My companions were already awake and getting themselves in order. Kafka and Saburo were doing simple exercises, and the sleepy Fugo was trying to follow along.

"Everything hurts as it is, are you sure you want to train this early?" Kafka addressed Saburo already in my presence. "Do it! Movement is the best medicine for stagnant muscles!" "One-two... three-four..." Fugo shook his head, performing simple exercises while his consciousness was somewhere in the realm of Morpheus.

It was clear that this child's body was not prepared for a two-day survival march without rest or proper sustenance. Kafka looked better but kept complaining of muscle pain. Only Saburo, full of motivation, enjoyed the morning workout.

"Good morning, Lord Dains," he greeted me, "back from your walk?" "Yes. I went to the statue of Goi-no. Yesterday I couldn't perform the ritual properly due to fatigue. And you, I see, are full of energy." "If it weren't for Saburo, we'd be seeing our seventh dream right now," Kafka stretched after finishing the exercise. "In a way, I'm even grateful. Exercise breaks the weakness." "Two-two-three..." "Fugo, I see, doing well. Okay. Kizoto left us food and allowed us to stay another night. They say there's a good sento here. We have a long road ahead, so we need to prepare. Wash up, and let's go to the table." "That's where we should have started," Kafka smiled, "first food, preparation after."

We brought Fugo back from the world of his thoughts, and went into the house. Again, rags, again footcloths. Fugo tied them more briskly this time.

Rice, baked river fish, salt, and a bit of local sauce based on fish broth. The food wasn't much different from yesterday's, but seemed quite tasty. While we were busy with breakfast, the house was quiet.

I caught myself thinking about something I once read in an adventure novel. "Three varied meals a day seem mundane in the routine of days. On a journey, however, the very possibility of a calm meal seems valuable." Those lines had stuck in my memory for some reason. I had never been on "such" trips before. Whether it was a sports camp outdoors or a resort student trip with classmates, I was always sure of the next day. I knew I would wake up, brush my teeth, have breakfast, and go to sleep in the evening. But now, raising a mouthful of already cold rice to my mouth with chopsticks, I began to reevaluate all the thoughts that had surfaced in my consciousness that morning. And I became scared. My subconscious began its malicious game. A feeling arose that every morsel of food could be the last, that I might not see tomorrow's dawn, that I might not see the sunset either.

A powerful clan is against me, about which my current self knows very little. The body gives answers spontaneously, and the more often I receive them, the harder it is to provoke a new immersion into the past. I can't rely on such a source of information. On the one hand, I owe nothing to the previous owner of the body. At the very least, if I did, I would know about it and the punishment for breaking the deal. On the other hand, I simply have no choice. The body and appearance belong to Rizado. Therefore, as long as the Krado clan exists, I simply won't be able to sleep peacefully. That bastard Guido, who cut my ear, won't stop, especially after my blow. But Krado, who is certainly looking for me, is not all. Rizado had a sister, and if she is still alive, then I must figure out how to relate to her.

The stream of consciousness drowned out the taste of the food, and I didn't even notice how the chopsticks hit the bottom of the deep bowl trying to grab a new lump of rice. By that time, my companions still had about half a bowl each.

"You're even faster today than yesterday, Lord Dains," Kafka said with a smile, raising an eyebrow as he looked at me. "Forgive my rudeness, but if you swallow so fast, your guts might get tied up. And we're safe now." "Hm... Probably force of habit. Remembered something, and my body just did it," I shook my head. "For a warrior like you, it's probably normal," Saburo joined the conversation. "In such work, there's almost no time for rest and slow meals." "Yes..." I replied to Saburo's words, remembering my second year at university with half-hour breaks, three-quarters of which was travel time. "I often had to eat quickly before, sometimes even on the run." "Relax, sir. At least for today. There's no need to hurry. You said we have a day to prepare," Kafka smiled and brought a large piece of fish to his mouth, inhaling the scent. "They raise good fish here. The meat is tender, and there are almost no bones. We've come at the peak season." "The fish eats weeds and weak rice shoots. It's inconvenient for it to grab the good stalks. That's why the harvest grows strong, and there's fish without nets or rods." "Where I grew up, you could only catch fish this big with a rod in the river. Only small fish splashed in the fields," Kafka took a bone out of his mouth. "And here they call it simple food." "The standard of living can change depending on the area. There are many different substances and forms of energy in the soil, water, and air, but in some places they are deficient or in excess. That's what the teacher said," Fugo raised his eyes, finally awake. "So even if you transport a large live fish to another place, its offspring might simply not grow that large." "You know a lot," Kafka smiled. "Was your teacher familiar with alchemy?" "No, no, only from books and stories. But the teacher knew many interesting people and loved to listen to them." "That's who you take after. Usually children are restless, but you just listen and stay quiet," Saburo smiled. "A person is defined by the strength of their mind, not their muscles. My brother always said that..." He averted his gaze. "...and that's how I will be now. I dreamed of my brothers today. They told me to live on for them..." He held his smile as best he could. "Saburo..." Kafka began to address him, but I interrupted. "Give him time," I said to the alchemist. "He needs to get through this." "It's all right," Saburo began collecting the plates. "I'll wash up, you go relax. I need to repay the debt for my life somehow. I'll catch up with you."

After that, we got up and went outside, leaving him alone. Kafka looked around the village, squinting because of the bright sun, and stepped from the threshold onto the ground.

"It's so cozy here... Lord Dains, I'll step away for a while, I want to look around and see if there's an alchemist or at least a herbalist here," Kafka was beaming, even though stubble was already visible on his face. "Alright, then I'll keep an eye on Fugo and take a walk to the river. Oh yes, we should gather at Kizoto's house by noon and sort out the luggage." "By noon means by noon, sir," the man adjusted his bag and went deeper into the village.

As for Fugo and me, we went to the river. Well, how to put it. I walked to the river, and Fugo followed me. The descent was short. The fairly gentle slope on our side contrasted sharply with the opposite one, which was steep, almost vertical. Upstream and downstream, as far as the eye could see, a lot of reeds grew, but right by the village there was a neat entry into the water, and nearby on the shore stood several boats covered with cloth. Out of curiosity, I broke a branch of the local reed and confirmed that its properties in this world were no different from what I was used to. Just as strong, but flexible. After making sure there were no extra eyes, I turned to my companion.

"Fugo, we are going to follow the route you need, right? Is someone meeting you at the destination?" "Um..." The child was confused and took a small step back. "My teacher's friends were supposed to meet us, but Sato-sensei died... I don't know if I can find them myself and count on their help..." "Pff..." I exhaled slowly through my lips. "In a way, that was to be expected..." "I'm sorry, Lord Dainsleif. I don't know if my journey has any purpose now, and I can't even give you anything in return for your help... I have no one left to turn to. Not at home, nor where I'm going..." "I get it," we reached a small wooden pier, and I sat on its edge, took off my shoes, and dangled my feet in the water. "I don't mind helping you. Anyway, I don't have a clear travel plan right now." "Thank you very much... I will remember your kindness," Fugo's voice softened. "The teacher said such deeds should not be forgotten." "You speak beautifully, Fugo," I turned to him. "Can you answer a question for me then?" "If I know the answer, of course..." He smiled at me, sat down next to me, and traced circles on the water with his fingers. "You are from 'that' Iris family we talked about then, aren't you?" I looked into the distance so as not to pressure my interlocutor unnecessarily. "What makes you say that?" The voice became surprised and slightly frightened. "Your shoes. They are too elegant. Of course, smeared with paint and hopelessly ruined, but even without the cloak, they are too noticeable." "I-I see... The teacher told me not to take it off. I guess I'm really good for nothing... Oops..." He put his hands over his mouth. "And you are a girl running from an arranged marriage. I just got that answer."

Tears welled up in the eyes of my interlocutor, or rather, interlocutress.

"You want to return me to my family? Of course, they'll pay a lot of money for my return... My teacher and I have been hiding from people like that since the first day," she jumped up and was about to run, but I grabbed her arm. "Let me go! At least give me a chance to get away!" She waved her arms and almost kicked me. "Calm down first," I pulled her closer and gave her a flick on the forehead, making her small head jerk back slightly.

The girl fell stomach-first onto my knees, and I miraculously kept both of us from falling into the water. She thrashed about very actively, trying to break free, screaming and hitting me with her thin hands.

"You'll hand me over to my father so I can marry his friend's son and spend my whole life within walls, serving that fat fool! I don't want to! I don't want to!" "Just shut up already!" Now I was the one who shouted.

Admittedly, my own shout scared me no less than the girl. It was like two voices in one. My own, the one I was used to hearing, and a rough, heavy, and cold one, almost non-human. The echo reached us from the opposite bank, confirming what I'd heard. Fortunately, the girl froze in stunned silence after this event.

"It's alright, don't be afraid. It's me, Dains. You can open your eyes," I tried to calm the child, and she finally relaxed a little.

It seemed these bastards were real professionals. The knot wouldn't yield to fingers or teeth. I looked around for a suitable tool and noticed a sickle on the floor. Probably dropped by the acrobat who jumped over my head. The strange-looking weapon turned out to be surprisingly sharp and easily cut through the rope.

I had freed Freya, but what to do next? My thoughts swarmed in my head like a frightened flock of sparrows. Who were these shinobi? Why did they try to take the girl? And how did they get here? Maybe we were deliberately lured to the sento to be caught naked and unarmed. Then they were probably in cahoots with the headwoman and the old seamstress. Although they seemed like open and honest people to me. Did they want Freya specifically, or do they kidnap girls in general for some purpose? Or maybe not just girls. Maybe a few more kind folks in jumpsuits and with sickles are about to tie up our whole company.

And the first pressing question: what to do with the two guys I knocked out? They'll come to soon. I wasn't ready to kill, and I don't know how to tie people up quickly and well, unlike them. Or do I? I approached the one I knocked out first. To tie someone up, you need rope. Without overcomplicating it, I cut the bastard's belt with the sickle and used it to bind his wrists. Then I did the same to his friend. I wasn't sure my bindings would hold them, but at least it would be hard for them to attack us with their hands tied right away.

But what to do next? Call for help or try to slip away quietly? Signaling to Freya to be quiet, I peered into the room where I had been washing. There was no one there. I spent half a minute getting dressed quickly and returned to my... problems, that is, to the two tied-up shinobi and the underage representative of one of the most influential families, with an unfinished higher education as a wife or concubine, currently in a state of shock.

But credit to Freya, she used the past minute wisely and had managed to get fully dressed.

Unfortunately, the solution to one of the favorite questions of the Russian intelligentsia, "What is to be done?" hadn't progressed much in my head over the past minute. Suddenly, shouts came from outside.

"Tanuki! Tanuki in the village!" a high-pitched boy's voice shouted. Then the sound of something like a bell being struck joined the shouts. A considerable noise and commotion began to rise in the settlement. A minute later, Kafka ran in, followed by Saburo.

"Is everything alrigh..." Kafka stammered, seeing two figures in dark clothing lying on the floor. "Tanuki?"

Aha, so these are the so-called tanuki. If the village raised an alarm because of them, then at least the villagers aren't in league with Freya's kidnappers. Thank all the light gods and the fiery Goi-no in particular, something has become clearer, and it's in our favor!

At that moment, one of the tanuki jumped up and rushed to his partner. At first he just shook him, but seeing that he wasn't responding, he hit him a couple of times with his fingers on some points on his head. From the pokes, the peacefully napping saboteur took a sharp breath and rolled his wide-open eyes. The first tanuki growled something at him and, throwing an unfriendly glance my way, ran towards the fence. It was only two steps away, but this equilibrist managed to gain speed and leap over the two-meter obstacle with his hands tied. And a second later, the second one jumped after him. Although this one jumped less successfully, catching his feet, and landed noisily on the other side of the fence. I hope you broke your neck

Chapter 8. Tanuki

— Get dressed, quickly! And find some kind of weapon! — I turned to Kafka and Saburo, who nodded and ran off.

I took my sword and fastened it in its usual place. I also stuffed the sickle into my belt, wrapping it in cloth so it wouldn't stand out. You never know, it might come in handy. It's sharper than the sword.

Kafka was the first one out, followed by Saburo. Both were holding mops. I understood them. The weapon is long and simple enough to keep the local ninjas with their sickles at a distance.

We slowly and quietly stepped out into the village. It was daytime, so everything was clearly visible. Dark figures were leaping around the village. The locals, however, were hiding in their houses and cellars. It made sense; these "tanuki" were faster and more agile than most athletes I had ever seen. One of them, upon seeing us, immediately changed course, jumping aside.

— Who are these tanuki of yours? — I asked Kafka, almost drawing my sword.

— A local school of assassins. They rarely attack ordinary people, mostly they carry out contracts. But their specialty is kidnapping children. In the village where I worked, several families lost their children because of them. It's all the fault of slave traders. They pay a lot for children, especially perverts. And a slave is a slave. They brand you, and you're no longer a person, no matter who you were. Even the laws of the Imperial Court won't protect you there.

— I'm starting to regret not killing those two... — I said, squinting.

— And you did the right thing, sir, — Kafka continued. — They themselves are mostly raised from such children. And if you kill one of them — they're like animals, the whole pack will attack the killer. Luckily, they're not vindictive, otherwise all the guards in the local settlements would already be lying dead.

— Fugo, stay close, — Saburo said, looking at the child whose eyes were darting around.

He just nodded and pressed closer to us. Kafka took a step back and locked the door behind us.

— It's easier to wait out the attack. If we start playing hero, we'll be killed on the spot...

He kept talking, but I didn't hear him anymore. Something was boiling in my chest. I was running through thoughts about children, slave traders, kidnappings, and hired killings. In front of me, Freya was trembling, holding onto Saburo, who was guarding the entrance from the bathhouse side. Thoughts about the correct behavior during a terrorist attack spun in my head. Better not to stick out, not to play hero, and stay calm. That way there's a chance to save more lives. But at the same time, something was burning and searing in my chest. These weren't my feelings, but Rizado's.

A veil of rage covered my eyes, my fists clenched. In a way, I understood him. Enduring this from a completely unpunished criminal group was just... disgusting. They interrupted our rest. Attacked Freya. Threaten the village that welcomed us with respect and warmth. My irritation instantly began to resonate with Rizado's body. Thoughts? Feelings? I don't know what happened next. I only remember taking the sword from my belt and handing it to Kafka.

— You say they can't be killed? I won't. Look after Fugo and don't stick your necks out, — I walked through the bathhouse and jumped over the fence.

Somehow it was even easier than for those acrobats. A light push with my feet. I was immersed in memories, already standing behind the fence.

"You are a fire dragon, Rizado. Remember that.. — a warm voice of an elderly man, surfacing from memory, spoke behind my back. — Your strength flows from feelings. Dark, light... The power is greater the brighter and clearer those feelings are. In life, there will be many situations when your body will be filled with power, your mind overflowing with rage or euphoria. Only serenity and strength of spirit will allow you to control the power. So focus!"

In the memory, the crack of a whip sounded, and a chill ran down my shoulder. Apparently, the teacher was a kind but stern man. However, even so, I couldn't force myself to calm down completely. The influence of my soul on the body was too strong. Or is my spirit too weak for it? Doesn't matter. What matters is that my wish came true, and that shinobi smashed his head on a stone, falling from the fence. The one who escaped hid the wounded man in the grass, but I found him first.

Hoisting the barely breathing body onto my shoulder, I walked to the center of the village, where I decided to try shouting with that "double" voice again. And I succeeded. I let out a deafening roar that made the running ninjas turn their attention to me. They saw their comrade on my shoulder and immediately rushed at me.

— Just like animals, huh... — something from my thoughts leaked out loud, — I won't kill anyone today. I won't kill anyone.

My body was trembling, and Rizado's reflexes weren't even trying to manifest yet.

I had already started to regret what I'd done when I suddenly reacted to the first shinobi leaping at me. He tried to stab me in the neck with a knife, but remembering boxing, I blocked with my shoulder in time. The clang of metal, a few sparks, and the pain in my limb made it clear these guys weren't just fast, but strong too. But I didn't care about that then. I felt power in my other hand, which was already flying in a straight punch towards the attacker's face. Not a single extra movement... And the feeling of something breaking under the force of the blow.

The attacker's teeth flew out, and blood sprayed from his mouth. The pain in my shoulder only spurred me on, and I remembered how irritated I used to get by faster opponents in the lightweight division during sparring. The second punch sent the first arrival into a deep knockout after I drove my hand halfway up my forearm under his ribs. The strength felt... alien and mine at the same time. So familiar and habitual, and yet alien, burning, and frightening. I heard every heartbeat, felt the flow of some warm energy through my body. And most of it was in my chest. For some reason, the fragility of the body that had just been flung half a meter away from me seemed a familiar phenomenon. Even though the opponent was lighter than me, in my past life I could never have hit a person like that.

'There are many of them' — the thought flashed just in time. I lunged forward, realizing I was being attacked from my blind spot. 'Right... ninjas...' — I counted about seven people right near me. Someone was spinning chains, someone was drawing knives... And then they scattered and surrounded me.

'Is this... where my life ends? Fool... You're not the main character of a cheap anime...' — thoughts raced through my head when suddenly Rizado's reflex kicked in again. My body rushed at the one charging straight for my face. He immediately jumped back, but my hand managed to grab his wrist, which, like a chicken wing, crunched and broke in the grip. The escape was thwarted, and my fist found his face, in whose eyes I now read not anger, but fear and pain. A "grimace of pain" or a "face of suffering" — that's what they would have called it at my university. My body returned to my control again. A pity such a specimen was ruined by a broken nose and knocked-out teeth. Iron gloves are no worse than a sword against an unprotected target. Especially with Rizado's body. I felt how what I really wanted to call Ki or Qi was reflexively directed by the body precisely to the points responsible for the power of the strike. Feet, knees, pelvis, back, shoulder, elbow, and fist. Passing through all the points, the energy erupted from the two knuckles that were at that moment smashing a third face while I was processing what was happening.

The tanuki running around me started attacking from a distance. My body dodged as best it could, but I had never been taught to avoid kusarigama attacks. I had never once imagined how to fight a person with a flail or any other flexible weapon. They taught us knife defense techniques, but not defense against a knife on a chain!

— S-shaa! — burst out of me when the blade grazed my leg.

My medical experience told me things looked bad. If a major vessel was hit, I'd bleed out completely in a couple of minutes, and my body would be buried next to these scum, if they didn't get up. Oh right! I didn't want to kill! And I certainly don't want to die alone.

I jumped back and pressed on the wound with my hand, feeling a small amount of moisture. Lucky. And again, my body took over. The blood-soaked hand made a sharp swing towards one of the attackers. Apparently, I got lucky and he moved into it, but his clothes instantly burst into flames, and my ears rang with a scream full of horror. While he was trying to put himself out, I hit him in the stomach with a classic "battering ram" strike, a two-step jumping punch. It felt good to feel with my fist how the body of the bastard who cut me changed shape under the influence of brute physical force. But apparently, that wasn't enough for Rizado. The bloodied hand landed on the attacker's face and ignited. I was scared, but felt no heat. The tanuki, on the contrary, felt it in full force. My hand was right over his eyes, so I sincerely hope this scum remembers for the rest of his life why you shouldn't wave a sharp object on a chain in front of people.

After dealing with him, the element of surprise from the flames wore off. The remaining tanuki, four of them, decided to retreat and scattered. But that didn't save them from revenge for my recently washed leg and laundered clothes. By that time, the local society's "immune system" had prepared a response, so the remaining shinobi were pinned against the wall of a barn by about twenty sturdy men with axes, pitchforks, and flails.

I noticed among the cornered ones a man with a red circle on the forehead part of his mask. That's right! It's him... At that moment, he grabbed one of the other tanuki by the shoulder and struck him in several points on the body, growling something. The man howled. His body quickly increased in size, almost doubling, and his muscles tore his clothes. Swollen veins pulsed no weaker than an aorta in ordinary people. I recoiled, as did a significant part of the men. But then they gripped their weapons tighter. As did the tanuki cornered in the circle.

— Hold the leader, Lord Dains, — I heard Kizoto's voice. — We'll handle these!

I looked at the woman with a full-fledged combat spear in her hands. Right below the tip, there was a scarlet, frayed cloth tied to it. For some reason, I listened to her and rushed after the escaping tanuki, almost over the heads of both comrades and locals. He was shorter than the others, and on his face I managed to make out wrinkles. "In a profession where you die young, fear the old men," as they say... And it was worth fearing. While I was chasing him, he managed to slip a few needles between the plates of my armor, but the flame immediately pushed them out of the wounds. Even that cut on my leg ignited. Now I had a goal. Now I wasn't cornered due to my own stupidity. Now I was an avenger. And I had found the target I needed to take revenge on for the attack on Freya.

Thoughts flashed through my head for a moment, and in a few swift bursts, I caught up with the fugitive on the next street. As soon as I grabbed him, he slipped out of his clothes and dashed further. That's when I remembered the sickle on my belt. Drawing it, I threw the weapon at its former owner. I'm no expert at throwing, so the object hit him in the back with its handle. But it bought me time. I caught up with the old man, and this time I got a firm grip on his neck. No matter how strong the desire was to squeeze as hard as I had with that poor guy's wrist, I restrained myself and just threw the old man to the ground. Turning him over, I pulled off his mask. Underneath was the face of a swarthy, wrinkled man with pure black eyes almost without whites and a large, hooked nose. The old man's ears were long and pointed, and his gray hair was shaved off except for a topknot on his head and a small but long beard on the very tip of his chin. His face was twisted in anger, so he grabbed his weapon and tried to plunge it into my neck... But no. I had already decided to tell the god of death "not today," so I blocked with my shoulder again. My fist slammed into the old man's face, smashing the back of his head against the ground. Then again. And again. And again.

— This time you won't get up... — I hissed through my teeth and anger, and once again slammed the old man's head against the stone-paved path with all my strength.

His body went limp, and the hand with the knife fell to the ground. Even though he kept breathing, I understood he wouldn't get up again. At least not anytime soon. Tying them up is useless, as it turned out, so in the heat of the moment I decided to just break this nimble old man's leg. Pain can be endured, a knot can be untied, but a fracture, even with medical knowledge, won't heal quickly, no matter how much you want it to. So without a second thought, I tore a fairly thick stick from the nearest fence and with a forceful vertical blow, like in Rizado's kata, I shattered the lower third of the old shinobi's shin.

Then I remembered ninja movies and pried the old man's mouth open. On one of his teeth, which I had already diligently almost completely knocked out, there was an obvious irregularity, like a filling. I rubbed it against a stone, and a small drop of colorless liquid with an almond scent oozed out. Cyanide, then... These people are clearly prepared for death. That's why such draconian measures with them... are, in a way, justified.

I returned to Kizoto, dragging the old man on my shoulder. A significant number of the men under her command were wounded, but that inflated tanuki was lying unconscious, as were the others.

— Lord Dains! — I heard the voice of a breathless Kafka, — you're wounded, you shouldn't...

— Are Fugo and Saburo okay? Where are they?

— They're fine, they'll be here soon... Your leg! Take off your armor quickly and...

— Lord Dains! — I heard Freya's voice.

— We're fine, — Saburo smiled. — You need to worry about yourself.

— Glad you're okay... — I swayed, dropped the old man's body, then staggered back against a wall and slid down it.

— Lord Dains! — I heard cries, either from Fugo or Kafka.

A ringing started in my ears, and the strength, like the heat that had filled me, vanished without a trace. My legs felt heavy, and my fists ached. The energy I had felt earlier dissipated as if it had never been. The wound on my leg clearly burned from the sweat that had gotten into it. The concentration of catecholamines in my blood had dropped. The supply of adrenaline is also limited, and on top of that, I had burned a significant amount of my own blood... I didn't get to finish the thought and blacked out.

*Как же хочется, чтобы твою книгу читали. Я как и любой автор мечтаю о том же... Хоть на русском, хоть на английском, хоть на.... Да хоть на да-да-итском. Лишь бы читали. Вот...

Chapter 9. Spirits Everywhere

I was awakened by a tickling sensation. A small emerald lizard was crawling up my arm with blatant impudence. After taking a few quick steps, the reptile would freeze, as if listening, then run on. Sometimes it paused and, with a few jerky motions, stuck out and hid its long tongue again, as if tasting the air. Its tiny claws clung tightly to the fabric of my sleeve, and within seconds it reached my palm. Its long tongue touched my fingers, and then I felt a slight prick.

The little rascal had bitten me. I wanted to flick the impudent animal away, but I could barely move my arm. My body was unusually heavy, and my energy level was close to zero. With an effort, I raised my palm, shaking off the lizard, but it wasn't frightened and calmly moved first onto my trouser leg, then up my thigh and stomach, until it settled on my chest. Its bead-like eyes looking at me were like a mosaic of yellow and green amber. The creature was surprisingly beautiful and could have served as a model for a piece of jewelry, some kind of brooch or diadem.

I watched it for a few minutes, then couldn't resist and blew gently on its snout. It shook its head funny, like a puppy, then stared at me, squinting its amber eyes, opened its mouth slightly, and exhaled a stream of flame towards my nose. Holy crap! It was like someone had passed a blowtorch in front of my face! A little more and it would have singed my eyebrows! Startled, I stirred and almost managed to sit up on the bed. At that very moment, the partition serving as a door in the room slid aside, and Kafka entered.

— Ryu, did you see that?! — I exclaimed, nodding towards the lizard, and suddenly realized the lizard was already gone. It had disappeared in the fraction of a second I was looking at the entering alchemist.

— See what, Lord Dains? — he asked, not understanding, and then, looking at my confused face, added, — It's so good you're awake. You've been out for almost a full day, and in the first few hours, it was difficult to detect any breathing or heartbeat.

— I still feel considerable weakness. Even lifting my arm is hard.

— Well, I can try to help you with that. Here, drink this, — Kafka handed me a clay bowl with some murky liquid. It smelled disgusting, reminiscent of rotten fish mixed with menthol.

— Are you sure this is safe to drink? — I involuntarily tried to lean away from the bowl the guy was holding to my face.

— Not only safe, but necessary. It's my personal recipe, which I even managed to improve a bit today thanks to herbs given to me by the local healer.

— But why does it stink so bad? — I dodged another attempt to make me drink this muck.

— Oh, that's one of the minor side effects. I'm working on how to get rid of them, but I haven't figured it out yet. But you're a brave warrior, Dains! Surely you're not scared by a little smell?

The would-be inventor seemed determined to make me drink his experimental concoction. But I know that an unpleasant smell isn't given to a substance for no reason. Millions of years of evolution didn't happen for nothing. If something smells bad, it's probably dangerous for the body. I was firmly decided not to risk poisoning myself. Being stabbed at a few times was enough.

But Kafka, it seemed, wasn't interested in my opinion. Taking advantage of my weakness, he pressed the rim of the cup between my teeth and tipped the vessel's contents down my throat. I was left with a remarkably unpleasant choice: either swallow this poison or choke on it.

The liquid tasted awful. A sharply astringent, slimy sludge in my mouth now tasted, for some reason, not of fish, but of stagnant rust. Swallowing the last gulp, I forcefully shoved Kafka away from me. He flew a couple of meters, hit the flimsy reed wall with his back, and broke through it. I jumped to my feet and took a step after him, intending to give this sorry excuse for a healer a good thrashing.

— Yes! It works! — the tumbling alchemist shouted joyfully. — Just as I suspected, adding brown horsetail and holly accelerated the effect several times over! I must write down the proportions used!

It took me a full second to process what had happened. I really felt much better! I could feel my recently overworked muscles aching, but the terrible, debilitating weakness was completely gone. Well, maybe a slight fatigue remained. And I felt very hungry. If someone offered me half a bucket of krosnyanka right now, I'd eat that sour stuff in minutes and ask for more.

— Seems your potion works. Sorry I hit you, — I walked over to the wall and did my best to fix the damage done to it by the alchemist's body.

— Oh, don't mention it, no apologies needed, — Ryu got up, dusting off his clothes. — I'm so glad the potion works as intended! You have no idea how hard it is for a beginning alchemist to test his recipes in practice. No one believes I'm a truly knowledgeable researcher. To be honest, you're my second human patient.

— And who were the other patients? — I couldn't resist asking.

— Oh, I've practiced on all sorts! — Kafka rolled his eyes and began listing: — Chickens, grasshoppers, sheep, goats, dogs, horses, frogs and lizards, field spirits, ferrets...

— Field spirits?

— Well, yes. I was involved in sowing anyway, and you inevitably run into them there. And you know, Dains, I think the potential of field spirits is clearly underestimated!

Kafka seemed to have started on his favorite topic, reminding me of a university professor who wrote his dissertation on the metabolic peculiarities of flatworms. His eyes always lit up when he started lecturing students about some kind of worms.

— The narrow-minded locals think field spirits can only help or hinder getting a good harvest, but they completely fail to appreciate that they are the most common creatures in our world that combine traits of ordinary animals and spirits. Consequently, their energy system is close in its principles to the energy system of magically gifted people. Can you feel the enormous potential hidden in this?

— And what potential is that? — I was forced to ask the alchemist, who was clearly riding his favorite hobbyhorse.

— By studying field spirits, we can determine the patterns of interaction between the energy and physical components, conduct experiments from which we can learn a great deal. After all, most field spirits are small. All processes happen very quickly for them. To find out, for example, how changing an elixir's alchemical formula will affect a human's body and energy, might take days or even weeks. A field spirit will show a reaction in a few minutes, or hours at most.

— Wait a second, Ryu. First explain what these spirits you're talking about are, — I asked, and from Kafka's reaction, I understood the question surprised him.

— What, you don't know what field spirits are? Maybe they're called differently in your parts? Well, they're usually small creatures with magical properties that settle in places where people grow their crops. They usually appear as small rodents or insects, less often birds.

— And you conducted alchemical experiments on them?

— Well, yes! And I learned a great deal thanks to that.

I chuckled inwardly. It seems all worlds are somewhat similar. Here's a magical world, and it has its own magical lab rats for experiments.

— No, Dains, don't think anything bad, — Kafka interpreted my reaction in his own way. — I tried my best not to harm them in any way. I was mainly trying to heal them. They get sick too, and quite often. Especially when something bad happens to their field. A drought or hail can kill many of these beings. Most of them can be reborn, but only if the field continues to be cultivated. If a field is abandoned and allowed to be overgrown with weeds, the field spirits will either leave it in search of a better place, or quickly weaken and eventually perish completely, losing the ability to rebirth. Strangely, if a field is left fallow, plowed under, the spirits tolerate it calmly. Although most of them go into hibernation for that time, they don't get sick or die. But if people abandon the field, the spirits sense it immediately.

— And do such spirits live only in fields?

— Obviously, spirits live everywhere! And many of them merge with animals, just like field spirits, but most of them avoid people. Field spirits, however, live in large numbers near peasants, they get used to people. I remember how several spirits in the form of field mice ran into a peasant's yard to call the owner to the field. He understood what they wanted when he found a not fully extinguished fire on the boundary. The weather was dry and windy, the embers had flared up and almost set the ripe barley on fire. He put out the embers, then went home and brought the spirits milk and fresh bread.

— Can there be lizard spirits?

— Of course there can.

— And how can you tell if you're seeing an ordinary mouse or a spirit?

— Well, an ordinary person often finds it hard to spot the difference, but as far as I know, bearers of noble blood can sense magical creatures themselves. As for me, I have to rely on my own powers of observation or on Chiu-na powder.

— Chiu-na powder?

— Yes. If you sprinkle it in the air, any spirit nearby will start sneezing. But it's better not to overuse this method. The spirits don't like it.

— Do you have any of this powder?

— Yes, thanks to the local healer, I've replenished my supply of Chiu-na.

— Let me have a little.

Kafka snorted disapprovingly but didn't refuse. He went to the next room and returned with a small pouch. Loosening the drawstring, he took out a pinch of yellowish-gray powder. Hesitating, he shook almost half of the pinch back in, and handed me the remainder with obvious reluctance. Yeah, he seems indifferent to money, but he'd fight to the death for his herbs.

I took the offered powder and, raising my hand high, began to walk around the room, gradually sprinkling the alchemical spirit-tester.

— Oh, you shouldn't be doing that, Dains...

— Achoo-oo-oo! — came from a far dark corner.

— Achoo-oo-oo! Achoo-oo-oo! Achoo-oo-oo! — sounded behind me, to my left, and from somewhere above.

— Dains, it seems you've disturbed the household spirits! — Kafka ducked and backed towards the doorway. — We'd better leave here for a while.

— Achoo-oo-oo! Achoo-oo-oo! Achoo-oo-oo! Achoo-oo-oo! Achoo-oo-oo! — came from practically all sides.

I decided to heed Kafka and moved towards the exit, but it wasn't that easy. A pot suddenly got under my foot, I tripped, and sprawled on the floor. A cloud of dust flew into my face from somewhere, practically blinding me. After that, someone bit my leg with small but very sharp teeth. I got on all fours and felt my way towards the door. Kafka came to my aid, taking my hand. A minute later, I was standing outside, rubbing my watering eyes.

— That was very imprudent, Lord Dains. You've irritated the spirits in the house where we are guests. Household spirits can be very vindictive.

Yeah, it seemed I'd messed up. I wanted to find that impudent lizard, but I'd apparently stirred up a whole crowd of magical beings.

— It didn't occur to me that so many spirits lived in this house. Can they be calmed down somehow?

— The elder really has a surprising number of spirits. You're lucky to find even one in a house, but here there must be more than a dozen.

The alchemist's words were confirmed by another chorus of sneezing.

— To appease spirits, you usually put out a treat for them: milk, sour cream, fresh bread... But I'm afraid in this particular case, the spirits might not accept the offering and continue their mischief. At least for a while. And we still have to sleep here tonight. We need a more reliable method.

— Do you have anything suitable? Some alchemical concoction that will make them happy and kind?

— No, Lord Dains, I don't have such a remedy, — Ryu shook his head, listening to the thinning but continuing loud sneezes coming from the house, — but you have it.

— What do I have?

— Your blood! It is the quintessence of primordial magic. A single drop contains as much magical energy as all the household spirits in this village combined.

— Are you suggesting we sprinkle the walls inside the house with my blood? I'm against it! Besides the fact that I can't stand cuts, don't forget we could start a fire. This wooden-reed house is only fireproof on the outside; the inside would burn out in minutes!

— No, no, Lord Dains, I'm not suggesting that. And besides, sprinkling blood in a good house is a very bad idea. It doesn't attract good spirits, but rather someone else... No, we definitely won't do that! We need to get some milk and add just a couple of drops of your blood to the bowl. The spirits won't refuse such milk even if they're in a very bad mood. And having accepted a gift, they can no longer seek revenge—it violates the laws by which they live. So our task now is to find milk quickly, before the spirits pull some serious mischief.

— Ow! Ouch! — Freya and Saburo ran out of the house, stumbling and squinting. — What's happening?!

— Well, Lord Dains here was practicing alchemy rather unsuccessfully, — said Kafka, grabbing Saburo, who had tripped on the threshold, by the arm and preventing him from falling.

— Lord Dains, you're awake! — Freya wiped her reddened eyes and, surprising me, suddenly rushed over and threw her arms around my neck. — I was so worried about you!

I patted the girl on the head, then carefully set her down on the ground.

— Our very wise alchemist treated me to a potion that instantly brought me back to life. Although its taste and smell almost killed me on the spot... Hic! It's scary even to remem... Hic! Hic!

The hiccups were so strong that it took considerable effort not to double over trying to suppress them.

— Hic! Kafka... Hic! Am I hiccupping because of the potion? Hic!

— Well... Actually, yes. That's one of the uneliminated side effects. But don't worry, it shouldn't last more than eleven minutes. Well, provided I didn't miscalculate, of course. But in any case, you won't hiccup for more than two days, that's a guaranteed limit... Yes... probably.

I listened and felt my hands itching to give a good cuff to the head that could miscalculate and sentence me to two days of such hiccups. But I restrained myself, remembering that Kafka's medicine had indeed lifted me up when I was completely drained.

— Saburo, you've settled in here best, — the alchemist hurried to change the subject. — Can you quickly get some milk?

— I can. The neighbors on the left have two cows, and they'll be happy to treat us, especially since Lord Dains himself dealt with most of the tanuki that invaded the village. Now the villagers' children are safe, and for the captured prisoners, they can demand a good ransom from the Night Clan.

— Then run quickly for the milk, before the spirits tear the house apart.

Saburo ran off to the neighbors, and Freya grabbed my arm and began chattering.

— Lord Dains, you really are a dragon warrior, right? I saw how you burned those tanuki with your blood! I know only warriors from the dragon clan can do that! We were taught, and I remember clearly that of all the magical families, only dragons can do that! And how you fought! Ah! You threw away your sword and fought five opponents with your bare hands! You're a real hero! And how scared we were when you fell afterwards. Everyone was scared for you, but I was the most scared. I thought the tanuki had wounded you with a poisoned weapon. They are masters of poisons. And you, you defeated everyone and then after the battle, suddenly bam! And you fell! We thought you had died! You didn't even seem to be breathing. But then Kafka checked you and said you were just exhausted and needed rest and, preferably, a good potion. He started making it right away. Messed around all day, grinding, boiling, stirring. And how he swore when something went wrong and he had to start over! Who would have thought learned alchemists could swear like that, huh? And about the smell, it's true, when he was brewing the potion, everyone left the house to avoid suffocating. And Kafka, he just endured it, — Freya switched to a whisper, — I think he even liked the smell.

Such a stream of words from the usually silent girl somewhat stunned me, and I also realized what an idiot I had been. Charging at armed killers with my bare hands. It really was a miracle they didn't finish me off. And it turns out they are also masters of poisons. A scratch with a poisoned knife and that would be it—no one left to fulfill the promise to Rizado. Stop! A promise? Did I actually promise him something? Yesterday I remembered nothing about it.

Chapter 10: When the Spirits are Calm, One Can Clean Up

Some thoughts surfaced in my mind. I didn't understand how I knew this, but I was acutely aware that I had signed a certain list, written in golden ink on a floating papyrus. Then, I shook hands with the man whose face and body I now wear, and after that—a flash of scarlet wings and… I can’t remember anything else. Not how I made the deal with him, nor how or who wrote that list. I only remember the lines, and not even all of them.

The first was... "Survive"? Well, that's a task that's a priority for me even without a promise. And I almost failed it due to my own stupidity. The next line was "Live with dignity, without disgracing your lineage and blood." What that means isn't very clear to me yet. "Dignity" is too dependent on context and the rules that govern behavior. I haven't lived in this world, and the honor codes of its inhabitants, let alone those of dragon warriors, are unknown to me. I recall from history lessons that in England, nobles could refuse to pay for goods or services simply because providing for an aristocrat was considered an honor for a commoner. At the same time, within their own class, they had to follow a multitude of rituals... Okay. What's next on the list?...

No matter how hard I strained my mind, I couldn't remember. Everything was blurry. The first two points seemed etched into my brain, while the subsequent ones were visible but blurred. Apparently, something needs to happen... Like the previous times...

"Master Daines? You've become very thoughtful..." I heard Freya's voice.

I had to look around. Everyone had scattered somewhere, and I asked her: "You just referred to yourself in the feminine gender several times. Others might have figured things out... And where did Kafka disappear to?"

"Oops..." The girl was first flustered. "I haven't told you yet..." she averted her gaze. "The thing is, when you fell... I rushed to you and couldn't control my voice... And... Well, in short..."

"Everyone figured it out?" I said, making the girl blush.

"You are such a villain, Master Daines," in the best traditions of Eastern etiquette, Freya covered her face with her sleeves, "forcing a girl to talk about awkward things with such a serious face..." The girl was clearly chiding me, drilling me with a reproachful look.

"Sorry," I smiled. "Just like that, in one day, the secret is no longer a secret..."

"But Kafka is an even bigger villain. He said he'd figured it out long ago! And Kizoto too..." she continued to grumble, not listening to me. "Oh... You asked about Kafka. He ran off to the herbalist for spices that the local spirits like."

"Is that so... Ryu is very perceptive. What else would you expect from an alchemist... And Saburo, I think, was surprised... Both by your secret and the incident with the spirits..."

"Hehe," Freya lowered her hands and smiled. "He was shouting so much that Kizoto had to give him a slap on the back of the head to calm him down. And the spirits scared us all. A mess out of nowhere..."

"Saburo is true to form... He needs to be more careful. It will be hard to advance in the martial path if he continues like this..."

"I see you've come to your senses, Master Dainesleif." I heard a familiar voice behind my back.

"Kizoto," I turned around, "glad to see you in good health."

"Worry about yourself, hero," the woman smiled, and I felt something I hadn't felt before.

A special aura emanated from her, which I hadn't sensed from Kafka or Saburo. It only slightly resembled the feeling that haunted me during the fight with the tanuki. A feeling similar to when you step into the ring with a strong opponent. You look into his eyes, at his silhouette, and see the air distorting around his pre-warmed, battle-ready body. And at that time, something inside you tingles. Something between fear and anticipation.

"Well, well. Your eyes have opened wide again. It's been a long time since I've seen such people. Or perhaps I just haven't seen many of them," the woman suddenly thrust a clenched fist in my direction, and I instinctively dropped into a defensive stance.

"What does this mean?" Surprised, I said more coldly and warily.

I started... defending myself? From an unarmed woman standing more than five meters away? The thoughts flashed through my head, but my consciousness decided to put them in the same pile as the other mysterious actions of my body. The nature of these things is something I have yet to uncover.

"This is not a topic I wish to discuss standing on a dusty road in a sweat-soaked shirt," Kizoto smiled, "come by tonight. I'll be finishing my work then." She turned around, and my senses calmed down.

"What was that?" I returned to my previous position and turned my attention to Freya.

The girl was looking at me with confusion and surprise.

"Sorry. Let's get back to our conversation," I steered the talk back on track. "So, you're not hiding anymore?"

"Only in this village. And in front of you. Kizoto said the villagers are in your debt, so no one will say anything, even if asked... And further down the road, please call me Fugo again."

"Very logical. Good... Then for now, I'll take the opportunity and call you Freya, so you don't forget your name," I put my hand on her head again and ruffled her hair.

"You are the most tactless villain one can imagine," she again covered her face up to her eyes with her hands and continued to grumble.

In response, I laughed and tried to remove my hand, but the girl pulled it back by the sleeve.

"Teacher used to do that too. A little longer."

"As you wish," I smiled and thought for a moment. "Tell me, you're from high society, aren't you..."

"No. Iris is a merchant clan. Even if our silver reserves are larger than some noble families', we are still considered of lower birth."

"Hm. I see. What about etiquette?" I continued my train of thought, smoothly removing my hand from her head. "I suppose it's different too?"

"Although we are merchants by blood, my sisters and I were raised as brides for nobles. There aren't many differences, but they are significant. That's what people in my father's circle said. 'This is what distinguishes common people from those of noble birth'—our teachers would repeat, hitting our elbows and backs with canes if we forgot about our posture or stood too casually..."

"A whole science..." I had nothing to say to her. I knew absolutely nothing about local customs.

"You probably want me to tell you about the traditions of our house?" she asked, hitting close to the mark but not exactly.

"No... I'd rather like to learn the basics. You see, I spent a lot of time with a teacher who taught me swordsmanship and martial arts. He was a hermit, so to speak, of the old school, so he said almost nothing about public behavior. He kept saying: 'warriors communicate by crossing swords on the battlefield, not by drinking sake at feasts.' So I wanted to ask you..."

The girl laughed and closed her eyes.

"Did I make a fool of myself?" A thought flashed: "Shamed yourself in front of a child! In front of a girl half your age, like a boy her own age!"

"Not at all! You are a dragon warrior. I expected something like this. Your people dedicate their lives to martial arts and magic, live far from the common worldly noise, and rarely intervene directly in affairs. Almost like monks... I understand why you are so confused..."

"Then... About my request..."

"Of course, yes! If my sisters find out I taught etiquette to a dragon-blooded warrior, they'll die of envy! And the teacher would say it's the right thing to do. We have time during the journey, and I hope it will be enough to show you everything."

"Hm..." I recall psychology and ponder her words again with a council of all the cockroaches in my head. "That's your sisters and teacher. What about your own desire? After all, it's just you and me here. And this is our agreement."

"I..." the question baffled the girl, "why are you asking?"

The young Iris seemed lost in space and time. It seemed that considering her own feelings and making independent choices were not something they taught the future "live merchandise" in her family.

"Simply because you decided to take the path of adventure. You wanted to write your own story... But you keep recalling the opinions of others before making a choice that is entirely in your hands. That surprises me," I tilted my head and crossed my arms over my chest. "Until Iris Freya herself wants to teach me, I will not listen to a single one of her lessons."

Having said the last phrase in a stern voice, I smiled.

"Villain... At it again... Embarrassing me again..." she felt awkward from my statement. "Of course, I want to. Besides, I am in your debt. Twice in your debt. And I would like to repay you."

"Now that's a different matter. In that case, please take care of me," I bowed, as Rizado's body prompted me.

"I will do everything in my power," Freya bowed to me as well.

"I see you're still here," Saburo returned. "The master of the house wasn't in. Everyone's in the fields. Had to run for permission," the guy was clearly out of breath. "Here's the milk." He handed me a small jug. "Let me... Catch my breath a bit..."

"Now, now, why push yourself so hard. Better save your strength for training," I took the jug from his hands.

"Life is the best training. That's what the elder told us, and I will repeat it for his sake," Saburo leaned on the fence. "You can't miss a chance to push yourself if you know you'll be resting soon."

"I see you're a philosopher. Maybe a brush suits you more than a spear?" Ryu approached us behind him.

"Maybe! Just imagine a book under my authorship being read throughout the south!" Saburo laughed. "The Tale of the Hero of Spear and Brush, who saved travelers from an invasion of poisonous monsters and hounds! Escorted them to safety and uncovered the conspiracy of the vile tanuki trying to kidnap village children and the hero's beautiful companion!"

Saburo's fiery speech was a decisive counterattack to Kafka's jab. I couldn't hold back my laughter. A spearman is a speaman, even in Africa. His mind, like his weapon, is purely offensive.

"How can you laugh when someone so brazenly wants to claim your exploits for himself, Master Daines?!" Freya looked at me with incomprehension.

"Then let him add how he almost drowned pulling a drunk alchemist out of the river, how he was treated for three days after a reckless fistfight, and how he caused a ruckus by angering the spirits in the elder's house," I put my hands on my belt, handing the milk pot to Ryu.

"You've given me..." It seems Saburo began to realize something after my words, "...good food for thought."

"Would that you had something to think with," Kafka poured something from another one of his pouches into the milk, answering Saburo.

"That would have sounded offensive if you didn't slack off during morning training, Ryu," Saburo smiled at him.

At that moment, I thought again. Not much time had passed since the fight with the tanuki. In just a couple of days, little could have happened... But no. It feels like I slept through something very important. And now I only get to observe the results of those missed events. Kafka and Saburo have become quite friendly, judging by how they interact. Freya has become more open and started showing character, not just blindly following orders of "go there, do that." And I myself... Have changed. As if I think differently... I don't know how exactly, but differently.

"So... The last component..." Ryu's words brought me back from my thoughts to reality. "Master Daines, your hand, please?"

"Yes..." I said displeasedly, extending it as if I were about to have blood drawn from my finger. Though, that's exactly what I was about to do.

With a light movement of his knife, Kafka almost painlessly pierced my ring finger.

"I'll take blood here, as it's safer than other places. I apologize if I caused pain. I'm not yet so skilled with the tool..."

To my surprise, the blade cut my skin completely without pain, and a drop of blood flowed neatly along it into the jug. After that, Kafka took it into the house, and sudden silence fell. About five minutes later, he opened the door and called us inside.

"It's safe now. The spirits are fed for another week, so they won't disturb us..."

"That's good! When they started throwing flour in my eyes and tangling ropes at my feet, I got scared, thought someone had attacked..." Saburo smiled and wiped the sweat that had appeared on his forehead again with his sleeve.

The day was hot, so I understood why he immediately went to the well after peace was restored in the house. At the same time, my thoughts troubled me. Kizoto... Who is she? Why did she provoke such a reaction from my body? That's right! She was the only one with a spear, not a pitchfork or something else... Maybe she knows something about local magic and martial arts?

With these thoughts, I took a basin from the pantry, some fragrant herbs for washing from Ryu, and some rags from the corner with junk allocated for our needs. With this set, only one job awaited me. Cleaning the armor. Especially the gauntlets. While the locals were saving me, everyone forgot about the armor. There was a lot of dust on it, mixed with the blood of those I hit, my blood, grass, soot from the ignition... including clothing. In short, the dirt in the crevices, especially on the gauntlets, was an insane amount. Oh, right, I also rolled on the ground with the old man.

Incidentally, the armor, or rather its leather base, flatly refused to burn. The flame didn't just fail to damage it. On the contrary, the scuffs on the palms of the gauntlets seemed to have disappeared on the one I set on fire with blood. The metal, in turn, began to move even better and overlap more easily. This made me think about the origin of my armor. But I don't even know who to ask about it yet. I've certainly heard about alloys that restore their shape when heated, but I have no confidence in such miracles, especially in the form of armor.

The village blacksmith doesn't work with armor at all... It's sad when there's a question. Specific, precise, detailed, but there's no one to ask. All that's left is to test it myself...

Taking a splinter from the house and holding it to the gauntlet, I saw the leather shrink as if alive and restore itself. The metal in the dented places also returned to its place.

"Wow!" Kafka, who had come up behind me, literally pounced on me. "Is this what I think it is?!"

"What exactly?" I asked irritably, startled.

"Armor with memory shape. I told you I've been to war. Well, my employer had one like this. A marvel of metallurgy... Of course, it won't repair a hole, chip, or serious damage by itself, but dents straighten out very easily on their own. Pity the metal is a bit soft... On the other hand, even for such marvels, your armor is too unusual..."

"Interesting... And what about this leather? Does it have memory too?"

"That's exactly what I don't know..." Ryu clicked his tongue, "but I'm very interested to find out... Maybe something that shrinks when heated? So all the damage just tightens up, making it unnoticeable?"

"What disrespect for an artifact!" exclaimed Freya, passing by. "Every dragon warrior possesses an item with unique properties! For some, it's a sword, for others, armor, and for others, a pendant or a ring!"

"And how do you know that?" Kafka turned around and crossed his arms.

"It was written in a book my teacher read to me. And this armor is made too skillfully for shape-memory metal. I've heard my father and other people in the house complain about the quality of goods made from this metal many times."

"Not that I understand much about it..." Saburo joined us. "But my brother, after one of his campaigns, said that restorative metal is too soft, and overusing its straightening makes the armor brittle too. They abandoned it in the last five years, but the sets made during the hype spread among the masses... And some still believe in armor that can be repaired by throwing it into a fire."

"Hm..." I thought.

In Rizado's memory, I hadn't learned anything about his armor and sword.

"And what would you say about this?" I drew my blade from its scabbard.

"Has Master Dainesleif decided to test us?" Kafka smiled. "I'm flattered."

A couple of minutes of noise later, everyone decided to unanimously examine my sword while I continued to polish my armor with a rag and a bunch of soaked herbs. Another ten minutes later, having completely disassembled and reassembled the sword's hilt, the newly-formed council decided it couldn't say anything about it. The guys were embarrassed to say such a thing, but I was even more embarrassed. As I sat by the doorstep, polishing my armor plates, I couldn't shake the feeling that right behind my back, I was being undressed. Whether it was a reaction of Rizado's body, or my inflamed consciousness decided to mock me due to the excessive number of "male sword" anecdotes stored in it, I don't know. But I still decided to clean my weapon an extra time and coat it with a thin layer of oil, begged from the local blacksmith. I did the same with the armor.

And so the day passed. I didn't notice how calming a simple task of cleaning equipment could be. And how much time it can take. However, my mind noted that in this world, I dedicated the whole day to putting my things in order, and I never regretted it. It all felt so... Natural? If I were in my world and spent half a day on laundry—my schedule would slap me hard. Hell, I'd regret the wasted time for another month... Time I could have spent... On cheap dopamine? Yeah... I'll write this change down in the list of "improvements" to my habits. Because regretting half a day of cleaning and rejoicing in a whole day in front of a screen at a computer club used to be the norm for me. Now... I feel fresher. In a way, I'm even glad that instead of my game character, I'm now focused on myself and the reality surrounding me, not on a model on the other side of the screen. I miss my level 89 elf, of course... But right now, he can't help me.

Chapter 11. Kisoto's Story

Sighing with relief after accepting a new batch of semi-philosophical thoughts, I headed deeper into the village with the aim of finding Kisoto. As it turned out, she had gone to the sento, so I had no choice but to wait for her return.

About twenty minutes of walking and observing the locals, who seemed to have completely recovered from the attack, was enough for me to understand the importance of my risk and the result of my actions. I even felt a sense of pride, which stood in the way of the voice of reason. I won't do that again. I hope...

"You are impatient, Lord Dainsleif," Kisoto came out to me in clean clothes with her hair still wet. "It seems you have questions for me. But first, let's go to my house. I am not so young as to allow myself to stand in the wind after bath procedures."

"Kisoto. First, I want to apologize for taking over your house..." I began.

"That's not what you wanted to talk about," she smiled. "You caused quite a mess there today. My friend has already told me everything."

"Yes... And for that, forgive me... We've already restored everything to its previous state... Except for a couple of pots and one bucket, everything is back to normal," I tried to speak calmly, but my emotions still betrayed my surprise.

I was even more surprised when I saw that very lizard on Kisoto's shoulder. At that moment, my legs worked automatically and pushed me a step away from the village elder. I wanted to ask something, but Kisoto interrupted my train of thought.

"It seems you still haven't fully settled in. Usually, those who see spirits and understand their nature are born with that ability. However, some shocks can grant this opportunity even to those far from magic..." Kisoto began to speak calmly as we walked. "I will tell you what I know, but only if you listen to my story."

"I cannot refuse, as I want to know more about myself, but your story will be a great pleasure for me," my answer was as polite as possible. Besides, I wanted to learn about Kisoto too. I need information about the world, my abilities, and the laws of local magic, or whatever it's called, but my answer made a different impression on my interlocutor.

"If I knew you just a little more than not at all, I would call you a sycophant and wouldn't say another word."

"I-I'm sorry," I was stunned by such a response, so I shook my head and looked at the woman.

"Be simpler in your speech. Leave the courtesies to the pompous feudal lords, far from the battles and problems of common people. When you address me so sweetly, only two scenarios arise in my head. The role of a bride for an old widow from the backwoods is beneath your status. So the second one is more logical. Someone wants to use me."

"I apologize, I just wanted to be polite..." For some reason, an image of a white-haired alcoholic with a wolf-head medallion on his chest flashed in my mind for a second.

In response, Kisoto elbowed me in the ribs, and quite painfully at that. I even bent over from the blow. No wonder I rarely got the good ending in role-playing games. But my interlocutor did smile.

"You're funny. And you don't resemble the heir of an ancient lineage. So much mannerism towards common folk. You're not a monk, they travel only alone..."

When Kisoto switched to the informal "you," something stirred inside me first—probably subconscious aristocratic pride. But I felt that the woman had the right to address me that way, as an elder.

I noticed that we weren't heading towards the elder's house. The woman was leading me to the hayloft where we slept on the first night. That was where I was ultimately exposed...

"You're a fugitive. You are not bankrupts driven to utter despair. The armor in the house won't let you lie. But if you are a fugitive, why show your strength?" Kisoto opened the door and went inside, beckoning me with a gesture.

I followed her in silence. On one hand, I was scared, because the woman didn't seem like the kind aunt we had seen before. She gave off an air of rich experience... the content of which outsiders shouldn't know.

"So what do you want from me?" I decided to gather at least remnants of confidence so as not to disgrace myself in front of Rizado and myself.

"I already told you," she bent over the hay and with a sharp movement of her hand pulled out a small box from under it.

"Then I agree," my answer made her smile again.

The woman opened the box, and I felt a subtle but powerful wave from what was inside. She took out a white headband with a scarlet flower and a jade tablet. Under them lay neatly folded clothes.

"I think you've already seen the spear. It's also mine... We'd better sit down, even though there's nothing here but hay. This story promises to be long."

Something in me at that moment decided to act against habitual logic. I looked around, went over to our sleeping spots, took a blanket, and brought it to Kisoto.

"You were concerned about your health. I don't want you to have any problems after our conversation," I handed her the fabric.

"You're more attentive than you seem. You'll be a good listener..."

We sat on the hay, having spread something that was at hand on it. Then Kisoto began her story.

"My name is Kisoto Sora. In my life, which has been a little longer than it appears from my looks, I've seen considerable joy, but no less grief. You see, it's hard to be a woman in our world... I was born from a feudal lord's maid. She wasn't even a concubine, and she was supposed to be executed, but out of pity, my father simply threw us out. But my mother didn't despair and decided to return to her family. However, a few years later, we were thrown out from there too, because my mother couldn't get married because of me, and therefore couldn't be useful to the family. I was about six years old, and my mother made it clear to me what a woman's lot is. I saw with my own eyes how she merely endured and obeyed orders and humiliations... But she always returned with a smile afterwards. Her willpower helped me throughout my life... At the age of eight, I followed my mother through the mud in some mountains. We walked for a very long time. I remember it like it was yesterday. Large gates... A girl standing above them... A ceremony... I didn't understand much then. My mother said they would take care of me here. So, I was given to the Lycoris school for girls. They taught us martial arts. It was painful. Difficult. Sometimes unbearable. But I made friends who helped me get through the hardships..."

"We weren't a school of first-class masters. But the warriors of Lycoris often defeated opponents who were a head taller. I thought my whole life would be like that... But the school with a three-hundred-year history... simply fell apart. The reason was financial difficulties... And after the head's death, the remaining elders could no longer make ends meet. The school was simply dissolved. Only a few students remained, including me, who had nowhere to go. There was hunger, but hunting saved us. There was cold, then we were forced to burn semi-damp wood and old boards... That's how we held on for another couple of years. Out of the remaining twenty students and two elders, only five were left. The despair that had united us returned with renewed force when bandits decided to occupy the school building. In an unequal battle against almost a hundred well-fed men lusting for female flesh, three of us fell. We were exhausted, hadn't eaten properly for a long time, holding on only by faith that our choice was our freedom... However, that day our world turned upside down. The elder and two of the best sisters gave their lives so that my wounded friend and I could escape. A steep mountain slope, falling down the rocks into the forest... About a month in that thicket with her on my shoulders. It left an indelible mark on me. She was delirious. Several times she almost killed me, mistaking me for a bandit trying to rape her. That's when my eyes opened. Spirits began to appear to me. I followed them... I asked for help in the thicket from lizards, mice, stones in the stream... I thought I was the one delirious, not my sister..."

"But we were lucky. A hunter found us. He and his wife nursed us back to health, but our misadventures didn't end. A war broke out, which caught us too. No sooner had we recovered from one shock than we were already holding spears, defending the hunter's village. It shouldn't have concerned us at all. A squad of deserters raided the unsuspecting little village."

"We held our ground worthily, and if they had been bandits, like at our school, we would have defeated them all. But here it was an armed squad in heavy armor... And they broke our resistance too quickly. As the wind breaks two blades of grass, so the squad broke us. But they spared our lives, throwing us into a barn. My sister was beautiful. They decided to take her before me. The villagers were almost all slaughtered. Only a few were left, forced to prepare dinner for the invaders, and then killed... My sister bought me a night... To this day, I hear her screams, drowned out by the laughter of inhuman bastards, in my nightmares... We were saved by a squad from the feudal lord's army, who were looking for the deserters... When they released me, my sister was still alive... A military doctor took on her treatment, but even after that, she couldn't walk properly. Her hands no longer held a spoon, and her whole body was disfigured by scars from cuts, bites, and burns... Her beauty had been violated in the most terrible way... And the same was supposed to happen to me..."

"What was your sister's name?" I asked, understanding that a lump had risen in my interlocutor's throat. The harsh confidence had disappeared from the woman's speech, and I began to feel like some kind of psychotherapist.

"I cannot say... That was her last wish. She took her own life a month after that night, throwing herself into the water from the pier. She asked me to bring her a blanket, as it was cold in late autumn... And when I returned, it was too late... Then I had no choice. I was lucky. Again... I hated myself for it... I wanted to follow the last close person I had... But the spirits led me again. And I came upon the camp of the squad that had saved us then. My skills were enough for them to allow me to join the infantry. But I won't say the men there were much better than those deserters. Thankfully, the commander quickly put in their place those who might try something. I stayed in that squad for two years. That's where I met my future husband. He was distant from the general company, always thinking about something of his own... When the soldiers sat by the fire, he would step aside and look at the stars. I did the same... I was afraid of fire... The fear was passed on from my sister. She couldn't stand candles and the crackling of the stove after the torture... One day we started talking about the stars. Then we discussed battles... Then our stories... It was interesting just to sit and chat... And then to sit in silence, watching the sky, the campfires, the people running around the camp... A strong friendship grew between us, and then love arose... He was the son of a carpenter from this village. And as it turned out, he also saw spirits... That brought us even closer... Before every battle, we said goodbye as if forever... But together we managed to survive even in that hell. After the war, which ended in victory, we arrived here. It was a miracle that we survived. More than half of the squad had perished in the fighting... And we were lucky. So, after a modest wedding, our family was formed. We even had a child... A boy... But a new order forced my husband to return to the battlefield. Because of our son, I couldn't accompany him... But soon I lost both... Our son's illness, and then the news of my husband's death, almost sent me down the same path as my sister. My husband's brother saved me. He hadn't been drafted into the army due to eye problems. So I live here. I learned what I could from my husband's brother and the previous elder. And when the elder passed away, I took his post. Since then, the main enemies have been tanuki and nature. I somehow convinced the residents to leave part of the fields fallow... I listen to the spirits, help with the harvest, work in the fields myself. And the spear remains as a memory. That's how it is. I rarely take it up. I keep hoping that one day I can tell myself that I will never need it again..."

"Why did you decide to tell me all this?"

"To be honest, I stopped training after my son's death. Because no matter how strong I was, it wouldn't have helped against the illness. I can't bring my husband back either... But for the villagers, I need to be strong. But not in the sense of a warrior. I am the elder for them, the one who always knows what to do… That's why I can't tell almost anyone everything. Especially since rarely do people like you come by. Those who have experienced something that will allow them to believe my story..."

"Were there many like that?"

"Just a handful. Before you, a wanderer with a sword in his cane and a flute in his bosom, and a one-eyed monk stopped by. But only you listened to the story to the end, asking just two questions. I can see by your eyes that you are interested... But you don't cling to every little detail and don't connect my story with your own experience... Perhaps, for now, you are the most attentive listener..."

"I'm glad to hear that. At any rate, I'm glad I helped you release what was pent up. Suppressed feelings are the most destructive."

"At any rate, that's in the past now. Now I need to live for the people who rely on me," Kisoto stretched and then sighed, "so enough about the past, or I'll get completely sentimental. Tears have no place on the shoulder of a young warrior like me. Instead, I'd better share my knowledge."

"Wait, Sora. I wanted to say that I sincerely admire you. You went through hell and still find the strength to smile, lead people, and teach sense to the young..."

"Well, I didn't expect that," she smiled, "you know how to pleasantly surprise. And you even had the courage to call me by my name. I think I'll forgive you the flattery at the beginning of our conversation. The villagers respect and are a little afraid of me, but no one knew or knows my full story. So yes. Besides my husband, no one. I miss him... And it seems you will indeed have to see my tears, Dainsleif."

"I regret making you remember your loss. But if it brings you relief, I am obliged to cause this pain."

"You talk just like a healer. No offense, but you are the least like a warrior in your company. Except for the girl, of course. Though, let her grow up, then we can say..."

It seems my past as a medical student became so obvious that it seeped through even the image of Rizado's body and my feat. At that moment, I couldn't think of anything better than to tell the truth.

"You know, you're right. I actually..."

"Don't," the woman interrupted me. "Our agreement was different. I will tell you about the Awakening if you listen to the pain of this old woman."

"But you are not old at all. You have been through a lot, but you haven't lost your youth. Neither outwardly nor deep inside. If you had, you wouldn't have taken up the spear..."

"I told you, don't flatter me, you scoundrel," she grabbed my finger and then pulled it clearly not in the direction of the joint's bending, making me almost scream. "Or I'll get angry and throw you out of here. Don't talk about what you don't know."

Kisoto had a grip, that's for sure. My poor finger.

"Anyway, listen. What you felt from me during the day is nothing other than qi. It is life energy, and for a person, it is always unstable. Whether you want it or not, your body will always depend on how old you are, what you ate, how much you slept, how long ago you trained, warmed up before a fight, how long you grieved or laughed. All this causes your energy to change. I think in battle you felt how to use it, since long training forces the body to direct it unconsciously. But after the Awakening, you should have understood what it is and how it is connected to your body."

"So it was qi. So that's how it feels..."

"Yes. This energy is used by alchemists, mages, warriors. Although, all living beings use it unconsciously. It's just that the enlightened do it much more skillfully. Mages call it mana, create talismans, amulets, use spells and curses. Alchemists, who called it the spiritual fire, direct it into components to achieve the desired result. Warriors... you know yourself. Make the energy flow in the right direction and release it—you get a destructive, formless force. To tame it, you need a martial art."

"So, strength without technique is useless. Is that it?"

"Only a fool would say that. Technique increases the efficiency of strength. You can lift a boulder with a lever, but there will always be someone who can do it with bare hands. But that doesn't mean technique is useless. As I said, our sisters used it to direct the owner's qi back at him, which is why opponents were defeated. But no matter how skilled you are, your technique won't protect you from an avalanche."

"So, you need strength first, and then the ability to use it?"

"Exactly. Just remember that everything is strength, and everything is one. Whatever it is, it's based on your life energy. And you have a lot of it. But that's no reason to stop there. Only overconfident idiots do that, abandoning body training and honing only technique. Without realizing it, these so-called masters lose their strength and turn into living textbooks for their students, good for nothing but tormenting the young."

"Yeah... It's obvious. Even if you master technique perfectly, if there's nothing to fuel it, it simply won't manifest..." Like trying to start an engine without fuel. Or a project without money... Something carried me away into the sad thoughts of my own past...

"Exactly. But you shouldn't believe in the absoluteness of this strength either. It is your tool. Technique sharpens it, body training strengthens it... But a tool is useless in the hands of a savage. Or a lazy person. Or someone who believes in the omnipotence of his hammer, saw, or shovel..."

"In what sense?" I asked because I didn't understand the last part.

"All strength is concentrated here and here," Kisoto pointed her finger at my head and my hands, "it is not an impenetrable barrier around you. Even if you become the strongest on the continent, that doesn't mean some idiot with a poisoned dagger won't come along who doesn't know that. Many masters died in battles. But great masters were more often found stabbed in their sleep. In its time, that caused paranoia, and everyone suddenly started improving their sensory skills. Though, it didn't help everyone..."

Yeah. Listening to all this, I realized that the world of fantasy books about martial arts masters had been lying to me mercilessly. On the other hand, we are all human. It's clear that if you stab us with a sword, we die. No matter how much we improve our skills, our weapons, our armor, no matter how much we rely on magic or anything else, it won't change us. We will remain bags of skin for bones, flesh, and blood.

"Here's some advice. It saved me in the war," Kisoto continued, "if you can't defeat your opponent, just kill him. He is human too. If you run him through with a sword—he will die. The difference in strength doesn't matter here. Even the most hardened monks of the iron body are vulnerable to a blade at the moment they take a breath and lower their guard. You can't maintain concentration forever. And a person cannot live without breathing."

"I would have expected to hear that from a tanuki, not from you... That kind of speech suits a hired assassin..."

"That was the basis of our school's art. Otherwise, a weak woman simply cannot survive a fight against a man. You will always be stronger than us. No matter what we do, we cannot overcome the gap between man and woman. That is our nature. That's why the first chapter developed this teaching. She also saw spirits, also felt the fluctuations of qi. So her teaching was not just advanced. It was ahead of its time, the vanity of brutes with huge swords and the audacity of all those who relied only on their strength and technique. If you know neither yourself nor your enemy, you will surely lose. Knowing only yourself or your enemy, you will pay for every victory with a defeat. But if you know both yourself and your enemy—you will not leave him a single chance. That's how they taught us."

Chapter 12 Death and Birth

I detected hints of philosophy from the book "The Art of War." I never got around to reading it myself in my time, but I had heard that its teachings remain relevant to this day. I regret missing that chance, but it's too late now. This world definitely doesn't have a copy.

— And how do I use the life energy? All I know is that training gives strength, and my blood burns...

— That is each individual's path. With your strength, you can walk any road. Although, judging by what I've heard, you Awakened very recently. And your eyes will gradually open wider. Remember just one thing. Those who Awaken on their own and those who see from birth are different. Those who gain this power through a path like yours or mine are called the Awakened. They see more but know less. The Gifted, those with innate talent, typically see less but know more. You tell me, who uses their gift better? On the other hand, Awakening promotes rapid development and the accumulation of life force. Need I say that lifespan also depends on it? That is precisely why I still look so young. So, my advice to you is: be wary of the Awakened. The Gifted often belong to powerful clans and factions; they are more cautious and reasonable. Well, in those like us... there always lives a drop of madness. — The woman threw off the blanket and stood before me. — Take off your shirt and turn your back to me. I want to help you feel yourself. Awakening is an irreversible process, but a very fleeting one. And it is precisely at this time that the energy is so unstable that it must be channeled in the right direction. Then it will begin to grow steadily.

I did everything Kisoto asked. The woman placed her hands on my back, and I felt warmth flowing through my body. I sank into meditation. Soon the warmth turned into heat and seemed to call out to me. Like that very roar I had recently discovered within myself. There were no words in the call, but I felt I had to run towards it. Through the darkness, through the pain and destruction from the heat. I ran for a long time, and every step was painful. I ran towards the light, while the cold in the darkness behind me was so enticing. It could grant the desired rest, peace... But the path under my feet was crumbling, and the roar made every muscle shudder, forcing me to continue running across a blazing bridge... A staircase from the abyss... Each step became harder, and my consciousness desperately wanted to turn back, but something wouldn't let me. It was as if I was being pushed in the back. Like two palms resting on it. But turning around was impossible.

I don't know how long I ran. For me, it was an eternity. I hated what was pushing me, I hated the flames under my feet, the bridge crumbling a step behind me. I tried to turn aside or throw myself backward, but I couldn't. At that moment, it seemed to me that the hands weakened. I began to slow down, and the collapse of the bridge was about to reach my feet.

And then I realized whose hands those were. My entire history in this world flashed before my eyes. For some reason, my heart filled with a sense of duty. People are waiting for me. My sister is waiting for me. And even though this body wasn't originally mine, my feelings are one with it now. She is my sister. My blood. And in the village, my comrades are waiting, the ones I promised to travel with to the southern city. I must protect them, no matter what. Freya, Ryu, Saburo... We hadn't been together long, but we'd already helped each other so many times. Knowing people, I can't say it was all from pure motives. I don't know them well enough to claim that. And the betrayal of Riazdo, my former friend, still echoes painfully in my throat. Everyone wants to survive, make their fortune, or fulfill a dream. But even so, I want to believe in my comrades. Is this what you wanted, Rizado, when you told me to "live a worthy life"?! Well then, I will gladly fulfill your request!

And then I started running again. Towards that call from above. The hands released my back, and the bridge transformed into a staircase. And then into a sheer cliff face. At first I ran. Then I walked. Then I clung to the collapsing road with my hands. I clawed steps into the flames with my nails to keep moving forward... There was very little left to the light, but my hands were losing their grip. My legs dangled behind. Everything hurt like hell, my ears were ringing, and my eyes had long stopped seeing clearly. Only the light ahead.

And then the hands pushed me again, as if with their last remaining strength. I grabbed onto the light, which immediately blinded me. The voice of Goi-No sounded in my head.

— Little scale, it seems you've decided to become a dragon, though you are but a speck, a mote of this power... your perseverance has brought us together again... However, there are indeed some changes in you...

— What does that mean? — Blinded, I asked in bewilderment.

— You are dead. Burned yourself up from the inside with your own flame. Deplorable.

— I... am dead? — I winced and almost opened my eyes, but then realized it was better to leave things as they were. After all, the heat was still there, as was the blinding light.

— Goi-No! — A roar echoed through the air, shaking me worse than an explosion, and then forcing me to my knees. — Leave us, my descendant and me.

— The great Ignis himself asks me to abandon my work?

— I wish to speak with this child, and I have little time. He followed my call all the way to his death, unknowingly destroying a body already damaged by a recent battle.

— Then I shall wait. There is no need to rush on my path, — Goi-No waved his wings and blew the flames off me, making me feel a bit better, and then I sensed he was gone.

— What compelled you to do this, mortal?

— I didn't know I would die. I didn't know whom I would meet up here, I only felt that I had to go. That it would help me. I promised Rizado to live a worthy life with his body... But I didn't understand the meaning. And now I have realized the meaning of those words.

— Are you saying you were chasing not power, but meaning? — The voice laughed.

— I would be lying if I said I didn't start the journey seeking power. And I was forced to run at the beginning... But then I started thinking... What is all this for? And now, I think I know the answer. — I lowered my head and clenched my fists.

— You are honest... That woman did a lot for you. First, she ignited the flame, and then she contained it with her own strength, preventing it from burning you to ashes...

— Kisoto! What happened to her?! — My emotions burst out.

— She walked this entire path with you, and I'm sure it was difficult for her. But she is fine now, you needn't worry, — the voice changed from stern to softer and warmer. Even the heat grew weaker...

— I'm glad to hear that, — my anxiety subsided slightly, but it didn't change the atmosphere of the conversation. Nor the sheer intensity of the sensation of being turned into tabaka chicken!

— There is sorrow in your heart, but do not despair so strongly. You still feel warmth...

You bet your ass I do! The voice of reason returned to me, and you know, for all my love of the banya, I never liked the top shelf! And here I feel like I've been shoved into a furnace and they're whacking me with veniks like there's no tomorrow!

— And that means you are still alive. Even though your soul has separated from your body, not all is lost...

— I'm alive? But my body is destroyed! You said so yourself! And Goi-No... — Unable to see, I shouted into the void, not even sure if my interlocutor was in that direction.

— Don't misunderstand, Goi-No is a noble spirit, but he was overzealous about your death. The body is just a vessel. Your vessel did indeed shatter. But the life force in your blood and that woman's efforts were enough to create a new one. Suited to the volume of doubts that fill your heart. Fight them as you fought today, and strength will take their place. Not the bloodline's power, not my flame. This is your own strength. Consider it a rebirth. One that you have earned.

— Wait... But... Who are you? An ancestor? A dragon? — I decided to find out at least something, since I could figure myself out later, but information about the world was far more valuable to me now than praise, whether from a tavern drunkard or a deity.

— So be it. I will introduce myself properly, since you have decided to show respect, mortal. My name is Ignis, the embodiment of flame. For now, that is all you need to know. But even so, from now on you are not a scale. You are something more. Perhaps a claw, or perhaps the seed of a new dragon. Time will tell. But for now, go. Your body cannot endure a longer separation from your soul. Live a worthy life, Dainsleif. That is what you called yourself...

At that moment, I felt the flames around me cool down, becoming warm like a blanket. And then I fell into darkness.

A jolt ran through me from the sensation of falling. It happens when you're falling asleep and then feel like you're falling and jump up from the bed. I opened my eyes.

I was lying on a sheet in the hay, covered with a sheet. I felt someone pressing against me from behind. It was already dawn outside, visible through the cracks. I tried to get up and realized I was completely naked. And the one pressed against me was none other than Kisoto. She was sleeping with an exhausted face, breathing faintly. As it turned out, the woman was also undressed. Worse, nearby I found nothing except what was in the box and my own neatly folded shirt. While my soul was off having a chat with spiritual beings largely unknown to me, my body had managed to change its position.

Chapter 13. A New Birthday

Judging by her even breathing, Kisoto was fast asleep. I pulled up my legs and sat down, embarrassed by the situation. Last time I appeared naked in front of Freya, and now I was lying cuddling with a naked woman in a hayloft. I was sure nothing had happened between us, but the situation itself...

I glanced at the sleeping village elder and looked away. Despite her mature age, she was undoubtedly a beautiful woman, and the inner strength felt within her also had its own appeal. I think that after her husband's death, she remained alone not because men didn't pay attention to her.

My head started to itch, and I began to shake out the blades of grass stuck in my hair. I involuntarily looked at my hands and froze.

Over the past few days, I had already gotten used to the new body and remembered the small calluses on my palms and knuckles well. They were gone. I was looking at the hands of a softie with perfectly smooth skin. Not only the calluses had disappeared, but also several small scars that I remembered well.

Moreover, the skin was dusted with some kind of gray dust. No, not dust, but ash! I was covered in ash from head to toe, and on the floor, a step away from our nest in the hay, there was a gray spot resembling a dead fire. It seems the fire wasn't just in my head! And how did we manage not to set the hayloft on fire?

I took the blanket and carefully covered the sleeping woman. After all, she had walked the entire path with me. Could she have been burning from the inside out, millimeter by millimeter, while I was climbing, following Ignis's call, and turning into a living torch? According to my feelings, the torture lasted several hours. What stopped her from simply taking a step back and ending the torment? I remember her hands, which first guided me and then supported me, helping me not to fall into the abyss.

The story of the elder's life now sounded different to me. She had always lived for someone else. First for her sisters from the school, the last of whom she couldn't save. Then for her husband and son, whom she lost. After that, she was afraid to start a new family, but transferred her desire to serve and care to her role as the village elder.

And now she had taken care of me. What compelled her? Maybe I reminded her of her son, or maybe she was grateful for my help during the tanuki attack. But she had done a great deal, risking a painful death for a guy she barely knew. Whatever motivated her, I was now in her debt.

I took a bunch of hay and used it to brush off most of the ash. Then I put on my shirt and looked around for a replacement for my vanished trousers. Unfortunately, nothing suitable caught my eye. Today I was born again and, as is customary, did so in the nude. Thank goodness at least the shirt survived. Luckily, it was long and covered all the essential areas; I could make a dash from the hayloft to the house. But the problem was, I didn't have any spare trousers in the house either.

— What are you thinking about, hero? — Kisoto's voice, now awake, interrupted my thoughts about my scarce wardrobe.

— Oh, nothing... Just realized I'm left without... Without my shoes! Damn it, I was almost stabbed recently because of those tsurumaki, and now they've burned up without a trace!

— Why without a trace? — Kisoto stirred the pile of ash on the earthen floor and pulled out several metal plates from it. — The most valuable part survived. You really had enviable tsurumaki. Each such plate is worth more than all the shoes in my village. This is scale steel. It's several times lighter and stronger than ordinary steel, it also springs back and doesn't rust. And it's very difficult to melt. In ancient times, armor for emperors was made from it, but after the Evil War, the secret of its production was lost...

— Hide the plates, — Kisoto handed me the find. — A good shoemaker can make you new tsurumaki from these and a piece of good ox hide in one day, not much worse than the previous ones. But if you're not ready to fight for your footwear, it's better not to show this metal to anyone for now. It's the same as walking around with a sack of gold and hoping no thief would want to take it.

I took the plates in my hands and blew on them, removing the remaining ash. There was no soot left on the metal; it was perfectly clean and mirror-like, with a pearlescent sheen. The plates were shaped like scales. I wanted to put them in my pocket, but my pockets had left me along with my trousers.

— Ha! The young hero seems to have encountered a serious difficulty? — Kisoto sat wrapped in the blanket, openly amused as she looked me over. — It seems he's been abandoned not only by his tsurumaki but also by... Hehe! And something else... Alright, wait for me here.

The elder stood up, adjusted her blanket outfit, and quickly left, returning about five minutes later, during which I had conducted a thorough search of the hayloft for clothing but found nothing.

— Take these, they were my late husband's, — the elder handed me trousers made of thick homespun fabric, not new, but clean.

I nodded gratefully and hurried to get dressed. The trousers were a bit loose, but the problem was solved by a belt, which Kisoto also handed to me. Following the belt, she gave me a pair of sandals. Their size was universal due to the straps that could be tightened or loosened. They were certainly not tsurumaki, but they would do.

— Thank you, Kisoto... — I stepped towards the woman and took her hand. — Not for the clothes and shoes... I mean, thank you for them too, but mainly for what you did for me. I don't fully understand what happened to me, but I experienced death and birth in one day, and if you had given up and not seen it through with me, I could only have counted on the former.

— You scared me terribly, Rizado, — the elder said this time without a trace of a smile. — I led you to the Spirit Plane. That is the layer of the world where spirits spend most of their time, and people can only briefly peek there with their minds, leaving their bodies on the mundane plane of the world. By crossing the boundary between our planes, a Gifted one begins to feel spirits and the general flow of Qi much better. I only intended to take you to the other side, let you get somewhat accustomed, and then help you return safely. But after crossing the boundary, you didn't stop; you ran like a madman, not even seeing the path. You barged headlong through places I myself would never have dared to enter before today. What happened?

— I was following a call. Ignis called me.

— Ignis? Well, that explains why it was so hot. At the end of the path, I myself went blind and saw nothing but flame. And it seems, in all the long years I've lived, a great primordial spirit has addressed me for the first time. True, he only said three words: 'He has arrived, sleep...' But the spirit seemed pleased. That alone was worth risking a not-so-precious life for.

Kisoto's features became sharper, and her eyes deeper. It seemed her gaze turned inward.

— Thank you, Ignis, thank you! — the elder finished addressing the spirit, and her gaze became normal again, settling on me. — You see, Rizado, you don't know this, but after my son's death, I can't get proper sleep. My dreams are a gathering of nightmares, which is why I can't stand evenings. Sometimes I don't close my eyes at all the whole night. Even fatigue doesn't allow me to fall into oblivion. In my dreams, I see those I couldn't save. But not today. Today I slept like I did in childhood with my mother, or at school with my friends after classes, or with my son when he fell asleep by my side... I rested so well in those couple of hours that I feel like I've grown younger by several years. And it's all thanks to one word from Ignis. He said 'sleep...', and I fell asleep. I didn't have to find my way back from the Spirit Plane to the mundane world myself. I thought that in a few seconds the flame would burn away what was left of my tired soul, but it suddenly wrapped me in a warm blanket and put me to bed. So I also thank you, Rizado. Thanks to you, I met Ignis and got a chance to forget about my curse.

— I'm glad your help has already been rewarded, but I'm still in your debt. But don't call me Rizado anymore. Rizado has finally died in this world. My name is Dainsleif.

— You chose a new name for yourself?

— Yes, and Ignis also called me that, saying that someone reborn needs a new name and I should now be called that.

— O-ho-ho! Young man! A primordial spirit bestowed a name upon you? And before that, he called you himself. I don't want to make you happy, because it might not bring joy. But you certainly can become not just extraordinary, but a great Gifted one. You might, of course, not become one, but you have a chance. Someone who receives a name from an entity like Ignis becomes equal to the spirits. Now you are not a stranger on their plane, but one of them. This doesn't make you stronger or force spirits to serve you, but your mind won't be pushed out of the Spirit Plane like a piece of cork from water. And it will be easier for you to find spirits in our world. Which means you can learn magic faster than most Gifted in our world.

— But I don't know how mages learn; in the Greydago lineage, everyone were warriors relying on the power of their blood...

— Your bloodline power is also magic, just based on Qi that accumulates in the blood. Every dragon-warrior in battle works magic, even if they don't realize it. And you have a chance to understand how this mechanism works. Once you understand, you'll be able to use your power much better. But that's not even the main thing. The magic of dragon blood is just one page in the endless book of the art of controlling Qi that a true mage can read.

— But how do I learn?

— How does one learn to walk, read, fence? Only by training, through labor and pain, through mistakes and the risk of death. A person is given legs at birth, but they learn to walk or run only after years. First, they learn to crawl. Today is your new birthday, and this time you received wings as a gift, but whether you can ever fly depends on you and the teachers you can find. By the way, flying is quite possible too. Mages can do it.

— Can you teach me?

— I'm a poor teacher. As a mage, I'm not much stronger than our herbalist, whom your alchemist friend is always running to. But I can advise you on how to take the first steps, and then much will depend on you. You have a huge advantage that children of ancient magical lineages don't have — you can look for teachers both among humans and among spirits. Many would give half their blood for such an opportunity. But don't expect everything to become easy for you now. On the contrary, many will want to use you or simply kill you.

Kisoto gradually spoke more quietly, and then her voice trembled. She came up to me, put her hands around my head, and drew me to her.

— Poor boy, I won't be able to protect you.

— Kisoto! — I raised my head and saw tears streaming down her cheeks, which was hard to expect from this strong and rather tough woman.

For some reason, I vividly remembered my own mother, who also shed a tear when seeing me off to study in another city. She was very proud that I got into medical school, but she had a hard time with my move almost a thousand kilometers away. And she was very afraid for her wayward son, who was actually glad to escape from parental supervision.

Now it was I who drew the woman to me and stroked her head.

— You've already given me the gift of life today; no one could have done more. I will try not to die too quickly, if only because I am now obliged to take care of you. You now have a son again..., Mom.

I didn't even understand how the last word slipped out. A tear also ran down my cheek. And then...

Then I felt something stir near my hip. I awkwardly moved away from Kisoto, and at the same moment, the familiar emerald lizard emerged from the pocket of the trousers she had given me. It stared at me with its mosaic-like eyes, then raised its tail like a cat and started running across my surface. In a few seconds, it reached my ear and licked it with its rough tongue. Then it deftly ran along my sleeve to my left hand and, grabbing my ring finger with its front paws, bit the lobe next to the place where Kafka had recently pierced it with a knife, in the most brazen manner.

Before I could protest, the little rascal jumped over to Kisoto, climbed onto her shoulder, and, raising its snout, released a stream of flame half its own length. After which, with a clearly satisfied look, it stomped in place, as if performing some kind of victory dance.

Kisoto covered her hair with her hands, afraid it would catch fire. And I looked around again. Constant games with fire in the hayloft wouldn't end well. But thank all the good spirits, this time nothing caught fire.

— It seems you've found favor with this lizard, or maybe not you, but your dragon blood. It never breathed fire before, although watching the fire in the hearth is its favorite pastime, as far as I know.

— Is this lizard a spirit?

— Yes, this little one appeared here several years ago. I don't know exactly what kind of spirit it is. I know it loves to watch fire and play with animals or people if it likes them. And it knows how to hide quickly, so even with my gift, I can't detect it. Given its love for mischief, the ability to hide quickly comes in very handy. Almost all the domestic spirits and dogs I know have wanted to catch and rough it up. And I myself have thrown whatever was at hand at it a few times, but I never managed to hit it.

— It seems like an ordinary lizard of flesh and blood...

— Yes, it's as alive as an animal or a human, but we only see one of its incarnations. Initially, spirits are born in their own world and only come to us. Powerful spirits can create a new body for themselves here each time; simpler entities inhabit objects or animals. If you destroy such an object or kill the animal, the spirit returns to its world. In doing so, the spirit feels pain and loses part of its power. If the spirit is weak, it can even die at the moment its body is destroyed.

While Kisoto was speaking, the lizard sat and nodded with an important air, as if confirming what was said, then it fell on its side, closed its eyes, stuck its legs up, and let its tongue hang out. A second later, it half-opened one eye, looking at me and Kisoto simultaneously with a conspiratorial gleam.

I never had reptiles as pets, but it seems lizards don't behave like that. The green prankster reminded me of a puppy and a kitten at the same time. I couldn't resist and reached out my hand to it. It sniffed my fingers, then stuck out its tongue and licked the spot on my finger it had bitten.

— Hey, don't you dare bite me again! — I said sternly.

The prankster crouched down with a guilty look and even let out an offended squeak.

— Don't whine. Just remember, you can't bite me without asking! Understood?

The lizard looked at me and nodded. I don't know if it understood me or if it was a coincidence, but it didn't bite me. Instead, it jumped onto my hand, ran across to my shoulder, and started tickling my ear with its tongue. I used to think tickling was when someone runs a feather over your foot. But it turns out the lizard knew an equally effective method. I tried to grab it, but in a fraction of a second, it was on my other shoulder and tickling me again. It jumped back and forth a couple more times like that and then suddenly disappeared. I thought I heard a quiet "hee-hee" at that moment.

— You see, the spirit is playing with you, and it only allowed me to touch it a month after I first saw it.

— I don't think it's because of my new name. This green hooligan was already crawling all over me this morning when I first woke up. And it bit me then too. Maybe it's attracted to my blood.

— It's late, go to the house, or your friends will start to worry. Tomorrow morning I will try to teach you something of what I know about magic. My knowledge is small, but even this little bit is not at all simple to master. Do you have time for study, or are you in a hurry?

The question caught me off guard. Am I in a hurry? Perhaps I have some very urgent matters related to the contract with Rizado, but I simply don't remember them. The only thing worth doing in the near future is to find my sister and make sure she is okay. But she should be with our uncle now. He doesn't have many warriors, but the main protection is that my sister is supposed to be hiding with him secretly. If I go to them now, I might attract unwanted attention myself. Saburo and Kafka, as far as I know, also have no urgent business. Freya wanted to get to the Southern Fortress to find her teacher's friends, but she doesn't even know exactly who to look for. So I think she doesn't necessarily need to rush there at full speed either.

— I have no urgent matters. But I promised to take Freya to where she is supposed to be awaited. I'll talk to her. If she doesn't mind, I'll be happy to stay for a while.

— You'll let the girl decide for you?

— I promised I would take care of her and take her to where her teacher was leading her before he was killed. I'm used to keeping my word, even if I gave it to a child to calm them down. So she can now decide whether we leave tomorrow or stay. But if I can't stay now, I will return as soon as I can.

— Don't plan that far ahead. And it's better to stay now. No one will harm the girl here. The tanuki won't show up around here again anytime soon, and there's no one else to fear in our backwoods. Come on, go now, dinner has been cold for a long time.

Thoughts of dinner immediately made me move faster. I suddenly realized I hadn't eaten anything since my 'birth'. With my stomach rumbling, I headed to the house, where they were already waiting for me.

Chapter 14. Dinner with Friends and Spirits

When I entered the house, everyone was already waiting for me at the table.

"Lord Dainsleif, we were starting to worry," Saburo said with obvious relief. "You were gone for several hours, and only recently did the village headwoman say you would return soon and ordered food to be served."

"Yes, we were worried," Kafka confirmed, "and waiting impatiently."

"He was impatient to start eating," Freya said with a smile, eliciting laughter from the whole company.

"I don't see anything funny!" the alchemist exclaimed indignantly. "My stomach has been rumbling so loudly that my ears will soon get blocked!"

"Well then, let's do justice to the feast," I said, sitting down in the seat left for me.

There was nothing unexpected on the table. Boiled rice with vegetables was complemented by pieces of appetizingly smelling fish, which we seasoned with sweet and sour sauce. There were also greens on the table. But while the spring onions were familiar to me, I had never eaten anything else in my previous life. Kafka and Saburo ate everything with gusto. Freya picked leaves resembling watercress, but darker and with a fresh scent.

"Eat, sis..." Kafka said to her with his mouth full, then chewed and added, "Don't be shy, chew it all. As an alchemist, I know that each of these little herbs contains a lot of benefits."

"We were taught to avoid food with a strong smell," Freya replied hesitantly. "A well-bred girl should have fresh breath."

"If you eat some onion or seri, or dip your fish in spicy sauce one extra time, you won't start breathing fire like a dragon," Saburo voiced his opinion. The guy himself gladly followed his own advice, chewing everything indiscriminately and not sparing the sauce.

At first hesitantly, then more confidently, Freya began trying everything that was in the edible "herbarium" lying on the table.

I also decided to try the local vitamins. I used to like eating borscht with green onions, and fried meat with cilantro and parsley. I started taking different herbs one by one and chewing them, dipping them in the sauce. One turned out to be pungent, like garlic soaked in red pepper tincture. I hurriedly chased it down with rice and fish. I tried the next ones much more carefully. I didn't like the taste of two herbs, but the others turned out to be a rather pleasant addition to the main dishes.

The last thing I tried was a plant with small feathery leaves with a reddish tint. The taste was pleasant, with a slight sharpness, but when I chewed the first such leaf, I unexpectedly heard a displeased, grumbling little voice: "Chewing, chewing... Chewing, chewing... Yum-yum... Not giving... Chewing, chewing, yum-yum. Not giiiving... Ooooh... Chewing, chewing."

"Do you hear that?" I asked.

"What?" Kafka asked on behalf of everyone, not understanding.

"Someone is muttering quietly: 'Chewing, chewing, yum-yum, not giving...'"

"I don't hear anything," Saburo said.

"Me neither," Ryu confirmed. "Maybe you heard one of the household spirits? That's right! We didn't share the food before the meal. It's okay, we'll fix it now."

Kafka placed a handful of rice, a piece of fish in sauce, and a leaf of the very herb I had eaten last onto a small wooden plate. After gathering the offering for the spirits, he took it and placed it on the floor near the tokonoma.

Judging by the fact that the muttering stopped, Kafka had done everything correctly.

"Why did you put that particular herb?" I asked the alchemist.

"Firetop?" Kafka, who had returned to the table, asked in return. "But it's always added to offerings. In Terrako, they told us it's just a tradition, but traditions don't arise by themselves. People believe that spirits like this herb, and also that spirits listen more attentively to a person's request if he offers a dish with this herb before addressing them. Although it's not a fact that the spirit will want to help. It's said that the herb only makes it listen more carefully. And for the spirit to actually help, the offering must be tasty, and the request polite."

"In the legends passed down among the Cognito family, who have served in the imperial palace for over a thousand years, Firetop is called the Fire Scroll," Freya added. "It is believed to be a magical plant that allows spirits of different elements to communicate in one language."

"An interesting fact, I haven't heard of it," Kafka took a Firetop leaf in his hand and examined it carefully. "It's widely known that this herb helps people with persistent runny noses. It definitely has an influence on spirits, but no one has figured out exactly what it is. My teacher said that the results of experiments with this herb were too unexpected. The spirits sometimes reacted even very violently, but no one could establish a pattern. Maybe the reason is that the herb itself simply affects the spirits' sensitivity to stimuli, and depending on the circumstances of its use, it caused different reactions..."

The engrossed scientist, while continuing to talk, did not forget to appetizingly devour the fish, rice, and all the herbs, including the one under discussion.

"Or could it be that the herb simply allows any spirit to hear and understand what the other spirits are saying? Isn't that roughly what the legend says?" I voiced my emerging guess.

And I thought to myself that if I, after eating a leaf, started hearing a grumbling household spirit, then this grass affects me as it does spirits. Probably, my rebirth and the name given by Ignis are showing. In some way, I've become more like spirits. After all, the others at the table also ate this herb, but no one heard the spirit. Or maybe it's because of my blood. In any case, the herb is useful, and I should stock up on it. I even immediately grabbed a couple of leaves and tried to hide them in my pocket.

But something prevented my hand. Or rather, someone. A green lizard crawled out of my pocket and intercepted the leaf with its teeth. Then it sat down at the edge of our table and started eating. It gnawed on the leaf, holding it with its front paws, reminding me of a hamster's habits.

At that moment, Freya squealed and waved her hands. I thought she was scared of the reptile, but I was wrong.

"Oh, oh, how cute! A sweetheart! Can I touch it?" The girl reached across the table, trying to grab the lizard, but it quickly jumped to the other side of me and snorted disapprovingly.

"What a frivolous girl! I'm not a guinea pig to be grabbed and squeezed," the indignant lizard finished gnawing the leaf and stared disapprovingly at Freya, who was reaching for it with delight.

Apparently, only I heard what was said.

"Freya, don't, she doesn't like being caught," I preemptively stopped the potential conflict, then addressed the lizard. "Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you, I'm not deaf! And it seems you can hear me too, although usually people don't hear spirits. People are mostly rather dull... Dogs are much smarter! But people's food is tasty. Are you going to treat me or what? Or are you as ill-mannered as that girl?"

"Of course, join our meal," I replied, fighting mild shock. "Should I serve you something?"

"Yes, a piece of fish with sauce."

I broke off a piece of fish meat, dipped it in the sauce, and placed it in front of the lizard on one of the small wooden plates used at the table instead of plates or saucers. The little green one, as if nothing had happened, nodded to me and began to feast with pleasure.

Saburo watched us with his mouth open, Freya also froze mid-sentence.

"Are you... talking to her?" Kafka asked.

An awkward pause hung in the air. What if they... think I've escaped from the mental hospital? I wonder how they deal with people who've lost their marbles in this world? I'm talking to a lizard right in front of them...

"Can you communicate with spirits?" Kafka asked again, breathlessly.

"It seems so, I can. Well, at least with this spirit."

"How interesting..." Kafka squinted at me, then at the lizard. "I wonder if it's due to the development of your gift or a feature of this particular spirit... I think a series of experiments could help..."

This time, Kafka reached for the lizard. But it clearly had no intention of allowing experiments to be performed on it. Pulling its legs under itself, it unexpectedly... disappeared!

"Ryu!" Now I was indignant. "What experiments? She's alive and intelligent. And I actually invited her to our table. And you scared her! She didn't even finish her fish."

"That was rather impolite," Saburo confirmed. "We're eating ourselves, but we scared away and drove off a guest."

"My friends and I ask forgiveness for our thoughtless behavior," Freya said in a well-trained voice. "If it pleases you, we would be happy for you to return to our table."

"The girl isn't hopeless, she was given some upbringing after all," said the lizard, which appeared as quickly as it had disappeared, and set about finishing its fish.

"She's back," Saburo smiled sincerely, glad that the spirit wasn't holding a grudge. "And the other spirits, aren't they offended that we didn't invite them to the table? Especially after that... well, after that powder that Lord Dainsleif spilled this morning... Accidentally! Spilled accidentally."

I thought about it. In all his simplicity, Saburo was probably saying the right thing. I offended the spirits this morning, and the offered milk with a drop of blood is not yet an apology.

"Respected spirits living in this hospitable house," I said, copying Freya's manner, "if it pleases you, my friends and I would consider it an honor to share this meal with you at this table."

I spoke these words, and we all froze in anticipation, except for the lizard, which continued to calmly munch on fish.

For half a minute, nothing happened. Then, unexpectedly, a hairy paw appeared next to Kafka's plate and grabbed a handful of rice.

"You didn't have to invite everyone," said the lizard, which had finished its fish. "Too much honor for them. Well, it's your will, and your food. Give me some rice, before they sweep it all clean."

Around the table, creatures of rather original appearance began to appear from all sides. Most resembled small animals: mice, ferrets, and even moles, except for one spirit that looked like a shaggy old man with crooked legs, slightly taller than a finger.

We, as decent hosts, began serving the newcomers pieces of fish and rice, the supply of which began to rapidly diminish. Amid the contented munching, sounds were heard: "Tasty..., yum-yum..., good..., fish..." No coherent speech was observed.

The lizard, for whom I had placed a pile of rice with vegetables, unceremoniously pushed away someone's paw reaching for its "plate."

"They're like children—these household spirits," the lizard said, addressing me. "Not very smart, but they love tasty things and appreciate attention."

"Aren't you a household spirit?" I asked, surprised.

"Me? Of course not, what an ignoramus you are! To confuse me with a household spirit. Pah!"

"Then who are you?"

"Well, you know..." the lizard swallowed the rest of the rice. "I'll tell you later, if you earn it. But for now, thanks for the meal. It was delicious. Burp!"

After the burp, the lizard disappeared in its characteristic manner. The other spirits were in no hurry to disappear, but hurried to appreciate our dinner. It's a good thing we had already managed to somewhat satisfy our hunger, otherwise, due to our politeness, we might have gone to bed hungry. The little ones destroyed the treats with enviable appetite. The only surprising thing was that Kafka wasn't upset by this. It seemed the opportunity to observe the spirits was even more important to him than hunger. I noticed how his hands involuntarily reached out to one spirit, then another, and he barely restrained himself from grabbing such a desired object for study and experiments. He was probably only stopped by the thought that if he grabbed one, the rest would scatter.

"This is a basement spirit, and this is an attic one! And this is a Baku that feeds on dreams! And this is the hearth spirit..." Kafka pointed at the shaggy old man. "Ah, Mr. Dainsleif, if you only knew how valued his hairs are in alchemy... For one hair, you can trade a full measure of Aegean pepper, or a candle made from troll earwax, or... Better not trade it for anything. Such hairs are needed for oneself!"

Kafka looked at the shaggy old man in a crumpled rag hat like a glamorous girl looks at a Louis Vuitton bag. He was almost drooling. I felt sorry for the alchemist and turned to the hearth spirit:

"Can I look at your hat?" I extended my hand.

The old man, who was munching quite contentedly, looked distrustfully at Kafka, but took off and handed me his headgear. A few gray hairs were stuck to the inside. I carefully took them out and placed them on the table. The spirit didn't object. Then I took a napkin, cleaned the hat of dust a little, and smoothed out the folds, after which I returned it to the owner. He put it on with a clearly pleased and, it seemed, even proud look. Like, look, how clean and smooth my hat is now! A mouse gnawing on a carrot nearby even squeaked enviously.

With trembling hands, Kafka collected the obtained hairs from the table.

"You have no idea what a stroke of luck this is! Household spirits are the most secretive. They live right beside people but almost never show themselves. And the hearth spirit is one of the strongest household spirits. He can influence fire and heat. Emperor Kun had hunting boots into which (with appropriate preparation) a hair from a hearth spirit was sewn. His feet never got cold in those boots. In his youth, returning from a hunt, he fell through the ice along with his horse. The horse broke its legs, and the emperor went under the water. He barely got out and then spent two days getting home on foot and didn't even catch a cold."

Probably a really useful thing. It's just unclear why such complications. The old man is so shaggy and hairy that he alone could supply a whole shoe factory.

"If it's such a valuable thing, why doesn't someone catch one such spirit? He'd become rich!"

"What are you saying! You can't catch hearth spirits!" Saburo said. "No amount of gold is worth it."

"Yes, Saburo is right. Even without considering how difficult it is to track or lure a hearth spirit into a trap, you still have to make it part with its hairs. And a hearth spirit can turn into a red-hot ember with hair of flame. And if you hurt the spirit, it can curse you with a fire curse. The cursed one is doomed to fear burning alive for the rest of his life because something will constantly catch fire near him. So these hairs are a priceless gift. Oh, wait..."

Kafka ran to the corner and rummaged in his bag. Then he returned and placed a small shriveled mushroom in front of the old man.

The old man wrinkled his nose, then snorted contentedly and tossed the mushroom into his mouth. For a couple of seconds, nothing happened, then the old man squinted and with a loud "Poof!" released a cloud of bluish smoke from each ear. After which he grunted, just like my cousin uncle after a shot of strong moonshine.

"That's a Firecap mushroom," Kafka explained. "If you throw a pinch of powder from a dried Firecap on damp firewood, it will burn in the rain like dry straw doused with oil. This mushroom is traditionally offered to hearth spirits to appease them. The mushroom is, of course, rare, but it doesn't compare to the spirit's hair."

The old man seemed to like the mushroom. He smacked his lips, grunted, took something out from his bosom, and placed it on the table. Then he nodded his shaggy head, as if bowing in farewell, turned around, and left, literally dissolving after a few steps. The other spirits retreated after him, as if following their leader.

Basically, it was time to finish dinner, because while Kafka was admiring his luck, the spirits had already managed to completely clear out all the food.

I looked at the gift left by the old man. On the table lay a completely unremarkable matte black pebble, smaller than my fingernail.

"And what is this?"

"It's an Ember. A rather useful thing," Kafka explained. "Blow on it."

I leaned over and blew gently. The pebble glowed red, and a wisp of smoke rose above the table.

"Careful, or you'll scorch the headwoman's table," Saburo got scared and quickly rolled the ember onto a ceramic sauce boat.

"It's convenient for lighting a fire. If you blow on it, it can burn for about an hour. Then you need to put it in a fire so it can accumulate heat for the future again. Or you can just use it to light a fire in a campfire or hearth and leave it there until the fire goes out. Then take it back. Then it will always be fully charged."

"It's a great gift," Saburo sighed with relief. "Now we won't have to worry about matches for a long time."

I looked at the glowing pebble. A simple, but truly useful thing. And most importantly, it seems we've finally made peace with the local spirits. This dinner turned out to be much more eventful than I could have imagined.

Chapter 15. After Dinner

After dinner, I went outside again. It was already getting dark... And yet it seemed like morning had just begun... Comfort does funny things to the perception of time. Kafka came out with me.

"You mentioned a teacher... But you said before that you were self-taught, Ryu," I began the conversation.

"That's a long story. Alchemists, like warriors, can have many mentors, teachers in academies or schools... But there is only one true Teacher. He's like a second father. Of course, there are those who change teachers. Such people are a disgrace to their craft. When the situation becomes known among the masses, the turncoat is stripped of all titles, and sometimes they might even be killed..." Kafka headed towards the house. "Wait for me here, Lord Dains."

"Yes... Alright," I replied, slightly confused.

It was hard to tell everything Ryu had been through. A former drunkard who was almost drowned in a river. An alchemist who lost almost all his stock of materials, but then quickly found common ground with the local herbalist and managed to return with a full bag. And he also said he'd been on the front lines and conducted experiments on spirits. I recall he liked medicine. I think his understanding of it and mine differ, but a sense of a kindred intellect makes me interested in this man.

It's interesting that Kafka was a decent hunter and skilled with a spear. And how he held the knife when he cut my finger. Plus, he hung an axe on his belt after arriving in the village. A small one, of course, but why?

Now, thinking about this world, I understand there are far more mysteries in it. And Kafka, who has been with me since the first day here, is probably the biggest one. If things are roughly clear with Saburo and Freya... Then Ryu is mystery incarnate. He always knows the answers to all questions, navigates even completely insane situations quite well.

I'd like to ask him more, but I don't even know where to start. I can only hope for random conversations like this one. In any case, I should be glad that such a person became my companion... and not an enemy.

Thinking about this, I sat on a log near the house and looked at the woodpile standing nearby. Probably convenient to keep some firewood here to avoid running to the shed every time. At that moment, Kafka returned. In his hands was the familiar bag.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Kafka opened it and took out an iron disc. "I needed to show you this to be more convincing. This is my teacher. Or rather, what's left of him."

I took the disc in my hands and saw many small engraved symbols on it. It was the size of a palm and gleamed in the sunset sun. The text clearly belonged to the local language, but I couldn't read it, no matter how hard I tried. Even this body, which knew the local writing (I checked, the key is not to overthink it), couldn't help me.

"If it's unclear, that's normal. Alchemists love ciphers. My teacher loved them too. It's a pity I didn't know him for long. Only about six months. He understood that little time was left, so he taught me not alchemy, but... the basics of logic and data analysis in this craft. I memorized everything he told me during that time. Mastered a certain practical base and learned to use equipment and spiritual fire. Afterwards, the teacher gave me this and ordered me to travel in search of the books and materials listed here. He said that understanding would come with knowledge and practice. No wonder they considered him a madman. I cursed the day I asked to become his student. But the madman saw right through it. With every line, I understood more and more, and things that seemed incomprehensible at first glance became absolutely logical... Then it was worth reasoning further... And I succeeded!" Kafka smiled, not hiding his pride for himself and his teacher. "That's why I'm self-taught. That's how it is. I have about twenty books left... And I still need to find them. And then gain access... It all requires funds and time."

"I see... But aren't you entitled to a substantial salary after combat duty? Especially for alchemists," I decided to seize the moment and learn more.

"Entitled. And I received a reward, though not in full. The problem is different. After the war, I just wanted to rest. After all, combat is a heavy shock for any person. In the end, the money went not on knowledge, but on a couple of months of comfort. Then job hunting, a number of temporary positions. Then moving to these parts. Working for the local feudal lord, routine, failures in an unfamiliar field, alcohol... And then we met. But our little journey is a breath of fresh air. I think it's time to start hunting for knowledge again. Sitting in one place isn't for me. Fate itself has decreed it!" Kafka took the disc back and put it in the bag.

"You have an interesting story, Ryu. But it seems to me there are many more details in it," I smiled at him, getting up from the log.

"Enough for many more evenings!" he replied with a smile. "If you're interested, ask! And tell us about yourself too. We know very little about you. I think the fate of a warrior with dragon's blood is no less interesting. Perhaps even more so. After all, we are ordinary..."

"Hm... Quite the opposite..." I averted my eyes.

"If you remember anything, Lord Dains, I'd be happy to listen," Kafka smiled.

"Just Dains," I put my hand on his shoulder, returning his smile. "Too much honor."

"It'll be hard to get used to... But if you ask, I'll try," Ryu rubbed the back of his head.

"Hey! Are you going to stand there long? I don't want to interrupt," Kizoto addressed us, "but your comrades went to the sento long ago, and you're still chatting."

"They left?!" Kafka exclaimed. "Ah, them! Well, Saburo..." Kafka ran into the house.

"I suppose I should hurry too. Thank you, Kizoto!"

"You're welcome," the woman nodded in response, and when I walked past, she nudged me with her elbow. "What's the most important thing for a warrior?"

"Vigilance..." I clicked my tongue.

"Learn, boy," she smiled, closed her eyes, and went towards the shed.

I headed into the house to look for my towel. Honestly, after the conversation with Kafka, I felt lighter at heart. But after Kizoto's remark, it was as if I'd returned to my first year when I dropped a jar with a lung in formaldehyde on the floor. Back then, I was scolded and threatened with expulsion... I hope the sento will smooth out this dissonance in my thoughts and feelings. And I need to wash off the remaining ash from my body...

Grabbing a towel and a clean shirt, I managed to leave with Kafka.

"Ryu, would you mind staying in this village for a few days? Or do you need to move on quickly according to the list your teacher gave you?"

"To be honest, I wanted to suggest staying here a bit myself. The local herbalist... Well, I think I can learn a lot here that you won't find in most books. And I can replenish supplies of some plants not far from here. So, if you want to stay here, I'd be happy to keep you company."

"And where are you planning to replenish your supplies? Hoping the herbalist will share more with you?"

"No, he's already given me a great deal. A man of rare generosity. But his supplies aren't limitless either. But there's a forest not far from here... More precisely, a mountain covered in forest. It's a rather difficult place, powerful spirits live there that are better not disturbed unnecessarily, but the herbalist told me how to get there and where to gather what. I'd like to go there tomorrow, but tomorrow is the seventh day from the new moon, and there's a spirit there that doesn't tolerate being bothered on the seventh, fourteenth, or twenty-first day of the lunar cycle. So I can't go there before the day after tomorrow... Well, in short, I'm only too happy to stay here for a few days."

"Excellent, we just need to talk to Freya. We promised to take her to the Southern Fortress. Was she supposed to get there by a certain date?"

While talking with the alchemist, we reached the sento. Going inside, we found Saburo hopping on one foot with his back to us near the large bathing pool.

"What are you doing? Is this some special exercise?" asked Kafka, and Saburo, taken by surprise, stumbled and splashed into the water.

The splash from the falling body doused me and Kafka like a fountain. But if the alchemist was punished for scaring the guy, I suffered completely innocently. Saburo surfaced from the pool and shook his head.

"Oof, Mr. Kafka, why did you do that! I was trying to shake the water out of one ear, and now it's in both."

The guy started shaking his head quickly, hoping the water would fly out of his ears, but it seemed he didn't get the desired result. Unless, of course, he planned to spray us with the water now flying off his hair.

"Stop, don't shake your head!" Kafka jumped back a step, risking slipping in a puddle. "We'll help you with your trouble now. Get out of the bath."

Saburo didn't argue and stepped onto the dry area.

"Dry your ears with the towel. Now pull on your earlobe, open your mouth, move your jaw, make a swallowing motion. Did it help?"

"It helped! But only with the ear that already had water in it! The other one isn't helping."

"Alright, let's move on to more serious measures. Sit down and tilt your head."

Kafka took a small vial from a pouch on his belt and deftly dropped a bit into the offered ear canal. Then he waited a few seconds and commanded:

"Turn your head with the ear down!"

Saburo obediently turned his head, and a second later he smiled.

"It flowed out! Honestly, it just... flowed out. And I was trying to free my ears for three minutes before that."

"Alchemy is capable of more than that, boy," Kafka declared, not without self-satisfaction, carefully putting the vial away.

"And where is Freya?" I asked.

"She went further in, said she would wash in the same place as last time."

"Well, then I'll go to the place where I washed already too," taking the slightly damp towel, I went behind the partition and, quickly undressing, climbed into the warm water.

It seemed like just recently I was getting into this natural bathtub for the first time, and so much had happened since then. The tanuki, meeting the household spirits, and a new birth with a name given by Ignis himself. Washing the layer of ash from my skin, I was surprised again at how smooth and tender it was. Just like a girl's. There were no calluses on my hands or heels. My knuckles used to be like those of an avid karateka, but now they were more suited to a violinist or pianist. Moreover, I noticed a couple of red spots on my feet. I'd managed to rub my feet raw with the sandals in just a few minutes. Rebirth has its disadvantages. I'll have to build up protective calluses from scratch again.

Dunking my head under, I rinsed my hair. Thankfully, unlike Saburo, I didn't get water in my ears. Getting out, I started drying myself with the towel. I wasn't in the mood to soak for long today. I wanted to talk to Freya quickly and figure out our plans for the near future.

As I was pulling the clean shirt over my head, I heard a suspicious sound.

"Gurgle-gurgle!" came from the water niche I had just left.

It seemed like no one should be here but me...

"Gurgle-gurgle!" the sound repeated, slightly louder than last time.

The water in the pool trembled and began to ripple, as if someone had surfaced and dived again a little further away.

My first thought was that I was too careless bathing here. Who knows what might be swimming in this warm water. Then I remembered that the residents bathe here almost every day for many years and aren't afraid of anything. But I couldn't relax anymore. The last time I relaxed here, the tanuki appeared and tried to kidnap Freya.

I cautiously approached the water. And again the gurgling sound was heard. And for some reason, it seemed to me that it wasn't just noise, but someone's voice. Checking my pants pocket, I found a leaf of Firetop, tossed it into my mouth, and chewed.

"Gurgle-gurgle, dirt, fiery dirt," I quite clearly distinguished a voice from the small reservoir, "made a mess and didn't offer a treat."

The voice held a dissatisfied grumbling. It reminded me of the school janitor from elementary school who also did cleaning duties and always puffed disapprovingly at children who forgot their indoor shoes: "Walkin' 'round here, gettin' things dirty, and I have to clean after 'em..."

Seems like some spirit lives in the sento and maintains cleanliness here. And its "didn't offer a treat" indicates that I didn't make some customary offering the villagers usually make to thank the spirit for its work. And although Kizoto didn't tell us anything, I still felt awkward. It turns out my companions and I are being impolite to the spirit who takes care of the local baths. And the baths are simply wonderful, which made me feel even more ashamed.

Without thinking long, I pricked the tip of my ring finger and squeezed a drop of blood right into the pool. Dragon's blood, I understood, is a universal currency for most spirits. But I didn't expect what happened next. The water in the pool began to bubble as if boiling, and a cloud of steam appeared above the surface. Suddenly, a creature woven from watery threads, resembling a mustached beaver, jumped out from the depths. The creature flopped onto a stone, scratched its ear with a hind leg, and gurgled:

"Ooh, hot, gurgle-gurgle, so hot, gurgle-gurgle!"

"What are you doing, barbarian?" came a voice from the other side, and turning around, I saw the familiar green lizard. "Who taught you to pour dragon's blood into water with spirits? Good thing it was just one drop, what if you'd dripped more?"

"What would have happened?" I asked confusedly, realizing that instead of fixing the situation, I seemed to have complicated it.

"This beaver would have boiled away, and the local sento would be left without a cleaner," the lizard's voice held a clear hint at my stupidity.

"Yep, boiled away, gurgle-gurgle, like poof, gurgle-gurgle," the liquid beaver nodded, confirming the lizard's words.

"You humans always act first and think later. Or don't think at all about what you're doing. I've long wondered how the first spirits decided to give fire to humans. They are just geniuses at starting fires!" The lizard snorted, expressing well-deserved contempt for the intellect of Homo sapiens in general and mine in particular.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to harm you," I tried to find words to apologize to the beaver, but the lizard interrupted me.

"Stop apologizing. He's much dumber than you. And he liked your offering. He lives in the sento because he loves hot water. If you had dropped not one, but three drops, you would have turned him into a magnificent cloud of steam. But like this, consider that you gave him a rare pleasure. You didn't even have to bother; the villagers bring him hot milk once a week. That's a perfectly sufficient reward for his labors. And if you start giving your blood to every spirit you meet, you'll run out quickly. You'd be better off treating me an extra time, you blockhead!"

With these last words, the lizard licked its lips predatorily, looking at my fingers.

Chapter 16. Awkward Embraces

"Oh, you're here..." Freya emerged from behind the partition in a long shirt, her hair wrapped in a towel. "Lord Dains, I didn't even hear you come in."

It seemed she hadn't heard the spirits' voices at all and had missed my words while washing her hair. Good thing I had managed to get dressed, otherwise we'd have had another encounter in my birthday suit.

"Oh, how adorable!" Freya had already switched all her attention to the lizard, forgetting that before her was a proud and touchy spirit, not just an emerald cutie with amber eyes.

The girl ran over, dropped to her knees, and tried to grab the reptile with her grasping little hands. The lizard, in its characteristic manner, simply vanished.

"Ugh, more of this nonsense," the spirit's voice came from somewhere to the side, but it itself wasn't visible. "Buy this hysterical girl a guinea pig, let her cuddle with that."

"Oh, it's gone," Freya squeaked disappointedly. "I probably scared it. It's so cute."

"Yeah, right, scared me," the lizard snorted from a different spot. "She doesn't even understand who should be afraid of whom. A remarkably foolish child."

"Freya, that's the same spirit that was with us at dinner," I admonished the girl. "It already said then that it doesn't want to be grabbed and squeezed."

Freya blushed and jumped up from the floor.

"I beg forgiveness for my inappropriate behavior," she said, folding her hands and looking straight ahead. "Respected spirit, it is simply that your form reflects an inimitable, true beauty rarely found in nature. Your appearance is akin to a jeweler's masterpiece by the finest ancient craftsmen. Forgive my impulse, born of my immature age and involuntary admiration."

The girl certainly knew how to flatter. The green nuisance materialized on the stone where my clothes had been lying. Its raised head and outstretched paw clearly expressed self-satisfaction and a desire to show off.

"Yes, you are simply magnificent!" Freya continued to pour out her admiration. "Your scales are like polished jade, and your eyes are hard to describe!"

The lizard changed its pose, arching its tail in the most majestic manner possible. The little thing clearly loved being praised.

Freya moved closer and crouched near the stone, examining the spirit with her mouth open. Then she hesitantly reached out her hand. The lizard twitched its nose and graciously decided to reward its ardent admirer by jumping onto her palm.

"Ah!" Freya radiated such delight, as if the moon had changed its orbit to drop by for tea.

The lizard allowed itself to be looked at for a couple of seconds, then got bored of posing, and in a few seconds scampered onto Freya's shoulder.

"The girl's education certainly requires improvement," declared the reptile, looking in my direction, "but she at least has taste. She understands what beauty worthy of worship is. Unlike you, a barbarian with dragon's blood."

"You're no model of good manners either," I couldn't resist. "You bite, disappear and appear as you please. And you talk about Freya in front of me, even though she can't hear you."

"Why can't she?" said the lizard, swishing its tail and making Freya jump in surprise. "If I want, she will hear what I say. I just need to concentrate on her specifically. She's only human. And her magical gift is undeveloped, to say the least, although she does have one. Not very strong, but still."

"Ah! Oh! Eek!" Freya, overwhelmed with emotion, began making rather incoherent sounds. "I can hear it! I can hear the spirit talking! And I have a magical gift! Yes! Yes! Yes! My aunts said I was a useless empty-headed girl without beauty or talent. Only good for reading. But I, I now..."

Freya couldn't contain herself and finally grabbed the lizard, which was sitting importantly on her shoulder, and kissed it, covering the green snout in slobber.

The lizard endured it for a few seconds. It seemed the girl's delight was flattering to it. But it got tired of enduring the kisses of a juvenile human female and vanished again.

"Oh, dear lizard, forgive me," the girl began to chatter, wringing her hands. "Forgive me, I couldn't help myself. You are the best. The very, very best!"

Saying this, Freya turned her head, but the lizard didn't reappear. She simply needed to pour out her joy, so she rushed at me, hung on my neck, and began to lament:

"It's true, isn't it, she is the very, very best! The best among lizards and among spirits. I'm so happy..."

On the last phrase, the girl planted a loud kiss somewhere on my cheek near my ear. My ear started ringing.

I carefully took her by the hands and sat her down on the stone.

"Freya, calm down, or you'll knock us both into the bathhouse out of joy. And another spirit, by the way, just cleaned it up. Cleaned it, worked hard. And if we go splash now—that's it. We have to dry off again, he has to clean up again."

"Oh, forgive me, Lord Dains. I got overexcited and allowed myself too much," Freya obediently sat on the stone and tried to catch her breath, holding my hand. "And was there really another spirit here just now?"

"Yes, there was. A rather cute beaver, and not as narcissistic as your lizard acquaintance... A simple hard worker, keeps the sento in order. You know, in this world, it seems spirits are everywhere. Wherever you spit, you hit a spirit."

"In this world?" Freya asked breathlessly. "Have you been to other worlds?"

"No," I was clearly not ready to tell my transmigration story, "I just said it like that. After all, the world we live in isn't the only one, and it's truly populated by spirits everywhere."

"Well, not quite everywhere," Freya replied in a calmer tone. "In the west, for example, spirits are very rare. But here in the south, there really are many of them. Well, if you believe what I've been told. Today was the first time I've truly seen living spirits myself. Before, I only heard things. But try guessing what it is: a household spirit rustling or just mice running under the floor. But today... It's a miracle. A real miracle. And it's all thanks to you, Lord Dains."

Freya couldn't help herself and hung on my neck again. Thankfully, this time she didn't plant kisses on my ears.

"Lord Dains," this time Saburo peeked into my section of the sento and, seeing Freya hugging me, became embarrassed and jumped back out, muttering apologies.

The situation had become rather awkward. Who knows what he thought. Freya was, of course, just a child. Well, at least by my familiar standards. I hadn't yet bothered to find out at what age local girls were married off. In the Rizado family, they seemed to consider fifteen years old suitable. But traditions varied noticeably in different provinces. It was quite possible that Freya's sisters were married off before fourteen or thirteen. I sat the girl back down on the stone and moved to the question I had been looking for her to ask.

"Freya, tell me, did you need to get to the Southern Fortress by a specific deadline?"

"I'm not entirely sure," a shadow crossed Freya's face at the memory of her deceased mentor. "Sato-sensei said it was desirable for us to arrive by the Festival of the Three-Colored Moon, but he didn't explain why. He was corresponding with an old friend, as he told me, and said that this friend would definitely be at the fortress until that time, but he didn't give a name."

"And how do you plan to find this friend?"

"The mentor told me the place where they agreed to meet. He said it was in case something happened on the road."

"And what place is it?"

"It's the guesthouse called 'The Four Tuna'. And his friend is a merchant who has his own ship. And he should have a ring just like the one Sato-sensei had. There were other friends living in the fortress he could have turned to, but he didn't tell me anything about them at all."

"Why so many secrets? If you were fleeing together, why didn't the mentor tell you right away who you were going to and what to expect?"

"Ah, Lord Dains, the mentor deliberately didn't give names," Freya began to explain. "He was going up against the Iris family, quite influential, especially in the north. The family might want to take revenge for my disappearance on the mentor and those who agreed to help us."

The explanation seemed a bit far-fetched to me, but perhaps the old teacher was truly worried about his friends' well-being, knowing Freya's talkativeness.

"So, that means you need to reach the Southern Fortress no later than the Festival of the Three-Colored Moon, which is in about a month and a half. Right?"

"Correct, Lord Dains," the girl nodded and began nervously biting her lips. "Why do you ask? Are you in a hurry? As I understand it, it's only a few days' journey from here to the Southern Fortress. And the Festival is still over a month away. I didn't think we would be in a great hurry. The journey was hard, and here, in this village, it's surprisingly peaceful. I was already hoping we could stay here a bit longer... But if you are in a hurry, I am ready to set out immediately. It was very generous of you to promise to escort me. You owe me nothing, yet you have done so much for me. In just a few days, you have saved my life twice already. I don't even know how I can repay you."

"There's no need to thank someone for help offered from the heart and voluntarily," I restrained the girl, who seemed about to jump up again. "I asked because I wanted to stay here a bit longer myself. Kizoto doesn't mind if we stay for a couple of weeks, and Kafka has plans to gather local herbs. We shouldn't forget about the Wild Hounds either. The wave passed very recently; there might still be frenzied animals around somewhere. So, if time allows, I think we'll stay here for a week or a little longer."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Freya was delighted and jumped up again to hang on my neck.

At that moment, Kafka peeked in. And despite politely coughing before entering behind the partition, he couldn't avoid catching me and Freya embracing.

Oh, this impulsive girl. It seemed she lacked paternal hugs in her childhood. So now she throws herself at people's necks with every piece of good news. And my reputation suffers.

"Excuse me," Ryu said and was about to retreat following Saburo's example, but I stopped him.

"No need to apologize, nothing of the sort is happening here," I declared, for some reason embarrassed and a bit louder than I intended. "It turns out Freya also wanted to stay in this village for a few days."

"Nothing of the sort... Hee-hee!" the lizard's voice came from somewhere behind the stones. "You could at least not blush when you say that. Maybe someone would believe you. Hee-hee!"

After hearing that, I really did blush. That green-tailed little devil! And I fed her fish and forgave her for biting me. What a vile creature (well, or a reptile). A dog wouldn't behave like that. Although... wait, she's a spirit, she can behave however she wants. So she's just nasty, not because she's a lizard. Saburo returned following Kafka.

"Now, we just need to ask our young warrior," I addressed the guy. "What do you think about staying in the village for a few days?"

"Well, if Lady Freya isn't in a hurry," Saburo looked at me and the girl, and the expression on his face made me blush even more, "then I'm all for it. The people here are good, and the food is tasty."

At the phrase "the food is tasty," Saburo and Kafka rolled their eyes in surprisingly perfect sync and smiled contentedly. It seemed fate had brought two gluttons together.

"But if Lady Freya needs to go, then of course I will go with her," Saburo suddenly became very serious, and a sadness that hadn't faded was reflected in his eyes. "My brothers and I promised to get her there. For me, it's now a matter of honor to fulfill that promise."

"Decided," I announced, shaking my head decisively. "We're definitely spending the next week here."

"Then I suggest," Kafka responded, "that we don't stand around idly in the middle of the bathhouse but finally go to sleep. Today was a difficult day, but no one promised tomorrow would be easier. We need to get some sleep before new trials."

There was nothing to object to the alchemist, and we all headed together to Kizoto's house. By the time we arrived, it was already dark, and a yellow moon had risen above the horizon. In this world, the moon didn't turn into a crescent like on Earth but periodically changed color. For nine days it was yellow, nine days blue, and nine days silver. And one night a year it became three-colored. This night was considered special. After the rise of the night luminary, spirits gained special powers on this night. The day before this night was considered a major holiday, on which it was necessary to appease the spirits living nearby by all possible means.

The moon would remain yellow for four more days. Then a full cycle of silver, blue, and yellow would pass, and that very night would arrive. So, the longest I could stay was until the next yellow cycle, which would begin in twenty-two days. Let's see what I can learn from Kizoto in that time.

Imagine, I'm going to study magic. Who would have told me that a couple of weeks ago in quarantine? Back then, I had thoughts of studying Chinese. Now I've unexpectedly ended up in another world and immediately gained knowledge of two new languages (Rizado spoke two significantly different dialects of this world, and knowledge of them was fully transferred to me).

Sometimes I tried translating from the local language to Russian and back, but I realized it was easier for me to think and speak in the local language. It had become my native tongue. And that in itself was incredible. One moment—and instead of a person who spoke Russian, knew a bit of English and Latin, I turned into a new personality, freely communicating in two other languages. And now I'm not entirely human anymore, but a legitimate "resident" of the spirit world, understanding the language of those very spirits. Moreover, for good understanding, I don't need a phrasebook or an academic dictionary, or even Yandex Translate—just a leaf of Firetop herb that I need to chew.

And starting tomorrow, I will begin studying magic. Thoughts swarmed in my head, and I thought I wouldn't sleep a wink, but, amazingly, as soon as my head touched the pillow, I instantly fell into a deep sleep. And what seemed like a moment later, I woke up from a sunbeam breaking through the gap between the curtains. Well, hello, first day of a new life. The future great mage is ready to crawl out from under the blanket, get up from the mat, and go forth to perform great feats while comprehending great magic.

Rubbing my eyes, I got up and went out into the yard. There, I washed my face at a large water barrel and began performing the complex of morning warm-up exercises for a warrior that Rizado's mentor had taught him. When I had a few minutes left, Kafka and Saburo emerged from the house simultaneously. After a short warm-up, they took up practice sticks and ran through a short but quite intensive sword-work complex.

Saburo was larger, but the seemingly slight Kafka clearly didn't yield to him in strength and significantly surpassed him in speed. I never ceased to be amazed by this alchemist. I felt that in a sword fight he would clearly lose to me, but he wouldn't let me relax either. There was a certain spontaneity in his movements. Seemingly contradicting the rules of fencing, breaking through defenses, but at the same time dangerous for the opponent.

I could have joined the guys and taught them some techniques, but today my planned role was that of a student, not a teacher. So, quickly finishing my complex, I sat on my heels and spent a few minutes in meditation. My mentor used to say that before important lessons, one must free one's head of unnecessary thoughts and one's heart of needless anxiety. Following his instructions, I sat with a straight back, directing the crown of my head towards the sky, and concentrated on my breathing. Each inhale fills me with calm, each exhale carries away everything superfluous.

Performing the exercises, familiar to the point of automatism, I felt that I was perceiving myself and the world differently. If before, by the end of meditation, I felt purification and emptiness, now with each breath I began to hear something unfamiliar, comparable to music. It was as if endless strings stretched across the whole world, and each of them sounded its own note. And even though there was an infinite number of strings, their sound didn't turn into chaos but gave birth to many melodies that merged into an incredible composition. As if some super-conductor had managed to harmonize the parts of thousands of musicians playing their unique pieces on all possible and impossible instruments. I realized that instead of calm, I was being filled with emotions. I wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously. I felt sharp pain and incredible delight. I felt that every string I heard was passing through my body. Obeying a sudden impulse, I tried to touch one of the strings and...

Chapter 17. The Beginning of Studies

Rubbing my eyes, I got up and went out into the yard. There, I washed my face at a large water barrel and began performing the complex of morning warm-up exercises for a warrior that Rizado's mentor had taught him. When I had a few minutes left, Kafka and Saburo emerged from the house simultaneously. After a short warm-up, they took up practice sticks and ran through a short but quite intensive sword-work complex.

Saburo was larger, but the seemingly slight Kafka clearly didn't yield to him in strength and significantly surpassed him in speed. I never ceased to be amazed by this alchemist. I felt that in a sword fight he would clearly lose to me, but he wouldn't let me relax either. There was a certain spontaneity in his movements. Seemingly contradicting the rules of fencing, breaking through defenses, but at the same time dangerous for the opponent.

I could have joined the guys and taught them some techniques, but today my planned role was that of a student, not a teacher. So, quickly finishing my complex, I sat on my heels and spent a few minutes in meditation. My mentor used to say that before important lessons, one must free one's head of unnecessary thoughts and one's heart of needless anxiety. Following his instructions, I sat with a straight back, directing the crown of my head towards the sky, and concentrated on my breathing. Each inhale fills me with calm, each exhale carries away everything superfluous.

Performing the exercises, familiar to the point of automatism, I felt that I was perceiving myself and the world differently. If before, by the end of meditation, I felt purification and emptiness, now with each breath I began to hear something unfamiliar, comparable to music. It was as if endless strings stretched across the whole world, and each of them sounded its own note. And even though there was an infinite number of strings, their sound didn't turn into chaos but gave birth to many melodies that merged into an incredible composition. As if some super-conductor had managed to harmonize the parts of thousands of musicians playing their unique pieces on all possible and impossible instruments. I realized that instead of calm, I was being filled with emotions. I wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously. I felt sharp pain and incredible delight. I felt that every string I heard was passing through my body. Obeying a sudden impulse, I tried to touch one of the strings and…

The moment I touched it, I was flooded with images of the village, as if I were looking at it from all sides at once. Only the village wasn't as I was used to seeing it. No people, the houses all roughly the same color. Yes! All in shades of yellow, as if looking through a camera filter!

Between the houses, I could see… Not people! Definitely not! They were spirits! Some had animal forms, others resembled logs with tiny arms and legs. There were also barely visible, transparent ones, but distorting the light, like air over a fire.

I looked back at the spot where my comrades were exercising and saw two red spots from which similar threads emanated. I tried to examine the rest of the village the same way but didn't find a single resident. This seemed strange to me, but wasn't what was happening right now strange in itself? Exactly! And what do I look like?

But I didn't get a chance to look. As soon as I turned my gaze towards a familiar stone, I was instantly thrown out of that place. With a deep, loud sigh, I fell onto my back. At the same moment, I was seized by a feeling similar to when you're trying to fall asleep but suddenly feel like you're falling.

"Lord Dains, are you alright?" Kafka approached me with quick steps.

"It seems so…" I grabbed the offered hand and got to my feet. "I need to see Kizoto. A lot of questions have come up…"

"It seems you'd better rest. Sweat has broken out on your face, and I felt no strength in your hand," Ryu was clearly worried. "Saburo, bring me my bag!"

Hearing these words, the guy ran into the house and soon returned with the alchemist's things. He, in turn, began rummaging in his bag.

"Every day is an adventure with you, Lord Dains," Saburo smiled.

"No need, everything's fine," I raised my hands. "Just felt like I was falling, that's all."

"Is that so… Well, alright then. Don't scare us like that anymore. And be careful," Kafka sighed, hiding his instruments back in the bag. "But to restore your strength, I can offer you a couple of sips of my tincture. I still have a little left."

Kafka took a small vial from his bag, and I instantly remembered how his concoction stank and what hiccups it caused as a side effect.

"No! I'm fine! My apologies. And now I really should hurry to Kizoto," curiosity was overcoming the momentary surprise.

I wanted to ask the woman more about what I had seen, so I headed straight to the field where she had been working lately.

"Dainsleif, glad to see you ready to help," she smiled and shoved a basket into my hands. "Put it on your back, and let's go to the field. It's just time to finish before the heat."

"Kizoto… I have a question…" I began, but the woman pretended not to hear me.

After about two minutes of silence, the number of questions grew exponentially. Some were addressed to me. Why am I here? What am doing in a rice field knee-deep in cold water? Why is Kizoto, who treated me so attentively, now ignoring me as she moves along the neighboring row of plants? Why are there so many weeds growing with the rice that I have to pull out by hand? Why is anything besides rice growing here at all? What just touched my leg?!

"Don't be afraid of the fish," the village headwoman spoke as if reading my thoughts. "The local ones don't bite and are more afraid of you than you are of them."

"Tell me, what's the point of all this?" My patience was at its limit, but I spoke calmly.

"You see, work won't wait. In the time the tanuki took from us, we were supposed to get rid of the weeds. If we don't do it in the next few days, they'll start to flower, and next year this will be overgrown. Although, what am I saying. We need to save this harvest first. They say they plan to raise taxes this year. The local feudal lord is worried because of the war, so he decided to build a fortress a bit downstream. At least there will be somewhere to hide in case of an attack."

"A kind gesture on his part. Although, judging by your tone, you're not happy about it."

"Why should I be happy? With his resources, he can build a castle for a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty people. There are sixty-seven of us in the village, counting children. There are two more settlements of over a hundred each not far from here. Plus a dozen or so servants at the feudal lord's court and about fifty guards. And remember, he himself has a family, and this wonder-rabbit with four wives already has over a dozen children."

"Hm… The math doesn't really add up…" I drawled. "First and foremost, the castle will house his family with servants and the army. So at most two out of the three villages could take shelter, even if people just crammed into the walls."

"Only one. The biggest and closest to the new fortress. They'll let in only a few from the others. And remember, one of the villages will be destroyed suddenly. At best, one. And the inhabitants of our village will be let into the fortress last. We are free people, we just pay taxes for using the roads, trading, and sometimes harvesting wood in the forest that the local daimyo considers his. The other villages are mainly inhabited by this daimyo's servants. As a master, he is obliged to protect those who swore allegiance to him first, and only then those who simply pay him taxes. And anyway, if this paranoid cared about people, he would have freed us from the tanuki."

"That's… Pretty harsh…"

"Well, it's some kind of care. The previous landowner, according to the old-timers, was smart and kind but very gambled, so the people repeatedly paid off his debts… This one, let him waste money too, but at least not so uselessly. Right! Enough of the sad stuff. Better tell me, what was your question?"

"Ah, that…"

I told Kizoto everything I had seen before. She continued working, as did I. By the way, we had made good progress. However, I kept trying not to fall behind my interlocutor, as she clearly had more experience in crop care. And the local vegetation wasn't as yielding as I would have liked.

"So, you saw the village, heard music, and touched the strings. Interesting… Many describe the spirit world as a cacophony of different sounds. I'm no exception. This is a peaceful place, so the spirits are in harmony and express their happiness by singing. Often the voices of beings from that world resemble musical instruments. Although, it's more likely that music is an imitation of their voices."

"So, I was hearing the singing of spirits… But the strings… So different, trembling, and piercing everything around. I touched one and saw the village from a bird's-eye view… And then it was as if I was flying myself."

"Different strings? Tell me, I want to hear," Kizoto gave me a surprised look, then continued working.

"Yes… They are all of different lengths… and, definitely, different colors. And each sounds different."

"You're a monster, Dainsleif."

"What, sorry?" That phrase made me speechless.

"Those strings are described by mages, calling them the Weave. A kind of network of energy currents that bind space and time. Often, no one delves deeper into the spirit world than mages, and I don't much resemble a witch. I know little about this phenomenon, but I'll tell you everything I know. Perhaps you'll bring something new to it."

"I'll try to find out… But first I'd like to receive your instructions. After all, I was only born yesterday," a smile appeared on my face by itself.

"First, a theory lesson. What you saw is the spirit world. Everyone describes it differently, because the ability to perceive during immersion is in some ways even more important than the actual reality of what happens there. But there are several nuances common to all. That world may seem stronger, more ancient, more important than the material one, but don't let your feelings deceive you. It is incredibly fragile. And just as you can create unnatural things using the energy of the spirit world, actions with matter can influence the spirit world."

"So the two planes are connected, and changes in one will affect the other?" My logic was gradually starting to grasp what was happening.

"Yes. But it's not that simple. Chaos and Cosmos. Creation and Destruction. Life and Death. Reason and Emotion. These concepts are important for understanding the laws of both worlds and their connection."

"I am familiar with each of them… To one degree or another… Continue," I was only getting more interested with each word, as I have a great passion for philosophy.

"Excellent. The first thing you must remember is Chaos and Cosmos. States of energy in both worlds. Chaos is the form towards which everything tends, except life. Life is a form of Cosmos—order. But spirits don't abide by laws, so chaos gives birth to evil beings that seek only to multiply it. These can be monsters, if we're talking exclusively about our world. They can be evil spirits—if the other plane is involved. It can be anything, really, because that's what chaos is."

"Hmm, two states of energy, it seems. Interesting, is it the same energy you spoke of before?"

"Both yes and no. It is the energy of existence itself, of the world. We draw it from the world, appropriating it for ourselves."

"Now I understand. Somewhat similar to ordinary nutrition…"

"Exactly. Let's continue. Chaos and Cosmos exist in harmony in the world, but only if you take the whole world as a whole. In individual areas, one of the two predominates. And you saw this yourself; in our village, chaos is felt weakly and only in places. You'd understand if there were more of it."

"I think so… It's problematic to perceive chaos as a village in sunlight…"

"So here it is. Changes in energy between the worlds are conducted by bodies and phenomena of any nature. Whatever happens on one of the planes, one way or another, an echo will be felt on the other," Kizoto slowly lowered her hand into the water and pulled out a fish weighing about three kilograms, placing it in the basket on her back. "The question is one of power. There are different conductors. The strongest are the souls of living beings, followed by fire, air, water, and earth. Thoughts are the very last. Pushing them through the boundary between worlds is very, very difficult."

"That's why we meditate? Right?" I said, glancing sideways at Kizoto, who meanwhile sent another fish into her basket. I want to be able to do that too.

"Right. That's one meaning of meditation. There's another, but we'll talk about it a bit later. A bit later. Is everything clear so far?"

"I think so," my brain creaked, swallowing this dose of information.

Though I'm used to it. Student life can be worse. Memorizing a hundred pages for a seminar is commonplace. And fifteen hundred for an exam—god, I don't want to remember.

"Excellent! Let's move on!" Kizoto continued her story. "Creation and Destruction. In our world, it's easy to build a house, easy to destroy it. You could do it three times in one day if you had the people and materials. But with the spirit plane, it's harder. There's no concept of brick, no walls, no roof. A house is a feeling. The feeling that arises when a soul connects with a place. A new structure in our world doesn't immediately become a home there. Only when the building is inhabited, when it is valued and loved, does it form on the non-material plane."

"And if the house is destroyed, and its inhabitants leave?"

"Good thoughts, but all at once. Distinguish Cosmos from Chaos," Kizoto clearly emphasized the last sentence.

"I apologize, I guess I haven't understood everything yet. But if you think about it, destroying a house creates greater chaos than abandoning it. However, the force of time will also destroy an abandoned house, it will just take months and years, not days or hours. So what's the difference then?"

"In the concentration of forms. A burned house is concentrated destruction. And it bursts into the spirit world, giving birth to evil. If time destroys the house—then its projection will stand in the spirit world for a long time, which will also have a favorable effect on the material plane. People on the site of this house will feel a bit lighter. That's why ancient ruins inspire awe, provided they haven't been looted."

"And if you destroy a house in the spirit world?" The question slipped from my lips.

"That's harder to do there. Destruction, like creation, is difficult on the non-material plane. But then the house on our land would become cold and repulsive, and soon both people and spirits would leave it. And such a place can attract chaos and evil. That's how houses with ghosts and other unclean entities appear."

"It's becoming harder to understand, but so far it's relatively clear. In our world, it's easy to create and destroy, but the influence is small. Whereas in the spirit world, both creation and destruction are difficult, but the consequences of both are much more significant…"

"Well, something like that. Shall we move on?" Kizoto arched her back, looking at my hunched-over form with a smile.

"All ears!" I pulled another weed and took another step forward.

"Life and Death. We won't have to talk much about them. In our world, giving life is difficult, while spirits can be born by themselves from the fabric of the world. And vice versa. In the spirit world, dying is not easy, while we material beings can lose our lives quite easily. But the process of birth and dying has its own energy. Birth requires spending energy and, as a rule, shifts the balance towards Cosmos. But it's impossible to predict how much energy will be spent on the process. Dying, however, releases the remaining energy and life potential, so death is more predictable in this regard."

"What is life potential?" I asked the question right away so as not to return to it later.

"It's the gift of life. The ability to shift chaos towards cosmos. Let's say it's what determines the maximum term of your life at its inception."

"Like the Hayflick limit?"

"What?" Kizoto turned to me.

"Sorry, just an association. Continue," this time my medical knowledge burst out without my consent.

"Anyway, the earlier a creature dies, and the stronger it was, the greater the chaos it generates. Whereas old people pass away almost without disturbing the energetic order."

"Now it's all becoming clear. The death of an infant is maximum chaos."

"Nope, wrong guess," Kizoto smiled at me again. "Caught you. There are two more important terms. Reason and Emotion. You see, the soul is the most powerful conductor of energy between the worlds. Especially powerful at the moment of birth or death, which is why some rituals require sacrifice. But the soul itself can shift the balance, not just conduct what's already there."

"But what do feelings and reason have to do with it?"

"It's all quite complicated. To simplify, reason is the brush, the conductor, like the soul, and emotions are the paints, the form of energy. But all living beings have emotions, while reason—not all. This makes the spirit world very fragile, because emotions, experiences, sensations can directly distort it. That's why it pushes people out. But the soul is the strongest conductor, as I said. Therefore, strong feelings at the moment of death are easily conducted into the spirit world, forming a blot of chaos there. And this applies even to beings without reason."

"So, where many living beings died a painful death in our world, in the projection of the spiritual plane there will be…"

"A hurricane of dark, chaotic energy. But let's leave that fact. The lecture is almost over. Just a couple more points. First—we immerse ourselves in the spirit world to hone our reason and understand the shades of feelings. This allows us to work magic using Qi, provided we have the necessary knowledge or a sufficient level of practical understanding of the aforementioned scheme. Second—it's easy to lose your reason in the spirit world."

"Okay, the first point is clear, but the second one worries me a lot…" I was even scared for a second saying this, as it turned out I could have ended up a vegetable today.

"And for good reason. Most spirits won't harm you for no reason. But there are those for whom your mind is a desired feast. Dark spirits will simply try to destroy it to wrench more emotions from you, multiplying chaos. Particularly cunning ones can subjugate your will. So you need protection in that world too. First and foremost, it's purifying all your feelings before immersion. That way you'll attract less attention and, if something happens, will be able to return quickly. After all, most spirits can't reach you here, in the material world."

"Heh, then it's clear what else meditation is for. You can't always dive into the unknown completely defenseless. But it's discouraging that the main method is escape."

"Well, when you become stronger, gain more knowledge, maybe you'll study exorcism. That will allow you to banish dark creatures into the spirit world and deal with them there."

"I've only heard of banishment before… To deal with a spirit, and in a world where killing it is even harder… That's amazing…"

"And it requires a lot of life force. So for now, it's better to run—you'll stay in one piece!" Kizoto splashed me with water. "Losing you is the last thing I need."

"Hm… Sounds kind of sad. But I'll try not to disappoint you. I'll take better care of myself and learn more!" I smiled in response. "Although, I want to experience a lot right now."

"I understand. The young want everything, and right away. But in life, it's sometimes worth waiting and understanding things better. But you did well to listen to me through to the end now. I received all this information from a gifted person in our squad. His family has long studied the other side, so his instructions were priceless to me. He said that many of the awakened dove headfirst into the spirit world, which quickly damaged their minds, leaving them mentally disabled or even leading them to commit suicide. I am still grateful to that man for his invaluable knowledge."

"Thank you for the praise. You really explain well," my subconscious, meanwhile, was trying to comprehend why the lecture was taking place in a pose almost like downward-facing dog. "And can you tell me when we'll move on to practice?"

"Hmm, I think the sooner, the better. We can start after lunch. I'll teach you the very basics. There won't be time for more, and besides, a woman's martial art isn't suitable for a man of your build."

"For me, there's no difference between male and female. As long as it's effective and helps protect myself and my loved ones."

"No, no, I'm telling you. It's not about your preferences, but the structure of your body. Look at me and at yourself. Name the main difference," Kizoto became stricter.

"Um. Well…" I hesitated for a few seconds, then remembered!

Well, years of medical school, help me out! The anatomy of the male body differs quite significantly from the female, even excluding genitals. The peculiarities of male pectoral and female mammary glands, I think, are poorly accounted for in martial arts. That leaves the skeleton, ligaments, musculature, and features of the endocrine system. Let's start with the simple one—bones.

"The width of the hips and shoulders?" I said, pulling another weed.

"Close, but not quite. The center of gravity is different. Your chest, your shoulders and arms will carry it upwards, even if you're as thin as a rake. This contributes to increased power in movements, but in return reduces speed, accuracy, and body control. Not to mention weapons. That's why the footwork differs in male and female martial arts."

"So a woman and a man in the same stance will have different stability… But is that difference really so critical?" In my experience, it never stopped female boxing team members from using the same techniques we had and winning with the same methods.

"Before Qi comes into play—no. But if you want to use your abilities to the maximum—then you need to account for every little detail. Including your center of gravity. It's the foundation of everything, not some little thing! You remember what I said about energy? It comes from the body and will. But where is the force expended? The answer is—in every movement. Any muscle contraction uses this energy and directs it. That's why even within the same school, the martial art of experienced masters differs and is even unique."

"I see. That complicates everything. Honestly, I'm good with fist fighting. I use a sword less often, although I've practiced it before."

"Then you have a choice ahead, Dains. I will give you a foundation for developing your body and Qi, but you will have to determine your own path as quickly as possible. You can study fists and sword together, but the path will double in length. Choose wisely."

"I will remember your instructions, Kizoto. Thank you. And still, when do we start practice? Our section of the field is almost…" I pulled the last weed. Hooray! — "Finished!"

"Now straighten your back, warrior!" Kizoto put her hands on her hips, looking at me.

At that moment, I finally straightened up. Dear diary, I cannot describe in words or convey the pain and humiliation I experienced.

"Oooh-ho-ho-ho-o-o-o," with a characteristic drawn-out sound coming from my diaphragm, I straightened up and arched my back.

Then, from the sharp pain, I had to put my hands on my lower back, but not for long. Losing my balance in the soft, muddy bottom of the rice field made me wave my upper limbs like in old cartoons, but it didn't save the situation. I splashed down into the murky water right between two rows of rice, spreading my arms out to the sides. All this was accompanied by Kizoto's loud laughter as she watched me.

"Oh, Dains! Thank you, I haven't laughed like that in a long time! What is the most important thing for a warrior?"

"Vigilance…" I hissed through my teeth, spitting out water and mud.

"Especially vigilance towards oneself! You didn't straighten up once the whole way, and now you're hoping for a practical lesson. Get up!" the woman started to offer me a hand but pulled it back, causing me to splash down again. "Get up yourself, since you've decided to learn! Let's go have lunch before we get fried in the sun!"

Catching up to the headwoman, I couldn't resist asking:

"Kizoto, how do you catch fish like that? It's as if you just pull them out of the water."

"What is ripe is easy to take. You only saw the end, not the beginning. I first caught the fish on the spirit plane, and then simply took the catch from our side."

"But how is that possible? You weren't meditating, you weren't immersed in the non-material world? You were weeding and talking to me," I expressed surprise and confusion. What had happened didn't quite fit with what I had just been told.

"You don't understand? What if it's like this?" Kizoto picked up a stone from the ground, tossed it on her palm, and threw it at me. "Catch!"

I intercepted the projectile in flight, not letting it hit my chest.

"Did you think I would throw a stone at you?"

"No."

"Were you preparing for a fight?"

"No again!"

"You didn't think I would throw a stone and didn't plan to defend yourself against me, but you caught the stone. Think about that."

Somehow, Kizoto's explanation didn't add clarity, quite the opposite.

"Sorry, but I don't understand."

"Well, there you go, and you said you were listening carefully and understood everything I told you. Alright, I'll explain this time. Let me just transfer some fish to you so you're not carrying an empty basket."

Kizoto put her load on the ground and deftly tossed several hefty fish into the basket on my back. It must have been at least ten kilograms. Not bad at all. When did she manage to catch so many?

"Thoughts have a hard time penetrating the spirit world, as I told you," the headwoman continued, slinging her half-empty basket onto her back. "But emotions and desires penetrate there quite easily. I wasn't thinking about how I would catch the fish. I just wanted to catch it. I felt the prey, like any hunter or predator. And the fact that I was conversing with you during the fishing didn't hinder me; it even helped. My thoughts were occupied with you and didn't interfere with my hunter's feelings working. If I had started thinking about the fish, visualizing it, the ease would have instantly disappeared. To catch one little fish, I would have had to strain all my modest spiritual powers. It's easier to move stones than to fish like that."

The explanation puzzled me. It reminded me of a psychology task where you have to try hard not to think about a white monkey. So, influencing the spirit world unconsciously takes much less effort. Emotions and desires pass between the worlds easily, while a formulated thought squeezes through with difficulty.

"But that's… So how then… That is, if I want to do something in the spirit world consciously and controlling my actions, it's very difficult, but if I do something intuitively and without thinking, operating only on feelings and intentions, then everything becomes easy?"

"Actually, it's not easy at all. I've been catching fish like this for more than a year, so I do it without thinking. But at first, it was very, very difficult for me, even though I understand something about magic and the spirit world. But many villagers have been catching fish like this since childhood, even though they don't have even my very modest magical gift. It's just natural for them, like scratching their back when it itches."

Kizoto looked at my face, which could have been used as a model for a painting titled 'The Diligent Student Failing to Grasp the Postulates of Relativity Theory.' Her explanations were clearly not getting through to me well.

"Alright, let's try another way. You've been mastering the sword since childhood, right? When you perform a kata or are in a duel with another swordsman, do you think through every strike?"

"Yes. Well, not exactly. While I'm learning a strike or a combination, I think through every movement, but during sparring or a real fight, that doesn't work. If you think about the strike, you won't have time to execute it. My mentor said you can either think about a strike or deliver it. And the first is only permissible at the beginning of training."

"You had a wise mentor. Try applying what he explained not to the sword, but to any action on the spirit plane. And you will understand what I was just telling you about my fishing."

What I heard made me think deeply, and I didn't even notice how we reached Kizoto's house. At the door, I met Kafka. True to himself, he was probably hurrying so as not to miss lunch.

"How are you feeling, Lord Dains?" the alchemist inquired. "Has the weakness returned?"

"I'm fine," I replied, taking off and setting down the basket, and suddenly cried out in pain.

I looked at my hands and saw blood and torn blisters. While working in the water, I hadn't noticed how badly I had rubbed my tender palms on the rough stems. On the way to the village, my hands dried, and I had just torn the scabs off my fresh wounds. So these are the negative consequences of the body's rebirth. My delicate skin is completely unprepared for stress. How can I grow tough skin faster?

"What's wrong with you?" Ryu became concerned.

"Seems I tore off a few fresh blisters."

"Let me see," Kafka examined my palms. "Nothing serious, but it will be hard for you to hold a sword, and any work will be problematic. You know, I have an ointment, my invention… Well, there's no ready-made ointment, but I have everything I need to prepare it in literally half an hour. If you allow me, I'll mix it for you. Your wounds should close up in just a couple of hours."

"Have you tested this ointment on anyone?"

"Of course, on a rat. True, the rat died, but I'm sure it wasn't because of the ointment, but because I was testing an unsuccessful laxative on it. And the scratches healed wonderfully with the ointment."

"You know, Kafka, don't trouble yourself with this ointment for my sake. It will scar over on its own. The calluses will grow back faster."

"Come now, Lord Dains, it's no trouble at all for me. Besides, I can complete the testing of the ointment on a real patient… I'll prepare the medicine for you right after lunch."

I didn't say anything in reply, but thought to myself that it would be better to make myself scarce right after lunch. Better to go weed than to serve as a lab rat for the alchemist.

Chapter 18. A Talk About Brides and Fishing

Lunch was again fish and rice with vegetables.

"We're eating the same thing as yesterday, but the taste is somehow different. I wouldn't say it's worse or better, but maybe the spices are different or something," Kafka commented, swallowing another piece of stewed fish with appetite.

"It's because a different person cooked it," Saburo explained to him. "That's how it's done here: we are guests at the elder's house, but the neighbors take turns feeding us. Sometimes one house cooks more, sometimes another, and they bring it here. That's the custom. And it's also customary here among neighbors to take turns cooking every other day. Today, one housewife cooks for two or three houses, and tomorrow it's the other way around. People in the village live in harmony, they understand that it's easier to solve any matter together. It wasn't like that for us. We had good neighbors too, but everyone always thought about their own benefit, so if we did anything together, it was only with relatives."

"Yes, the people here are good. But the custom is still unusual. Just imagine if one of the housewives cooks poorly. Like, she just has no talent for it. She'll spoil everyone's mood and cause arguments."

"Well, don't jump to conclusions," Saburo replied. "Every family cooks differently, but no one will entrust ingredients to someone who ruins them. Cooking is the first thing mothers teach their daughters. If a girl cooks poorly, who will marry her and make her the mistress of the house? No one needs such a wife."

"But what if she's beautiful and smart and can do many other things, but just can't cook?" This time it was Freya who asked. "What, no one will marry her?"

"Of course they won't!" Saburo answered with peasant directness. "And how smart can she be if she hasn't learned to cook by marriageable age? Unless she was an orphan and lived without a mother. But even then, if she had any brains, she would have found someone to watch and learn from. If a woman can't cook, then she's either stupid or lazy! That's what our father always said. And our mother cooked deliciously. No one else could make mochi like hers. My brothers and I even used to fight over who would get the last ball. Yeah..."

Saburo suddenly became sad, remembering his deceased brothers.

"Well, we've found out something about Saburo's future bride," Kafka declared, scooping more rice into his bowl. "She will be a good girl who makes very tasty mochi... What's your favorite filling, Saburo?"

"With soft cheese or bean paste," Saburo smiled.

"There, you see. Saburo's bride will be a good girl who makes very tasty mochi with soft cheese or bean paste!"

"I haven't even thought about a bride yet," Saburo said, embarrassed. "I don't even have a house. What kind of bride talk is that?"

"And what if you only build yourself a house in twenty years, and until then you'll be traveling?" Freya asked. "For a warrior, that's a very likely lifestyle. Are you not going to marry until you have your own home?"

"I haven't thought about it that way. But if I decide to marry, I'll still have to build or buy a house. Otherwise, I'll have nowhere to bring my bride."

"But what if you meet that wonderful girl who makes the best mochi and who falls in love with you?"

"Well then..." Saburo thought. "Then I'll try to build a house very quickly. Probably... I haven't thought about marriage yet. Although now I am obliged to start a family to continue our line. My brothers didn't have time to have children, so it's my duty to my parents now."

"I'm an only son, by the way," said Kafka. "So, by your logic, I absolutely must start a family and have children?"

"Of course. It's the duty of every generation. Our parents gave us life, and we are obliged to pass this gift on. If a family has many children, then one of them can dedicate themselves to a chosen service and not start a family. But then one of the brothers or sisters must continue the line. That's what our father taught us, and his parents taught him."

"There's sense in your words," Kafka replied. "The precepts your parents followed are quite wise, but I won't marry just because there's no one else to continue my parents' line. I consider my main duty to be the study of the secrets of alchemy. If I can leave behind true knowledge, that will be more important than anything else."

"And you, Lord Dines," Freya looked at me, "are you planning to marry, and what do you imagine your bride to be like?"

The girl's question stumped me. Saburo had a ready answer about starting a family. But I...

Rizado of the Greydago clan, when choosing a bride, would have been guided by the interests of the clan. My parents would most likely have chosen a wife for me from among the other clans of the Brotherhood of the Fiery Scale. Marriages among distant relatives were a common practice. That's how they tried to preserve and strengthen the dragon blood. But now, only my sister and I remain of the Greydago clan. It's possible that for many years I am doomed to hide my name and live for revenge. Not the best conditions for starting a family and continuing the lineage. I have a house, but returning to it now would give my powerful and numerous enemies a chance to discover me.

If I want to return, I must become much stronger, or I must destroy Guido Crado as the main threat to the remaining two members of the Greydago family.

"My current situation is not conducive to planning a future family life," I answered after a pause. "My plan for the near future is to stay alive. And then, maybe, I'll live long enough to think about a bride. For now, I can't imagine her at all."

As I finished the last phrase, I thought I heard someone snort. I lowered my eyes and saw a green lizard sitting on the bench. And what business does a spirit have with our conversation about brides?

Noticing it was being watched, the lizard raised its head and disappeared. Its sly little face bore an expression as if it had been caught red-handed. What a mysterious little pest.

I decided to leave the company quickly, before Ryu remembered his desire to test the new ointment on me. Saying goodbye and leaving the house, I headed back to the rice fields. I thought I would find Kizoto in the field, but there was no one there. After a moment's thought, I decided to try my luck at fishing.

I entered the water and, wading between the rice rows, tried to want to catch a fish, but not formulate the thought. It didn't work very well, or rather, it didn't work at all. Or, more precisely, it worked the opposite way. I constantly thought about the fish, but I completely couldn't unconsciously want to catch it.

After wandering around the flooded field for about twenty minutes, I realized that this way I would definitely achieve nothing. So I decided to take a break and sat down on a clay embankment, dipping my feet into the water. The weather was sunny, and the water was cool. I made myself comfortable and relaxed. Then I thought, what if I imagine myself as a fish. Here I am, swimming between the stems, swaying my fins in the water. I spent another ten minutes on this, but achieved no result.

Then I stretched my legs, straightened my back, and began to meditate. On this path, I had at least some success. I spent a few minutes concentrating and clearing myself of emotions and unnecessary thoughts. And I wasn't even surprised when, following the state of inner emptiness familiar from years of practice, the music came again.

The melodies were subtly different from what I had heard in the morning. The world was again permeated by an infinite multitude of strings, each sounding its own note.

I decided that for now I wouldn't touch these strings, because last time I almost fainted. If I pass out and fall into the water, it would be a rather embarrassing way to die.

I began to "listen" to the sound of the nearest strings and realized that their sound reflected off surrounding objects and allowed me to "see" them with some kind of alternative vision. Probably, when I touched one of the strings in the morning, I was able to examine the village "illuminated" by its sound, like bright sunlight. Now I could also "see" the surrounding world. Though not as brightly, but well enough to notice movement and distinguish clearly different objects.

So, with my eyes closed, I retained the visibility of the boundaries of the nearest field, surrounded by a clay embankment. Inside it, I could make out many moving silhouettes. They differed in "color" and shape. Most of all there were silhouettes that looked exactly like fish. I tried to single out one such silhouette moving not far from me. I literally "grazed" with my new sense a fairly large fish swimming leisurely along the clay embankment I was sitting on.

Now the question is, how does Kizoto catch them? I felt the fish's spirit itself. But how to make it not run away or, even better, swim up to me so I can grab it? I tried to want it to swim closer. The attempt to concentrate on desiring something led to the loss of the general state. The threads and strings disappeared; it took me a couple of minutes of meditation to restore the lost "picture." And again I chose a fish swimming nearby, trying to influence it somehow.

I imagined it as a dog that needs to be called. I remembered Tobik, a small shaggy dog that always rushed to me as soon as I entered my grandmother's yard. The fish reacted. It jumped out of the water, flipped over, and splashed back down, splashing me. A couple of seconds later, it repeated its somersault.

During the next flight, I stretched out my hands and grabbed my "dog," which weighed about three kilograms. I couldn't hold the fish. It thrashed with all its might. And I can't say for sure whether it was trying to escape from me or just energetically imitating a dog's "tail wagging." As a result, I got significantly wetter and acquired some fish scales.

But this was already a result. I felt that I could influence the fish through its spirit, using a well-formed emotional image. I just didn't choose the right image.

Thinking about what image to choose, I heard a quiet giggle. Opening my eyes, I saw the lizard, which was clearly laughing while looking at me.

"And what's so funny? I'm trying to learn," I began to brush off the scales, which, as it turned out, had stuck to my shirt in considerable quantity. "Instead of laughing, maybe you could suggest something. You're a spirit, you should understand better how to influence objects through the spirit world."

"Is that how you ask a wise spirit to become your teacher, you stupid and impolite youth?" the lizard deigned to answer. "I know, but why should I teach such a boor?"

"Will you give a couple of tips for a drop of my blood?" I decided to play my only trump card.

"Well, if you're so stupid that you can't offer anything else, then so be it. I will teach you to catch fish for three drops of your blood. A deal?"

"Deal," I replied.

"Then you must do what I tell you, stupid youth. You don't need to think or remember. Just do what I tell you."

"Okay," I didn't object.

"You see, near the edge of the field, there's a small patch of reeds growing? Go there and bring six reed stems."

I walked along the clay embankment to the reed thickets, pulled out six plants, and returned.

"I told you: you're stupid. I asked for six stems, and you brought reeds with roots and tassels. Go again!"

I wanted to protest, but the lizard added:

"If you don't want to learn on my terms, then give me three drops of blood as per our deal, and I'll go somewhere to rest from a stupid and stubborn youth."

Gritting my teeth, I threw down the reeds I had brought and went a second time. This time I broke off the roots and tops of the plants pulled from the mud and returned only with the stems.

"Well, if explained well, even such a dull youth can manage on the second try. Now sit on the embankment. Put the stems to your left. Take one stem, dip it in the water, lift it, and count the drops."

I did as I was told. Four drops fell from the tip of the stem.

"Now try to dip the stem so that exactly two drops fall from it."

I did it. It didn't work on the first try.

"Put the stem back, stupid youth. Now take the stems one by one and dip them in the water. Do it so that two drops fall from each. If it works, move the stem to your right. If it doesn't, put it back to the left and start over. Nod if you understand and begin."

I nodded and started dipping the stems. A seemingly simple task turned out to be sheer torture. If it was easy with one or two stems, then not making a mistake with two drops six times in a row clearly wasn't working for me. Through stubbornness and anger, I managed to move all six stems in about twenty minutes.

"And now move them back to the left in the same way," ordered the green bastard.

It seemed the reptile was just mocking me with these stems. I moved them from right to left and back and dripped water for about an hour.

"A remarkably untalented youth. Since you keep making mistakes, you will do every movement on command. Begin. Put all the stems to the right. Take one stem. Dip it in the water. Drip twice. Put the stem to the right. Take the second stem from the left. Dip it in the water. Hand me that fish. Take the third stem. Dip it in the water. Hand me another fish. Put down the stems. Look at me."

I looked at the lizard, next to which lay two fish. I myself had just taken them from the water at my feet and put them next to the lizard. How? How did I do that?

"I see you're surprised. That's normal, given your stupidity. I'll explain. I made you move the stems and drip water so you wouldn't think about the fish. And I deliberately angered you. So when I asked you to hand me the fish, you didn't think about how to do it, you just took it and handed it over. At that moment, you were thinking about the annoying stems and the nasty lizard. You have enough spiritual power to similarly pick up and move a forest jaguar instead of a fish. To move it like an obedient kitten or make a seasoned wolf run away like a scared mouse, but you can't do it because of your stupidity. You must learn to do what you want, not think about it with your stupid head."

I listened to the mentoring tone of the green pest, while trying to recall the sensations I had when handing her the fish. At that moment, I had absolutely no doubt about what I was doing. I just took it, felt the fish, stopped it with my will, then lowered my hand and pulled it out of the water. So simple.

"Well, why are you frozen with a look like you know how to think?" the lizard shouted at me. "Look at these fish."

I looked.

"Hand me another one, that one."

I obediently lowered my hand into the water again, grabbing the fish. The fish thrashed and broke free. I tried to grab it or a neighboring one, but nothing worked.

"See, you started thinking about the fish again and stopped catching it. Did I already say you're a blockhead, or not yet?"

The failure after I had so easily retrieved the previous fish angered me. And this one keeps teasing. I felt another fish and wanted to grab it. Not thinking about it wasn't working, but I wanted it very badly! Really, really badly! Sharply lowering my hand, I grabbed the fish, which I was holding with all my anger, and yanked it out of the water. Only to immediately throw it away as fast as I could. The fish was hot! As if I had taken it from a pot of boiling fish soup.

"What are you doing?" the lizard squealed, jumping back from the steaming fish. "Although..."

The lizard sat down next to my latest catch, sniffed it, and began pinching off small pieces of seared meat with its paw and putting them in its mouth.

"At least some use from your stupidity," the pest said, swallowing. "I was getting hungry, hammering elementary knowledge into you. Well, give me three drops of blood. They'll go for dessert with the fish."

"We agreed that you would teach me to catch fish," I objected.

"And I did. Look, you've already caught three fish."

"But I can't repeat it, which means the training isn't finished."

"Don't make things up. You caught the third fish yourself, without my commands. And the fact that it's difficult – well, I didn't promise to teach you to catch fish easily and quickly. I've fulfilled my part of the deal and demand lawful payment."

It seemed the little pest was right. Actually, I understood what to strive for. I think now, if I practice, I can become a real terror to crucian carps and carps. I just need some time to consolidate the acquired skill. So I didn't argue and, as an honest man, extended my hand. Which, naturally, wasn't shaken, but bitten.

I thought the lizard would again put on a fire show, impersonating a small fire-breathing dragon, but this time it sucked the blood and, without saying goodbye, disappeared.

Chapter 19. More Fishing

— Well, see you later... — I said into the air, not thinking anyone was listening to me.

After that, I got the idea to examine the fish. After all, it had a strange smell, more reminiscent of our dinner. The last fish was significantly smaller than the first two, but that wasn't the main difference. It had been cooked from the inside, albeit unevenly. Out of pure scientific interest, I broke it apart with my hands and began carefully separating parts of its body with my fingers. The segmented structure of the muscle tissue and the rather fragile skeleton helped with this.

My hypothesis was as follows: the fish was cooked from the heart to the periphery along the blood vessels. And this hypothesis proved itself to some extent. But how could I have fried the fish without using fire? Especially from the inside? Especially through its closed circulatory system? Only one answer suggested itself — it was done through the spirit world. And it also scared the lizard. I'd venture to guess my anger provoked such a reaction. But still, how exactly did I do it? But my train of thought was interrupted by Kizoto, who had approached me.

— I see you're learning to fish, — the woman smiled at me, — and it seems quite successfully.

— It's all thanks to your lizard... I still don't understand how I did it, and it also turned out like this. — I sighed and showed the fish to Kizoto.

— Yes... Brute strength without brains... — Kizoto sighed. — You used anger, right?

— Well, the lizard's nitpicking made me angry, I got confused, and this came out. She started scolding me, then took her payment for the lesson and disappeared...

— Well, then this fish is yours, but put the other two back. Once they're in the water, the stupor will pass. My catch will be enough for our dinner, and it's hard to keep fish fresh in this heat. — Kizoto sat down next to me.

— Okay. — I returned the live fish to their natural habitat. — So, do you know what that was?

— Not exactly, — the woman smiled, — but I have assumptions. It's probably not even about your strength, but its quality. You are a guest on the spirit plane, so your anger killed the fish, passing into it via the spirit plane. Consider this your first act of sorcery, Dainsleif. But the fact that you used Chaos isn't very good.

— Chaos? And it's here... Right. Negative emotions... So, I used the power of the dark side!

For that phrase, I was given a solid slap on the head. And this time, it wasn't a fish.

— Don't do that again. It's destructive. For you and for those around you. I think that's what scared the lizard.

— But how does it work?

— Chaos intoxicates, wringing out your strength. It's easier to master, its power is greater at first, but the recoil on the body is colossal.

— How much greater than using harmonious energy? — I hadn't felt anything after catching the fish, so I wondered about it.

— Many times greater. Since you did a little, and you have the strength in your blood of a dozen trained soldiers, you didn't feel the negative impact. But if you rely on such explosive force — you won't notice how you'll collapse from fatigue or even lose your mind. That's its insidiousness.

— Heh, so chaotic energy is brute force, while harmony optimizes energy expenditure for a similar result...

— Not a similar one. Immerse yourself in meditation, and you'll see. I can already see it, so you'll sit here now and practice. — Kizoto slapped me on the shoulder.

I decided to do it. I cleanse my feelings, breathe deeply, hear the music, but... it's mixed with some crackling, grinding... What is it? I can't concentrate and understand, and my head is already starting to hurt. There they are! The strings!

— Come here! — I said to myself, pulling on a yellow one.

I found myself high in the air above Kizoto and me again. The main thing is not to look at myself... Stop! What's that black spot? Small, but seemingly sucking everything in. And where is it located... Right where I'm sitting...

Don't look! Okay. I need to get back.

No sooner had I thought about returning than my eyes opened in the real world, and I saw something black and smoking in front of me. It resembled either a blot or a stain, but in space, not on a plane.

— Fire? It can't be! It's underwater!

— That's the Chaos you left behind. Now you see it, and your consciousness is between two planes, — I heard Kizoto's voice. — Direct your power and suppress the vibrations. Spread the energy through space in even, smooth streams without vortices or tremors.

— How? — I started to turn my head, but the woman placed her hand on mine and clasped the little flame in the water.

That feeling flowed through me again. Anger, resentment, shame... Everything I felt when that fish got cooked, but there were others too. Fear, hunger, pain, cold, heat — all the same. But my feelings calmed down very quickly, and the flame in my hand went out. The black smoke dissipated, and my eyes closed for a few seconds. When I opened them, my body was standing knee-deep in water, and Kizoto's hands were pressing against my back.

— What happened? — I looked at the elder in bewilderment.

— I helped you. Again. I hope you remember well what needs to be done and how. If it weren't for me, you'd have been thrown back into the material world right now, having understood nothing.

As she spoke, Kizoto leaned on my shoulder and heavily sat down on the clay embankment. It seemed the assistance had not been easy for her.

— What do you mean? What happened? — My bewilderment knew no bounds.

— Learn to hold yourself between two worlds. There are two truths, one for each plane. Linger in both at once — and you will see the truth.

— I see... It's tough, though... But I'll try. And still, that fire... It's a form of Chaos, right?

— One of many. It can be like fog, swamp muck, slime, crystals that can even physically penetrate our world. It can also be alive. Evil spirits are an example. Feelings give birth to Chaos, and Chaos can give birth to feelings, if you understand what I mean.

— Transformation and preservation?

— Yeah. If you have enough will, you can absorb the feelings that generate Chaos and forcibly dispel it by mastering them. This time I helped you, but you can try it yourself. The main thing is — don't tackle anything big or dense. Never tackle it if there are no experienced people nearby, and I don't count myself among them. And don't try to subdue Chaos. It's beyond the power of either humans or spirits. Many have tried, only to lose themselves.

— It all sounds rather sad. But I'll remember it. And still... Is it possible to locally create an area of Chaos and suppress it as training?

— First, you are definitely not in your right mind. Second, if you seriously engage in such things, then not in the fields, better away from the village. Even though you dispelled the Chaos, fish won't swim to this shore for a week, even under fear of death.

— Is it that bad? — My eyes nearly popped out of my head. — Did I really do something so terrible?!

— The terrible thing is not what you did, but how. Frying a fish using Qi is relatively easy, although it requires a large amount of it. But besides the energy injected into the fish, you splashed your malice into the spirit world. You saw the consequences. And you will never dispel Chaos completely. Only spirits and the world itself can handle that.

— I'll be more careful... I hope this doesn't happen again. And still, how was I able to affect the fish?

— The less reason a creature has, the closer it is connected to that world, so fish are the easiest to influence. It won't be so easy with a cat, let alone a human... — Kizoto got to her feet. — I'll go finish with the livestock, and you meditate for now. But be careful.

— Okay... Since you say so, I'll continue here. — I sighed, as I had thought the practice would start now. — I like this place. It's peaceful...

— As you say, Dainsleif. — The elder went on her way.

At that moment, I was upset, but since I needed to meditate, I would. But first, I'll study the fish better. It was cooked in a very strange way.

It turned out that the most damaged parts really did come from the heart, but not exactly along the blood vessels. They followed some strange path. Moreover, when I grabbed the fish's head, it was still hot, even though a lot of time had passed. Also, the eyes had clearly changed too. I hadn't paid attention to that detail before. Taking a small stone, I began methodically breaking apart the skull of the already long-suffering fish on a larger rock. I didn't have a knife with me, and I certainly didn't want to run around the village with fish remains in my hands.

It turned out the brain was completely boiled, even baked. It seems that energy has some strange, unique flow within the body, as well as its own connection to the spirit world. But the circulatory and nervous systems are closely connected with its pathways, hence the picture. I wonder, how does a person conduct energy?

You can't meditate with a mountain of thoughts, so I decided to give the fish remains to the cat that had been eyeing my catch for a long time. After the fish was taken away, I folded my hands in front of my face and closed my eyes.

— Thank you for your sacrifice, I will not forget your contribution to science, — I said, turning my body in the direction the cat had gone.

Something inside me suggested that such a gesture towards the deceased fish would be appropriate. Maybe Rizado's memories interfered?

In any case, my meditation begins here and now. Lotus position again, straight posture, closed eyes, relaxed shoulders. My consciousness first sank into calm, then into emptiness. And so, I found myself among the strings again. This time, the grinding that caused dissonance in the spirits' song was gone, so the headache didn't intensify.

In previous times, I explored the world outside myself by touching the yellow strings. But here there are also blue, red, white, and black ones barely visible in the darkness. I hadn't dared to touch them yet, a premonition told me it was too early for me to try. But this time I mustered my courage and touched a blue one. But no such luck!

My hand simply passed through it, or rather, the string passed through my fingers, causing a feeling of numbness. It passed quickly, so this inconvenience didn't stop me. However, I still couldn't touch the other strings either, which meant the feeling could be trusted. I wasn't exactly burning with desire to touch the yellow ones either. I think I'll have time to study them later. In that case, I'll try to repeat what I just did with Kizoto.

— I want to return! — I said to myself, and immediately found myself in the familiar world, opening my eyes.

The strings weren't visible, and the singing of the spirits had died down. Only the wind rustled my clothes and hair. It seems I did something wrong.

I looked at the strings diverging in all directions and heard the singing of the spirits. I tried to slow down the return, but no. I open my eyes again. I repeated it about three times, trying to cling to something — to no avail. I had dived into a world where everything is not like ours. Maybe the yellow string will give me a hint?

I pulled the nearest one, again finding myself somewhere high in the sky. I landed smoothly, as before, and began walking between the houses and observing. Spirits were flying, running, and swimming all around. There weren't that many, as it turned out, but significantly more than I had assumed.

And so, another deep breath, the lake before my eyes again. Children walk past me, carrying crayfish in a wooden bucket. They must have caught them nearby while I was meditating.

Crayfish... The tastiest part is the tail. A big, meaty piece... A strong tail they use to escape... I tried to catch them with a fishing rod in my time, but it was useless.

At that moment, it dawned on me. When I immerse myself in the spirit world, I turn myself into a hook that I cast there. When I want to return — I jerk the line and immediately reel in. But I can't control how fast I reel. So, I fly back out like a crayfish rowing with its tail to escape! But if I turn to face the entrance... And exit as if entering... But into my own body, as into a vessel.

I decided to try first to at least look at my own body. Under the influence of the yellow string, I couldn't do it, but I hadn't tried otherwise.

And this time I succeeded! I really did it! I saw a translucent body among the multitude of strings, inside which streams of energy flowed in a crimson color. I couldn't understand how it circulated, but it did. And it did so in a massive flow, as if my body contained not vessels, but mighty rivers. The streams spread from the heart and converged back into it. The head was separate from everything else. As if there was another point of energy there, another source of it. Streams went from there throughout the body and back, as if by a different path. There was a third point in the abdomen. It's complicated. As if there were three hearts in the body, not one.

After observing myself from the inside, I decided to return to the ordinary world. I did it as carefully as possible, trying to leave a tiny part of my consciousness at the boundary. After that, I lay down on the ground and just rested without any meditation. I clearly needed rest.

Chapter 20. Aiko

I looked around. Kizoto never showed up. I stood up and stretched a little, chasing the pain from my stiff back. Then I slowly walked around the field along the clay embankment. For some reason, it's easier for me to think while walking. And I had plenty to think about.

As I walked, I tried to regain the sensation of the strings and their music. Stepping slowly and half-closing my eyes, I managed after a few minutes to catch the music. Not as clearly as when I immersed myself in full meditation, but the picture of the world changed anyway, new colors were added. With some edge of my consciousness, I began to feel many silhouettes again. I understood these were living beings or spirits. I still had to learn to distinguish them. For now, I could only pick out and recognize the silhouettes of fish. So, my "fishing" wasn't for nothing.

The realization that I had discovered so much in this one day suddenly filled me with joy. The feeling was unexpectedly bright. I was positively intoxicated. I felt like singing or jumping for joy. The thought that my psyche was apparently becoming unstable due to practices with the spirit world, I calmly dismissed and enjoyed pure, reckless joy. I wanted to share it, to convey my feelings to the world. The effect of my desire was unexpected. Dozens of fish began jumping out of the water and, flipping in the air, falling back in. Silvery bodies flew over the rows of growing rice, both singly and in sync, in groups of five or ten. I think any dolphin show would look quite pale in comparison.

— How are you doing that?

— I don't know myself, but it's great, isn't it? — I replied, turning around. — And who are you?

A few steps away from me, on the clay embankment, stood a girl. Her hair was red, though I hadn't met any blondes or redheads in the village yet.

— I'm Aiko, I live in this village. And you are staying at Kizoto's house with your friends, right?

— Yes, my name is Dainsleif. You can call me Dains.

— Okay, Dains. But what did you do to the fish in the rice field? You made them dance!

As soon as I got distracted, the fish returned to their normal lives. Only the ripples spreading across the water reminded us of the recent show.

— I don't know, Aiko, — as I said her name, bright and ringing, I felt it suited her very well. — I wanted to learn to catch fish, and then I was in a good mood, and this happened.

I felt myself grinning foolishly at the girl. The euphoria from practicing with the spirit world hadn't left me yet. I wonder if she thinks I'm an idiot?

But the girl unexpectedly also smiled a wide, bright smile. Not only her lips smiled, but also her green eyes, sparkling with mischief.

— That's great! When I feel good, I also want the whole world to sing and dance with me. It's true, I can't make fish fly, but I can do this.

Aiko came within a step's distance and held out both hands, palms up. Then she screwed her eyes shut for a couple of seconds and opened them again. At that moment, a green dragonfly flew over her hands. The little helicopter banked and began circling over the girl's palms. After a couple of seconds, there were two dragonflies, then three. Then more and more. They were all shades of green and yellow. In flight, like bright snowflakes, they sometimes scattered wider, sometimes gathered into a ball.

Finally, the girl, laughing, waved her hands, and the dragonflies scattered in all directions.

— Beautiful! Very beautiful, — I said, watching the scattering, sparkling pieces of the kaleidoscope of winged creatures, — and you are very beautiful...

On the last phrase, I reached out and touched the tips of her fingers. She pulled her hand back, and I faltered. The girl's smile faded. She looked at me seriously and even a little warily.

— Sorry, — I felt awkward, — it's just I'm a little out of sorts after what I managed to do.

I bowed my head, as is customary here for apologizing and showing respect. Touching a girl without her permission is not accepted in this society. It could even be considered an insult.

— It's alright, — she replied, taking a step back. But then she bit her lip and, squinting, asked, — Do you really think I'm beautiful?

— Yes. You are probably the most beautiful girl I've ever met, — I answered, and I could swear that was exactly the case.

Aiko was wearing shorts that reached mid-calf and a loose shirt. Her bare feet were smeared with clay. The hair on her head was gathered into a bun secured with a thin stick-pin, but a couple of unruly locks fell onto her face across her forehead. Her eyes were like a mosaic of pieces of amber and emerald. Her skin was lighter than that of most villagers, and a company of freckles adorned her nose.

In these clothes, it was difficult to discern the girl's figure, and she had simply tied her fiery mane into a bun. But I saw and felt that I had never met a girl like this before. Maybe it was the backlash after training with the spirit planes, but I saw before me the very one you could fall in love with at first sight. The one you dream of but don't believe exists.

Aiko managed to break the charm of the moment by sticking her tongue out at me.

— You have such an expression on your face, as if you looked into your bowl and saw a live frog instead of baked fish, — the girl smiled. — What are you planning to do now?

— I'll probably go to the village to look for Kizoto, — I replied, — I want to ask her about something.

— Let's go together, I'll show you something on the way.

— Let's go, — I agreed.

— But we'll take a slight detour, — said Aiko, turning and starting off.

The girl walked along the uneven clay embankments easily and naturally. As if not barefoot on crumbling, uneven slopes, but in sneakers on a smooth road. I could barely keep up with her, but I didn't dare admit that I was afraid of slipping and falling into the water. After skirting several rice fields, we approached a small stream that we had crossed via a bridge before entering the village.

— Here, it's here, — Aiko stopped at the bank in an unremarkable spot and pointed at the water. — Listen.

At first, I didn't understand what she meant, but then I tried to return to the state I achieved through meditation.

Closing my eyes, I listened to the world around me, to the river, and to those who lived in it. There was plenty of fish in it too. But if in the fields they moved slowly or just stood still, in the river current the silhouettes flashed like lightning. Although closer to the shore, there were also many fish standing calmly. I "listened" more carefully and realized that a deep pool had formed on this bend of the river, and this pool was inhabited. In the depths of the water was someone very large. It was either a giant fish or something very close to it. In "color," the giant was the same as most fish.

— What a whopper! — I couldn't help but comment.

— Yes, he is big. He is the biggest and oldest on this whole river bend. He is its guardian.

— So is he a spirit or is he a fish?

— He is a spirit and he is a fish, — the girl replied, as if explaining a basic truth. The villagers know about him and bring him sacrifices once a month.

— Do they feed him disobedient children? — I blurted out without thinking.

— Of course not! On the third day of every second yellow moon, they bring a snake molded from rice, stuffed with nine bladders of milk, to the spirit of the bend. Only one moon in winter is skipped. At that time, the spirit sleeps and won't accept the sacrifice.

— Why did you decide to show him to me?

— I thought if you can talk to fish, maybe you can talk to the spirit of the bend too. He is very ancient and wise.

— Well then, I guess I'll try. Though I'm not sure... — I sat down and closed my eyes, sinking deeper into meditation.

Again, permeating everything around, the endless strings manifested. The water flowing in the river was filled with its own music. Calm and leisurely flow were in harmony. I tried to touch the silhouette of the giant spirit. I did it carefully, but apparently, as always, I messed something up. The huge silhouette stirred, the water over the pool rippled, and the spirit appeared above the surface. It probably resembled a giant eel, at least the head and several meters of body following it reminded me of one. The head itself was so large that I would have had difficulty wrapping my arms around it. And the spirit itself could easily have swallowed me whole, without chewing.

The head rose above the surface and approached the shore so that the eyes of the spirit-monster were level with mine, half a meter away. The spirit didn't utter a word, but I understood that it was asking why I had disturbed it. I didn't sense anger in the question, but there was clearly some displeasure.

I nervously swallowed, imagining what would happen if it got angry. In its mouth, several rows of teeth, sharp as needles, each as long as two of my fingers, were visible.

I raised my open palm, depicting the most well-known gesture of friendliness. Then I looked at my fingers and did the only thing I could think of. I took out a pin, pricked my finger, and, squeezing a few drops of blood onto a plucked rice stalk, offered it to the spirit.

— A gift, — I said and thought, looking into the motionless gray eyes of the giant snake-like creature. It hung motionless for a few seconds, then brought its head closer to me and opened its maw.

I placed the rice stalk on the rough tongue, the size of a snowboard, and smoothly withdrew my hand. The jaws closed. I felt the spirit was pleased and, it seemed, surprised. The head swayed in my direction. It seemed the spirit sniffed me. Hovering near my shoulder, it moved its whiskers, each as long as my arm. Then it swayed back and "said" without words: "Danger!"

I turned around. There was no one nearby except Aiko. Did the spirit want to warn me that she intended to harm me? Nonsense! She was the one who brought me to him. Or did she think the spirit would eat me and then reward her for the tasty sacrifice? I looked at Aiko again and realized I couldn't suspect her of anything bad. Then I turned back to the spirit. It seemed to feel irritation because I didn't understand it. I seemed to hear again: "Danger, hurry!"

But what danger? Where should I hurry? I looked around once more; nearby was a section of the river and rice fields; besides me and Aiko, no one was visible. Or was someone hiding behind one of the clay embankments, preparing to attack? I looked at the spirit again, which, despite its apparent composure, seemed to have lost patience.

The giant snake swayed, and its head froze a millimeter from my nose. Then it did something, and I saw, as if with my own eyes, a squad of armed men crossing the bridge towards the village. By the colors of their armor, I recognized them as men serving the Crado family. They had come for me!