Dawn arrives dying the sky scarlet. I stalk away from the wreckage of the slaughterhouse. The crude leaf clothing and goblin weapons contrast with my pale complexion. The butcher-job haircut I performed on this body's black hair and the mud covering my legs completes my image as a savage child of the wilderness.
Growl— My stomach reminds me of its empty state. While watching for predators and food, I follow the trail.
Increasing my strength is necessary, or I won't be able to survive the plots surrounding this body. Unfortunately, gaining strength requires cultivation, resources, and knowledge. Although I do have quite a few cultivation techniques from my life as Lord Mallory, I know nothing about my current body and its compatibility with these techniques.
If only I had the boy's memories. He would know about his body from the country's required assessments.
The sounds of nature interrupt my thoughts. The calls of wild animals sound much less beautiful and a bit more irritating when you can understand what the animals are actually saying. Sure, some animals sing in a manner much like humming, others are yawning or grunting or looking for something. However, one particular bird along my path sings a song with a very repetitive meaning.
"Chirp Chirp Twit Chirp. [Look at my tree! My tree is amazing! Look at my tree! My tree is amazing! Look at my tree! My tree is amazing! Look at my tree! My tree is amazing…]" etcetera.
"Hey, bird!" My tone betrays my irritation. At first, I only want it to stop singing.
"Twit Twit. [Waah! Scary human? This tree is mine!]" The blue jay raised its wings threateningly.
Since it knows what humans are, I ask, "How often do you see humans?"
"Chirp Twit. [Very rare.]"
"Do humans live over there?" I point down the trail.
"Twit Chirp. [Yes, many humans.]"
"How far?"
"Twit wit Twit. [Fifty-two good trees]."
I ask the bird to explain what defines a 'good tree' but the conversation goes nowhere— The bird believes everyone is born with the knowledge of what a good tree is. What non-bird can understand the metrics of a bird?
At least I'm headed for civilization.
* * * * *
The footprints in the trail are more numerous now. A patch of wild onions grows on the side of the road. I'm starving, so I eat them raw. As I eat, pain flares up in my head.
Is this body allergic to onions? Were they cursed or poisoned?
I toss the rest of the onions away and continue walking down the trail, but the pain grows worse.
A chill runs down my body.
Did the abomination in the castle reach my real body and begin to devour my memories?
I examine my past life in my head. There seems to be no sizeable gaps. I can only continue in agony.
The intense pain knocks me onto my knees several times. A light burning sensation appears on my neck.
Wait! Could it be?
I struggle down the road and stop at a stretch of marsh. I bend over the murky water to examine my reflection.
"No…" My hand touches the glow on my neck. "Son of a troglodyte!" A ring of cross-shaped seals glows red on my neck— it's a collar of servitude, a.k.a. a slave collar.
How is this kid a forced laborer? Didn't I outlaw this practice years ago at the request of my sworn brother?
Yes, the same brother who betrayed me also convinced me to outlaw slave collars. He wasn't all bad. Experiencing the evils of this collar firsthand, affirmers outlawing them was the right decision.
Before I outlawed them, 'Employers' used collars to punish workers with pain. Typically, it enforced prompt arrival to work, prevented escape, and punished misconduct. Higher-grade collars also sent a signal for locating the runaways. The collars of egregious criminals may even have killing functions. However, even before I outlawed them, criminals and prisoners of war were the only people eligible for a collar.
Who created this banned collar? Why apply it to a child?
I have no way of knowing if this collar has a tracking or killing function, but considering the unknown circumstances of this body, I'd rather not let anyone see it. I scoop mud from the marsh and smear it over the collar. Gritting my teeth, I run down the path.
How haven't I passed fifty-two good trees yet?
Perhaps because I am squinting and gritting my teeth, I don't notice a farmer and his pair of dogs on the trail ahead.
"Bark! [Intruder!]"
I stumble in surprise and scramble behind a rock.
I focus on the dogs. "I'm not an intruder."
"Bark! Bark! [Talking intruder.]"
My hand slaps my aching forehead in exasperation.
The gritty voice of a man travels around the boulder, "Who's there?"
I direct the dogs by gesturing and saying, "Squirrel over there."
The dogs turn and run in the direction I point.
"Squirrel? Don't play games, kid. Identify yourself."
Apparently, my words sound like a normal human child, but at the same time, dogs can understand them. I'll test the rules governing my ability more in the future.
My plan to fool the farmer by distracting his dogs fails because he can find me through my voice. Was it a terrible plan? Yes, but you try to plan while experiencing excruciating pain.
As the farmer walked into view, A wave of pain unlike any before causes me to faint.
...