As she stared at me, the wrinkles on her face seemed to deepen as if time itself was carving each line with the chisel of bitterness. Her veins, more pronounced than a war map, pulsed with a kind of ancestral disdain. It was as though her gaze could suffocate me in my sleep, and she would do it without a blink, as if it were her favorite routine.
This was the matriarch of the house, the terror of one and a half meters of pure determination. Her white hair, which looked more like a crown of silver strands, hid a past forged in the steel of relentless family battles. Every step she took was accompanied by a grimace that, if it could, would have the power to wither a plant.
I tried to sink into the book before me, as if the words could shield me from the storm about to descend. But the shadow she cast was long and inescapable. I knew I couldn't avoid her, and the confrontation was about to begin.
— You've been slacking off too much, haven't you, lazybones? — her voice cut through the air like a sharp blade. Her gaze fell on my book as if it were the very embodiment of laziness. — It would be good if you worked harder, maybe become... useful?
The word "lazy" almost made me laugh, internally, of course. Lazy? Me? If she knew who I was, who I really had been, she might faint in shock, but instead, she preferred to threaten me with her petty complaints. Oh, God, please spare me another headache tonight.
— You should help more in this house. — she continued, like those grumbling 'prophets' that never cease. – There is a lot of work to do! Cassia should have listened to me...
And there it was. The great irony: I could read. She couldn't. Somehow, this bothered her more than anything else. I was a commoner who knew more than the matriarch, and that seemed like an affront to the balance of the universe itself. Yet what she truly wanted was a worker with firm backs and calloused hands, not someone who could quote books or, in my case, conjure a deadly spell with a snap of the fingers.
In my old world, I had been noble, though from a modest house, but with enough comfort. From a young age, I had a talent for magic and swordsmanship, something rare and coveted. I became the first mage-swordsman, someone capable of winning battles that would make even the gods tremble. But here, I was just... well, a "lazybones." Ridiculous.
I rose from the floor with all the dignity I could muster, which, to be fair, wasn't much. I was even shorter than the matriarch, and I felt her gaze scanning me as if she were considering how much she could profit by selling me at some distant market.
She then dared to raise her wrinkled, age-spotted hands, touching my face as if she were inspecting a warhorse at auction. The silence between us was deafening, almost tangible, until, finally, her voice cut the air with an insinuation that made me want to flee.
— You're becoming more handsome... — she muttered to herself. Her hand grabbed my chin and turned my face, examining me from every angle, as if deciding whether I was worthy of being displayed in a gallery. Oh, if she only knew... If she knew the power I hid behind this forced smile, she might have a... less controlled reaction. Or, perhaps, a disaster in her pants.
The old woman gave one last quick pass of her rough fingers along my chin, squeezing lightly. I could already imagine the satisfied look on her face as she envisioned me as a future bargaining chip. But, to my surprise, her hands pulled away, as if an invisible magnet had drawn her attention away from me. That's when I heard the familiar and somewhat irritated voice of my mother echoing down the hall.
— Mother! I need you in the kitchen! — the voice sounded loud and impatient, as always.
The matriarch let out a deep sigh, and for a brief moment, she almost looked tired. She released my face as if I were a discarded toy, something she could bother with again later. Without a word, she turned toward the door, her crown of white hair swaying gently as she marched with her usual dignity.
— Remember what I said, boy... — she whispered before disappearing through the door, leaving behind a faint trace of her overpowering, nearly suffocating perfume.
As soon as the echo of her footsteps faded down the hallway, the tension in the air dissipated, and I could finally breathe. But, to be honest, the desire to continue reading evaporated along with her. I closed the book with a heavy sigh and looked out the window. The night was intense outside and my eyelids were starting to droop. I could fight sleep, but what would be the point? The day had already taken a lot out of me, and the thought of dealing with another encounter with the matriarch left me exhausted just thinking about it.I kept the book under my bed. And I lay down on a straw mattress that, luckily, had a wooden structure.
Little by little, I surrendered to the drowsiness, and within minutes, I was asleep.
The following days passed like a tedious and repetitive mix of tasks and empty hours. Helping in the garden was hardly the pinnacle of adventure I had dreamed of. In my old world, my epic battles against demons and magical creatures made my life seem full of purpose. Here, however, I was digging the earth with a hoe and trying not to think about how pathetic it all was. The routine stretched on, day after day, with no notable changes, except for the little moments when I could disappear into my own thoughts.
I walked through the garden, the gentle breeze caressing my face as I observed the rows of growing vegetables. The peas crawled along their trellises, the tomatoes were heavy with red fruits, and the carrots hid beneath the soil's surface, like treasures waiting to be discovered. With my hands dirty from the earth, I worked with the familiarity of someone who had been born in this setting, yet at the same time, my spirit was far away.
As I dug and pulled out the weeds, my mind wandered to the nature of the mana that resided in my body. The magic pulsed within me, like an underground river waiting to be channeled. Each drop of mana I managed to gather felt like a small victory, but creating a core still seemed a distant dream. I felt the vibrant power inside me, but I didn't know how to control it.
— If only I could just gather enough... — I thought as I pulled a stubborn root from the ground.
The core would be the first step to accessing true powers, a manifestation of my will, and the possibility of shaping reality to my image. But for now, I was just a child in a fragile body, struggling against the limitations that life imposed on me. Each breath reminded me that I was in a world where brute strength still prevailed over magic.
The work continued, repetitive and familiar. Every day I pulled the weeds, watered the plants and tended to the harvest, all under the watchful eye of the old woman. His presence became constant, a shadow that accompanied me and guided me in my daily work. But there was something strange in his gaze, an expectation that I couldn't decipher.
Days passed, blending into an endless sequence of tasks. The sun's heat burned my face, and the constant effort began to weigh on my small shoulders. By the end of yet another long day, fatigue finally started to overtake me, and I couldn't resist the need to rest.
So, I let myself fall onto the straw in the corner of the garden, my eyes heavy with sleep. The whisper of the wind in the leaves and the distant song of birds became a gentle melody that rocked me to rest. I closed my eyes, allowing the darkness to envelop me, oblivious to the outside world.
Then, one morning, something different happened. I woke up to a gentle poke on my shoulder, but instead of my mother shaking me off for another day in the garden, it was my grandmother's rough, wrinkled hand.
— Time to wake up, lazybones — she said, her voice as sweet as vinegar.
I blinked a few times, still half-lost between sleep and reality, until I realized. My grandmother? Waking me up? Wasn't that my mother's job? A wave of confusion hit me, but of course, I knew what was happening. I had lived long enough to understand when someone was plotting something, and my grandmother had the special talent of being manipulative.
— Where's my mother? — I asked, trying not to sound as suspicious as I felt.
She paused dramatically, likely rehearsed, before responding with a calmness that only made me more alert.
— She went to the merchants with your aunt. They needed to buy some things, so they left the household work to me.
I raised an eyebrow. This made no sense at all. Since I had been in this house, never once had my grandmother let anyone else go to the local traders. She was the toughest hand I had ever known, especially when it came to our coins. And now, out of nowhere, she trusted my mother and aunt with that kind of task? No, something was wrong.
As my mind raced, I began to piece things together. My mother and aunt both absent at the same time, and my grandmother, the absolute control freak, relaxing to leave the household finances in someone else's hands? This was not just strange; it was alarming. As someone who had lived through more than the people in this house could ever dream, I knew when someone was planning a scheme.
My grandmother had plans, and I needed to find out what they were. Something told me I was the central piece of those plans, and that was not good news.
— Ah, the merchants... of course. — I feigned agreement, rubbing my eyes as if I were just sleepy. But inside, my mind was already formulating ways to uncover more. — I hope they bring something interesting.
She simply smiled, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. A smile that told me everything I needed to know: I was in the middle of something troubling.
— Don't worry, your work today will be different. No gardening; I need you to come with me. — my grandmother's voice rang out unexpectedly, snapping me out of my morning stupor.
I sat up, surprised, blinking rapidly to shake off the sleep. My mother and aunt were at the market. That alone was enough to keep me alert, but the fact that my grandmother needed my help with something outside of the garden routine aroused immediate distrust in my chest. She never liked changing the rhythm of the house, especially involving money and work.
— With you? — I asked, trying to hide the distrust in my voice, although curiosity began to mix with discomfort.
— Yes, with me! — her penetrating gaze met mine, a clear challenge etched on her features. There was something different, an urgency that was uncommon in her usually controlled voice. — Now, boy. Come quickly. We have no time to waste!!
She turned abruptly, but not before grabbing my wrist with a firmness I didn't expect from someone her age. Her strength caught me off guard, and even though my twenty-year-old mind told me to question it, the reality of my situation—a young, frail body marked by malnutrition—held me back. In the end, there was little to do but follow her.
As she led me through the house, I noticed an anxiety lurking behind her austere facade. Her movements were quicker, more abrupt. Questions danced in my mind, but I knew she wasn't the type to answer easily. It was pointless to push. Soon we were at the entrance of the house, and she paused, turning to me with a calculated look, something that made me feel like a piece in a game whose rules I didn't know.
— Listen, boy. — she adjusted her apron with the precision of someone preparing for an important announcement. — The world out there is dangerous and treacherous, and you need to learn that now. Today will be different. Don't ask unnecessary questions.
— Where are we going? — I asked, my voice more cautious than curious. The rapid beating of my heart didn't help disguise the mix of apprehension and suspicion growing inside me.
— There are some people you need to know. — his answer was direct, but his gaze wandered for a second, as if there was something more hidden in his words. — Like a good deal... They can help us, but you need to be obedient... And polite.
Each of her words sounded like a riddle. The discomfort in my stomach only intensified. Something was very wrong.
— Help us...? — I repeated, trying to stay calm. But the word "business" coming from my grandmother's lips never indicated anything good.
— Exactly. — she shot me a firm, almost intimidating look. — Don't worry, you'll understand soon enough.
Her tone left no room for more questions, and something inside me knew that any insistence would be futile. Still, my brain was racing, trying to predict what lay ahead. I felt as if I were about to cross an invisible line, one of those that changes everything irreversibly. She opened the door of the house with a decisive motion and pulled me outside, the cold morning air hitting me like a gust of reality.
As we crossed the familiar ground I worked on daily, a sense of isolation washed over me. Everything seemed normal at first glance, but my grandmother's words, her gestures, and the way she avoided any direct eye contact with me indicated otherwise. When we passed through the small wooden gate, anxiety began to swell. Where was she taking me?
We walked further, and as we moved away from the village and the house, I caught sight of something in the distance that made me stop for a second. Near an old abandoned warehouse, two figures emerged like shadows cut by the dawn light. They stood close to the door, watching our approach. They weren't peasants or traders; I knew that. Their clothes were of fine cuts, but they wore dark cloaks and displayed daggers at their waists. Mercenaries.
My mind raced to piece things together. Why were these men waiting for us? What was my grandmother plotting? I decided to adopt an innocent stance, even though my brain was already in overdrive, analyzing every detail.
— Who are they, Grandma? — I asked, feigning innocence, doing my best to be convincing for a seven-year-old.
She shot me a brief, almost disdainful glance before responding with a calculated indifference.
— Don't worry. They are just... acquaintances. They want to talk to you.
Her tone concealed something darker, something unspoken. My suspicion grew stronger by the second. I could feel that something terrible lay behind this, something that involved more than just a simple exchange of words.
As we got closer, the taller, bald man let out a sarcastic laugh, his eyes analyzing my appearance intrusively. The absence of half his ear stood out even more in the morning light. He looked grumpy and impatient, and his voice echoed harshly.
— So, this is the boy? — he looked at my grandmother with a mix of disbelief and disdain. — Doesn't seem like much... almost a girl.
My grandmother didn't hesitate; her response was sharp but low enough to be almost a whisper.
— He is what he needs to be. Don't be fooled by appearances.
The other man, with a broken nose and a scraggly beard, leaned toward his companion and murmured in a tone meant to be heard:
— Perhaps 'he' prefers a boy like this... delicate. — The lean man chuckled softly. — It could fetch a good price, higher than he offers, Half-Ear.
At that moment, everything made sense. My grandmother, the suspicious meeting, the mercenaries... she was trying to sell me.
"Helping to bring about my end..." I thought, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Did the old woman really want to get rid of me this way? The thought was almost laughable, if it weren't so laced with contempt. At least she didn't try to smother me while I slept. Ah, of course, why kill directly when you can profit? Mercenaries pay well for fresh meat. Get rid of me and still earn a few coins in the process... How convenient.
"HAhahaha," The laughter reverberated in my mind like a distant roar. The idea of her disposing of me while still profiting was almost brilliant in its cruelty.
Half-Ear let out a low, malicious chuckle, his eyes roving over my body as if assessing a piece of merchandise about to be sold. The quick, calculating gaze irritated me, but I kept silent.
He gestured for the old woman and me to follow. My grandmother tightened her grip on my wrist, a sly smile on her face, pleased with how things were unfolding.
We entered the dark and stuffy place, with only a few openings allowing thin rays of light to enter. The smell of dust and damp filled the air. I sighed inwardly, finally understanding the old woman's complete plan. She had sent my mother and aunt to the merchants, leaving me alone with her, ready to do as she pleased. It was evident that this had all been plotted with those two scoundrels.
I remained silent, not out of fear, but out of habit. Situations like this were familiar to me, coming from my old world. It made no sense to react recklessly, even knowing that my childlike appearance limited me. There was too much at stake, and at that moment, I needed to be smart.
The two men approached slowly, their movements resembling predators closing in on prey. They watched me with morbid interest, trying to assess every detail that could increase or decrease my value. Half-Ear was the first to speak, breaking the tense silence.
— He's quite handsome, I must admit... Looks well-kept — he murmured as his filthy hand gripped my chin, forcing my head to turn from side to side. The sour smell of alcohol on his breath was suffocating. — Quite young too... What, seven or eight name days...
The old woman smiled, satisfied, her gaze shining in the dim light of the house.
— Seven name days. — she corrected, as if boasting of a rare jewel she had just presented.
Half-Ear looked at me like a sculptor assessing his raw marble, his hands descending to my chin again, forcing me to look him in the eye. His dull, cold gaze seemed to search for any imperfection that might devalue his find.
— No scars, no marks... Exactly how he likes it — he said, turning to Broken Nose.
— And the rest of the body? Any imperfections? Anything that might affect the price? — Broken Nose asked, moving closer with the same hungry look.
He began to grope me, his rough hands touching my body as if I were merchandise at a market. Each touch was cold and soulless, laden with the disdain of someone seeking only profit. I felt the urge to crush those two, but I held back. It wasn't the time for foolish impulses. Killing two slave traders while trapped in a child's body would only bring more problems than solutions.
Half-Ear felt my arm, surprised by what he found.
— Not a weakling... Has strength... — he commented, as if it were a pleasant surprise. — He's stronger than he looks.
— Let's see the rest. Strip him! — ordered Broken Nose, making an impatient gesture with his hand.
The old woman smiled, visibly excited by the idea.
— Leave it to me, gentlemen. — she said, approaching with her wrinkled, trembling hands that looked more like the claws of a hungry vulture.
She began to undress me, piece by piece, with a cruel delicacy that contradicted the nature of the situation. As my skin was exposed to the dim light, the two men examined me in silence, their expressions morphing into a mix of greed and interest. The atmosphere was charged with heavy tension, like the air before a storm.
— He really is a boy... — murmured Broken Nose with a sarcastic smile, his eyes devouring me as if I were a prize awaiting my fate.
The men whispered among themselves, satisfied with what they saw. The clinking of coins echoed as a small pouch was tossed to the old woman.
— Worth it. — said Broken Nose, his smile widening. — We'll take him!
As the old woman reveled in the coins, the men began to prepare to take me, putting my clothes back on me. I knew that the opportunity to escape was rapidly fading, but there was nowhere to run. Making a fuss would only result in pain.
In an attempt to come off as an innocent boy, I knelt at the old woman's feet, grabbing her dress with an expression that bordered on despair. My eyes, filled with forced fear, fixed on the men.
— Let's go, Grandma... I'm scared. — my voice came out trembling, filled with an innocence that bordered on vulnerability.
The old woman, visibly surprised, hesitated for a moment, but soon composed herself, embracing me with a false affection.
— It's all right, my dear — she replied, her voice sweet, but her words were empty, lacking any real weight. — They're just going to take care of you for a while while I sort some things out.
Her eyes betrayed the protective tone, making it clear that this was all just a game, a poorly disguised charade. The illusion lasted only a moment before, with a blow to the back of my neck, a dense darkness began to wrap around my vision. I knew I was about to lose consciousness, as if my body were giving up. Everything faded into a silent blur, but there was a strange promise in that emptiness...