"Die, bastard!" — With a cry full of despair, the young man pulled the pin from the grenade and rushed forward. Tears welled up in his eyes, and thoughts of childhood, friends, and first love flashed through his mind. He remembered the moment of parting, when, just before leaving, he said goodbye to his family, assuring them that he would return victorious. Memories just a month old seemed so distant. And now, he, possibly the last of his company, runs forward, hoping to take the enemy with him...
Suddenly... He stopped. His pupils contracted, and a nearly inaudible scream escaped from his throat. Despite all his efforts, he could not move an inch. As if his paralyzed body had stopped listening to him. Suddenly, his uncontrolled hand began to move, rising and pulling a small knife from the sheath on his thigh. The man could only helplessly watch as his own hand slowly drove the knife into his throat, deeper and deeper. Blood began to ooze from the blade, but the movement did not stop. The blade penetrated further, cutting through flesh and the carotid artery, and piercing the trachea. It paused for just a second before tearing through the man's neck with a sharp motion.
From the severed arteries, blood gushed like a crimson river, spilling out and filling the man's airways. And within a minute, another corpse fell to the ground.
Another body... Almost indistinguishable from hundreds of other bodies lying nearby, drowned in a sea created from their own blood.
Amid all this disgusting madness stood a single, completely indistinct male figure. Surveying the scene of the carnage, he quietly said:
— What a meaningless death... — he said, looking at the exploded body of the failed hero. — Well... Ashforth has fallen too... — With a sharp movement, the man raised his head, and his lips stretched into a joyful smile.
=====
The loud ringing of bells shattered the morning silence like a knife through the dense fabric of sleep. The young man, whose dreams were abruptly interrupted by this sharp sound, forced his eyes open and directed his tired gaze at the ceiling. Rubbing his temples lightly, he sighed heavily, got out of bed, and sat on the edge.
Lowering his gaze and finally waking up, he began to slowly piece together the events of the previous day from scattered fragments of memory.
"What should I do now?" he wondered in his thoughts.
"Yesterday I killed a man... Although our worlds are different, and this world is clearly technologically behind, murder is still a serious crime. An investigation will soon begin, and this case will be publicized," he continued to ponder, looking around the room for his belongings.
"Considering that the maid saw me yesterday, there's no point in expecting that the body won't be found soon... If she got a good look at my face, a composite sketch will probably be made, and I'll be declared wanted." The bed, clearly not new, creaked under his weight as he stood up.
Opening the door, he caught a faint scent of rain. The light of the morning sun, breaking through the clouds of the overcast sky, illuminated the room through a small partially open window. A modest bathroom appeared before him. A shower, a copper sink, and so on. Nothing unusual, except...
— Why are there two faucets here?
Approaching the unusual device, he turned the valve, a light creak was heard, and water began to flow. Lucian put his hand under the stream but quickly pulled it back.
— Damn, why is it hot?
After spending a few minutes trying to adjust this mysterious device and finally achieving the desired temperature, he splashed his face with slightly cool water. Lucian raised his head and looked at his reflection.
— I have only forty-seven... copper ducats left? That's what the guy at the pawnshop called them?
"To stay at this inn, I need twenty ducats, and for food, around twelve more. Even if I eat just once a day and get food elsewhere without ordering it here, my money will last for a maximum of a couple of days," he continued to think as he stretched his neck, washed up, and left the bathroom.
Putting on his clothes, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two copper-colored bills, each worth twenty ducats, and three coins. The bills depicted the bust of a woman. An ornate tiara adorned her head. On two of the three coins, one noticeably larger, busts of men in profile were depicted. The coin worth five ducats had a man with a rather lush beard and a top hat. The coins worth one ducat each showed the profile of a boy of about eight years old.
After turning them over for a few seconds, he sighed wearily and put them back into his pocket.
"In any case, I need money now... Moreover, I need to find it quickly before they find me," he paced the room, rubbing his chin. "And where can I get the money? Steal? No, stupid idea, knowing myself, I'll just end up in jail faster."
— Maybe I should try begging? No, what if beggars are caught here...
Thinking about this, Lucian quickly approached the window and pressed against the glass, looking out at the street. Indeed, there was not a single beggar in sight.
— And when I walked through the alleys of the city, I didn't see anyone. Damn...
"Where else can I get money? Theft, begging, selling something... Try to find a job? But for that, I probably need some documents," he continued brainstorming, sitting on the edge of the bed.
— Sell my clothes? Who would want them... Maybe find some one-time job? Yes, it's a good option, but there's a problem, I still need to find that job... — he muttered to himself, falling back onto the bed and staring silently at the ceiling.
"Well, let's say I find a way to earn money, and then what? To leave the city, I still need some documents... Just leave the city and go wherever my eyes take me? No... I'll just die somewhere in the field. Try to join a caravan? Are there any caravans here at all? This doesn't seem like the Middle Ages. I could try to buy a train ticket, but again, I don't know the local system and whether documents are needed for that... And, most likely, there will be patrolmen. Try to resell a ticket? It's not a bad option, but how much will it cost? Maybe I should ask about work in the inn?"
He quickly got up from the bed and left the room. The corridor, stretching along six doors, greeted him with its usual silence. He paused slightly, listening to the sounds coming from behind one of the doors, and only after a few seconds continued on his way. The old wooden floorboards creaked under his feet as he descended from the third floor.
Descending to the first floor, Lucian scanned the hall for familiar faces. In the right corner of the room stood Paula. She was focused on her work and, not paying attention to anyone, was sweeping the floor with light, evidently familiar movements.
Lucian hesitated a bit, but eventually approached her.
— Excuse me, — he began, but his words hung in the air.
Paula looked up from her work and glanced at him.
— Hm? Do you want something?
— I... am looking for a job, — Lucian said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. — I'm willing to do anything.
After a brief pause, she replied:
— Sorry... But we can't offer you a job.
— I'm willing to do any job... — he said desperately.
— Sorry, but rules are rules.
Paula sighed and slowly returned to sweeping. However, after a few moments, she asked:
— Do you urgently need money?
— Y-yes, — Lucian said hopefully.
— If you urgently need money, go to Gunter. He's on the third floor, in room 302.
— Thank you! — he exclaimed and quickly headed for the third floor.
Reaching the right floor and walking a few meters, Lucian stopped in front of a door marked "302". He extended his hand and knocked, but there was no answer. He knocked again, but again, no answer. He knocked a third time, and the door flew open, revealing a familiar man.
— Stop knocking on the door! Do you think I should run to open it?! Hm? Lucian?
— Yes... Sorry to bother you, I...
— No problem, come in, — he interrupted Lucian and stepped aside, inviting him in.
After a moment's hesitation, Lucian accepted the invitation and entered the room. It looked no different from his, except for the large pistol lying on the table.
— Have a seat.
Pointing to the chair at the table, Gunter sat across from him, putting the pistol away.
— Are you here on business? Or just wanted to strengthen our friendly ties, huh?
Picking up a flask from the table, he tossed it lightly, checking the amount inside.
— Yes. Um... Paula said you might help with a job, — he finished, trying not to show his anxiety.
Gunter looked at him thoughtfully, took a sip from the flask, and then placed it back on the table.
— Paula? — he repeated with mild sarcasm. — She does say a lot. But have you thought about what kind of "job" I might offer?
— I have... a few problems, — Lucian said, carefully choosing his words. — I need to earn quickly. Maybe I can help you with something? I'm willing to do whatever is required.
Gunter looked him over and, after a moment's pause, asked with mild interest:
— Can you run fast?