Chapter 2: Cruelty in the Slum
"Piss off!" the woman in white clothes shouted at Muriel, "We need the space for people who can survive!"
Muriel did not say anything. His body was still hurt, yet he showed no weakness. He made his way, out of the healing tent in slowness and careful steps.
That same early morning sun glistened at the real landscape, which was slums from Arslan: everywhere broken structures, even people fighting each other in street-side for small pieces of bread.
"I need to find food and shelter first," Muriel thought. He remembered his training from his past life. Basic needs came before anything else.
He made his way down the grimy street, scrounging around for anything he could use. Other children ran beside him, tussling to get in line behind a food cart that had come into view.
"Fresh bread!" called the owner of the cart. "One silver coin each!"
Muriel patted his pockets. They were empty. In this world, even bread cost money he didn't have.
"Hey, look who it is," said a boisterous voice. "The Weakling of Arslan!"
Three larger boys now stood in front of Muriel. They were bigger than he was, with thick arms from fighting on the streets.
"I heard you finally woke up," said the tallest. "We thought you died in the battle."
Muriel turned back to them without a catch in his breath. "Let me pass."
The boys laughed. "Look! The weakling is trying to sound brave!
The first boy then made a fist to hit Muriel's head. He had been training to dodge much faster and quicker attacks in his past life.
He moved his head slightly. The punch missed.
"What?" the boy said, surprised. "How did you.?
Muriel stepped back well, his weak body but remembering all forms of fighting by his mind.
The second boy reached for him. Muriel turned sideways, letting the boy's momentum carry him forward.
"Stop moving!" the tall boy shouted, charging at Muriel with both fists ready.
Muriel waited until the last moment. Then, he stepped to the side and thrust his foot out.
The tall boy hit the ground hard, going down. The other two boys were standing in place, staring in shock.
"How is this weakling managing to do this?" one whispered.
Muriel did not wait for their second strike; he turned and began to walk fast, despite the pain in his legs.
"Don't think this is over!" the tall boy yelled after him. "We'll get you next time!"
Muriel sought a quiet corner between two buildings and sat down gingerly, checking his body for new injuries.
"This body is too weak," he thought, "I have to begin training at once." He looked around the slums. The strong were free to walk and take whatever they wanted; the weak hid in corners, hoping nobody would notice them.
A few armored men strode by, well-armed and with an air of self-assurance. Mercenaries were warriors who fought for money.
"That's a good way of gaining influence in this place," thought Muriel. "But first I need to strengthen my power base.
His stomach growled for food; he hadn't eaten since his rising in this new world.
An old woman, smiling sweetly, was standing over a pot of soup. Muriel walked toward her.
"Please," he murmured in his mellow low-bass voice. "I don't think I've eaten in days."
She gave him a frown, "No money no food, boy, those are the rules here.
Muriel nodded and went her way, yet another lesson learnt in this hard-hearted world.
Behind a food shop, he found some discarded vegetables. Not fresh, but good enough, anyway.
"In my past life I trained without food for days," he reminded himself, "I can survive this."
As night began to fall, the roads became even more dangerous. People with weapons roamed around, looking for easy targets.
Muriel found a small space under some wooden stairs. This was going to be his shelter for now.
He lay down and closed his eyes, but did not sleep. Sleeping too deeply in the slums was a good way to die.
"Tomorrow," he told himself, "I start getting stronger."
He listened to the night sounds of the slums: people fighting, children crying, the clashing of weapons.
This was his new world, not the glorious rebirth he had envisioned, but he would make it work.
"I'll rise from this," he whispered, "step by step, day by day."
He touched his arms and legs, touching how thin they were. The body was weak, yet he knew very well how to make it stronger.
A moon was shining through an opening in the staircase and Muriel watched it shine, and planned.
He would first train his body, then find ways to gain money, and finally look for opportunities that would help him gain more power.
A cat passed, pacing by his hiding place, looking for food just like him. They were survivors here in this harsh place.
"I won't stay weak forever," Muriel thought, in a light sleep. "This is just the beginning".
The slums continued the din of noise throughout the night. But Muriel slept with a slight smile.
He had survived his first day in this new world. Tomorrow would be harder. But he was ready.
In his mind, he knew all he needed to know. Now he only had to make his body strong enough to use it.