A half naked child with only his upper body covered was tending to some chickens.
“Sigh~ Has it really been six years already?” Siarl muttered as he observed a clueless chicken pecking and eating its food.
Taking a moment to glance around, Siarl reflected on his origins as the son of an ordinary farmer, with two older sisters, Naxal and Naylma. It was currently harvest season, and the rest of Siarl's family members were toiling away in the fields, gathering crops.
Naxal, his eldest sister, was now 16 years old, and her marriage was impending. However, due to their modest dowry, the wedding was still out of reach. This situation prompted Siarl's parents to save every penny they could. This was precisely why Siarl lacked undergarments. He had asked for them, but in this ancient world, his parents believed that he, being a child, didn't require full clothing.
So, whenever his parents went to the fields to harvest crops, Siarl would be left behind at home, tasked with caring for the chickens and goats.
However, Siarl didn't idle away his time. He engaged in various activities, including making friends with nearly every child in the village around his age. Furthermore, he discreetly offered valuable hints to villagers on how to increase crop yields. Of course, the villagers remained blissfully unaware of his influence. Thanks to his efforts, crop production had increased by 20% the previous year.
He had also adopted a charming demeanor in front of the village elders, earning him the endearing nickname, "cute rabbit."
Among all the relationships he had cultivated, only his bond with the village chief held significant value, for he hailed from beyond the village's borders.
But the old geezer was a tough nut to crack. Perhaps his many years had made him wary and astute, unlike the gullible villagers. Siarl couldn't be certain whether the chief had discerned his role in boosting crop yields or if it was something else. After all, he had effortlessly manipulated the villagers through tricks learned from his former life as a business manager.
Siarl was careful not to stand out too much, like a hidden star in this obscure village. After all he had heard rumours and tales of monsters and beasts lurking in this world.
The crimson liquid that had been poured over him during the baptism ceremony at his birth had been concocted from a blend of goat's blood and the blood of real beasts.
Yet, his efforts at ingratiating himself with the village chief had been successful. He had become the village chief's closest confidant, visiting the chief every day.
As Siarl gazed at the sun, which had reached its zenith, a voice called out, breaking his reverie.
“Naya, have the chickens been fed?” The voice belonged to a young girl who seemed to be on the cusp of puberty, likely between 12 and 13 years old. This was Siarl’s middle sister, Naylma. It's worth mentioning that in this life, his name wasn't Siarl, but Naya.
Their father, Ruk, a simple and uneducated man, had simply continued the family naming tradition without much thought. Hence, in this life, Siarl's full name was Naya, based upon his late grandfather.
“Yes, when will Mother and Father return?” Siarl asked calmly. This routine was well-established. While his parents and sisters worked in the fields, he would be left alone, and at noon, his middle sister would return to prepare lunch for both him and his parents.
Few minutes later
“Alright, come quickly and enjoy the soup while it’s still hot. I'll take care of the chickens and goats,” Naylma said as she presented a bowl of soup made from a mixture of milk and vegetables. Despite the ingredients that would have caused food poisoning in his previous life, Siarl found it quite delicious in this one.
“I'm off to visit the village chief!” Siarl declared as he devoured the bowl, then dashed out of the house, his small frame moving swiftly.
“Okay, but be back by sunset, or else Mother will start worrying!” Naylma cautioned. It was common knowledge that Siarl spent most of his time with the village chief, listening to his stories and tales from beyond the village.
***
The village chief resided in a thatched hut situated at the heart of the village. His mud hut was slightly larger than the other villagers', and the most striking feature of his abode was the peculiar symbol adorning the entrance door.
Inside the hut, an elderly man held a shiny metal piece. This metal artifact boasted a golden frame with a meticulously crafted trishul at its centre, resembling the work of a skilled artist. If the other villagers were to see this precious metal piece, they would undoubtedly be astounded, for it was made entirely of pure gold. Since the onset of the civil war in the Jorpati Empire, the value of precious metals such as gold, silver, and ruby had soared.
As the village chief gazed at the metal piece, he muttered to himself, "Has my time truly come?" while examining his withered hands. These hands, aged by time, evoked memories of a child who used to visit him regularly. "Time has slipped away; it is now imperative that I take action," he whispered, his thoughts returning to Siarl. "Namg, calm down; this isn't the first time," the village chief reassured himself as he cast his eyes toward the horizon where the sun was descending. "The child will be here soon enough."
***
Siarl casually opened the village chief's house, but an eerie sensation washed over him—an unsettling feeling of desolation. This was unusual; the village chief's residence had never felt like this before, even though it occasionally carried an air of mystery.
As Siarl approached the village chief's door, his footsteps caused the floorboards to creak, and dust swirled at his feet.
"Grandpa, may I come in?" Siarl knocked gently on the village chief's bedroom door. He had affectionately referred to the village chief as "grandpa" for as long as he could remember.
"Please, come in," a frail voice came from behind the door.
Siarl couldn't help but wonder about the weakness in the village chief's voice. Was he unwell or even nearing the end of his life? Siarl couldn't gauge the village chief's age precisely, but from the deep wrinkles on his face, he appeared to be somewhere between 75 and 80 years old. He resolved to find out soon.
Upon opening the door, an unpleasant odor immediately assailed Siarl's senses. It emanated from the village chief's body. Siarl hurried to the village chief's side.
"Grandpa, what's happened?" Siarl asked, wearing a mask of deep concern. Internally, he grimaced, thinking, "The smell has intensified!"
With Siarl's support, the village chief slowly rose from his bed, his frail form leaning on Siarl and the bed's sturdy poles.
"Child, fetch me some water," the village chief requested in a feeble voice.
Siarl promptly retrieved a bowl of water in a muddy glass and helped the village chief drink. The village chief then took the bowl from Siarl's hand and sipped the water slowly, his grip on Siarl's hand firm. Just as Siarl was about to speak, the village chief began to talk, each word painstakingly delivered.
"Child, you've been visiting me since your birth, and for that, I wish to express my gratitude," the village chief said, managing a weak smile. Before Siarl could respond, the village chief continued.
"Today, I find myself on my deathbed. Allow me to share my story so that someone may remember me," the village chief said, his gaze distant.
Siarl couldn't help but wonder if this was the moment when the protagonist would receive a special technique, just like in the novels. The village chief continued his narrative.
"Many years ago, I was but a humble herb gatherer who crafted potions and sold them in the city," the village chief recounted, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
"Like any ordinary person, I married a beautiful woman, raised children, and lived a peaceful yet fulfilling life," he said with a trace of sorrow, still clutching Siarl's hand tightly.
"Unfortunately, I was far from ordinary. One day, while gathering herbs, I stumbled upon a ruin. At first, I was terrified, but I summoned my courage and ventured inside. And there, I discovered it."
"My curse and my blessing. Within the ruin lay a tomb, and inside it, a book. I cannot recall the book's title, but I remember its effect," he said, crushing the mud bowl with his trembling hands. Witnessing this, Siarl sensed that something was amiss, but it was too late. The village chief had a firm grip on his hands.
"The technique bestowed upon me absolute rationality. It robbed me of my emotions, yet it also gifted me a new power."
"Would you like to know what that power was?" the village chief asked as his flesh began to wither, his skin resembling dried meat, and his blood thickening.
"It was the power to change bodies," the village chief laughed, tears of blood rolling down his cheeks.
"Were it not for those fiends from the Twilight, I would have ascended to become the emperor, ruling over thousands."
"Because of those fiends, I was forced to hide like a rat, shifting from one body to another in secret. You see, you naive child, with each body I inhabited, finding a new one became progressively more challenging due to the technique's drawbacks. This time, I believed I would be lost in the river of time, but then you appeared!" The village chief screamed, and peculiar tentacles began to emerge from his decaying body. He continued.
"It's as though the great Bloodflesh had been watching over me. A child with such a cunning mind at such a tender age? What incredible potential might you possess? I've struck gold," the village chief laughed as the black tentacles from his body began to envelop Siarl, some attempting to force their way into his mouth.
"Damn, I've made a terrible mistake," Siarl thought to himself, realizing that he had never imagined the kind village chief could have such a dark side. Perhaps the simulation was coming to an end?
At that precise moment, the familiar holographic screen materialised before him.
【It has been detected that the host's soul is under attack.】
【Would you like to purchase a one-time, low-level soul protection card for 25 simulation points?】
【Simulation points - 33】
