Artificial lighting was a luxury beyond reach for people in our circumstances. Candles? Oil lamps? Don't make me laugh. Why would anyone need one of those if they were sleeping at night? Granted, this village did border a forest, so tending to the field still required attention even after sunset. To avoid complete darkness, those in charge of the field possessed a few oil lamps. I gathered this information when I asked Uncle about the lights dancing around the field at night.

The village had a circular layout. To the right—or east, stood the miller's house and the mill, both positioned near the river. To the north, a field spread out, its yellow color indicating it was time for harvest. Judging by the color, I assumed it was wheat, though I remembered barley was also a famous grain in medieval times, I just wasn't able to tell them apart.

On nights like this, when practically everyone was sound asleep and the feeble glow of the thin crescent moon barely illuminated the surroundings, no one would notice a little boy wandering around.

“Now I see the differences…” My understanding of the constellation's arrangement was minimal, yet even an amateur like me could tell at first glance that the stars were not positioned as they should be. After all, the Altair star was conspicuously absent, and no Southern Cross indicated the southern direction.

It really did emphasize the reality that this was, without a doubt, a whole other world.

Now, I know that just this information wouldn't mean a wholly different reality. I had the notion that the stars were different in the north sky, but the renowned North Star was notably absent, the same for the entirety of Ursa Minor.

“Phew,” exhaling a relieved sigh upon confirming that there was no one around, I promptly began my search for the better-looking house in the village.

 

I lacked any knowledge of the village layout, so, as usual, I was just winging it.

The night concealed any intricate details of the houses, though I could discern that every house was made in the same way: wattle and daub walls and thatched roofs adorned every structure. Similar to mine, these houses lacked chimneys, instead, they opted for a hole in the middle of the roof. As someone living in similar conditions, I could attest that it was not the most practical choice.

I took light steps, trying to avoid the houses that let out the crimson light of the burning fireplaces. My barefoot feet hurt every time I stepped on a stone in the dirt. The air was thick with the scent of earth and hay, and a more nostalgic one—

Meat.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no glutton. This nocturnal venture had no connection whatsoever with my earthly desires; I was here for a single purpose—to steal the last ingredient. It just so happened that said ingredient was something good-smelling.

While taking a bath may be perceived as an earthly desire, considering our existence on Earth, it raises the question: is there any desire that can't be deemed earthly? We desire, and we are on Earth.

“…”

My mistake, I wasn't on Earth anymore.

Before me stood a house with a wall made of stone, complete with a chimney! By 21st-century standards, this might be considered as shady as a cabin could get, but for me at this moment, the little stone walls surrounding the house screamed ‘rich’. Okay, maybe not rich, but it got to be someone important right?

Some time ago I had come upon this realization: even people in medieval times had to wash their laundry and dishes. Just because Uncle was a lost cause didn't mean every single person here shared the same mindset. That's why I probably didn't need to find such a nice-looking house, any house with a woman was sure to have a soap lying around, it would produce faster and better results, but I wasn't so bad in the gutter that I'd steal someone else's hard work.

I mean, I'm stealing already… I wasn't sure about the morality of my actions anymore. Regardless, a person who steals just the ingredients must have a somewhat higher moral compass—surely.

As anyone could have guessed, the inhabitants of this house were still awake. Had to be rich, ain't I right? Staying up at this hour, with light leaking out of the windows, could imply only a select few things: tending to the field, engaging in nighttime activities, or simply not caring about wasting oil.

What was that? Oil was exactly what I was looking for? I wouldn't have to feel guilty for taking from someone who has plenty? If I stole the oil directly, I wouldn't need to figure out how to extract it from the meat? Since they were awake, I'd need to steal it right from under their noses? 

“Ehehehe.”

—Oh no! My darker side almost slipped out.

Forget about stealing from under their noses! Stop your nonsense!

“Whew,” I was successful in calming my beating heart.

I want to make it clear; I'm not a kleptomaniac, nor did I enjoy stealing. I just find it amusing to obtain something from someone without them noticing. Alright, that doesn't make it much better, does it?

It's crucial to note that I didn't engage in such practices with people I hadn't spoken to before. I reserved this skill for my friends. What a nostalgic word—friends. As a child I used to be very good at making friends, I don't know exactly what happened for that to change, but taking into account that the result was me, it must have been something awful.

Human eyes take twenty to thirty minutes to fully adapt to darkness—I think. I wasn't entirely sure about how much trust I could put in wisdom obtained from a random documentary on a free video website. But my eyes were getting better, so I chose not to question it. All I had to do was wait at the side of the house until they fell asleep, sneak through the window, get the lamp, pour the oil into some random bowl, put the lamp back in place, and be on my way.

 

The stars, blinking indifferently in the sky, were the only visually stimulating objects in the pitch-black night. Anyone could easily surrender to sleep in a situation like this. If I didn't know any better, I'd be dozing off in the grass right about now; it's not any less comfortable than my bed at least.

Without a way to tell the time, I was uncertain about how long I spent lying around.

However, the stars were clearly in a different place. And the noises inside the house had died out in what felt like ages ago.

It was time.

It's higher than I thought. I needed to come up with a plan to prevent myself from spilling everything while making my exit. Reaching for the window sill, I pulled with all of my strength, falling to the ground on the other side with a silent ‘thud.’

—That's what would have happened if my arms had the strength to lift my body.

“Umpf,” and just like that, I was on the ground, grunting and breathing heavily.

I had enough experience with this body to understand that any further strain would push it to its limit, leading to an extended period of lying in bed until the infernal coughing subsided. So my invasion strategy needed a revision.

Maybe I should rest a bit and go back to get a bucket or something.

That's when I saw it.

“…”

The door was open, with a gap of at least half a meter.

This is practically an invitation. While getting up I cast a cautious glance around just to be sure. Straining my ears to catch any sound I approached the door.

Dead silent.

In times such as these, it's important to not let emotions cloud my judgment. In my experience, when things seemed to be going too well, disaster often lurked around the corner.

Success usually emerges from overcoming small failures in the process. If everything progressed too smoothly, the absence of those small setbacks tended to accumulate into a gargantuan one in the end.

It's not like I usually let emotions cloud my judgment, I just have an inclination to overlook matters with a detached eye. To me, pessimism served as a shield against the danger of misplaced hope. But that was still an emotion.

Keeping this in mind, I decided to concentrate harder than usual, a habit I had developed during my high school days.

Who would've thought that my school presentation mode would come in handy in times like these?

A moment of tranquility enveloped me as I took a deep breath; exhaling the air in his lungs a couple more times to further soothe his nerves. Dara, the name I now went by, subtly shifted a leg.

His light steps made contact with the hard earth floor. Even if they had enough money to build a chimney, it appeared that a covered floor was still out of reach.

As one would have surmised by the hour, it was dark—darker even than the outside illuminated by the moon. It was impossible to identify intricate details in the furniture; his eyes only allowed him to discern silhouettes. Nevertheless, it was probably enough.

Similar to his house, various tools and household utensils were hooked to the walls, and bowls were arranged on the table. However, unlike his house, these were clean.

Yet, that's where the similarities ended. Instead of a crude piece of wood, the table was round and well-polished, surrounded by benches. He wasn't sure if it was because the idea of building chairs was still unheard of in this world.

A small shelf housed jars filled with herbs that could be used as spices, emitting a faint, pleasant aroma. Despite their potential, he had given up on the idea of good food for now. As a result, the wild spices weren't as attractive as they would be otherwise.

However, on a small bench resembling an end table on the side of the kitchen stood something that caught his attention—a figure carved out of wood.

Evidently, this world had gods. He just hadn't come in contact with any devoted believers. No surprise there, Uncle is the only guy I talked to. His Uncle might have seemed like the type who'd swallow any tale thrown his way, but funnily enough, his lack of fancy book learning made him a skeptic. If he didn't personally know someone who witnessed it, he'd give it the side-eye.

Uncle embodied the type of person who wouldn't buy into the hype unless he had an acquaintance who could vouch for it, reminiscent of those individuals who adamantly believed the internet was just a big hoax. Sure, the type of people who swallow every tale hook, line, and sinker can be annoying as heck, but he figured the opposite end of the spectrum wasn't going to win any popularity contests either. It was all about equilibrium.

Since it was still dark, he couldn't make out the wooden idol. He had just assumed it was a religious figure because no normal Middle Ages farmer would buy random action figures, so he took a few steps closer to have a better look at the wings silhouettes extending from its back.

Clank

To his knowledge, a medieval lamp should resemble a frying pan with a handle and a pointed tip. If one had the necessity of illuminating an entire room, the logical choice would be a high place, granting the flames a peripheral vision of the surroundings. That's what he was looking for—

—And that's why I wouldn't expect it to be lying around carelessly on the ground!