The cold of the morning woke him with a shiver.
His body, still sore from the effort of the previous night, reminded him of his fragility with sharp stabs of pain in every limb.
He forced himself to stand, leaning against the rough wall of the cave so as not to lose his balance. Every step was a challenge, but staying there was not an option. With effort, he went outside, facing the vast expanse of the forest. Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the treetops, bathing the surroundings in a golden hue.
After walking for a long time, the aroma of food and the murmur of distant voices guided him toward what seemed to be a village. He stopped at the edge of a dirt road, watching the bustle of the inhabitants. The buildings were simple, made of wood and stone, with tiled roofs.
Market stalls lined the main street, with merchants offering fruits, fabrics, and other goods. However, one thing was clear: people looked at him with suspicion. His clothes, torn and stained with dried blood, along with the wounds on his body, made him a suspicious figure.
The man decided to approach a merchant selling fruit at an improvised stall. The man, stocky and gray-haired, gave him an inquisitive look when he stopped in front of him.
—"What place is this?" —the man asked in a hoarse voice, as if he had gone days without speaking.
The merchant raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the question.
—"This is the village of Tanza," —the merchant replied, crossing his arms and studying him more carefully—. "Hey, boy, where are you from? You look lost. Are you all right?"
He had no answer for that. Tanza… He had never heard of a place like that.
Ignoring the question, he walked away from the stall without saying anything, lost in thought. He had no money, no idea where he was, and no idea how to survive in this place. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had gone far too long without eating.
He waited for the right moment. When the merchant turned to attend another customer, he took advantage of a nearby distraction: a wooden cart tipped over, spilling several crates and drawing people together to see what had happened. With the speed and precision that years of training had given him, he slipped his hand forward and took an apple without being noticed. With the fruit firmly in his grasp, he walked away calmly before anyone realized it was gone.
As he took his first bite, enjoying the sweet juice that eased his hunger for a moment, he heard a murmur behind him.
Two men dressed in dark vests and wearing metal plates with the same symbol as the men from the tunnel walked among the stalls with a vigilant attitude. One of them stared at him and then muttered something to his companion. Before he could react, they were already approaching.
—"Hey, you," —one of the soldiers said, his tone firm—. "Where did you get those clothes? What kind are you? I've never seen you before."
The man knew at that instant that he had to run. Without answering, he spun on his heels and ran, pushing past a couple of people along the way. The soldiers' shout alerted more nearby guards, who began chasing him. He darted into the village alleys, leaping over barrels and crates in his desperate escape.
Trying to cut him off, one of the soldiers threw a knife that grazed past his ear and embedded itself in a wooden wall. He did not stop. As he ran, he overturned a cart full of fish, scattering its contents across the ground and making one of his pursuers slip. He turned a corner and took a narrow alley, barely wide enough to pass sideways. When one of the soldiers tried to follow him, he knocked over a stack of boxes onto him, buying himself time to keep going.
At last, he managed to lose them. His breathing was erratic and his body screamed for rest, but he could not stop yet. He stood still for a few moments, listening carefully. Nothing. The footsteps of his pursuers had faded into the distance.
He looked at his clothes. They were a problem. He could not keep walking through the village dressed in the rags of a stone warrior or whatever they called them. He searched for a solution and found one: a clothesline in the back courtyard of a house. He crept over and took a dark tunic and a pair of thick cloth trousers. He put them on quickly, discarding his old clothes. Now he looked like any other villager.
As he adjusted the tunic, his mind began to reflect. Something did not fit in all of this. He had faced several fighters since waking up in this world, and all of them seemed to have combat skills heavily focused on hand-to-hand fighting, on techniques that allowed stealth and direct combat. He had never seen people like that before. Their special suits seemed to be made of technology more advanced than what he had used before in his operations; they were more violent and apparently more dangerous, and their melee weapons also seemed far deadlier than those of a normal soldier. All of this struck him as strange.
This was not simply a lost village in some corner of the world. This was something completely different. Something beyond his understanding.
His thoughts were interrupted by shouts and the sound of nearby footsteps. He could not stay in one place for long. With his new clothes and his body still aching from his wounds, he ventured into the village in search of answers.
He knew he could not rely only on petty theft to survive. He needed information, a hiding place, and a way to grow stronger in this new environment. With that goal in mind, he headed toward one of the local taverns, hoping to find something useful amid the murmur of other people's conversations. The night was just beginning, and his struggle for survival in this unknown world was only just starting.
Night fell over Tanza with its usual cloak of shadows and hardship. The man walked through the less traveled alleys, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his back. His body still ached from the frantic chase with the soldiers earlier. Every wound on his skin burned with the night cold, and although he had managed to get a little food through unorthodox methods, his priority now was to treat his injuries.
With the money he had stolen from a few careless villagers, he went to a small stand of natural remedies. The old woman who attended him looked at him sideways, asking no questions about his appearance or the dried bloodstains on his clothes. In exchange for a few coins, she gave him bandages and a small bottle with a herbal ointment which, according to her, would help the wounds heal faster, although in truth it was only a precaution, since it seemed his body was regenerating faster than he had expected without even realizing it. Without wasting any more time, he went off to find a place to rest.
His steps took him to one of the most miserable areas of the village. Dirty streets, makeshift shacks made of rotting wood and torn tarps, and faces hollowed by malnutrition and despair. People huddled in corners, trying to find a bit of warmth in the night. The stench of rot and misery filled the air, but what truly caught his attention was a scene in the shadows.
A man, ragged and dark-eyed, went from person to person, holding a little girl by the wrist as if she were an object. He whispered something to each of them, and most ignored him with disdain or expressions of disgust. However, no one stopped him. No one did anything, and some even smiled in a malicious, sick way at the sight of the girl who accompanied him.
Finally, the man reached him. He scanned him from head to toe with a twisted smile and spoke in a cold, dry voice:
—"You look like someone who doesn't have much to lose. Maybe you'd be interested in a job… well paid."
The man remained silent, watching him cautiously.
—"I just need… it's only a simple job," —the man said, still holding the girl by the hand.
The man clenched his teeth when he heard his words. His instinct told him that nothing good would come of this.
It was obvious that the man only needed cannon fodder. Someone no one would miss, someone people would not care about if he died as long as the job was done. That was why he was here, in a place so wretched.
—"What is it about?" —
The man smiled maliciously and tugged lightly at the girl's wrist. She did not even react. Her empty eyes were more disturbing than any words.