141_Keireki Era_Summer/01
Yo.
Not too long ago, I was killed by a solo adventurer.
Well, even though I died, here I am, waking up in a different body for some reason.
I don't know if this body used to belong to someone else or if it just appeared out of nowhere.
Could it be someone else's since I can access its memories?
… No point in pondering that.
Today, I'll live my life as a bandit again.
That said, when I woke up this time, I found myself in a bit of a predicament—I was alone.
More precisely, my former comrades were scattered all around, lifeless.
It seems they'd been wiped out by something.
As for me, it looks like I was knocked unconscious by something, but I have no idea what.
This body is fairly young.
No beard, no excess fat. Not that I can see myself clearly since there aren’t any reflective surfaces nearby.
Around me, people armed with swords and axes were sorting the dead from the survivors.
They're not adventurers.
Their equipment isn't fancy, but their experience in battle and ease with killing are palpable.
"One survivor here. What should we do with him?"
The speaker was a lightweight warrior, armed with a one-handed sword and wearing partial armor.
A shifty-looking man called out to someone who appeared to be his employer.
Naturally, the "survivor" he's referring to is me.
"Hmm. Could he be of any use as merchandise?"
The so-called "employer" looked exactly like you'd imagine a sleazy merchant.
Overweight, dark circles under his eyes, and a sleazy grin plastered across his face.
His clothing was the only thing of quality, tailored like a noble’s, but it only added to the repulsiveness of his demeanor.
"Male, mid-twenties, muscular, no visible deformities at first glance. Though, I must say, his face doesn’t look like it would sell for much."
"In that case, he might fetch a decent price as a combatant. Consider it some pocket money before we enter Biumode. Oh, by the way, any changes in the condition of *that thing* in the wagon?"
The merchant gestures toward the wagons in a line, asking a subordinate who appeared to be managing them.
"Lord Dopines, *that thing* doesn’t seem to be in the best condition."
"It's for Their Excellency Wiminea, and it would be a hassle if it perished before delivery. This is quite troubling. Will it last until we reach the city?"
"Yes, it should hold up for a few more days."
"Once it’s handed over, it won’t be our problem anymore. No issue, then."
The merchant, Dopines, nodded grandly, as if brushing off any concerns.
"As if something like that would die so easily," he added.
Does this guy think human life has infinite resilience or something?
Not only does he look bad, but he’s also a terrible merchant—and, above all, a worse human being.
"Alright, Jedd, load our newly acquired merchandise onto the wagon."
"Understood, Lord Dopines."
Without hesitation, the man with the one-handed sword, Jedd, shoved me into a cage.
"Hey, where am I?"
"You… don’t remember anything?"
Jedd looked at me suspiciously.
"I remember bits of yesterday."
He seemed to mull it over briefly.
Around us, people are still preparing to get the wagons moving. Judging it would take some time, he decides to continue the conversation.
"This is the trade route connecting Tuiknok and Biumode. You and your lot picked a fight with us here, and we utterly crushed you. You’re the only survivor, now captured. That answer your question?"
"Where am I being sold? Biumode? Or Tuiknok?"
"Biumode, provided we find a buyer."
Destination: Biumode! Lucky me! … Though it’s hard to say if that’s actually something to celebrate.
There’s something about Biumode. It stirs a vague feeling in the scraps of my memory, like some unresolved call to action.
If I’m being taken there, it’s not such a bad thing.
“… What’s with that creepy grin? Happy to be going to Biumode? Sure, we’re heading there, but your situation—"
"Hey, Jedd, right? You’ve probably had a pretty fortunate life, haven’t you?"
"Me? Fortunate?"
Jedd looks at me like I’m saying something absurd.
Maybe he was raised by slavers, sold directly as a commodity. Or perhaps he’s a former gladiator who fought his way up.
He might’ve been a mercenary during a war and ended up where he is now. Whatever the case, he’s never been reduced to being a bandit.
"Bandits can’t enter cities, you know. It’s not just bandits—take someone from the East, for instance. Without proper identification, they can’t prove their status.
Even if they’re a good person, they’re left with no choice but to turn to banditry."
What do you think about this chapter?
