The True Protagonist, Ulian

As Leo ducked into the tent, he was immediately driven back by the overwhelming stench that emanated from within. The pungent blend of unwashed hair, stinky feet, mold, and rot was almost suffocating.

"This place smells worse than a kennel! What a rat's nest!" Leo exclaimed, his face contorted in disgust. Even with the original owner's tolerance, the smell was pushing his limits. He hadn't expected their living quarters to be so horrific.

Determined to make it livable, Leo began hauling out the foul-smelling furs from the tent. He sorted through the pile and found two somewhat usable snow bear pelts. He kept the larger one for himself and tossed the smaller one to the small boy, whom everyone called "Little Mouse."

"Follow me!" Leo ordered.

When Little Mouse didn't move, Leo grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and effortlessly carried him to the riverbank. It was midday, and the sun shone brightly, lending a hint of warmth to the cold winter day. Leo found a sheltered spot behind a large rock and threw the snow bear pelt into the water. He stepped on it a few times, watching the murky water ooze out, and a rainbow-hued film of oil spread across the surface.

"Give me a hand here," Leo said, struggling to remove his clothes with one hand while balancing himself.

Little Mouse finally moved, helping Leo undress. Standing naked in the icy river, Leo shivered and used a rag to scrub the grime off his legs. The water turned dark as the dirt washed away, revealing paler skin beneath. Despite the cold, Leo felt a strange satisfaction as he watched the filth float downstream.

"When was the last time I had a bath?" he mused. There was no memory of such an event in the original owner's fragmented recollections.

Leo sat on a rock in the water, his movements limited by his injuries. He threw the rag to Little Mouse and promised, "Scrub my back well, and I'll give you a black bread."

The mention of black bread lit up Little Mouse's eyes. He jumped into the water and vigorously scrubbed Leo's back. His pants, soaked and heavy, shed layers of hardened mud into the river. Leo recalled that this mud layer served as Little Mouse's makeshift insulation against the cold, given his thin clothing.

"Probably going to roll in mud again after this bath," Leo thought, amused.

After a few minutes of scrubbing, Little Mouse was panting and exhausted. Leo glanced at his reflection in the water: golden hair, chiseled features, and a well-proportioned body—he looked every bit the northern barbarian, despite being only seventeen. 

"Original Leo might have been a wild one, but he was certainly strong and resourceful," Leo mused. 

No food could stay hidden from him until spring, and the forest outside the village was riddled with his traps, causing local wildlife populations to plummet. Even large predators had to move away. 

"By eating so much, no one else in the village can match his appetite," Leo thought with a hint of pride.

Looking at the filthy Little Mouse, Leo felt a twinge of disgust. "You should wash too. You're filthy and stink. Take advantage of the sun and wash your clothes as well."

Little Mouse didn't move.

"Be a man! The water's not that cold," Leo encouraged, though his tone was more of a command.

"..."

"Take off your clothes!" Leo snapped, "Or no bread for you!"

Reluctantly, Little Mouse began to undress. Beneath the layers of grime and ragged clothing was a yellowing silk nightshirt. Stripping it off, the two of them stood naked in the river—one robust and muscular, the other emaciated and frail. The contrast was stark.

Leo flexed his bicep proudly. "I could take on a hundred of you!" he boasted, then paused, realization dawning. "Wait, where's your—"

He hurriedly grabbed the small snow bear pelt and wrapped Little Mouse in it. "Where's your, um, boy parts?" he stammered, feeling foolish for asking such a question.

Little Mouse remained silent, looking at Leo with wide, confused eyes. Once they were back on shore, Little Mouse shyly asked, "Do I still get the bread?"

Leo, carrying Little Mouse under one arm, returned to the camp and found Olivia bustling about. He scratched his head sheepishly and asked, "Can you heat some water for me?"

"What for?" Olivia asked, sniffing the air near him and nodding approvingly. "You already washed."

"This little girl hasn't. I don't want her to freeze in the cold water."

"Ha! You take good care of people, don't you?" Olivia huffed, turning away but then leading Little Mouse to another tent.

Leo watched as Little Mouse, clearly familiar with Olivia, tried to cozy up to her, but Olivia deftly avoided his touch. Unfazed, Little Mouse obediently followed her inside.

Unable to follow, Leo made his way to Uncle Ulian's tent. As the leader of the caravan, Ulian had the largest tent, even with a partition inside. The outer room held a round table with a map pinned down by a dagger, surrounded by the caravan's main leaders.

Ulian was giving orders, and the heads of the caravan listened intently, responding promptly when addressed. There was a sense of military precision in the air.

A retired Imperial soldier, Ulian had, in just a year, used his superior knowledge and strategic thinking to earn the unwavering respect of the villagers, becoming their undisputed leader. Even from a time-traveler's perspective, Ulian's actions were commendable, making him seem like the true protagonist of the story.

Upon returning home, Ulian quickly assessed the village's situation. He spent all his savings on food, recruited militiamen, and forged weapons, forming a militia of about fifty men. After a few months of feeding and training them, he led them to clear out nearby beast dens and hostile tribes, expanding the village's territory.

He even convinced a small trade caravan to alter their route to pass through the village, allowing them to sell accumulated furs, animal teeth, and herbs.

However, their prosperity was short-lived. Just as the village began to thrive, a scouting party of beastmen attacked. After a period of resistance, many surrounding villages lay in ruins. Ulian realized they couldn't hold out much longer. He gathered the refugees, expanded the militia, and, leveraging his ten-year military connections, managed to secure a pioneering certificate.

He led a campaign against a wolf den, hunting down a herd of wild cattle to make provisions and tents. Finally, he set the village on fire, taking everyone on a migration south.

Before burning the village, Ulian had sent numerous pleas for help to their knight lord, all of which were ignored. When the "homeless refugees" arrived at the town, the knight disdainfully turned them away, offering a cart of bran and leaving them to fend for themselves.

With no other options, the refugees continued south, heading towards the promised new homeland Ulian had described.