Heading South

"Let's just grab a sword, just in case. You never know if these corpse-munchers decide to gouge out my eyes... I've never used a sword before, but swinging it back and forth should at least drive the vultures away," he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with unease.

*Argh!* he groaned as he bent down to pick up a steel sword lying on the ground. A sharp, burning pain shot through his abdomen, forcing him to stop for a moment.

"What was that pain…?" he whispered, his brow furrowing. Removing his dented and torn chest plate, he noticed his white tunic was bloodied and ripped around the abdomen area. The sight made his stomach churn.

Ripping off a piece of the low-hanging tunic, he revealed a massive, fresh scar slashing across his abdomen. It began at the lower right side and extended to the upper left, a jagged line that told the story of a near-fatal blow.

"Looks like the only reason I'm alive is because this wound is shallow..." he muttered grimly, but as he inspected it, the edge of the scar opened slightly, causing a fresh trickle of blood to seep out. Acting quickly, he pressed the torn piece of cloth against the wound to staunch the bleeding.

"Why is this sword spotlessly clean... in the middle of a battlefield?" he wondered aloud, puzzled, as the blade reflected half of his face.

The reflection caught him off guard. A rough, battle-worn visage stared back, and in an instant, a searing pain struck his head. Memories—countless memories—flooded his mind, overwhelming him. It felt like a tsunami crashing against the fragile shores of his sanity.

*GRH!* He groaned again, clutching his head.

"Lord… if you want me to suffer, just do it all at once! Why the hell are you torturing me in installments?" he cursed the heavens bitterly.

"Arthur… that's the name of this guy I'm possessing. Leader of the third squad that vanished in this battle..." he sighed, feeling a strange mixture of detachment and sympathy as he sifted through the memories of Arthur.

"I'm thirsty… but the nearest village is at least two days' walking distance… Do any of these corpses have water?" He scanned his surroundings. "Not just water… I need food too. Judging by the condition of these bodies, based on what I remember from basic medical knowledge and the internet, it's been over ten days since this massacre. The bodies are rotting, bug-infested, and zombie-like."

His gaze shifted to his own body. "This body hasn't suffered much damage. Just a light wound on the abdomen, which is healing steadily—if I don't do anything stupid to reopen it. But it's clear I've lost a lot of blood, along with water and nutrients. I'm feeling lightheaded because of that..."

The dizziness intensified. His legs felt like they could give out at any moment, and the pounding in his head from processing Arthur's memories wasn't helping.

"If my memory serves me right, I should be able to find a grain pill here. If I do, I won't have to worry about water or food. And if I'm lucky enough to find a healing potion or pill, I'll be set," he murmured, clinging to hope.

With determination, he began rummaging through the bodies scattered around him. The stench was unbearable, but he didn't flinch. "They're dead. What would they do? Haunt me for robbing them?" he scoffed, his mental fortitude forged in the void keeping his emotions at bay.

He hadn't realized how much stronger his mind had become since enduring the void. Fear and disgust no longer gripped him, even as he stood amidst thousands of corpses stretching for kilometers in every direction. His personality had grown cruder, his language rougher, but he didn't care.

"Rest in peace, y'all. Thanks for the free loot," he said sarcastically, searching the bodies with the efficiency of a seasoned scavenger.

After an hour, he'd gathered a decent haul: five grain pills and two healing pills. The healing pills were weaker than usual, offering slower recovery, but they were more than enough for his minor injuries.

"These grain pills look like goat droppings and smell worse, but as the elders say, beggars can't be choosers," he muttered, grimacing as he swallowed two. The taste was as awful as the appearance, but he endured it without complaint.

The healing pill, fortunately, was tasteless. He felt some relief as his body began to recover, but he knew he couldn't linger here.

"I'm done here. Time to head to the nearest human settlement and make sense of all this..." he said, but paused, looking disappointed. "I could've looted more. Some of these corpses have ornaments that would fetch a good price, but I can't explain all that to the guards at the village gates."

As he prepared to leave, something shiny caught his eye.

"Wait a minute, what's that?" he muttered, walking toward the object.

It was a sword—blue, sturdy, and well-crafted. "This looks better than what I have. It's similar to a longsword, so I should be able to use it if any animals attack. I can explain this one to the guards," he reasoned, pulling the blade from the gut of a demon.

"Now, let's go south. That's where the nearest human civilization is. If I head north, I'll run into demons. The sun will set soon, and I can't afford to stay here any longer," he resolved, gripping the blue blade tightly as he started his journey to the south.

"I wonder how my family is doing now... I'm certain Mia will step up to support our siblings, just as she always has. Father can handle the other responsibilities, but still…" He paused, his voice heavy with regret. "I feel sorry for you, Mother. I was such a useless son in the end."

He clenched his fists, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him like a boulder. "Instead of being the pillar my family needed, I left them in grief—alone to face the world without me. What kind of son does that?" His voice cracked, in the bitterness of his own failures.

(End of Chapter)

*****

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