Talk Like Us

Just as I finalized my strategy, a sound cut through the night—the crunch of multiple footsteps on the path behind me. I spun around, my heart giving a single, hard thump against my ribs.

A moment later, two figures emerged from the trees, the light from their lanterns glinting off the tips of their spears. They were guards.

They stopped about ten feet away, their expressions hardening as their lantern light washed over my bare chest and ragged pants. Their stances shifted, becoming more defensive.

"Are you alright there?" one of them called out, his voice cautious but not immediately hostile. "What are you doing this close to the village in the middle of the night?"

I immediately gave a slow, deliberate nod, keeping my hands visible. My plan had to be accelerated. "I'm okay, my apologies for the hour. I was hoping to come to your village in the morning to sell these." I patted the simple leather bag at my hip.

I decided to press the advantage of looking pathetic. "Or, to be honest... I would gladly trade them. For a shirt, or even just a safe place to stay until the sun comes up. It's been a long night."

The two guards exchanged a look, their lantern light flickering across their faces. The one who had spoken first took a half-step forward, his spear held ready but not pointed directly at me.

"Stay right there," he said, his voice firm. "Do you have any weapons on you?"

Without hesitation, I slowly bent my knees and placed the leather satchel on the ground in front of me. Then, I straightened up and raised both of my arms out to my sides, my palms open and facing them to show they were empty.

"No, sir," I said, my voice even and calm. "I have nothing."

The guard with the lantern stayed back, his spear ready, while the other one approached me. He did a quick, professional pat-down of my pants and kicked the satchel on the ground lightly with his boot, satisfying himself that it only held fruit.

He stepped back and gave a short nod to his partner. The tension immediately eased. "Alright, on your feet," he said, his voice less harsh now.

As I stood up, he took a step closer and briefly put a hand on my arm to steady me, but pulled back almost instantly. "Spirits, you're freezing," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

He sighed, a puff of white in the cold air. "Look, come with us. We're heading back. There's usually some leftover stew and spare clothes at the barracks for the guards. Technically it's for us, but... you look like you need it more than we do tonight."

I picked up my satchel of apples from the ground and gave a single, grateful nod. "Thank you." I fell into step behind them, leaving the dark woods for the faint lights of the village.

***

The barracks were simple and warm. A crackling fire in a stone hearth filled the small common room with a welcome heat. I sat at a long wooden table, a rough but clean tunic now covering my chest, and a bowl of thick chicken and rice stew in front of me. It was apparently the last full portion left from their dinner, and they had given it to me without a second thought.

The two guards sat across from me, having shed their helmets and propped their spears against the wall. The atmosphere was no longer tense, but relaxed and easy.

"Beats shivering in the woods, eh?" the first guard said with a small grin. He was the chattier of the two. "You really looked like you were in a bad way out there."

I nodded, swallowing a mouthful of the rich stew. It was leagues better than the instant noodles.

"So," the guard continued, leaning forward on his elbows. "What's your name, traveler? And what sort of trouble did you get into to end up half-naked on the road at this hour?"

I took another deliberate bite of the stew, using the moment to chew and think. The truth was absurd. 'An incompetent angel accidentally reaped my soul because of a typo, then sent me here with a glorified magic trick as compensation.' They'd throw me in a cell for lunatics. I needed a new narrative, something simple and believable.

My internal project manager kicked in. Okay. Cover story. Premise: traveling merchant. Plausible. Explains the apples. Inciting incident: robbed on the road. Explains the lack of clothes, money, and supplies. Resolution: escaped with my life. Makes me seem unfortunate, not suspicious. It's a clean, simple story with few variables.

I swallowed, setting the spoon down for a moment and looking at the guards.

"My name is Hayato," I said calmly. "And as for what happened... it's the usual, unfortunate story. I was traveling, heading south, trying to sell some goods." I gestured with my thumb towards the satchel. "I ran into bandits on the road a day or two ago. They were happy to take my coin, my pack, and the shirt off my back. I was lucky to get away with my life and these."

I patted the bag of apples. "I've just been walking since then." With the story told, I picked up my spoon and went back to eating, as if it wasn't worth dwelling on.

The two guards exchanged a knowing, weary look. The chattier one, the one who had first questioned me, let out a heavy sigh.

"Bandits," he grumbled, shaking his head. "That doesn't surprise me. There's been more of them on the roads lately, and they're getting bolder. We're not sure why it's happening, but it's been a problem."

He offered a grim smile. "Well, you're safe here for the night, at least. The name's Jorn, by the way."

The quieter guard, who had been listening intently, gave a short nod. "I'm Erik."

I looked up from my bowl, meeting their eyes for a moment. "Jorn. Erik," I repeated quietly, acknowledging them before returning to the last of my stew. It was good to have names. Names were useful data.

"One last thing, Hayato," Jorn said, leaning back in his chair. "Do you have any identification on you? A guild card, travel papers, anything like that?"

I shook my head, affecting a look of grim remembrance. "No. The bandits tore them up and threw them in their fire after they took my things. I assume they didn't want to be tracked."

Jorn sighed. "That figures. Robbery and destruction of property. They're getting sloppy." He pushed himself up from the table and walked over to a small wooden chest in the corner. He returned with a simple, plain metal ring, like a thin bracelet.

"Alright then, standard procedure," he said, holding it out. "We need to log your information, just for the record. This ring will read your basic mana signature and create a temporary identity for you."

I looked at the ring, then back at him. My mind raced. A mana-based ID system. Primitive, but necessary. I need to be in their system to operate. I gave a compliant nod.

As Jorn stepped forward, Erik spoke up from his seat, his voice a low grumble. "It's for your own good," he said. "You won't get past the gates of any decent-sized city without a registered identity."

Jorn slid the cool metal ring onto my wrist. It tightened automatically, fitting snugly against my skin. We all watched it, waiting. A faint, almost inaudible hum started, but nothing else happened. The intricate etchings covering its surface remained dark and inert. It didn't glow.

"Huh," Jorn muttered, tapping the ring with his finger. "That's odd. Thing might be busted."

"It's not broken," Erik said from his seat, his voice flat. He looked me over with a knowing expression. "It just means he has no mana to read. Not a single drop."

He grunted, leaning back. "That's what happens with most folks. Simple commoners without any talent for magic or fighting arts. Means you're just a normal guy, Hayato."

I looked at the useless metal ring on my wrist. Internally, I felt a wave of relief. They had scanned me, found nothing of interest, and labeled me as harmless. It was the perfect cover. I just gave a slight shrug, as if to say, "What can you do?"

Jorn looked at the inert ring on my wrist, then at Erik, and scratched his head. "So... what do we do? We can't register him if the ring can't read him."

Erik grunted, taking a sip from a mug of water. "It's easier, actually. No complex mana signature to log." He looked at me. "We'll just register you as a resident of this village. Give you a temporary identity."

Jorn's face lit up with relief. "Right! That's a good idea. We can vouch for you, say we found you on the road." He turned to me, his tone friendly again. "This will just be your official identity for now, so you have something. You're free to leave whenever you want, of course. If you find a better life in a big city or another kingdom, you can just register there."

I listened, giving a slow nod. My mind was already processing the implications. There was no complex background check, no proof of origin required. Just a simple registration vouched for by a local guard.

So, I thought to myself, it's that easy to become a person in any kingdom in this world. Your identity is just your last point of registration. It was a system ripe for exploitation.

***

The next morning, I stood outside the simple wooden guard post as the sun cast long shadows across the village entrance. I was clothed, fed, and officially documented as a person. Things were, objectively, better.

Erik walked out to meet me, holding a small dagger in a worn leather sheath. "Here," he said, holding it out to me. "Take this. At least you'll have something to protect yourself with."

I looked at the weapon, then at his serious face. "Do you normally hand out daggers to random people you find in the woods?" I asked, unable to keep the dry sarcasm from my voice.

"Of course," he grunted, completely missing the sarcasm. "You're an innocent with no powers. You need protection to survive in this world." He paused, giving me a long, searching look. "You really don't know the basics, do you?"

I let out a short, forced laugh, hoping it sounded casual. "Right..." I said, taking the dagger from him to end the conversation. "Must have hit my head harder than I thought when those bandits got me."

Erik gave a final nod. "I'll be on post if you need anything. Try to stay out of trouble."

I nodded back and walked away, heading towards the center of the small village where the morning activity was starting to pick up. The air was filled with the smell of woodsmoke and something savory. I followed the scent to a small market area with a handful of stalls. My eyes landed on a man grilling chunks of meat on sticks over a small charcoal grill.

Holding my satchel, I approached his stall. "Excuse me," I said.

The vendor grunted, not looking up from his grill.

"I don't have any coin, but would you trade one of those for a fresh apple?" I held one out for him to see.

He glanced at the apple, then at me, and shook his head. "Sorry, friend. Only take coins."

I pulled the apple back. "I see. Is there anyone here who might buy these from me? Or exchange them for coin?"

The vendor finally looked at me, then gestured with his head towards the other side of the small market. "You've got apples, go to the apple merchant," he said. "Old Man Hemlock. Green stall. He might buy 'em off you, but don't expect a good price. He has to make his own profit, after all."

To Be Continued.