I hate winter.
Especially on an afternoon spent chopping wood.
My aching muscles seemed to burn more frequently, cold sweat dripped down my forehead and back, and every inch traveled by the droplets sent shivers through my body, bringing a sensation of discomfort.
The air I drew was thin, and what I inhaled burned my lungs already tired from the effort.
The axe felt as heavy as if twenty men were pressing it down.
Though it was hard to tell whether it was the effort or the cold punishing my body — perhaps a cruel mix of both.
Winter is a season difficult to sympathize with.
Few crops survive its harshness, children fall ill, and hunting is hindered.
And in these lands, these factors were amplified.
It had been a long five years since my reincarnation into this world.
And during that time, winter was the only season I had witnessed.
Of all places in existence, why did I have to reincarnate in this hole?
A small village in the middle of nowhere.
And worst of all: the cursed white vastness of snow, which brought back flashes of memories and unpleasant sensations from a life long past.
If I had a choice, I would never be out in the snow collecting firewood.
But the responsibilities I carry didn't allow me that luxury.
Responsibilities enough to swallow complaints, discomfort, and fleeting memories.
As a youth newly arrived at maturity — that is, at fifteen years old — a full-fledged adult should do what an adult must do.
Especially in such a small village, with few young people and many elderly.
So the hardest tasks fell to me, like gathering firewood and hunting, since the older men no longer had the strength for those activities.
Normally, these tasks wouldn't be considered arduous. After all, the village didn't even reach a hundred inhabitants.
But I did more than necessary, because I needed to bring some stability to the orphanage where I grew up.
Since the previous priest passed away last year, I had decided to take responsibility for the orphanage alongside the nun.
Though my duties were heavy, they were not a burden — something I always made sure to distinguish in my mind.
When my legs failed me, when the cold prickled every last hair on my body, memories of kind people and children gave me strength.
A strength that filled my chest with warmth. It didn't work miracles, but it reminded me of who I was and what was at stake.
There wasn't much of value in my life, but the lives of others were far more precious.
And that thought gave me purpose and strength.
In a way, I found some contentment knowing that, even as a man of little worth, I was able to help someone.
It wasn't a thought a man should nurture, but it was reality.
As a reincarnated, my life had already been used and poorly lived. I was simply putting in overtime in this world.
Still, those thoughts wouldn't help me now. But rest... and tea, yes.
With a deep sigh, I sat on one of the logs I had tossed on the ground earlier during work, and carelessly dropped the axe.
The tool quickly sank into the deep snow.
Yet, small red droplets gathered around the handle of the axe.
Blood.
"Damn, kafka's not going to like this," I murmured, staring at my bloodied palms.
A quick look made it clear it was nothing serious, just superficial cuts caused by effort and cold.
The pain was almost nonexistent, but some bandages would be needed just to avoid infection.
However, that would be enough to scandalize the young little nun at the orphanage.
I could already predict the look and her pleas for me to take it easy — something I could ignore.
But if she played dirty and convinced the other children, then I'd have to resign myself and accept my fate.
The last time I ignored them resulted in days of crying and sour faces, as well as failed attempts to avoid my presence.
There were even attempts at a hunger strike.
Only attempts.
Children rarely can ignore their own appetite.
Those kids will be the cause of my heart attack someday.
Yet, I couldn't help the small smile that involuntarily formed on my face.
Maybe I could take a day or two off.
Help kafka more at the orphanage, spend time with the children, and perhaps, get a brief rest.
But for now, certain things took higher priority.
So, I carefully felt my pants pocket until I touched the rough texture of leather and pulled it out from its hiding place.
In my hands was now a small roll, carefully wrapped, of fine leather.
Essential — after all, small injuries were common.
Things like branch cuts and occasional predator attacks.
And it was from those very predators — especially wolves — that I had stripped the leather and turned it into thinner strips.
A precious lesson given by Mr. Muha, the old hunter of the village.
But he taught me much more than just reducing the population of wild wolves and turning them into leather strips.
One of those lessons was how to treat small, superficial wounds, especially in hostile environments or places with few resources — like where I was now.
I glanced briefly around and found no sign of any medicinal plants. Just trees... and endless snow ahead.
In one corner, a pile of logs stacked neatly, with a worn backpack leaning against them.
So, the only method left was Muha's not-so-gentle way.
I rested the leather on my legs, knowing what awaited me, took a deep breath, and grabbed a handful of snow in each hand, crushing it.
"Urgh!" I groaned in pain pressing the snow between my hands. Painful, but necessary.
Though the freshly wounded skin stung, I didn't release the pressure for about two minutes.
After that, I dropped the snow to the ground, relieved.
I looked at my palms — the bleeding had stopped.
Though crude, the method was useful for stemming small wounds and equally effective at cleaning blood.
Still, I should remember to bring medicinal herbs next time.
This method... was leagues away from what I would call comfortable.
But the worst moment had passed.
So carefully, I bandaged both hands and stood up to get my backpack, not far away, to make my long-awaited tea.
But as soon as I stood, I noticed an abnormality my eyes had missed earlier on the log.
At the farthest corner of the wood, a huge claw mark adorned the log.
A mark I had never seen before.
It ran easily fifteen centimeters down — a size I'd never seen on any bear or wolf in the region.
Quickly, I approached the mark to examine it.
I traced my fingers along the grooves in the wood and felt a shiver run through every inch of my body.
Shivers no harsh cold could bring.
It was terrifying.
The notch in the wood was at least six centimeters deep.
But that wasn't the scariest part.
The claw marks were erratic, elongated, and stretched too much for any animal known to my mind.
They were almost... human.
I could only hope it was some prank by someone from the village.
But I wasn't willing to risk my life on that bet.
I needed to get back to the village.
Now.
Hurriedly, with my heart hammering in my chest, I grabbed the backpack with trembling hands and slung it over my shoulder.
With renewed strength, I gripped the axe in my hands — hoping it would be a weapon I wouldn't have to use.
However, my axe would hardly be able to do much against the destructive power of the creature that made that mark on the log.
Another reason to hurry my steps.
But it was impossible to reach the village quickly without transportation.
Fortunately, my sled wasn't far.
I'd have to climb a small hill, walk about a hundred steps, and then hitch the dogs to the sled.
"Oh, damn!" I desperately started running back toward the hill.
Without the dogs, I wouldn't be able to return with the supplies, nor reach the village before nightfall.
If that creature hadn't arrived before me or wasn't waiting for me. I had to get there as fast as possible.
But it didn't seem possible.
My already tired lungs burned for breath.
My legs felt like jelly, trembling against my will.
My heart felt as if it were being twisted and needles writhed inside it.
I didn't stop.
I dared not.
The moment I stopped would be the moment my body failed.
Weak, with an unknown predator on the loose — the same as death.
This time, I refuse to die.
I will not die again in a white wasteland, curled up in the cold, stripped of everything, just waiting for the end.
I felt the last drop of strength run through my body; fear and desire pushing my steps forward, I kept going. Not even the hill's incline was enough to stop me.
But it was too late.
As I reached the top of the hill, I witnessed a macabre scene in the distance.
Red, everywhere, around a hunched creature feeding.
Bizarre humanoid arms that seemed to end in... hands with long, slightly curved claws.
It was crouched, like a man, vaguely humanoid legs ending in animal paws.
A thin, furry body, the same color as the darkness of night.
But the head... was it a wolf? It had human features, but it wasn't human.
Not by the voracity with which it chewed the dogs.
It was not an animal either.
It was something demonic.
It looked wrong, belonging neither to reality nor to this world.
A bizarre creature, a mixture of human and animal.
And I needed to leave.
As fast as possible!
My heart sounded like a drum echoing through the silence, but the creature seemed too focused on its meal.
Great.
At this distance, the creature didn't seem to hear enough.
There was still a chance, though slow, I could go down, circle around the hill, then reach the village and gather people to kill the creature. I just needed to take a few steps back and leave.
So, I held my breath and slowly took a step back.
— Crack! — the sound of a breaking branch echoed beneath my feet.
And with that sound, the creature's animalistic, voracious slit eyes met mine.
Possibly the last thing I would ever see.