Panting heavily, Kaelor let go of his mother's corpse and slumped beside it, a couple of meters deep into the bush. His hands trembled. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.
He had searched desperately for something, anything, to bury her with. But there were no tools, no shovels, no stones sharp enough to cut through roots. Just wet earth and pain.
So he dropped to his knees and began to dig with his bare hands.
Each scoop of soil came with a whisper of grief. Rain had softened the ground, but even that mercy came at a cost, his fingers quickly turned raw, his nails split and bled, the mud caked deep into the skin. Yet he kept digging. The ache in his arms and shoulders only fueled him. The sting in his throat that almost made him cry drove him deeper. It was pain, pure and undiluted, that pumped through his veins, pushing him forward.
Hours passed.
Finally, when he could dig no further, he rolled her body into the shallow pit, arranged her limbs gently, and began to cover her. The grave wasn't deep. Not enough for peace, perhaps, but enough to keep scavenging beasts at bay.
He sat back on the grass, his chest heaving, staring at the mound of damp earth that marked her resting place.
"At least… they won't eat you," he whispered.
The sun was now descending, staining the sky with hues of orange and grey. "I've got a few hours before dark," Kaelor muttered, his voice low and rough as he stared at the sky with dead eyes and mud-streaked cheeks.
This transmigration hadn't been mystical. There were no glowing portals, no gods or spirits welcoming him. The memories of this world, of Kaelor Dravion, had been quietly sealed into the folds of his mind. Seamless.
In a way, it already felt like he'd lived here all his life.
He almost doubted the life he had lived on Earth had ever existed.
With a long, steadying breath, Kaelor rose to his feet. He picked up a long branch, using it as a crude walking stick. Then he scavenged what he could from the carriage, the letter to prove his identity, a travel cloak, half-soaked but intact, which he wrapped around himself and a pouch containing all his mother had been saving.
Had the previous Kaelor known, all these gold coins would have gone into a tavern or naked woman.
He turned to the muddy road once again, following the trail of footprints the people who had passed left behind.
'Redwood Town. That's my only chance.'
Would people there recognize him? Likely. But would they care enough to send word eight weeks back to the capital? Would they even know that the new Duke had ordered his death?
Unlikely.
If his brother had wanted the public to know, he wouldn't have waited until Kaelor was nearly at the edge of the Dukedom's reach. No, this was meant to be quiet. Private.
The road was grueling. His boots squelched in the thick muck, his feet stuck more than once. He trudged forward, pausing every so often to catch his breath or to glare at the sky in quiet hopelessness.
'Is there even a future for me here?'
He wasn't sure.
But no matter how he tried to entertain the idea of ending it, his body refused. He couldn't bring himself to die, not after crawling out of the grave once already.
Finally, as the sun dipped behind a distant ridge, Kaelor crested a hill and there it was.
A small town nestled in a shallow valley.
Red roofs glinted faintly in the evening light. The wooden-and-mud wall that surrounded it looked like it could collapse under a stiff breeze, held up only by thick tree trunks rammed into the soil like desperate scaffolding.
He saw people in coarse linen clothes and straw hats trudging through the outskirts—rice fields, though barely worthy of the name. Most plots were overgrown, others patchy and dry, with sickly green stalks poking up through the flooded soil.
Kaelor rubbed his eyes.
A rice field?'
Even in its sorry state, that field was a treasure.
To someone like him, who now had nothing, it was a miracle.
Even if the rice was weak, thin, and poorly tended, Kaelor knew its value.
To merchants and nobles, that rice field was gold coins growing from the earth!
Bracing himself, Kaelor trudged through the open, unguarded gates of Redwood Town. The wooden posts meant to hold a barricade stood bare, no gate, no guards, not even a lookout.
His brows furrowed.
'This is my fief… and there's no one watching the entrance?'
He scanned his surroundings, searching for at least one armed figure stationed nearby, but found nothing. The road into town was unpaved and uneven, flanked by houses made of mud, slabs, and crooked wood. Some looked half-abandoned.
As he walked deeper, he noticed the stares.
Everyone was watching him.
Women paused at their washing lines. Children stopped chasing each other. Men sharpening crude blades or hauling chopped logs raised their heads, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Kaelor cursed inwardly. No matter how he tried to walk with purpose, he couldn't blend in. Not in a town this small, where maybe five hundred people lived, most of them likely related. Here, a stranger was as visible as fire in the dark.
He pressed forward, ignoring the stares, the silent judgment. His eyes locked onto the only structure that resembled authority: the lord's residence.
It sat apart from the other buildings, a short distance up a worn path. Though far from impressive, it at least had chest-high wooden fencing, a stone foundation, and two men with spears standing at the entrance. Thank God, some kind of guard presence at last.
His heart pounded in his chest, his grip tightening around the letter tucked inside his cloak. 'As long as I get to the door. Just get to the door.'
He made it.
One of the spear-wielding men stepped forward, furrowing his brows as he lowered the butt of his weapon in warning. "Who are you?"
Kaelor stood straighter and answered, voice level despite the mud and grime, on his face.
"I am Kaelor Dravion, firstborn son of the late Duke Leo Dravion. I've come to claim my land."
The guard blinked.
A loud laugh rang out from nearby. Kaelor turned his head sharply to the right, where a lean man with a wiry frame approached. His gray-streaked hair was tied back, and a full, unkempt beard clung to his chin. His linen robes were cleaner than most, but still bore the signs of a hard, earthy life.
"The son of Duke Leo?" the man repeated, chuckling. "Looking like a half-dead beggar?"
He walked closer, amused eyes sweeping over Kaelor's mud-covered form, cloak, and makeshift walking stick. "Where's your entourage, my lord? Your horses? Servants? Fine boots?"
He clicked his tongue mockingly.
"I heard you were coming with your mother. So…" He leaned in, grinning. "Where is she?"
Kaelor's jaw clenched.
The man tilted his head.
"Well?" he asked, still smirking. "Or was your nobility left in the ditch along with your manners?"