I opened my eyes, only to see a bloodied corpse.
The dead man's face was frozen in terror. Dried blood pooled around him. Pink intestines and organs coiled about his open belly, painting the mud beneath us in shades of dark crimson.
Where am I?
Consciousness returned slowly — my head throbbed. I inhaled… exhaled. The air smelled of iron, tasted like metal.
And my memories crawled back to me.
Dr. Morningson.
A bullet.
Darkness.
Lady Death.
The deal.
"I reincarnated."
The concept of surprise probed my mind, before dissipating like morning dew.
If what Lady Death said was correct, then I was in a new world.
A new environment.
An unfamiliar environment.
And therefore, I had to adapt.
My instincts took over.
Step one: observe.
My eyes swam over my surroundings.
I lay sprawled in a thick bed of mud. Rain fell down relentlessly, pelting the earth into a quagmire of gore and rainwater.
Corpses were strewn about.
Three of them — including the man beside me — wore plate armor with the identical insignias of a crow with a bloodied beak emblazoned on their surcoats.
Men-at-arms, then. Or guards.
Their bodies lay in various states of dismemberment. As if something had ripped them from the inside out.
Messy violence.
Sloppy work.
Whatever had done this lacked finesse. Lacked artistry. Unless they'd done so on purpose.
But that was not all.
There was another corpse... a smaller corpse.
A child.
He appeared no older than six. Mud and blood matted strands of dirtied, golden hair. One small hand still clutched what appeared to be a porcelain doll.
Whoever killed them must've had a reason.
And I intend to find out.
I turned my gaze.
Beyond where me and the dead were sprawled, a wooden and iron carriage was overturned. Orange flames licked at its jeweled thatches. Gore splattered the ornate decorations.
Wealthy. A nobleman or a rich merchant, perhaps.
Step two: orient.
Simple deduction painted a clear picture.
Someone had arranged a massacre here. Four corpses suggested a traveling party. Three armored escorts protecting one precious cargo.
Someone had wanted them very, very dead.
The question was: did any witnesses survive inside that carriage?
Step three: decide.
I had to go look.
Step four: move.
Cautiously, I stood.
My feet squelched on the mud. I cracked my neck, rolled my wrists.
But my body felt strange.
Sore and weary.
I glanced down…
… and saw a body that was not mine.
The flesh I now wore was fragile and pale.
Ribs poked out of a scrawny and cadaverous body lacking in both muscle and protein.
In the pond of crimson below, I caught my face in the murky depths.
A pubescent child's face stared back at me. White hair filled an oval-shaped head. The face was gaunt and skeletal.
But that wasn't what ensnared my attention.
It was my eyes...
... purple.
Just like hers.
Just like Lady Death's.
For a brief moment, an unfamiliar sensation ran down my spine. My muscles tensed, my throat tightened, and my heart pounded against my brittle ribcage. The concept of it tasted foreign on my tongue.
But just as rapid as it came, it vanished.
I see, I thought, gazing upon those purple irises, this is her mark on me.
A symbol of her dominance and my submission.
Lady Death, it seemed, proved herself more symbolic than I realized.
Nonetheless, it didn't matter. Not now. Later? Perhaps.
But not now.
Step five: adapt and act.
I trekked to the burning carriage, my new legs unsteadily floundering across burnt foliage as I analyzed the surrounding area.
The forest encircling me felt different.
Trees stretched impossibly high. The bark was a deep crimson, like oxidized blood left to dry on rust. Their branches twisted into unnatural angles, as if capable of sentience.
And the sky above...
It should've been black; night's maw scattered with stars.
Instead, a sickening red glow permeated the hemispheres, reminiscent of skin that had been flayed, exposing raw flesh beneath.
Lady Death mentioned a hellish world, I remembered. Could this be it?
It certainly was an apt description.
Slowly, I approached the carriage.
Its wooden frame had splintered on impact, embellished gold filigree now twisted and blackened.
The sigil on its door matched those on the dead guards: a vicious, hungry crow with a beak glistening with dark blood.
For a moment, I contemplated stepping inside.
Until I heard it.
A noise.
No — something else.
A whimper.
I paused.
It sounded feminine, coming northeast within the treeline.
A survivor? Or… something else?
I dropped low, scurrying behind one of the carriage's broken wheels. The spokes created narrow slits for observation.
And so, I watched.
Three men emerged from between the blood-barked trees. Not soldiers like the corpses — their attire was too mismatched, too unkempt.
Tattered leather jerkins covered with poorly stitched patches. Crude blades hung from belts made of frayed rope. Two carried knives with notched edges. The third, a coil of hemp rope.
Bandits? Mercenaries? Brigades?
Between them, stumbled a fourth figure.
Female. Half-nude, wearing what once had been a pristine black and white uniform.
Maid attire?
Her hands were bound before her. A filthy cloth gagged her sobs.
Tear tracks carved clean lines through dirt, blood, and other fluidson her face.
"Stop yer whinin'."
The largest bandit hissed, yanking the rope binding her wrists.
"Nobody's comin' to save ye. The lord's men-at-arms an' his little brats are now meat for the crows."
Subconsciously, I noted I understood the language.
It wasn't English, but a warped bastard dialect composed of Russian and a vague German.
How do I understand it?
I did not know.
"Better that way, too," the third man — shorter with a face pockmarked by scars — chuckled. "Can't wait for all that bounty money… by Queen Iselut's cunt, I can't wait!"
The second man bearing a gap-tooth watched the road.
"Quiet the fuck up, bathtard," he hissed with a lisp. "I don' wanna attract anyone or anythin'."
Gradually, they made their way closer to the carriage.
The first one spat on the ground.
"With what he did to these poor fuckers—" he kicked at one of the ravaged corpses, "—they 'a better run away."
The gap-toothed bandit sighed before chuckling.
"Thtill, we betht be quick. Take what we can carry an' the woman. The whore'll fetch a fine prithe with that pretty 'ol fathe." He licked his lips.
The maid's whimpers grew more desperate behind her gag.
"Shut 'er up," the large one growled. "Or better yet, give the bitch something to really cry about."
With a crooked grin, the shortest bandit struck the maid across the face.
SMACK!
The sound was close.
Too close.
I dug my feet into the ground.
Should I run? No. Three grown men; they would easily catch up to this pitiful body of mine.
Then should I fight? No. Engagement would be suicide.
Do I hide here? For now. Far from the best choice, but it was the only plausible one.
Not only that, but I needed information.
I needed to know who I was; I needed to know where I stood.
And the easiest instrument to sing to the tune of information was the most simple.
Pain.
I had to wait. Wait until they separate.
Take the third one first.
Ambush him — not to kill him in one fell swoop, but to pick-pocket the knife in his belt.
And then...
Then we would have ourselves a proper conversation.
Perhaps I could—
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
A sudden flash of violet light materialized in front of my eyes.
[INITIALIZING...]