The boy's body was still asleep, just like Junior's consciousness. Meanwhile, Senior tried not to think about anything, waiting for the sun to announce the coming of morning.
As soon as the first rays touched his eyelids, he took control.
Smoothly, without resistance or jolts. He felt composed and ready for a new day.
"Maybe it's not so bad to greet a new world through the lens of 'familiar' emotions. Sooner or later, I'll feel them for real again."
With that thought, he got out of bed and neatly made it with practiced movements. Then he stepped out into the backyard. It was a relief that it was a small garden, not the pen where the slaves rested.
The green grass, covered in morning dew, pleasantly tickled his ankles.
A steel knife flashed in his hand, taken from the kitchen. A decent substitute for dagger training.
Senior tightened his grip on the handle and slightly rotated his wrist, recalling how Junior had taught him the correct finger placement. Then he began to run through the full set of exercises.
The movements felt rather clumsy, yet the body already knew what to do. Muscle memory truly guided him like a phantom coach, but Senior wasn't satisfied with that. He didn't want to be a poor copy of Junior.
Fight openly and honestly? What a funny joke. To survive here, in the body of a cripple, he had to use his brain, not strength. He had to catch his enemy off guard. Become a killer.
As he practiced his strikes, he kept trying to recall scenes from action movies, self-defense lessons, even YouTube videos.
Even though martial arts were the foundation of this world, Grey didn't believe his own civilization was useless. Yes, people there couldn't evolve. But they shared information openly. Well… almost.
Driven by a strange sense of patriotism for his own civilization, he wanted to refine the technique of a sudden strike. To polish it so thoroughly that these barbarians would come to understand the greatness of Earth's people.
Having found himself in a чужой world, Grey had truly cast aside all prejudice. Nation, state, religion—none of it mattered anymore. In a surge of irrational pride for his world, he sought to absorb every fragment of wisdom he came across.
Drenched in sweat, Grey recalled a quote by Suvorov, the great Russian general who had never lost a battle: "The more you sweat in training, the easier it is in battle."
Alongside the widely known words of Bruce Lee: "I fear not the man who has practiced ten thousand kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick ten thousand times."
Grey took a familiar stance for practicing a liver strike with a guard bypass. That short, sharp thrust under the opponent's ribs, like in a cult game about assassins, was the move he decided to make his signature.
"999, 998... 256...255... 3... 2 ...1," he counted out loud, marking the daily quota he had set for himself.
Then came squats, push-ups, burpees.
His muscles ached painfully, but he encouraged himself with the words of Aristotle: "We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit."
Or the words of an American military general: "The more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in battle."
He tried to understand every movement. Where was the weakness? How did the body react? In what situation should it be used?
He wasn't just swinging a knife. He was studying.
Even the air that burned his lungs was part of the training.
"And here you are again, little mouse. Why are you trying so hard?" a soft voice came right behind his back. "You're not a slave anymore, no need to work yourself from dawn till dusk. Here, wipe yourself." Monica said, holding out a damp towel.
The red-haired woman stood in the doorway, a light shawl draped over her shoulders, barely concealing her full figure.
"There's that nickname again," Grey muttered. "Don't you think it's strange to call me that? I'm not some pathetic little mouse."
Monica smirked.
"Of course, of course. You're a real wolf. Just a very tired and skinny one," she joked, her fingers gently running through his tangled hair.
When her arm was exposed, Grey noticed a large bruise on her forearm.
"Know yourself, know your enemy, and you will never lose in a thousand battles," Sun Tzu's words from The Art of War flashed through his mind.
Grey forced a smile.
In this world, his enemy wasn't so much a hostile army or a single person. The enemy was the entire system. The very idea that "the one with the stronger fist is right." Even though Grey understood that the same rule applied in his own world, he didn't want to accept it. Especially now that he was trapped in the body of a cripple.
"If that's the case, then let the one with more allies and subordinates be right," he nodded to his own thoughts.
Grey didn't know why this woman was so kind to him. Maybe he reminded her of someone? Either way, her touch was pleasant, and she meant no harm. Cold logic and calculation told him to take care of this woman with a miserable fate.
"Hey, Grey. What, decided to ditch us again and die from training?" a cheeky voice called out from the doorway as Lily dashed into the yard.
Sheryl followed right behind her like a little tail.
She nervously fidgeted with her fingers, hiding her gaze behind her lashes. Compared to the confident Lily, her appearance was truly soft and vulnerable. Yet even she seemed to be expecting something special.
"We're going into the city. You coming?" Lily raised an eyebrow as if she didn't care about his answer, though her voice clearly betrayed anticipation.
"Mmh. Sheryl wants Grey to come. He promised," the rabbit girl replied shyly.
"The company of these two really won't let me get bored," Senior thought to himself. "One is timid, like a schoolgirl before an exam. The other is prickly, like the horns she hides."
Setting the knife aside, he nodded.
"Of course. I gave my word. And I've been wanting to get out myself."
"Don't forget the badges!" Monica cut in as she headed back into the house. "These things haven't saved anyone yet, but they can make a couple of idiots think twice. The mistress won't let her girls be harmed..." she glanced at Grey and added with a hint of irony, "...and boys..."
"We'll be fine, Aunt Monica," Lily promised, obediently taking the badges with the words "Venus's Embrace" written on them.
"Where did her sharp tongue go?" Grey thought when he saw how obedient she was.
Sheryl and Grey also thanked the red-haired woman before stepping outside.
They were greeted by a "wonderful" bouquet of smells: the stench of medieval streets mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread. A forest breeze drifting in from the western woods clashed with the dry air of the southeastern desert.
It was a strange cacophony of scents that struck their senses.
"Feels a lot like a medieval European city," Grey thought as he stepped onto a path paved with wooden slices.
"Junior said all cities of the Magic Empire are built the same way. The Magic Tower stands in the center. North is the noble district. South is for commoners. West is the barracks. East is for merchants. Simple."
Since "Venus's Embrace" was located between the торговый district and the noble quarter, they didn't need to go very far.
Still, Grey hoped to see what the Magic Tower and the commoner districts looked like. Sooner or later, mages would become his enemies on the path to building his own power, while commoners could become potential allies.
"Look, Grey!" Lily could barely contain her excitement as she pointed at a display window. "These are smoking pipes the desert barbarians are famous for! The seller said they relieve fatigue and stress. All merchants heading deeper into the continent buy them up instantly. But the price…"
"Wait, Lily, look here!" Sheryl cut her off, catching up to her friend. "Mister said these amulets come straight from the fjords! They protect you from any misfortune, and they're so beautiful… like magical weaving!"
"Sheryl, look," Lily ran up to another stall, "these glowing crystals are filled with mana. Mom said you can use them to cast elemental magic."
"Hehe, those are some big bones," Sheryl said, peeking from behind her friend's shoulder. "I can feel fear just looking at them. What kind of magical beast gives off danger even after death?"
"That's a level four Wind Wolf. No wonder you're scared of it. Wolves are natural predators for all rabbits," Lily explained.
Like a proper man, Grey obediently followed after the girls, resembling an exhausted dog. No matter the world or the era, girls loved shopping. It seemed that even reincarnation hadn't spared him from this fate.
"Let them enjoy themselves. As long as we're heading in the right direction. Besides, they don't have any money to spend. I do," Grey reassured himself, keeping his mouth shut.
Secretly, he admired the diversity of cultures here.
This was a small town on the outskirts of the Empire. It was hard to even call it a city, more like a frontier outpost. Yet life was bustling: people hurried through the streets, argued, bargained, discussed the latest news.
Looking around, Grey couldn't help but notice the metal collars on some of the passersby. These people were slaves, belonging to the lowest rank. They carefully avoided everyone else, afraid of getting into trouble.
Their appearance unsettled Sheryl, Lily, and even himself.
Just thinking that the same fate could have awaited them, or something even worse.
Instinctively checking their own necks, the trio turned into another alley. Just in time to avoid a bucket of slop dumped by some "genius" from a window straight onto the heads of passersby.
"Let's head toward the square," Grey suggested, noticing that the girls' mood had dimmed a little.
Sheryl and Lily nodded.
The road took only fifteen minutes, but within a few minutes it became clear that something unusual was happening ahead. The crowd kept thickening, people flowing in the same direction as if pulled by an invisible current.
From fragments of conversation, they quickly grasped the main point: a gathering was being held at the Magic Tower today. The locals had been lured by the promise of free food, and people came willingly, some out of hunger, some out of curiosity, and some simply not wanting to miss a rare event in a quiet outpost.
Turning back was already impossible, the streets had filled so densely that the trio was literally carried forward.
When they reached the square, they were met with a scene straight out of a history book.
In the center, at the foot of the tower, stood a tall wooden platform.
On it, shoulders squared, stood a herald in a bright red cloak, shouting accusations at the top of his lungs, trying to outvoice the roar of the crowd.
"By the will of Baron Orpheus!" the herald bellowed. "Yesterday evening, the personal guard of our city lord apprehended a vile criminal, exposed for practicing devilish arts! According to the laws of the Magic Empire, and in the name of protecting good citizens, the sentence is declared: death by burning at the stake! Let justice be done!"
He made a sharp gesture with his hand, and the crowd erupted in approving cries.
The noise spread like a wave, growing louder with every moment, until the condemned was brought onto the platform.
They moved slowly, as if their legs refused to obey. Their head was covered with a sack, and their hands were bound behind their back. Loose clothing, like a slave's rags, hid their figure.
And yet, Grey noticed the faint outline of a chest and realized the culprit was a woman.
She trembled from the piercing wind, yet tried to keep her back straight, as if clinging to the last remnants of dignity.
"What horrors could this fragile woman have committed, one who wouldn't have the strength to harm even a child?" Grey thought, and something inside him twisted painfully.
The answer was obvious.
She was a witch.
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