Old Oak Inn, a guest room on the second floor.
Nuoyaji sat by the bed, a crude little wooden table before him, his dinner laid out on it. A bowl of stewed beans, a bowl of mushroom and vegetable soup, and a cup of green plum drink.
Diced salted pork had been added to the beans, which had been cooked until soft. The starch from the beans blended with the savory saltiness of the meat, thick enough to coat a spoon.
The mushroom and vegetable soup was light, with a few leaves of unknown wild greens and several small mushrooms floating in it, and tasted of a fresh, earthy fragrance. The green plum drink was sweet and tart, cold on the tongue; after a cup, even his stomach felt a little refreshed.
The food was quite good, and affordable too.
Nuoyaji ate one mouthful at a time, unhurriedly. He had been hungry all day and needed to replenish his strength. There was still plenty to do tomorrow.
He was not the sort to stint himself, a habit formed on the battlefields of his previous life-eat as much as possible when you could, because you never knew when your next meal would be.
After finishing the last mouthful of beans, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, pushed the dishes aside, and dug several crumpled sheets of draft paper and a blunt-tipped quill out of his cloth bag.
The draft pages were covered in densely packed writing, some crossed out and rewritten, some marked with question marks and arrows in the margins. These were the rough plans he had written in fits and starts along the way before leaving Dawn City. Their contents were a jumble: timelines, names, places, events, scattered remarks that only he could understand.
Nuoyaji spread the pages across the table and began sorting through tomorrow's plans by the faint light of the oil lamp beside the bed.
First, he had to find a way to approach Viscount Heluos.
This was the most important step. All power in Luoweida was concentrated in this one man: mining rights, the allocation of grain reserves, the authority to deploy the guards-all were in his hands. If Nuoyaji could persuade him, or at least influence him, many things could be pushed forward from above, without waiting for the miners to go mad with hunger and smash at the viscount's gates with pitchforks.
But how could he approach him?
Nuoyaji tapped the tip of his quill against the paper, leaving a dot of ink.
His current identity was merely that of a magic apprentice, with no connections, no reputation, not even the standing to enter the viscount's residence. Forcing his way in was impossible. The guards at the entrance might not be strong, but this body's legs ached from simply traveling, never mind fighting.
He needed an intermediary.
He had not stayed long in Luoweida in his previous life, but he had a general understanding of the city's power structure. Viscount Heluos had been personally elevated by that grand duke, a man with ample loyalty but little independent judgment.
He had several aides who handled everyday affairs, one of whom was called... Nuoyaji thought for a moment and wrote a name on the paper-Yimulei.
When he passed through Luoweida in his previous life, he had heard people mention this name in a tavern. They said he was the viscount's most trusted secretary, a commoner by birth, efficient in his work, with a fairly good reputation among the lower classes.
If he could approach Yimulei first and have him pass a message to the viscount, there might be a chance.
Nuoyaji drew a line beneath those words.
Second, he needed to check the condition of those old mine tunnels.
The route he had heard about from an old miner in his previous life was the fastest way he could currently think of to open a grain supply route to the outside. The problem was that he had only "traveled" that route once through the old miner's description; he had never seen it himself.
Moreover, the landslides and mudslides caused by the storm might have changed that route beyond recognition, or even blocked it completely.
He needed to take a look himself.
Or have Fuke take a look.
Nuoyaji wrote Fuke's name on the paper, adding "scout outside the city" beside it.
Then the tip of Nuoyaji's quill hovered above the paper and remained there for a long time.
A scene surfaced in his mind. Not a memory of his previous life, but a "memory of the future" within those memories-things that had not yet happened in his previous life, but that he knew would happen sooner or later.
The Cursed One.
The uncrowned demon lord.
Nuoyaji closed his eyes, letting those scenes slowly unfold in his mind.
It was news that had come from the imperial capital when he was still serving as a junior adviser in the empire's Tower Mage Corps in his previous life-the southern nations had suffered an unprecedented disaster. A girl of unknown identity, possessing terrifying strength approaching that of an Eighth Tier powerhouse, had single-handedly swept through several towns, leaving corpses strewn across the land and rivers of blood wherever she went.
The nations were shaken.
Intelligence indicated that the girl's origins were connected to an organization code-named [Silence]. That organization had extracted the bloodline of some ancient monster and injected it into test subjects, attempting to create controllable superweapons.
Most of the experiments failed, and the test subjects died in agony. Only a very few survived. The children born to those surviving test subjects possessed atavistic bloodlines, inheriting part of the ancient monster's power.
Fuyila.
She was the most successful of those children, and the most dangerous.
In his previous life, she had thrown half the continent into upheaval under the name "The Cursed One." She needed no reason, no motive. She only wanted to destroy, only wanted revenge. Revenge against those who had treated her as an experimental subject and driven her mother to a dead end.
Eventually, she came to the Karelia Empire. Only when Master Valot, a Ninth-Tier Legend and the Venerable of Ten Thousand Spells, intervened in person was she subdued.
Nuoyaji had met her.
Not when she was at her most frenzied, but afterward-in the brief interval before she was sealed away.
That day, he happened to be handling business in the imperial capital. The sealing array had not yet been fully activated. Fuyila was confined at its center, most of her power already suppressed, curled up on the ground like a cornered beast.
She was covered in wounds, her long white hair matted with blood and mud, her face covered in dust and tear tracks, but flames still burned in those red eyes.
Nuoyaji did not know what had possessed him to walk over.
He crouched at the edge of the array, looked at the girl who was who knew how many years younger than him, and asked a very stupid question.
"Why did you kill so many people?"
Fuyila raised her head and glanced at him.
There was no anger in those red eyes, no hatred, not even sorrow. Only an empty, indifferent look that sent a chill down his back.
"Because I wanted to," she said, her voice hoarse, like a traveler who had gone thirsty in the desert for a long time. "Is that not allowed?"
She tilted her head, the corner of her mouth pulling into a curve, impossible to tell whether it was a smile or self-mockery.
"You sure like sticking your nose into things, little fellow."
Nuoyaji had not argued back then.
Only later did he learn that Fuyila's actual age was even younger than her appearance suggested. She had merely grown quickly, because the ancient bloodlines injected into her body had accelerated her growth. Before her mind had fully matured, she already possessed the power to destroy everything.
All she knew was that she hurt, that she was furious, and that she desperately wanted those who had hurt her to taste the same pain.
Nuoyaji opened his eyes.
The oil lamp's flame flickered before him, casting alternating light and shadow over his face. His brow was tightly furrowed, and a trace of complicated emotion flashed in his eyes.
Fuyila.
If his memory was correct, Fuyila should have appeared on the continent's stage after the War of the Kings in his previous life.
But now, the timeline had already moved forward-the storm had erupted early, conflicts between nations had intensified early, and the seeds of unrest had been planted early. Then might Fuyila's appearance also come early?
Could she... already be somewhere?
Nuoyaji pressed his quill to the paper and firmly wrote several lines.
-Find Yimulei at the viscount's residence first thing tomorrow morning and try to secure an audience with Heross.
-Confirm the route through the old mine tunnels as soon as possible and open the grain supply route.
-Watch for news from the southern nations, especially intelligence about an "unidentified girl."
After writing the last line, he set down his quill, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long breath.
What a headache.
Humanity had dug far too many pitfalls for itself. Those organizations, those experiments, those madmen who stopped at nothing for authority and power-they were the true cancers of this world.
In his previous life, he had dealt with far too much of this crap on behalf of the nations. Every time, it was like mopping up dirty water someone else had spilled. Once he finished, someone spilled more. It never ended.
In this life, he did not want to repeat that passive pattern of running himself ragged.
He would kick over the bucket before that dirty water could be spilled.
Or smash the bucket.
Nuoyaji stood, stretched his stiff arms, carefully folded the draft pages, and tucked them into the inner compartment of his cloth bag. He blew out the oil lamp, lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, I have to act as soon as possible.
Decisively, swiftly.
I can't let all that crap happen again.
Otherwise, wouldn't my rebirth have been for nothing?
On the rooftop.
Fuyila placed the last bone on the roof tile beside her, licked the grease off her fingers, and exhaled in satisfaction. She was full, her stomach warm, and even the exhaustion seeping from deep within her bones had faded considerably.
She turned her head to look at the black figure beside her.
Black Owl still sat there quietly, mask facing the distant night sky, motionless, as though admiring the scenery, or perhaps looking at nothing at all.
"Finished eating?" Black Owl spoke.
"Yes." Fuyila nodded.
Black Owl stood, the armor's joints making a faint scraping sound.
Fuyila hurriedly stood as well, her movements a little flustered, nearly tripping over her own cloak. She steadied herself against the roof ridge and looked up at Black Owl, hesitation flickering in her red eyes.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but not knowing what.
"Thank you." In the end, those were the only words she managed to squeeze out.
Black Owl looked down at her.
There was no expression on the enclosed mask, but Fuyila kept feeling that those unseen eyes held something she could not understand.
"You're welcome."
Black Owl turned, the black figure tracing a cold, sharp arc beneath the moonlight, and then-
Vanished.
Fuyila stood dazed on the rooftop, the night breeze lifting her snow-white hair, the moonlight stretching her shadow long, long behind her.
She lowered her head and reached out to touch the warm stone nestled against her chest.
Then she raised her head, gazed at the night sky veiled by clouds, and took a deep breath.
Mom.
I met someone strange.
But he gave me food.
He probably isn't a bad person.
With that thought, Fuyila started walking, stepping on the tiles as she carefully made her way toward the edge of the roof.
She still had to keep walking.
Head south.
Walk to the sea.
That was what Mom had said.