A Real Human Being ( Frieren )

***

"Thank you for the help again, lad. You sure you don't want to just hop in?" The man with a strong jawline and his eyebrows touched by greying hair asked, gesturing towards his cart. He was pretty tall and had the kind of belly that comes from years of good ale and not enough walking, but his arms were pretty thick. He looked like a man I wouldn't have challenged to a fistfight, back when I was a human. On a completely unrelated note, he was missing a few teeth. The only thing that broke the impression of a brute was that ever-present, foxlike squint of his eyes. "Won't cost me a thing to give you a ride. Got room on the cart, and these parts ain't the safest."

The cart in question was the very same one I just lifted out of the ditch.

For a moment, I paused, considering his question.

"It's unsafe here?" That was news. "Monster attacks?" I guessed.

The man grimaced, but shook his head.

"Not attacks exactly. But it's spring, lots of things are waking up from winter hibernation, and a lot of them are hungry."

I looked at the man nonchalantly, silently contemplating the issue. My feelings didn't come into play; everything 'emotional' in me demanded to either kill a man or leave him so I won't be bothered. I was never the most social person in life, and being a demon, an intrinsically antisocial and solitary creature, made being around people an exercise in patience.

Ignoring my urges wasn't difficult with all the practice I had, besides, they weren't very strong. Less of a persistent itch, more of a vague urge.

Either way, my point is that navigating any decision in life is never about 'doing something because you feel like it' anymore. Before I developed my spell, I forgot that humans thought like that.

So it left me between two purely logical concerns; I didn't wish to be around the man at the off-chance my nature would be discovered. A hood wasn't the best defence. On the other hand, I helped him in the first place because it was objectively the right moral choice, and staying with him while providing safety, would be the right moral choice too. At least if the risk of him coming under attack was significant.

The decision was obvious.

"You are heading to Nebeldorf, correct?" I clarified, already suspecting the answer.

According to the knowledge I already acquired, mostly from the Waldheim village, it gave me a solid idea of the surrounding region. Nebeldorf, from what I knew, was a riverport, built by the side of a deepwater river named Mondlauf.

The region we were in was the border of Southern Lands with Central Lands, though located firmly within Central Lands themselves. The border itself was a solid week of travel from here.

"That's where the road leads, lad," The man answered, seemingly amused.

I just nodded.

"In that case, yes, I wouldn't be against accompanying you."

I originally planned to avoid the town, but visiting it wasn't a terrible idea either. There were a lot of things I needed to buy, and logically a porttown was one of the best places for such ventures.

The man nodded, before hurrying off to bring back the horse into his cart, offering me to get in the meantime.

I did, and before long, he spurred the horse, and we were on the move.

The man tried to start a conversation a few times, but quickly seemed to realize that I wasn't interested. Mostly because I purposefully answered with curt responses and didn't care to engage him.

I, meanwhile, brought my redrawn map out of the bag, and stared at it, contemplating my next move.

There were a few things I learned. First of all, unfortunately, the Demon King was still very much alive. As a matter of fact, he is yet to start his offense that prompted the Hero Himmel to gather his party.

It was hard to deduce what year this was compared to the events in the story, we were never truly given specific dates or a calendar. Most events were counted from the date of Hero Himmel's death, as it marked the start of a literal new era.

This left me in a weird position. Even in Waldheim, they have heard rumors that something unpleasant was going on in the Southern Lands. An unrest of some sort, there were mentions of some wars in the region, some troubles with monsters, and even demons.

The Northlands were currently peaceful… for a given definition of the word, being an untamed, monster-infested wilds that the North was. But I knew it would be the north that would eventually have to take the full brunt of the Demon King's assault, and even that 'peace' would crumble.

Then there are Central Lands, normally the most peaceful region… except for the fact that the Demon King's forces would reach here eventually, and besides, even right now, Frieren was wandering those lands.

My best bet for now was keeping to the most remote areas and praying that I wouldn't randomly stumble on the elf, or anyone else who can identify me at a glance and squish me like a bug, for that matter.

Hubris is a sin and a danger to my well-being. I was only powerful compared to normal, untrained humans.

On a diet of dwarfen beer, push ups and beatings, Starrk grew strong enough to bisect a dragon in two when he was only sixteen, I knew full well where I stood compared to that.

"Pretty shitty map you've got there," The merchant's voice, or Schatten's, as I knew he was called, drawn me out of my thoughts. "You should get a better one when we get to town."

I blinked, seeing him glance at my notebook as he kept an eye on the road.

"That was the plan," I agreed simply, placing the notebook back into the bag. "Do you think they have more detailed maps of the north of the Central Lands that I can find there?"

It was a valid question. The lands of the continent were gargantuan; the map on a page smaller than A4 could only reflect broad strokes of the continent's geography. It wasn't precise. More detailed, regional maps were another matter, especially if they were physically big enough to contain all the details. But I wasn't sure how common they were.

Despite this world somehow having many books even in remote settlements, drawing maps, historically, was a very complicated process.

"Of course," The man huffed, "I can set you up with the right people, seeing that you helped me out." He glanced at me curiously. "You are heading north, then?"

"Not immediately, no," I saw no reason to evade the question, "I would probably take my time getting there."

Traveling while avoiding major roads and bigger settlements, stopping for years at a time to conduct my research until I exhaust the surrounding monsters, that was the plan. Keeping as far away from civilization as possible. The fewer temptations and distractions, the better.

The only reason why I can't afford to head into the complete wilderness is that it would be dangerous to be unaware of the news. I don't wish to be caught unaware by the Demon King's invasion.

By the time I reach the North Lands, I hope that the Demon King will already be vanquished.

I have no interest in joining a war. It's partially self-preservation, and simple fear, but also the knowledge that if the war were to happen any time soon, I won't be able to contribute being a young, weak demon, and partially a simple lack of drive to fight.

Even for a human, war is a turbulent event that shakes up morals and pushes one into sin; if I were to get involved in something like this, I may do things that I physically won't be able to regret.

"So a journey with no destination in mind?" The man asked, as if to himself, glancing somewhere at the sky above. "That reminds me of what I did when I was younger. See, twenty or so years ago…"

Feeling the warm spring wind on my face, I closed my eyes, listening to a story I didn't care for.

***

I was thinking about sawing off my horns before we arrive in Nebeldorf.

My hood was somehow adequate at hiding my race, but I suspected that a major town may ask me to pull it down before entry. Either specifically to check for horns, or just to see my face.

However, even though I could've told Schatten that I needed to go in the bushes for a few minutes to conduct my business, the problem was that I just didn't have the tools to get rid of my horns.

The horns are bones, thick and hard ones, too. The hunting knife I was gifted in the village wouldn't be able to cut through it. I also currently don't have any spells that could assist me in cutting my horns, and just pulling them out wasn't an option; they are very much connected with my skull.

However, I also didn't wish to cancel the visit; I wanted to buy or at least get a proper look at the map, and otherwise familiarize myself with what I could find in a town like this.

As such, when we arrived in Nebeldorf, I was expecting to fight for my life at some point, but otherwise, I was determined to get within the city walls.

The first glimpse of Nebeldorf was not what I was expecting.

From the crest of the small hill that our carriage had to climb, Nebeldorf came into view; white walls rising clean and bright against the soft gray of the river mist. Tall watchtowers marked the corners of the outer fortifications, and beyond them, the sloping brown roofs of the town peeked through, clustered like folded parchment beneath the bright daylight.

The road dipped gently from the hillside toward the gates, well-worn but steady, following the curve of the land.

The river was visible from here, on it were flat-bottomed trading ships gliding steadily up and down both sides of the river, their sails furled, oars dipping with practiced rhythm. The harbor itself wasn't visible from here, like most of the city.

"You wouldn't have anything illegal in the cargo that would have us both thrown in jail, right?" I asked the man slowly, as the horse started to descend down the hill, towards the open gates of the town.

The man, whose name coincided with the German word for 'shadow', just glanced at me.

"Nah, not this time around." He said after a long pause.

Somehow, despite my enhanced ability to read people's body language and expressions that came with my reincarnation, I couldn't tell if he was serious, fucking with me, lying, or all of the above.

Frankly, this is very concerning.

…now that I think about it, he was driving me into the city; I am his illegal contraband. Not that he knows.

Eventually, we made our way to the entrance, and what proceeded seemed like a routine to these people, but was very interesting to me, as I observed this interaction for the first time.

It took about ten minutes, the guards asked for our names, asked us for the payment for the visit into the city, and I realized that it wasn't us getting shaken for a few coins, but rather a basic procedure. Schatten was also asked about what he had in the carriage, which he proceeded to list with the familiarity and boredom of a man who did it hundreds of times, while the guards checked the carriage. Schatten then paid a fee for his goods, and we were finally allowed into the city.

"They didn't seem to have checked the carriage that thoughtfully," I commented when we were far enough for the guards not to hear, "How could they have known you weren't understating your cargo?"

Schatten just shrugged.

"They couldn't have, but they are also not paid enough to actually care." He grinned at me, "There is another thing, ships carry cargo, I just transport some goods, the difference is in the volume of trade, lad. Ships are actually checked properly, because they can carry so much more, while lone merchants like me are either inspected when the mood strikes the guards, when something bad is going on in town, or if the guards were tipped off. Normally, for lone wolves like me, even if we understate our merchandise, it's not like the town council and the burgomeister lose that much coin. Most of us also tend to be honest about our cargo, the fines are savage, some saved coin isn't worth being caught during a random inspection."

I nodded a bit in thought, I appreciated that he decided to share that much with me.

Still, having my money taken just for visiting a town annoyed me. And not by proxy, it was a genuine emotion.

Though this wasn't as bad as I expected, it seems the taxation here is pretty lax compared to the historical examples in my previous world…

"That being said, I also gave them some extra coin while you were busy staring at the guys checking my merchandise." He added, grinning.

"But you said you didn't have any illegal goods?" I asked, honestly, a bit perplexed.

"And I don't, but today is a slow day for them, and a bored guard can entertain himself by screwing with you very throughtly. We both could've been searched, too." He sighed, "This isn't even the worst part. If you want to trade and weren't born in the town, you gotta have and maintain a ledger. It's a book where you record everything you sold. On your way out, it's checked, and you pay your tax based on how much profit you made."

I take it back, this is exactly like what I was researching for my doctoral dissertation.

"I understand the idea." I pause for a moment, as I once again arrive at the same conclusion. "Taxation is…" Theft, "...evil."

"And ain't it the truest thing I've heard today." The man chuckled, "Still, if you really are going to travel, get used to it, and prepare to have some spare coin so guards won't bother you."

"Dully noted," I commented blankly, before focusing my attention properly on our surroundings and just taking it in.

The interior of the town unfolded with a quiet order. The streets were paved in clean, uneven stone, their edges softened by time and weather. White and brown coursed rubble and cut-stone houses lined the roads. Each was alike in shape, yet personal in the details: carved shutters, wind-chimes, or flowering boxes that overflowed with lavender or thyme. The scent of worked wood, fresh bread, and forge-smoke mixed easily in the air.

The quarter near the gates wasn't very busy. Artisans seemed to be living here; cobblers, weavers, coopers, and smiths, each home doubling as a workshop, their open doors revealing glimpses of glowing hearths or half-finished wares. Taverns clustered near the road, open early for travelers or long-haul drivers eager for warmth and ale.

Carts trundled steadily through the streets, pulled by sturdy oxen or dusty draft horses, carrying barrels, bolts of cloth, crates of apples, and the occasional caged animal. Laborers moved with practiced ease, shouldering loads or cursing, but they didn't make as much noise as I expected.

Near the town gate, three new buildings were under construction.

"I'll drive you to the docks, need to set up a shop, get all the bothersome stuff out of the way," Schatten commented, "I still owe you one, but I'll only be free in a few hours. Still, you should drive with me just to know when you can find me when I'm done, and then you can go and explore." There was a strange knowing tone to his words that made me glance at the man. It took me a second to place it, it was the tone of an older man being 'amused at the folly of youth'.

I wondered who he took me for, but ultimately, whatever story he constructed in his head was good enough for me.

"Understood."

Continuing onward, the road dipped more sharply, and before long, the broad curve of the river came into full view. Nebeldorf was built on a sloping rise that gently tumbled down to the water's edge, the town's two halves cradled on either bank and linked by a sturdy stone bridge. Thick walls surrounded the whole town, while across the water, within that half of the town itself, a second, smaller ring of fortifications guarded the hilltop quarter; no doubt home to the ruling elite of some sort. The aforementioned burgmaster and the city council, if I were to guess.

As we descended, the town grew visibly busier and more chaotic, at least at a glance. From the quay below rose the creak of ropes and the slap of hulls against timber docks, mingling with the shouts of boatmen and the clatter of rolling barrels. Workshop forges flickered like fireflies under low awnings, their blacksmiths hammering out fittings for river barges. Basket vendors hawked fresh fish.

We steered toward the heart of it all, a bustling market square nestled where the river's curve narrowed. Here, stalls pressed shoulder to shoulder beneath patchwork awnings displayed coarse sacks of grain, jars of honey, stacks of pottery, and all sorts of trinkets. The air was thick with smells I didn't recognize, but grew to distinguish later.

The mingled scents of leather dye, roasting chestnuts, and the tang of river spray. Shoppers jostled past, laden with purchases, while hawkers called out their wares, trying to outshout each other.

This place looked alive, colourful, and like a genuine hell. I couldn't think of a place more antithetical to a demon, or any lesser form of an antisocial creature, than this. Frankly, as we approached, I genuinely had to fight down the urge to say goodbye to Schatten and go anywhere else than there.

"Quite a sight, eh?" The clueless man elbowed me in the ribs, with a 'knowing', teasing tone.

I breathed in deeply.

[rubytext]Domine et Dómine vitæ meæ,[rt]O Lord and Master of my life,[/rt][/rubytext]

[rubytext]spiritum desidiæ, curiositatis, ambitionis, et loquacitatis ne mihi des.[rt]take from me the spirit of sloth, meddling, ambition, and idle talk,[/rt][/rubytext]

[rubytext]Spiritum autem castitatis, humilitatis, patientiæ et caritatis dona mihi servo tuo.[rt]But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to your servant.[/rt][/rubytext]

"Quite," I not quite agreed, as I forced myself to repeat the lines within my mind.

By the time we arrived, I was functional again.

***

Demons are incapable of being depressed or discouraged, this is one of the few things I appreciated about my state of being. Sure, our lack of normal emotions could be interpreted as mild depression, at least by a knowing outside observer, but in truth, the physical framework of our minds is adapted in such a way that we aren't bothered by what we can't feel. It's perfectly comfortable to be a demon. 

Being a demon wasn't as exciting and wondrous as being human in the best of days, but neither could a demon experience the true depths of loneliness, despair, and emotional suffering that a human could. 

Still, for once, I've felt excited, and I allowed myself to indulge. 

The world around me didn't exist; the only thing that did was that old, worn book. 

A book that spoke of magic!

"...and I say again, this map's seen better days, dear. I'll give you two silver for it; out of kindness, mind you." A familiar male voice spoke with some pity.

"Kindness? That map's older than both of us, and twice as clever. Two silver won't cover the ink it was drawn with." A voice of an older woman, dry as a desert.

I heard both, but they didn't even properly register in my distracted mind.

There were many books around me, some no doubt grimoires containing spells, but spells were secondary. They didn't interest me as much. 

The theory and the basics did. Way too many things I discovered, or I think I discovered by myself, too many of those I could never confirm, and just assumed some broad principles worked because I couldn't prove otherwise. This, the work of other mages, could help me not just do magic, but to understand.

The first book I've picked up spoke of mana and focus. It spoke of how mages learned to sense that energy, apparently humans couldn't just feel it naturally as demons did, which I didn't know. It was never mentioned in the manga.

There were configurations, basic circles that one can draw on the very dirt, and mana would gather a little around, for a young mage to try and sense more clearly. 

I skimmed through exercises on how to practice your control, memorization, and imagination training exercises, everything. 

"Still, it's a bit of parchment and a few lines, those are hardly worth more." A familiar voice kept arguing and received a response in kind.

"Those lines chart the Western Pass before the bridge fell, and mark forest paths that aren't added to maps for the last thirty years.. But by all means, buy 'parchment' elsewhere if you think you'll find better."

"Maybe those forest paths aren't copied for a reason anymore…?" They continued, on and on.

There was a huge explanation about foci. The stuff and items the magicians used. They weren't for show, nor were they melee weapons of last resort. The stuff was usually made out of mana conductive material, and if you moved your mana through it, you could do things that your control usually won't allow you to do. Aside from that, a staff could also be inscribed with a spell, to use the engraved spell, a proper mage is still needed, but it's much easier, the energy practically flows into the right configuration with just the right push. Excellent for high-stress situations when you physically don't have enough time to weave spells the correct way, though the book warned about some using such spells as crutches. 

I closed the book, deciding that this one is needed too, and added it to the pile.

Then wordlessly, I approached Schatten from behind as he was arguing with the wisened owner of the bookstore.

"...and you know what, Einkehr, maybe we will go elsewhere if you will just try to rob us!" He gestured articulately, faking anger relatively well, "I mean, look at the lad, he can barely stand it here looking at this old junk, but if you…"

*whump*

A pile of books hit the table.

Schatten looked at it, then at my blank face, then at the woman he was haggling with, who looked like she was choking.

"Why do I try?" His palm met his face, and his supposed old friend Einkehr started bursting into a roaring, crackling laughter.

***

For the most part, my coin came from the nest of the flying monsters I've slaughtered. The whole mountain near which I lived was full of them, of every variety, size, and behavior. I think by the time I was done there, I cleared out hundreds of nests, some being resettled a few times over.

Monsters themselves didn't contain coin, however, a lot of them seemed to carry everything metallic they could find to their nests. The most common type of monster there, a small furred reptile that reminded me of a mutated and roided out chihuahua with six clawed legs, liked to build this metal into its nest for stability.

Needless to say, aside from a lot of pieces of armour and weaponry, there were coins. A lot of coins. The coins were the only thing I took from my cabin, besides the clothing and the books.

Apparently, while I wasn't rich, I looted enough to feel comfortable. After selling the tusk of the monster boar, with Schatten's help (and this time he only agreed to help if I promised to shut up and just stand behind him), I had some decent money on me.

Which is why I decided to leave Schatten alone and to buy some things without his help.

I felt like the man repaid my help a dozen times over already, after all. But for some reason, he didn't seem to think so himself. He told me to find him if I needed help again.

It was odd, I doubted he was prepared to help further out of a sense of friendship or camaraderie. I am pretty sure my behavior should be repulsive enough to discourage anyone from attempting friendship, much less anything more than that.

Without Schatten's help, I have already acquired some more decent clothing for myself. A new cloak with an even deeper hood, and a few sets of sharp, higher-quality clothing. I had few vices, and didn't wish to overindulge any of them, but the simple comfort of wearing clothes made for your frame was too much to pass up. That, and having actual, decent shoes instead of foot wraps, was important, felt good, and instinctively right.

I had no idea how other demons managed to dress so sharply in the wilds. Then again, I am yet to discover how to fly either, and demons are supposedly natural at learning it.

Still, after acquiring clothing and a few spare sets, I set out to quell another passion of mine, before locking myself in the tavern for as long as I had money, reading up all the books on magic I acquired.

That is, I was looking for very specific tools.

"...well, uhm, yes, I think I can sell it for twelve," The girl… no, I suppose a woman, around seventeen, spoke, a small blush on her face, as she gestured towards a staff I was attempting to buy, "But only if you also buy a grimoire or two for at least five pieces each!" She added hurriedly, as if realizing she had misspoken.

"I would be glad to," I answered cordially, as I nodded, "Depending on the content of those grimoires, if you can describe to me the spells each contains, I will choose something suitable."

The young woman who was running a mystic shop on the market, for some reason, hesitated, a small blush on her cheeks never going away, as she nodded slowly.

"I, uh, could, but it would take a long time to explain everything!" She gestured at the shelves behind her, stacked with over a hundred books, and took a deep breath, "S-so maybe you can comeatsunsetwhenweclose, and I can do it for you?" She blurted, before giving me an exaggerated, if a bit awkward, wink.

I simply stared.

I lacked emotions, yes, but I wasn't actually retarded, I've seen my reflection, I knew what was going on here.

"Provided you sell me the staff for twelve, I promise to come back at sunset and buy some grimoires from you." I eventually said, not allowing my face to twist in any manipulative understanding or Lord forgive, bashful expression, like everything in me demanded me to do.

"Yeah, yeah okay, that sounds good." The young woman said quickly, even as she winced. Probably realizing that in her hurry to agree to my conditions, she sold me the staff at a fair price without haggling.

The money was given, the magical foci were received.

"Pleasure, come back again!" I received a shout on my back. I contemplated ignoring it, but this would be mean, and may make her worry that I won't fulfil my promise, so instead, without turning, I simply waved at her.

I can't haggle to save my life. Haggling wasn't a thing since before my father's days; genuinely, no one did this in the first-world countries anywhere, nowadays, even food markets have set prices. But here, in this era? This was the only way trade was done.

You could never agree to the price initially proposed; it's always unfair and exists to rip you off. You always need to haggle to have a fair price. Which I never had practice of doing as a human, and which I couldn't even attempt properly as a demon, not with my refusal to lie or fake emotions.

In other words, shopping in this world is bound to be difficult.

I should acquire enough coin to never care about being ripped off to begin with. Easy thing to say, I suppose, but I have no idea how to execute that.

Still, when it comes to magic and how accessible it is… I was genuinely surprised. I would be able to acquire a lot of spells here.

A hundred grimoires in the small mystic shop in the middle of nowhere porttown might sound like too much, but once you consider how many of those were copies of the most popular spells, it wasn't that surprising. I assume a lot of spells I will be running into would be common, while some would be much rarer. In the show, Frieren seemed to care about obscure grimoirs to fill up her collection, but never seemed to shop in towns, I assume precisely because the spells sold in towns were already known to her.

In other words, it was useless to use her or her apprentice as a reference to where they acquired spells, because she likely was a walking library within herself.

After leaving the market by the harbor, I was steadily making my way towards the tavern, one narrow street at a time. The town was surprisingly clean and didn't smell as terribly as I expected.

I had a meeting planned for after sunset, but I wanted to eat properly and read up on some of the magic theory I was saving.

Then another of the countless alleyways bent sharply, the cobbles slick with salt-damp. I turned the corner and froze for a moment, as the situation immediately registered, snapped me out of my thoughts, and snapped my body into awareness for a fight.

Three figures lounged against the crumbling wall ahead, their postures loose but eyes sharp as flint, body language threatening. The leader, a man with a shaved scalp and a silver ring through one ear, pushed off from the bricks. His coat, stitched with faded floral patterns, hung open to reveal a belt crowded with tiny pouches.

"Now, now," he crooned, stepping into my path. His voice was high, but had a growling quality. "A mage in such a hurry? The night's young, and the tavern's ale won't sour." Behind him, a woman with twin braids smirked, her fingers toying with a necklace of crow bones, I believe. The third, a lanky youth, edged left, blocking the alley's mouth.

The leader tilted his head, his eyes glued to my staff. "Fine wood, that. Carved from Thornswood, no? Shame if it… slipped away." He held up his palms, grinning. "But we're friendly folk. Share a coin for our luck, and we'll point you to a better shortcut. Eh?"

The woman's bracelets clinked as she shifted her weight. Waiting.

I scanned all three in front of me immediately, reading their body language wasn't difficult, nor was it hard to see the implied threat. The first instinctual response was to attack while the guard was down. I knew that I could tear them apart before they could hope to react. Yet, I set my stuff down gently instead. "Is this wise?" I asked, my voice emotionless, as is my body language, "Ambushing someone you know to be a mage?"

The leader chuckled, in a supposed friendly way, even as he slowly stepped closer, and closer, shortening the distance.

"Tsk, tsk," He clicked his teeth theatrically, gold glittering for a moment in his mouth, as he wriggled his finger at me, "Lying won't do you much good, not here, not now. See, battlemages are a scary sort, can turn a man to cinders with a gesture…" He stopped just two steps away, a knife spinning between his fingers, "But mage apprentices? Those are much nicer to do business with, understand?"

I knew, vaguely, what he was referring to. There was a huge gap between a proper mage and a mage who was still training to be one, it was the main reason for Heiter fooling Freiren to stay long enough for Fern to train.

But I didn't know they were considered helpless enough to be robbed on the street by scum whose mana is barely any different from the mana of untrained merchants.

Yet, once again, I calmed myself.

"I understand," I said simply, tilting my head, and reaching for my purse, "I can part with co…"

I never managed to finish that sentence.

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she whistled sharply, the sound resonating across the alleyway. The man in front of me exploded into action, but he wasn't that fast. I saw him flip the knife, holding it tight, and I saw where his strike was going. This was the only reason why I didn't accidentally kill him, as I knew his strike wouldn't kill me. However, in that instance, I hesitated because I stopped myself from ripping his heart out.

Which in turn meant I froze, and couldn't block.

The blade impacted my gut, probably burying deep into my intestines, and making me sharply lose my breath. I didn't resist when the man reached behind my back for the purse I clutched, and tore it out of my hands, and I allowed him to push me on my back, making me fall face first on the ground.

Swearing sharply under his breath, he left with his allies, even as I heard the footsteps and hurried yelling approach.

The stab hurt. But I registered pain differently in this life. There was no urge to scream or cry from the pain, my emotions didn't dictate a single flinch in my body language.

I lay there and allowed my instincts to guide me, and stitch together a hole in my stomach.

"...those fucker! Damn it!" I've seen someone approach me, and I started to rise as they did. "You there, you alright?" Somehow, the new clothes I bought helped; my hood now actually had small ropes inside, I commissioned it to be like this. That allowed me to tie the ropes into my horns, which were curved almost like a tiara in front of my head, and keep the hood down no matter the wind, despite how big the hood was

"I believe so," I said, placing a hand on my stomach to hide the bloodstains, even as I sat down, glancing at the… guard, surprisingly. "They only robbed me and punched me in the stomach."

The man practically spat to the side.

"They? Who are 'they'?!"

So I described the encounter briefly. The only thing I didn't mention is me getting stabbed, I just said the man with the piercings hit me in the stomach, which was technically true, never mentioning that the knife was involved in that hit.

By the time I was done, the man seemed to be madder than I was about the encounter. And despite being a demon, I was feeling quite angry myself.

The guard's face twisted like he'd bitten into something rotten. "Fucking Veykin rats," he snarled, kicking a loose cobble. "Think every alley's their personal thieving ground. Come down from the hills with their moth-eaten silks and their 'blessings'-bah!" He spat again, this time near my boot. "Last week, they swiped a merchant's whole damn cart. 'Oh, but the stars said it was ours!'" He mimicked a whining, singsong voice, fluttering his hands mockingly.

He jabbed a thumb toward the harbor. "See that? Town's got real walls, real guards. But those vultures? They slither in anyway, like fucking smoke. Worse then fucking demons, the whole lot. No homes, no laws, just sticky fingers and lies." His lip curled as he eyed my stomach, not that he could see much this late in the day. I was just happy the bloodstain wasn't visible here, in the twilight, and on my black clothes. "Bet that knife-wielding bastard had a dozen 'holy charms' on him too, eh? 'For luck'... luck, my ass. It's all shit-scraps and gullible marks."

Leaning in, he lowered his voice to a growl. "Worse? They breed like roaches. That one you ran into? Probably got five siblings pickin' pockets by the docks right now. Whole damn clan's a plague and should be burned away like one." He straightened, adjusting his belt with a huff. "Lucky you weren't stabbed or cut, we find at least five bodies with slit throat every week."

He glared down the alley.

"Next time? Scream. I'll be glad to put a spear through the next Veykin I see lurkin' where they don't belong, most others in the service would too."

The more he spoke about this tribe - or clan, the more it reminded me of something in my previous life. I couldn't exactly cast a curse on myself right now to try and recall, however.

"I strongly doubt they are worse than demons," I finally said, the only honest thing I could think of in their defense. "Besides, everyone deserves an honest trial. I highly doubt even this tribe is composed entirely of villains and criminals."

The man just chuckled.

"Hah, no one saw a demon in those parts in fifty years, but the Veykin filth? They kill, rob and rape people each fucking day. They'll scream bloody murder as they stab you, like they're the ones getting robbed! That's their trick: the louder they wail, the deeper they cut. One hand clutches your coin purse, the other wipes 'honest tears'! And if you dare hit back? Oh-ho! Suddenly, you're the monster, and they're just 'poor wanderers'. Wouldn' believe how much of that shit they try to pull all the fuckin' time. Pfah!" Once again, he spat to the side.

Once again, I was getting an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu.

For some reason, I wanted to object on pure principle. Then I thought better of it.

"In any case, thank you for helping me," I said to the man, who spooked the thieves into stabbing me. "I will keep you warning of Veykins in mind," For the next solid five or so minutes until I can get to my books.

The man's angry expression deflated a bit as he seemed to recall where we were and what had happened.

"Yeah, I… listened, I am sorry about the purse at least. You sure you are alright, don't need any help getting to your inn?"

I just shook my head.

"I will manage. It's my fault for taking clustered alleyways like this in the first place." I should've known better. It's a shame that my common sense is barely functional in this life.

The man just shook his head.

"I'll leave you be." He nodded one more time, righting his helmet, before heading out of the alleyway.

I waited for a few seconds and headed in the opposite direction, where I was going originally.

Internally, I couldn't shake off the feeling that the culmination of today reminded me a lot of Berlin. With less of a risk of being run over in the market, admittedly.