Last Life

I WAS LYING IN BED with my hands behind my head staring up at a dark ceiling. It was the middle of the night, but I was wide awake. And no wonder — tomorrow morning we would be setting off on my very first trip in this world. All kinds of thoughts swarmed in my head. How could I sleep...?

As always, I was keeping a running tally of my accomplishments, mentally scanning down my list of tasks and crossing off the one’s I’d completed.

First on the list was a future quest. Our destination was Westerly Fortress, located in the north-east of the country on the edge of the Shadow where I would serve as part of the Shadow Patrol.

Before presenting myself to the commander Louis de Rohan, I had to rent a place in Toulon, a small town near the fortress. As a noble, I was not required to stay in the barracks with the commoners, which was hard not to be happy about.

From Abbeville to Toulon was approximately five hundred miles, which in a car on my old world’s advanced roads, I could have made in seven or eight hours without pushing the engine too hard including all stops for snacks and bathroom breaks. In that world, I even could have taken an airplane.

But here, it would be a grueling forty-day trek. And that was the best-case scenario. Terrible roads, weather, attacks by highwaymen and wild animals, and illnesses were but a small fraction of what we would face. And to top it all off, not everyone in the caravan I’d signed up with was going to be as prepared as us.

Thinking back on the last week of travel preparations, I frowned. The people of this world had gotten on my last nerve with their lackadaisical ways. And that was with the unflappable Dormael relentlessly watching over me, for whom I mentally thanked Madame Weber hundreds of times. Without the laconic and diligent clerk, my preparations could have easily taken another few months. This world simply had not caught up to the speeds of my native one.

Dormael was a fan of my manner of conduct. I started to get the impression that he viewed me as a kindred spirit. Still, at first I took him for somewhat bilious. I suspected that he felt like a nanny assigned to a capricious aristocrat and who would have to patiently tolerate his every whim and obey his stupid wishes.

I suspected that the first warming of our strange relationship took place after that visit to the pawn shop. What was indubitably a losing scenario for the young naive aristocrat — a showdown with the streetwise Baptiste Harcourt — had ended in an unexpectedly quick and unqualified victory.

On that one evening, I cleared the entire local stock of healing infusions, perfumes, and inks. I felt a huge temptation to pay a visit to Trebolt and try to get more magic dust, but I wisely suppressed that urge. I had no need to give him extra grounds for suspicion. In fact, that was the very reason I was giving a wide berth to the weapon store belonging to the city’s sole artifactor. It was not time to show my cards to any gifted.

I got three times more potions than stipulated in the contract, but Dormael covered all the purchases saying that Madame Weber had given him clear instructions to comply with my every demand related to preparing for the trip.

Whereas all was clear with the healing potions — he just had to consider where I was headed — Dormael clearly had questions about the huge quantities of perfume and ink. An irrepressible curiosity peeked through the clerk’s mask of unflappability. I could see it in his eyes.

I had to slightly show my hand. I told him my path would take me through various counties, baronies, and one duchy, meaning I would have to face many meetings with local aristocrats among other things. And small gifts in the form of magic potions would be a big help to both curry favor with these people and help me cut through red tape if necessary.

Dormael found my reasoning more than convincing that evening, and his vision of me as a young, naive aristocrat began to fade.

I of course was lying through my teeth. I was not planning to sell much less give away this vitally necessary energy. Furthermore, I was already running low on crimson dust, and had used up all my emerald. My energy channel reinforcement procedures required large amounts of the valuable resources.

From time to time, I found myself recalling with pity the little baggy of crimson dust I gave to the witch, only for her to never show her face again. Seemingly, she had made up her mind. Didn’t want to see me? Okay, sure. I could figure everything out on my own.

I got gear and weapons from Guy Arnault’s weapon shop again. Jacques’ friend managed to catch me off guard — his junk heap actually had quite a lot of worthwhile items.

Above all, I had to buy gear for Bertrand. Thanks to the crimson potions, his health was making vast strides in the right direction.

Jacques meanwhile still had a kit from his glorious martial past. I also had an unexpected stroke of luck — de Lamar’s servant finally deigned to deliver my rightful spoils.

Among them was the very vest Vincent de Lamar was wearing for our duel, an exquisitely crafted brigandine. The outside was silk, which concealed a set of overlapping steel plates attached to soft leather lined with a layer of luscious velvet. This fancy armor was nice enough to wear at any party or reception hosted by a count or baron.

The brigandine was big on me, but Guy Arnault promised to tailor it to my size. De Lamar’s sword meanwhile I decided to sell. Too heavy for me, the one-handed sword was clearly made to order, but the owner of the Mace and Poleaxe helped me out there as well, accepting the sword in exchange for a pair of slightly curved blades.

When I first saw them, I lost my breath. Our worlds had a lot in common. Mamoru Yamada had used practically identical swords in our circus to perform his tricks, which he eventually taught to me.

Guy Arnault told me they had been sold to him by some sailor who spent time in the Eastern Isles. I found the story unconvincing, but I didn’t care. We all had our skeletons in the closet. I was no exception.

Despite the excellent steel and balance, the unusual shape of the blades and slightly elongated handles bothered swordfighters from around here who were used to fighting with different weapons. So for all these years, the unusual swords had been serving more as decoration than anything.

To test their balance, I went into the shop’s backyard and performed a few katas, impressing everyone watching with their complexity. After the demonstration, I caught Guy Arnault staring at me a few times. I could see that Jacques’ military buddy had a lot of questions but didn’t dare to actually ask any. My new stable hand and wagon driver had already whispered to his friends about my opinion of people sticking their nose where it didn’t belong.

After that came the scene at the Webers’ stable. A close inspection and scan of the horses they’d prepared for me revealed that three of them were unsuitable, which I told them. Jacques by the way was no less surprised by my assertion than my employer’s staff. The horses were quite nice.

The Webers’ head stableboy was outraged. The inscrutable Dormael meanwhile seemed pleased. I had apparently accidentally landed a blow on someone he long considered a rival. I noticed that they had no lost love for one another as soon as we entered the stable.

When the head stableboy, diligently suppressing his rage, asked through clenched teeth whether the young gentleman would deign to explain to him, a mere mortal, what precisely was not to His Lordship’s liking about Abbeville’s best horses, I was eager to indulge him.

The longer my calm enumeration of the aches and pains suffered by the horses went on, the more the stableboy’s face turned first pale, then long.

By the time I finished, the Webers’ head stableboy made for a fearsome sight. Because even a fool could tell that he was perfectly aware of the majority of the problems I pointed out. Only a few of my diagnoses were truly novel discoveries.

In the end, the problem horses were traded out for others of my choosing while Dormael, glowing like a polished thaler, told the main stableboy in a triumphant tone that he would be reporting on all these honor-tarnishing events to their employer.

To my delight, we had no further problems with any of the Weber and Sons “departments.” In those places, Dormael’s unquestioned authority was palpable.

Thoughts about the trip gradually gave way to thoughts about finances. There I could only smile. I was not only able to cover all the debts that had multiplied like fleas thanks to that dunderhead Max, I even came out ahead.

By local standards, the amount of money in my bank account was enough to make me quite a wealthy man. Honestly though, I was not a huge fan of having my money just sitting in an account. I was more used to having it work for me, always on the move. But on the other hand, slightly more than seven thousand silver crowns could also be viewed as something of a safety cushion, which I actually needed several more of and in several locations at that.

Beyond silver, I also had the jewelry I had pilfered from Paul Lepetit’s hiding spot which I was planning to sell off in piecemeal fashion in the small towns we’d be stopping in along the way.

I decided to keep only one thing for myself — an emerald brooch. The one that stood out from all the rest. I also decided to keep the record indicating the value of the pawn just in case.

I was not going to sell the golden signet with large dark crimson ruby the Count de Angland used to buy back his son’s family armor either. I would need it in the future. Let it serve as a memory for His Lordship about the favor I once did for him.

But although the other jewelry was all clear, I had a gut feeling Max’s family medallion was going to cause problems. And my gut feelings had never let me down before.

A careful scan of the artifact showed that it contained a primitive energy system. What purpose it served I was unable to discern. Pushing a tiny ball of mana through it served only to make the round hunk of metal glow with a dim magic light. The glow then lasted several minutes before the artifact went out, turning back into a regular gold medallion. And that was where I concluded my experiments, spawning more questions than answers.

I interrogated Bertrand about the artifact, but that got me practically nowhere. The old man said only that the medallion was given to Max by his father a matter of hours before his arrest, and the count asked him to keep it under wraps. That was all. Maybe he’d told his dear son more about the medallion, but the contents of that conversation were never revealed by virtue of the deaths of both men.

As an aside, strangely, beyond the medallion his father could have given him a bit of cash, but I had one theory on that account. The count was seemingly not expecting his bastard to be thrown out of his mansion with just three hundred crowns to his name. Max himself meanwhile clearly did not expect his exile to last long. Which was why he was partying so hard. And essentially, he was right. Before a year had passed, his dear uncle found a use for him.

And that took me to the next point. To myself I headlined it, “Dear Relatives.” Even a fool could see that, in my weakened state, people would try to manipulate me and shove my body into the peculiar sort of gaps that often formed in family affairs.

I was not yet aware what specific gap my dear uncle wanted me to fill but it smelled distinctly of shit — that was a fact. My sixth sense could not be fooled by talk of a “brilliant marriage.”

And I had no problem with filling gaps. That I could understand. Max was the weakest link in his family chain, so of course he got the short end of the stick. But now they were also trying to kill him. And who was behind it? Some aunt on his mother’s side who he seemingly hadn’t ever even met in person. What made Max such a target for her?

By the way, that was precisely what I wanted to address with the “love of my life” Vivienne Leroy, but the devil woman must have had a great sixth sense of her own — the night after the duel, she fled the city to parts unknown.

De Lamar’s servant, who I had to threaten with my dagger, quickly spilled everything he knew about the handsome couple. As it turned out, after de Lamar slew me at the duel, he and Vivienne were planning to leave Abbeville and travel somewhere to the south of Vestonia, then onward to Atalia. Hm… Completely expected.

I also didn’t get a chance to talk to Betty, who knew what her “friend” and her lover were planning. She left for the capital the day after the duel. It was turning into a proper wave of emigration.

However, unlike Vivienne, I knew perfectly where to find my “fiancée.” As soon as I reached the capital, I would take her father Monsieur Gilbert up on his invitation.

I could have found Vivienne quickly as well, by the way. It wasn’t all that easy to get away from Dodger. I simply did not want to waste my precious time on her. Especially because I already pretty much knew everything.

Overall, Max’s family was something to be envied. And now this mystery about the Forgotten kingdom. That Max and I had a direct relationship with the Forgotten I was certain of as soon as I saw the fox medallion and motto written in the ancient witching tongue.

Well, at least I now understood what my mysterious benefactor meant when he promised to pick me a new body and world that would be lots of fun for us both. He was expecting me to give him a show. He’d gotten bored, see...

By the way, speaking of entertainment... Very soon I would be going out beyond the frontier and learning more about the Shadow’s magic. I had no intention of waiting several years for my reservoir to get bigger from long and persistent training. No, no... It wasn’t that I feared hard work either but, given there was a way to speed the process along, I had to take advantage. What did it say again? “Here and now!” Heh... That family motto was already starting to grow on me.

And so, mulling over what I’d done and had yet to do, I did not notice as I drifted away into slumber’s soft embrace.

That night, I dreamed of Thais. But not the Thais from my past life — so happy and full of life with a shock of red hair — a different, new Thais. With dark eyes, raven locks, and a harsh, cold face.

This time, I saw more. My “little sister” was standing on the bow of a large triple-masted ship staring thoughtfully into the distance. A bloodthirsty smile played on her lips while a fire of fury danced in her dark eyes.

This time, even the dimples on her cheeks couldn’t break through the cold stare enough for me to see my sweet little Thais.

After that, I looked behind her and felt a chill run between my shoulder blades. The top deck was packed with soldiers armed to the teeth and crammed into armor suits wearing wolf pelt capes and jewelry made of animal fangs and ears with blue tattoos on their bearded faces.

Thais, or rather the woman who looked like her, stopped contemplating the horizon, turned and shouted something triumphant in a croaking language I did not recognize. The armored soldiers shook their weapons and responded with a unison wolf howl that made my heart nearly leap out of my chest.

After that, pseudo-Thais pointed straight ahead and shouted out again. I looked that way and froze. On the horizon, I could see the shore and the outline of fortress walls dotted with tall towers crowned by colorful flags flapping in the wind.

Gulping with a scratchy throat, I made myself look around. The fog dispersed somewhat to reveal a large flotilla with dozens and even hundreds of soldiers on the top decks of all the ships.

Then I woke up... Panting like I’d just run a marathon I bolted upright in bed and with shivering hands pulled off my sweat-soaked shirt.

My heart was pounding. The dream just felt too real... But that was not all.

Before emerging into the real world, I noticed something on pseudo-Thais’ chest. This time, I got a good look at her necklace. It was set with ten large crimson bruts.