Chapter 3
White.
That was Riyan's simple impression as he looked at the face reflected in the window.
His hair was almost completely white, like ash left after a fire.
His skin had been slightly tanned by the sun, but it seemed it had originally been as pale as snow.
Against it, his pitch-black eyes stood out like obsidian.
Malnourished.
Even though it was his own face now, the deeply sunken cheeks stirred a strange sense of pity in him.
He didn't know who the original owner of this body had been.
But considering the boy had apparently been destined to become monster food, Riyan couldn't help feeling sorry for him.
He turned away from the window and looked around the room.
Pretty good treatment for a slave.
Berka certainly knew how to reward useful people.
Riyan doubted normal slaves were given private rooms.
On top of that, considering he had fought a monster and then been thrown into prison, they had even given him several days to rest.
My wrist is mostly fine now.
Riyan rubbed the wrist he had abused while slipping out of the cuff.
He nodded.
Then he sat on the edge of the bed and slowly regulated his breathing.
At the same time, he organized several goals in his mind.
First, he needed to understand this place.
More precisely, he needed to understand the world.
Judging from his conversation with Berka, it didn't seem completely different from the world he remembered.
But there was an undeniable sense of wrongness.
That needed to be investigated.
Second, he needed to understand his body.
That required combat.
His body had changed.
The important question was whether he could recover the power he had possessed before.
The authority he had wielded as a knight.
But there was no need to rush.
Because...
"Come out! Training after breakfast!"
He could begin learning today.
Bread.
Soup.
A chunk of salted meat.
The bread was hard.
The soup was watery.
The salted meat was far too salty and smelled terrible.
Even so, the meal had one advantage.
There was plenty of it.
For the sake of recovering and growing stronger, Riyan forced himself to put another piece of greasy meat into his mouth.
Thud.
Someone sat beside him.
There were plenty of empty seats.
Which meant the man wanted to talk.
"You're that famous newcomer?"
Riyan chewed his meat before answering the question that had come without introduction.
"I'm definitely new. Don't know whether I'm famous."
"I'm asking if it's true you killed a monster. Looking at you, I doubt you could kill a stray dog."
The speaker looked Riyan up and down with obvious suspicion.
Then he continued.
"And use honorifics when you speak to me. I won't say it twice."
Riyan turned.
A muscular bald man covered in scars was sitting there.
He wore the same clothes as Riyan.
Another slave.
Was he planning some kind of initiation ceremony because he had seniority?
Riyan had experienced things like this many times in his previous life.
He had risen from an ordinary foot soldier to a knight representing an entire legion.
There was nothing new about this.
The logic of strength was familiar to him.
Riyan calmly picked up his bread.
"What happens if you do say it twice?"
"This."
A fist suddenly filled Riyan's vision.
So he was punching first and talking later.
Riyan lifted the bread in his hand and blocked.
Tak!
A pleasantly sharp sound rang out.
The bald man's face stiffened.
Did it hurt?
The bread was practically a rock.
Hard enough that teeth could barely bite through it.
It needed to soak in soup for a long time before becoming even remotely edible.
Riyan slowly turned the bread in his hand and smiled faintly.
It really is hard.
"You bastard!"
"You're laughing?"
"You want to die?!"
As the bald man clutched his injured hand, the people watching from nearby shot to their feet.
They surrounded Riyan.
Apparently, the bald man was some kind of leader among the slaves.
Riyan didn't care.
He slowly placed the bread back down.
Then he straightened the disturbed bowls.
He neatly arranged his utensils.
Finally, he picked up the piece of cloth that could barely be called a napkin and lightly dabbed his mouth.
The entire series of movements was neither quick nor slow.
It resembled a disciplined ritual.
The relaxed elegance made the surrounding slaves hesitate.
They couldn't explain what they were feeling.
It was something closer to instinctive discomfort.
After all, those were the kinds of movements they had once seen from the people they had called their masters.
That takes me back.
Unlike them, Riyan felt nostalgic.
Eldred had always insisted that a knight had to behave like a knight.
And the same applied to the squire serving him.
He had taught Riyan all kinds of etiquette.
Back then, if Eldred had claimed that a carrot could cut steel, Riyan would have been expected to believe him.
Naturally, those lessons had long since become habits.
After finishing his meal, Riyan spoke.
His voice was low and quiet.
But perfectly clear.
"So. Who's first?"
The slaves froze.
A moment later, as though pushed forward by embarrassment, they shouted.
"Kill him!"
The men charged.
Riyan's pitch-black pupils swept across them.
Then the familiar phenomenon returned.
His body was too weak to draw out his full power.
But the power engraved into his soul remained intact.
I can see it.
Time seemed to slow.
Then a shadow appeared before Riyan's eyes.
The shadow was himself.
It drew a line.
Then began moving violently.
Rising from his seat.
Throwing a punch.
Dropping low.
Leaping.
Whipping out a kick.
It lasted only an instant.
The time required to see the entire sequence was barely the blink of an eye.
Yet Riyan engraved every movement into his mind.
"...!"
All that remained was to reproduce what he had seen.
First, he shot up from his seat and smashed his forehead into the jaw of the man leading the charge.
As the man flew backward, Riyan stepped on his chest and flipped through the air.
He descended with his knee driving into the back of another man's head.
He then dropped nearly flat against the ground to avoid fists and kicks rushing toward him.
Spinning from that low position, he kicked at the shins of several attackers and swept them off their feet.
He stepped over their joints like stepping stones, rushing toward the one man who had kept his distance.
The bald man.
Still clutching the fist that had struck the bread.
Riyan jumped.
He twisted his waist in midair.
Then his leg whipped outward.
"Kuaaagh!"
The spinning kick struck the bald man's temple.
He crashed through a table and rolled across the floor.
"..."
The dining hall fell completely silent.
It had only taken a little over ten seconds.
Riyan, the cause of the silence, breathed calmly.
My body's definitely a problem.
His heart was pounding as though it might burst.
His bones and muscles were so weak that his wrist hurt from touching the floor, and the top of his foot throbbed from the kick.
Apparently, his body had been forced beyond its limits just to reproduce the movements he had envisioned.
Minor dislocation in the wrist. Maybe a fracture in the foot.
Time would solve the problem of his weak body.
Still, he couldn't help feeling disappointed by the limitation.
"Hmm."
Controlling one's expression was fundamental in battle.
Hiding his pain, Riyan tilted his head toward the remaining slaves standing at a distance with their mouths open.
"What are you doing? Come on."
"Uh... Uh..."
They had apparently planned to watch the fight from a safe distance and laugh.
Before they could respond, the bald man staggered back to his feet.
"You bastard! I'll really kill you!"
