Morning the next day arrived with the rousing of the sun bathing Hamburg and its surrounding in a resplendent orange glow.
Already, a cacophony of sounds could be heard in the background; the chirping of birds, horse hooves pounding against cobblestone, as they dragged around carriages.
In the distance, the ringing of bells mixed with the low ebb of the Elbe could be heard, as the port sprang to life.
Along a tributary of the Elbe running through the city, a bell tower could be seen reaching into the sky.
A part of its face was obscured by the morning haze, which carried the damp, earthy smell of the Elbe and the smoke from a dozen hearth fires.
Standing behind the bell tower, was the Church of Saint Peter's. A two-story tall gothic building, with carved brick façades.
Stained glass windows lined its walls, and the morning sun streaming through them cast pools of coloured light, giving the church an otherworldly aura.
The entrance to one of the smaller buildings around the church square swung open, revealing an elderly, hunched man wearing a Franciscan robe tat was frayed at its seems.
His movement was slow and methodical, as he approached the foot of the clock tower.
About two minutes later, a solemn toll rolled through the air, spreading out from the Church, until it completely enveloped the area around it.
The people walking on cobblestone and dirt pathway in the Church's vicinity immediately paused, eyes moving toward the imposing clock tower.
A few of them bowed lightly. And as they straightened up, their hands traced the sign of the cross on their chests.
A second, heavier toll rolled through the air.
•••
To the left of the Church building, stood a small brick building that served as its infirmary. Inside one of its room, Damian stirred, as the third toll rolled through the air.
The morning sun pouring in through the window fell on his face, causing him to groan in annoyance.
After a brief moment of rolling around, while searching for a pillow that wasn't there, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, and slowly sat up.
As his eyes took in the room's aesthetics, he couldn't help but mutter, "This still feels like a fever dream."
Facing the window, and outside world which was illuminated by the morning, he added, "Except it's not."
Chuckling quietly, he stood up. The movement was effortless, unaccompanied by the familiar jolt of pain.
His eyes widened slightly as he looked down at his bandaged chest.
Reaching for the wound, he pressed his thumb against the now dried gauze. Still, nothing happened, almost like the wound had done silent.
Then, his lips curled up to a smile. Looks like the after effects of my transmigration are starting to kick in.
The satisfaction lasted only a heartbeat before reality crashed in. In the modern world, miraculous healing meant a lab table and endless questions. Here however, it meant the stake.
Shivering at the thought of getting burned for his uncanny healing, Damian slowly and quietly climbed back into the bed.
The moment his body hit the bed, the room's entrance opened with a sloe creak, revealing Anna and the chubby priest.
"Herr Friedrich, you're awake!" The chubby priest exclaimed as he walked into the room, with a soundless shuffle. Casually sweeping his eyes across the room, he asked, "Our intrusion didn't wake you did it?"
Seeing Damian shake his head, he smiled. On getting close to Damian's bed, he inquired, "And how are you feeling today?" His gaze settling on the gauze.
"The pain is... less, Father," Damian replied. "Thank you for your care. I shall forever be in your debt."
"Please it is but my duty to look after the wounded," The priest quickly refuted him. Tracing the sign of the cross on his chest, he went on, "True healing comes from the Lord. He's the one you should be grateful to."
Leaning in gently, he peeled back the first layer of gauze. A second later, he hummed a low, surprised sound. "The area is healing nicely. Far better than I'd hoped."
The priest looked up from the gauze, his eyes meeting Damian's for a brief moment. "The Lord has truly shown you favour."
Knowing that whatever answer he gave to the question was going to affect him in the long run, Damian scratched his head awkwardly, and replied, "I've always been a fast healer."
His voice dropped slightly. "My mother, God rest her soul, used to say I got that from her side of the family."
"Hmm." The priest hummed quietly, his attention returning to the wound.
After a brief moment of observation, he patted Damian on the shoulder, and straightened up. "I'll leave you to your rest then. It is the best medicine after all."
By the time his words faded, the priest was already out the door, his figure disappearing down the dim hallway.
Watching the door click shut behind Anna, Damian breathed out in relief.
Standing up, he made his way to the table. As he sat down, his gaze drifted to the plates, and paused.
The same watery broth and bread again? His lips twitched. Do these people know nothing about variety being a spice? What am I saying—the medieval ages don't do spice.
Chuckling to himself, he dipped the bread into the stew. Biting into it, he mumbled, "At least this bread tastes better than yesterday's."
Five minutes later, a slow slurping sound rolled through the room, as he brought the bowl close to his face, draining its contents.
•••
Around mid-afternoon, two black horses pulling a brown wooden carriage strutted down a pebble lined pathway leading up to a medium-sized manor.
The carriage wheels crunched sand and stone as it moved, occasionally galloping when it climbed a bigger pebble.
Inside the pebble, a middle-aged man with brown hair thinning at its root sat opposite a boy of about nineteen with the same shade of hair.
The boy's eyes gazed out the carriage's window, watching the scenery of cows grazing and serfs ploughing fields drift by.
"So, Johann. What do you think of Lübeck?" The middle-aged man asked.
Watching his son's gaze remain fixed on the world outside the carriage, the man rubbed his forehead, then leaned int the leathery embrace of his seat with a sigh.
Slowly exhaling, he went on, "You know you're going to inherit the family business when I die? At least show some interest."
The space remained silent, with Johann simply humming a low, "Hmm."
Taking a deep breath, the man closed his eyes.
As if noticing that his father's gaze had left him, Johann's eyes drifted from the window to the dim confines of the carriage for a brief moment, then returned to the window.
Slowly, minutes passed by. With the occasional cry of a bird, and pebble crushing beneath the carriage's wheels filling the air.
By the end of the fifth minute, the carriage pulled into the manor's courtyard. Now up close, the building's single-story affair stood clear.
Brick façades adorned by large oriel windows jutted out on both ends of the building, and the slate-shingled roofs running from them met in the middle, where they gave way to a medium-sized chimney.
Circling the courtyard's center piece, a small pine tree with bright yellow leaves, the carriage slowed to a halt, a few meters from the flight of stairs leading to the door.
"We've arrived, Herr Heinrich." The voice of the coachman drifted in from outside, informing the father and son pair of their arrival at the estate.
Moments later, the carriage's door opened, and Johann's father, Heinrich stepped out. Sweeping his gaze across the grounds of his manor, he nodded, then walked toward the entrance where a middle-aged manservant stood.
Upon his approach, the manservant bowed lightly, "Welcome back, Herr Heinrich." Straightening back up, he opened the door. "How was your trip to Lübeck with the young sir."
"Ah thank you Gustav. It was a splendid journey." Returning Gustav's greeting, Heinrich walked through the door.
The moment his foot stepped into the building, he paused, "Lest I forget have the serf's offload the carriage take a quick inventory and find me in my office when you're done with that."
"Right away, sir." Gustav replied with a short, curt nod. Seeing Johann walk up the stairs, he greeted, "Young sir."