Five days later—still nursing the sting of that missed opportunity, that wasted burst of energy—Raymond finally heard the news from Haig: the caravan had reached Kaiton Port.
A dozen of Haig's men surrounded his carriage now, riding escort on horseback. Through a crack in the window, Raymond could hear the growing roar of the crowd outside. Haig himself rode close, bending low to speak through the gap.
"Master Raymond," he said, his tone careful, deferential, "there have been many refugees flowing into Kaiton lately. To avoid any... unpleasantness, would you permit us to escort you directly to the City Lord's manor?"
Raymond kept the window cracked, listening.
Haig continued: "The City Lord himself is bedridden, unfortunately, so he cannot greet you in person. But his two sons await you at the manor. If it pleases you..."
His expression was earnest. His eyes still held that flicker of fear.
Raymond slid the window shut and murmured his agreement.
Thirty-plus days on the road. Plenty of time to observe. To learn. To piece together how this world worked.
The badge on his chest—Gumede's badge—meant something. Something big. People looked at it and saw power. Saw terror. Even common folk understood that whoever wore this emblem was not to be trifled with.
Special privileges, Raymond thought as the wagon wheels rumbled beneath him. Nice work if you can get it.
Then the chip's flat voice cut through his thoughts:
"Human physiological database complete. View?"
His mood lifted instantly.
He'd assigned this task shortly after joining the caravan—collect data, build a reference model, give him something to compare against. It had taken until now, but finally...
"Display."
A 3D model materialized in his mind, rotating slowly. Data cascaded beside it.
"Compiled from 367 subjects. Current host status: Strength 0.7, Agility 0.4, Stamina 0.6. Genetic modification: in progress. Health status: optimal."
Point-seven strength. Point-four agility. He'd known he was weak, but seeing the numbers hurt.
"Display highest stats from caravan."
"Task initiated. Retrieving..."
The model shifted. New data appeared.
"Subject: Haig. Strength 2.3, Agility 1.2, Stamina 1.4."
Raymond stared at the numbers. Swallowed.
Three times my strength. Double my stamina. In a straight fight, Haig wouldn't just beat him—he'd erase him. No contest.
He filed that information away and moved on.
"Audio analysis progress?"
"Thirty-seven predator vocalizations recorded. Indecipherable samples excluded. Two species fully encoded, translated, and verified. Ready for deployment."
The files appeared in his vision: the Black mane Bears he'd named himself, and another creature—a bizarre hybrid of monkey and python, over six meters long, that even the bears gave wide berth.
He reviewed the translated calls. Good. Useful.
Then he leaned back and let his thoughts drift.
This world. This impossible, illogical, terrifying world. He'd come here with nothing but a chip and a dead man's memories. The badge on his chest bought him respect he hadn't earned. Privileges he didn't deserve. Every step felt like walking a tightrope—one wrong move and he'd plunge into disaster.
But that's how it works, he told himself. Take the advantages you're given. Figure out the rest later.
He refocused.
"Active substance absorption analysis—progress?"
"Retrieving... Analysis incomplete. Estimated completion: 120 hours."
This was the theory he couldn't shake. When he visualized the symbols—those ten maddening, beautiful symbols—his body absorbed something from the air. Trace compounds. Active substances. And every time he absorbed them, his genes improved. Slightly. Subtly. But measurably.
The red fruit had done the same thing. Different compounds, different ratios, but same effect: stronger body, sharper mind, better everything.
The proof was in his sleep schedule.
First days in the forest: seven-plus hours per night to function.
Ten days after the red fruit: down to six hours.
After memorizing the tenth symbol: five and a half.
If this kept up, the chip estimated he'd need only four hours of sleep within three years. Four hours. That was insane. That was powerful.
But the active substances had a dark side too. The chip was clear on that: in high enough concentrations, they'd damage him. Maybe kill him.
Radioactive nutrients, he thought. This world is something else.
A knock at the window snapped him back.
"Master Raymond." Haig's voice, respectful as always. "We've arrived at the City Lord's manor. His sons await you."
Raymond grunted acknowledgment.
He straightened his robe. Touched the badge on his chest—solid, reassuring. Then he pushed open the door and stepped out.
Before him rose a structure straight out of a medieval painting—stone walls, pointed towers, the whole fairy-tale package. His carriage sat at the main gate.
A long red carpet unrolled at his feet, leading up a sweeping staircase to the manor's entrance.
Flanking the carpet stood two rows of armored knights—a dozen on each side, maybe more. Full plate armor. Closed helms. Imposing as hell.
He lifted his gaze toward the top of the stairs—
"Welcome to our home!"
A young man bounded down the steps, radiating energy. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Broad-shouldered and handsome, dressed in ornate knight's garb. His smile was bright as sunshine, warm as a summer day.
Raymond looked at that smile.
And narrowed his eyes.