Book 1: Chapter 2

Last Life

A BITTER COLD brought me back to my senses. It felt like thousands of ice needles were poking into every cell of my hard-suffering body. Black haze before my eyes. Mouth bone dry. Head just about to burst from the searing pain.

But I can’t have survived, right?

I attempted to move to no effect. My body refused to obey. It was like it was completely foreign to me.

I reached out to my energy reservoir as usual and felt horror. It was practically empty and what was worse, was practically a third its former size.

A quick survey of my energy channels found a large number of ruptures. Beyond that, most of the channels were completely undeveloped. Essentially, all the difficult and painstaking training that had been my life’s work was all down the drain. Thousands of hours of meditation and cultivation, along with huge expenses for fancy stimulants — all for naught. Even at age five, the first time I touched my reservoir, it wasn’t in such rough shape as right now.

Why was that? An aftereffect of Swamp Queen’s Kiss? Or did Lord Darem’s bodyguards have some kind of special bullets capable of degrading my energy structure? And for that matter why after everything that happened was I still alive?

But before I could make any conclusions, a sharp jolt of energy knocked me off balance. An unseen power sent me hurtling me upward and... Oh, gods! The headache went away. The cryptlike cold abated. An uncanny lightness appeared in my body. The black haze before my eyes went away and I finally managed to take a good look around.

I found myself in a small room with scratched up walls and a low ceiling. Based on the dim lighting coming through a small, grated window, I had for some reason been transferred to an upper floor of the prison.

I looked again at the window and frowned. Was this really a prison? The thing I first took to be a steel grate was nothing more than a common wooden window frame divided into sections.

Where was I exactly?

A few paces from the table, the side of an old cabinet peeked out of the shadows, and next to it stood a small table on which, among a pile of old sheets, there laid a man.

On first glance, I thought he was asleep, but closer inspection revealed I was looking at a barely warm corpse. There could be no mistaking it. I had an eye for that sort of thing. The sloppy blood-soaked bandage on the poor man’s head left no room to doubt his cause of death.

But the kid was around twenty. He has his whole life ahead of him, as the saying goes. Hm... Had...

Based on his build, the dead man was a bit of a gourmand. Manicured hands. Clearly not in manual labor. Telltale black stains on puffy fingers. The inkwell and quills on the table must have been his. Probably just some rich little freak obsessed with roleplaying games about bygone times.

But that raises a question. What the hell am I doing here?! And what is actually going on?!

When my eyes finally reached the dead man’s face, I took a closer look at his dead pale features, and another jolt of energy ran through my body.

Impossible! The boy laying on the bed looked a lot like me. Sure, his physique may have been different, but our hair color, face shape, nose and eyes... The resemblance was striking!

Another energy burst, this time more powerful than before, distracted me from contemplating the dead man. While staring stunned at my semitransparent arms and intertwined energy channels, it suddenly hit me that I had been hovering in midair all this time like a ghost from a movie.

So was it really true? Did the voice from the darkness keep its word?

Wait! So was this the body it promised to find for me? Was this what my last life was going to be like?

No way! You can’t take me so easily! Balling up all my rage into a fist, I dashed headlong at the motionless body on the bed. The physical shell accepted my energy body with surprising ease. There must have been a bit of life left in my puffy lookalike all along.

As soon as the melding was complete, the graveyard cold crashed down on me again, seeping deep into my marrow. The unbearable headache also returned. Sensing that my mind was about to fade again, I drained the last crumbs of energy from my little reservoir with the last of my willpower and sent it straight into my heart. A moment before darkness came over me, I felt a faint timid push in my chest.

* * *

I woke up to someone shaking me demandingly by the shoulders. My eyes opened reluctantly. Through the haze, I could make out a round countenance looming over me which immediately addressed me in a peevish tone.

“Monsieur Renard? Can you hear me?”

Who? What? Monsieur who now? What the...? But before I could reach any conclusions, memories of the changes I’d undergone surfaced in my mind and “Dodger the brain” took over like always in stressful situations.

Despite the fact the man with the round face was speaking a language I could not recognize, I could understand him perfectly. My brain spat out an explanation straight away. I must have inherited that from the body’s former inhabitant. Honestly though, my attempt to pull at that thread led to nothing. I had no memories about my lookalike’s past. Either that or, more likely, fragmentary information would pop out sometimes, like the local mode of speech.

“Who’s there?” I rasped with my parched throat, trying hard to convey my suffering, and attempted to stare into the unfamiliar face. Speaking the unfamiliar language was surprisingly easy. Like I’d been speaking it all my life.

“Well, whoever else might you require?” the stranger snorted mockingly, and I felt his cold fingers touching my wrist. “Other than me and old man Bertrand over there. But for now, keep quiet... I have to check your pulse.”

I faintly heard an old man sighing from the other room. So there was someone else here.

“Monsieur...” a hope-filled whisper rang out in the silence.

And based on the intonations in the voice, this man’s opinion of me or rather the former inhabitant of what was now my body, was a bit more than friendly. Let’s check...

“Bertrand?” I rasped back just as plaintively and quietly, addressing the unseen man haphazardly. “Water...”

“Right away, monsieur!” the old man’s voice lit up. “Right away!”

Excellent. I was not alone in this strange new world.

Somewhere deep in the home, I heard some fussing. A little while later, I sensed a movement at the head of my bead, then a stream of life-giving moisture came pouring into my mouth. I squinted in delight. The icy water made my teeth hurt, but I didn’t let such a minor issue get to me. Bliss! I wanted it never to end.

Not opening an eye, I reached out for the vessel pouring water into my mouth to tilt it down and increase the flow, but my limbs wouldn’t obey. I attempted to move my left hand first, then my feet, both to no avail. My new body was still alien to me. So far, all I could do was slowly tilt my head from side to side. Well, and soil myself.

But none of that mattered. I was alive! And that was the key.

“Monsieur healer, what is happening to me?” I asked when the water ran out. I was curious what the doctor would say. A cursory scan of my energy structures made it clear I was out of the woods. My reservoir, even with its meager capacity, was somehow able to help me heal. Honestly, the large number of ruptures in the energy channels all through my body meant I was still temporarily paralyzed.

I could have been healing faster if not for the terrible headwound siphoning the lion’s share of energy from my reservoir. How did my lookalike manage that?

The round-headed man snorted and, releasing my hand, started hurriedly packing his phials and jars into a black leather handbag.

“Monsieur Renard,” he muttered out peevishly. He was clearly none too pleased with my company. “You know perfectly well that I am no healer, and merely a first-degree physician. So save your flattery for your other creditors. And speaking of your debt to me... So be it, I am willing to let you defer payment in honor of your, let’s say, miraculous recovery. For some reason I cannot comprehend, the gods have taken mercy on you, Monsieur Renard. Last time I was here, you were at death’s door. But now... I haven’t the foggiest notion what might have happened. If I didn’t know you were so hard up, I might have thought a master healer took pity on you.”

Great, more problems. Apparently, this guy was quite “charmed.” Racked up debts, took a headwound, then quickly ducked out to be reborn and start fresh with a clean slate and clean memory. And now I would have to dig my way out of this pile of crap.

Whoever boxed me up and sent me here must have been expecting another show.

Alright. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Everything in its time.

The doc meanwhile nodded at a small phial sitting on the table.

“That is an elixir of crimson hollowstone dust. It contains ten drops. Take one per day.”

I frowned, trying to draw the attention of my predecessor’s memory. But sadly, it was no use. The word was a total mystery.

The physician meanwhile took my expression in his own way.

“No, don’t try to thank me. Better show gratitude to your servant. Bertrand paid me in full using his personal savings.”

Well, thank you for Bertrand at least. Apparently, I had a loyal servant. Nice little bonus. Although, to be frank, I shouldn’t have been so flippant. After the Bottom of the Pit, my present location could easily be called a slice of heaven.

The doc wanted to stand from his three-legged chair, but hesitated briefly and decided to add something:

“To be frank, Max... servants as loyal as your Bertrand are not easy to come by. Take care of him... Although, knowing your devil-may-care attitude to the old man, let me be sincere. Despite your origin, you do not deserve Bertrand.”

“I appreciate the frankness, esteemed physician,” I rasped out, staring stubbornly into the round-faced man’s eyes.

For the record, during his sermonizing, I blinked a few times and managed to get a good look at him. Yep... It was like I was on set for the filming of some historical epic. In my world, people dressed like this in about the seventeenth or even eighteenth centuries. Honestly though, who was I to say? I never knew much about fashion history.

The doc was dressed inconspicuously enough but based on the fabric’s quality and good condition, he was not a poor man. Note to self. People in medical professions here did pretty well for themselves. So my potion making skills would come in handy.

Seemingly, the physician had already crossed the sixty-year line but still looked bright eyed and bushy-tailed. Wrinkles minimal for his age, skin looking healthy, eyes clear, teeth in good condition. But based on his slightly protruding gut, he liked to eat.

And as for my predecessor... The physician mentioned that I had many creditors, and that I treated my loyal servant like a pig. Apparently, this Max Renard was quite the bastard. I seemingly had a lot more surprises in store.

Hm, the doc was also worth a closer look. I seemingly belonged to some kind of privileged class here (though my present dwelling didn’t show it), but still he wasn’t afraid to speak up on my servant’s behalf.

The physician, meanwhile, gave me a strange look. He must have been expecting a different reaction to his reproach. I had to assume a more violent and less polite one.

After a brief pause, he stood up and said in a more official tone:

“As for your question about your condition... I dressed your headwound. I changed the bandage. Based on what I saw — we can remove the stitches in just two weeks. Let me also say that you’re recovering quite quickly. In a word — youth! And don’t concern yourself with your body’s temporary weakness. Everything will be fine. Your strength will be back soon. Your body is young. It will be fine. You’re out of the woods now. And yes... Allow to me give you a piece of parting advice.”

“If it’s as sensible as the last one, I shall accept it with gratitude,” I nodded, earning myself another unwavering gaze from the doc.

“Ghm, sensible or not is for you to decide,” the doc hesitated slightly but quickly getting his embarrassment under control continued: “Let me give you some advice. Before challenging someone to a duel, first study your future opponent. Did you really not know Vincent de Lamar was a professional duelist? What could you possibly have been hoping for crossing swords with someone like him?”

I decided not to answer. What was there to say? I didn’t have enough to go on. If I engaged, I would surely make some minor slip-up. I was not planning on telling anyone that a soul from another world had taken up residence in Max Renard’s body. I would play it off as partial amnesia after the headwound.

“I cannot recollect the events of that day clearly,” I started putting my scheme into action. Meanwhile, I winced as if in severe pain and did my best to feign confusion. “In fact, I’m having a hard time remembering anything at all, really...”

“Well, no wonder!” the doc took the bait straight away. “Vincent de Lamar practically took half your head off with his sword! If not for your helmet... It’s really a miracle you’re still alive. Your memory will come back eventually. I can promise you that.”

“We thank you, Monsieur Robert!” I heard Bertrand’s cheery voice. “May the gods keep you and your family!”

“I am in your debt, Monsieur Robert,” I immediately latched onto the surprise hint.

“Now that’s for sure,” the doc snorted. “But first get better. We can discuss what you owe me later.”

After that, he thanked me coldly and left the room.

While he spoke to Bertrand about something in the other room, I closed my eyes and sighed wearily. After that, I reached out for my reservoir out of habit. Yep... A pitiful sight. It was apparently even smaller than I first thought. But what mattered was that I still had one and, crucially, it was able to heal this body.

While talking to the doc, I switched to true vision a few times to scan his energy system, as well as that of the old servant keeping to the shadows. A cursory analysis showed that both of them were regular people. As a matter of fact, everything was exactly like in my world. I had only encountered other “gifted” people twice in my life. One I had met in battle at Lord Darem’s estate, and I defeated him. The other had adopted and raised me.

But now I was in a different world. Who could say what things were like here. Particularly given that Robert had mentioned “master healers,” who were clearly capable of more than common physicians.

I was distracted from contemplating my slowly recovering energy structures by the sound of cautious footsteps. I peeled back my eyelids slightly and not turning my head, crossed my eyes toward the door. Bertrand appeared in the doorway. Now, in the light of the sun’s rays streaming in through the small window I got a good look at my servant and, seemingly, only ally in this world.

He looked to be around sixty, but still strapping. Sinewy. Below average height. Gray as the moonlight. He also looked spry for his age, with none of the limping inherent to his advanced years. He stood upright. Basically, I couldn’t bring myself to call him decrepit. And considering his energy system’s fair condition, Bertrand had many long years ahead of him.

His clothing, even to my untrained eye from another world was old and worn but, importantly, clean and tidy. And overall, Bertrand gave off the impression of someone who put a lot of stock into cleanliness and hygiene. He didn’t stink of either sweat or tobacco, and overall my room was a bastion of order. Apart from perhaps the mess on the desk. There was only one obvious explanation. The now late Max Renard was not a fan of other people touching his papers. Even his loyal servant.

As an aside, I didn’t stink, either. Bertrand must have taken pains to clean my paralyzed body the whole time I was unconscious. Plus feed me and give me water. Basically, I yet again felt like thanking my mysterious “benefactor” for Bertrand.

When the old man came over to my bed and started carefully tucking in my comforter, I decided to make first contact.

“Bertrand?” I whispered sadly. “Is that you, old fellow?”

The servant shuddered and I, through half-closed eyelids, saw his lower jaw creep down while his eyes went wide in surprise. I was getting the impression that the former Max Renard had never spoken to his servant in such a cordial tone. I figured as much but, after weighing all the pros and cons, decided to start off my relationship with my sole ally and guide in this world on the right foot.

“Monsieur...” he babbled.

“You know,” I continued plaintively. “I realized a great many things when I was at death’s door. I saw my life from a different perspective... You know?”

Bertrand nodded rapidly and tensed up. Tears welled up in the corners of his gray eyes. It was proving very easy to get through to him. The poor man clearly loved his good-for-nothing master a great deal. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he had raised Max from the cradle.

“You know, Monsieur Robert is a thousand times correct. After everything you’ve done for me, I don’t deserve you.”

“Monsieur!” poor old Bertrand covered his face with his broad sinewy hands and started weeping. “You mustn’t say such things!”

“Do not cry, my friend,” I rasped out. “I am ashamed of the way I used to treat you.”

The old man’s unexpected emotional outburst left me discouraged. That Max Renard really was a brute.

“Monsieur...”

“You will call me by name from now on,” I interrupted him softly. “Just Max.”

“No,” Bertrand shook his head and shuddered. “Impossible! Even though you were born illegitimately, the blood of an ancient house flows in your veins. I am a mere servant and have no right to address you that way... I will never cast a shadow on your honor by addressing you inappropriately!”

That sharp turn took me somewhat by surprise.

“Alright,” I backtracked. I may have gotten slightly ahead of myself. I failed to account for the particulars of this world’s feudal code. “But still I give you permission to call me by my first name at least when we are alone, and no one can hear us. Like right now. Is that something you could do, old fellow?”

I gave an open smile.

“I cannot promise you that, monsieur,” Bertrand bowed, but I could tell by his eyes that I was on the right track.

Then he added thoughtfully:

“Had I not known you since the day you were born, I might have thought you were a different person. You really must have seen some things on the line that separates life from death.”

I was prepared to hear something like that. So I didn’t let on.

“In fact, my dear Bertrand, I would even say that... After the scoundrel Vincent de Lamar struck me with his sword, my memory has been severely impaired.”

“Yes, monsieur,” Bertrand agreed eagerly. “The physician warned me about that. He said such things often happen after headwounds. He instructed me not to be surprised and to help you recover your memories.”

One more point for the doc. I now had an official cover story for my amnesia.

“He also sold me a crimson hollowstone elixir to return you to health,” the old man said with a sigh.

“Which you paid for with your own savings,” I said with slight reproach. “But you have my gratitude, my friend.”

“Money is but a matter of time,” Bertrand waved it off, and tears again glimmered in his eyes. But he immediately checked himself and quickly wiped them away. “Monsieur, it is time for you to take your medicine.”

“If you say so,” I nodded. “I hope its worth as much as that miser made you pay for it.”

To be frank, I had a skeptical attitude toward this world’s pharmacology. In fact, it felt slightly risky. And although the physician who visited me did not appear to be a complete charlatan, who could say what he put in that potion?

Bertrand cautiously took the phial from the table with a smile and said:

“Oh, it’s worth it. Believe me. This is a crimson hollowstone dust elixir!”

His tone indicated that he was holding a miracle medicine, a true panacea.

I tensed up slightly. Vadoma, the gypsy woman who raised me was a witch and taught me many things. Including several potion recipes. But her biggest lesson was not to drink unfamiliar potions without testing them first.

And so the first incantation she taught me was Snake’s Breath, which I could use to test energy structures for traces of poison.

I breathed a heavy sigh. I didn’t want to waste the valuable energy. But sadly, I would have to. Quickly whispering the incantation under my breath, I was about to draw a bit of energy from my reservoir but stopped myself just in time. The contents of the phial in Bertrand’s fingers had a strange glow in true vision.

I tensed up and took a better look. No, there was no mistaking it... The viscous liquid, which otherwise looked like raspberry syrup, was glowing dimly. And the color of the energy was fire crimson.