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Re:Zero - Starting Life in Another World: Book 1
墨書 Inktalez
The chill settled in, and a throbbing pain gripped his head. As he touched his scalp, his fingers encountered not hair, but a sticky, tattered cloth wrapped around his head. The sensation triggered a flood of memories into Zhang Wei's mind. No, it should be said that it flooded into John's mind; Zhang Wei had crossed over.
The pain intensified as John recalled the dull and brief life he had lived. At just fourteen years old, he had already spent four years as a serf for the Noble Lord, destined to live a life akin to that of livestock. In fact, cattle were worth more than serfs.
With a determined effort, he pushed himself up. From this day forward, the former Zhang Wei would officially become John, a nuclear-powered beast of burden in this foreign land. He lifted his head to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the nearby chamber pot. It was impossible to see much—everything was dark—but he could make out that his hair seemed golden. Whether it was truly the color of urine or not was uncertain; after all, the contents of the pot were quite yellow, suggesting he might be running a fever.
The pain returned with a vengeance, and he weakly pressed his hands against his head as he lay back on the straw mat. As memories continued to clarify, John understood why his head throbbed. There had been an invasion by beastmen at the border, and a small group had managed to breach the front lines and reach the Noble Lord's territory.
Caught in the chaos, John had been peering over the wall to catch a glimpse of what these legendary beastmen looked like when a flying stone struck him on the head, knocking him unconscious.
Struggling to turn his head and survey his surroundings, he fought against the fear that did not belong to him. All around him were other injured serfs, their wounds wrapped in ragged cloths and discarded in this drafty barn. There were young men and old alike, but most resembled John—a malnourished youth. Serfs rarely grew tall; daily grueling labor combined with scant food and nutritionally deficient black bread made it nearly impossible for anyone to grow strong.
Just like John himself, who was as thin as kindling—dry and dirty—having bathed only a handful of times in his life. He stood at just one meter fifty.
Gradually calming down, John ignored the moans of his companions around him and began to mentally communicate with what was referred to as the Golden Finger.
Golden Finger—system—plugin—anything would do.
John had never considered relying solely on himself in this world; given his identity as a serf, there was little hope for rising above his station. Moreover, in his previous life, he had been nothing more than useless livestock himself; he could only hope for some sort of system to help him turn things around.
After waiting for what felt like an eternity, he sensed a flicker of light in his mind. The intense pain from his injury confirmed that this was no illusion; however, no other sensations followed.
Was there no user manual? At the very least, it should tell me how to activate it!
He pondered how to initiate it within his mind.
"Activate!"
"Open Sesame!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Hey, Xiao Yi!"
After toiling for half a day with no results, John began to feel like giving up. Perhaps it was just an illusion brought on by his injuries; even if he had been inexplicably sent here by a dump truck, there was no chance for a turnaround. After all, he was just a simple beast of burden.
Wasn't it usually the case that those who crossed over were Soldier Kings, Special Forces, or Crooked-Mouth War Gods? Why had he been chosen? He longed to go home, to his one-meter-wide workstation.
His thoughts were scattered, yet he had to confront reality and make an effort to recall the original owner's understanding of this world.
Cotton Field, Wheat Field, Whip, Knight Lord, guards, and the beautiful Aunt Chef—forgive him, but the previous owner had been nothing more than a hard-working drudge, returning home late every day. His knowledge of this world was scant, and he understood very little. However, the most vivid memory from the original owner's mind was that green Beast Face, with its dirty yellow-brown tusks and towering height of nearly three meters—it was the very visage of the orc that had thrown stones at him.
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