Day 34, 4:15 PM

“The fundamental cause of the trouble is that in the modern world the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt.”

― Bertrand Russell

“Son of a bitch,” I jump from the bed and rub my perfectly healthy eye until the phantom pain vanishes.

I look left and right and confirm where I am and that I have both hands. I’m in the Square inn back in Harkgord.

I inspect myself and my body. I’m naked, standing next to a bed, my stomach is churning, but it’s full, and I reek of the horrible soap they have here.

I’m taking my afternoon nap, but we’ll change that a little. I don my clothes and go out to purchase a scroll, a bottle of ink, and a quill, when I realize there might be a simpler way of doing this part.

“You got paper, ink, and a quill?” I ask the proprietor, five minutes later, and he nods.

“Do you need someone to write a letter for you? I know a man who writes what you tell him and asks no questions.” He smiles, then explains the joke. “He’s mute.”

I flash him a smile. “No, thanks. I’ll write it myself.”

I hand him two plows, and write a letter for viscount Parren. It’s not exactly blackmail, more ‘I know where you live and the color of your boy’s underwear.’ For some reason, the boy wore violet undergarments, don’t ask, I didn’t.

“Here you go,” I return the borrowed stationary, and the innkeeper pops another helpful question one would expect from a man running a successful business.

“Do you need a runner or do you wish to send it with a coach? I—”

“No, thank you,” I say, “this is more of a reminder than anything else. Right, how do you like your lord? I heard viscount Gollash is a bastard, and viscount Gohen’s people are one step away from rebelling, but it seems really nice and peaceful here.”

The innkeeper nods. “We’re thankful we have a fine lord like viscount Parren.”

The man proceeds to tell me why the lord is wonderful, and I let him talk. Apparently, the people didn’t suddenly start loving their viscount just because I killed him. That cements my decision, and I thank the innkeeper for his help before going back to my room to sleep.

The rest of the day plays out exactly the same. I crawl across the lawn with much greater proficiency than last time, and I don’t bother with the kitchen staff. Instead, I walk in through the front door and head upstairs. First, I visit the young viscount’s room. I knock him out for good measure and steal the stuffed bunny he’s sleeping with.

“You’re too old for this, son,” I mutter and then go to the maid’s room.

Cellie? Cellia? I can’t remember her name. I’m memorizing too many tiny details, and my brain lacks the capacity for a maid’s name mentioned in passing.

I enter the room, knock out the already sleeping Cellia, and start working. I hang the poor Bums Bunny in a noose, and leave him and the letter next to the sleeping viscount’s head like a horse’s head. Then I take my leave.

I don’t stick around to see the commotion I have caused. Instead, I sneak out of the town just as the sun rises. I hum, We’re not gonna take it, and walk the road, welcoming the rising sun.

I haven’t done my stretches. I stop in the middle of the road, about two miles away from the gate, and do my morning routine. For a moment, I miss Manny, if she were around, I could go for a second round of light exercise—

Shit! I didn’t sleep with her yet in this timeline, and now, if I rush to meet them, she won’t see Najel’s body turned into modern art, and I won’t get laid. Should I let them see it? Am I manipulating her if I do?

The question disturbs me considerably more than it should. Is letting history run its course so I can make love with the woman I love manipulation? I don’t think it is. But I bet seventy percent of Earth’s feminist population would call me a sexist bastard, looking to sexually exploit a vulnerable woman.

You’re doing it again, drifting away from the topic. One foot in front of the other. Go towards her and see what happens.

Stolen story; please report.

I sigh, but I know that’s the only safe choice to make. I wanted to walk, enjoy the morning air and the chirp of the forest birds as the world comes to life, yet now I feel like shit.

Should I jog? I ask myself, and start jogging.

Should I sprint? I ask myself, and tell myself to fuck off and relax. I won’t sprint long distances, unless there’s an actual emergency.

In the back of my mind, I run the numbers, and I’m fairly positive I can’t reach them before they find the body. The thought draws a smile, and I keep jogging with less guilt and more enthusiasm.

About an hour later, I meet up with Manny and our troops some eight miles away from the town. Most of the boys are shaking, their faces green, while several women are sobbing.

What did I say the last time? I try to recall the exact words.

“Aang?” Manny says in shock. “Why are you here?”

“I’ll explain later, my Noble Lady. Why are the guys so green?”

Manny repeats her part of the conversation word for word, and I give a similar response and get a similar reaction as last time.

“Anything else I should explain?” I ask the crowd behind Manny, and they shake their heads. “Good. I want you to tell any new recruits what happened here, and explain what they should not do unless they want me to turn them into sausages.”

They nod, and I face Manny again.

“My Noble Lady, there’s been a development, and I need your council. Please follow me.”

I take her some fifty yards into the forest before I think it’s safe enough to whisper.

“Gohen will know we’re coming. Someone will escape Harkgord or Krimagord and warn baron Jaggel and Gohen. You were right, I’m not his match. I killed him, though, and a lot of his men, so I think you won that fight and had a clear path to Eaglegord.”

Her breathing is hard, and I can see her mind struggling with what I’m telling her. I open my mouth to assure her, but she places her hand on my lips, and I can’t speak.

“It is difficult to process future events retold in past tense by a dead man who is standing before me. Can you give me a brief description of what happened and what we have done?”

She removes her hand from my lips and looks at it with slight embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she says.

“It’s fine. So, here’s what happened,” I describe the next two weeks in twenty-odd sentences without mentioning private matters, then tell her we planned for my death and what should be done. I give her a rundown of our countermeasures, and she agrees they are good.

“So, next up is avoiding the roads, assassinating viscount Gollash and starting a revolt unrelated to my true identity. Then I will gather an army and march towards Coremir while you start another rebellion there, and finally you will assassinate Gohen instead of facing him in combat. Are you fine with that?”

“Yes, why?” I ask with a frown.

“You seemed distraught while talking about strangling him in his sleep. Do you wish to face him in honorable combat and defeat him? Is the dishonorable way of killing him the reason you are hesitant about killing him in his sleep?”

I shake my head and look away.

“Then what? What is your problem?” she forces the question I don’t want to answer.

“How many times did—?” Blunt starts, and I slap my mouth shut so hard I taste blood. I turn around and breathe in and out before letting go of my mouth.

“I want him to suffer.” My knuckles pop from how hard I’m squeezing my fists. “I want him to go through hell on earth. I want to rip him to pieces, then feed them to him. I want to tear him with my teeth and eat him alive, and I’m supposed to give him an easy death while he’s sleeping?”

Her hand gently touches my shoulder and I shudder. “Thank you. There are matters more important than vengeance.”

No, there aren’t. It’s the same thought. The same feeling that drove me insane in my previous life. The same idea which made me push Mary away. I look at Manuella. She is beautiful. Not physically. I mean, she is hot, but her perky tits and firm ass aren’t the kind of beauty I’m admiring right now.

What is beautiful is her essence. Her ability to heal, to focus, to win. She could have become a demon. She should have. She has more right to become one than I ever did, and yet she isn’t. Why?

I don’t understand. If I were her, I would want the whole world to burn, for the whole of humanity to drown in the cesspool in which it had cast me. What is it that makes her and me so different, yet so attracted to each other?

“What is it that you see in me?” I ask, maybe Blunt.

She stares at me. Shit, I’m freaking her out.

“Look, last time, we had sex today. It was love, maybe. Certainly more than fondness.” I’m rambling. I try to catch my breath, to pull the reins, but I fail.

“What I want to know is what a goddess like you sees in the miserable turd, which is my rotting self? You are so strong and beautiful. You are smart and driven, while I—” I am hollow. Am I? Am I really?

And in that second of silence, only one word exists in my mind. Yes, I tell myself. I am empty. I pissed on the miracle that was my life. I threw it away for rage. For pettiness. Who am I? What am I?

“You are crazy,” she tells me and hugs me. “What did Gohen do to you?”

“He severed my arm and my hand,” I tell her straight. “He spewed vile poison about you, then rammed a sword through my eye. He must have done more, since I couldn’t stand, but I don’t remember.”

“Did it hurt?” she asks, and I nod.

“Hurt like hell.”

“And despite that, here you are, trying to come up with a way to help me. Tell me, how many times have you died for a woman like me? How can you confuse yourself for a rotten man?” She pecks me on the lips and continues speaking. “I understand you feel bad and frustrated because you have suffered a loss, but never debase yourself. In your self-degradation, you also disgrace me, a woman who loves you, who chooses to be with you until the bitter end.”

She hugs me and whispers in my ear, “And there will be no sex until we have a proper bed.”