"What the hell!" That's exactly how Stas perceived his return to the real world. He still hadn't managed to reach that mythical prana, but he felt he was on the right path.
He was brought to his senses by the uncomfortable chill when his pants had been thoroughly soaked with the drool of his overly diligent Leviathan.
Looking at his slobbered pants, Ordyntsev wanted to curse, preferably with some strong language. However, glancing into the trusting eyes of the little snake lying beside him, Stas realized he definitely couldn't do that.
So, forcing a smile, he "gratefully" patted her on the head, which caused a series of joyful hissing sounds.
Assessing the magnitude of the problem, the man decided to wash his pants in the very same river, and since there was no spare clothing to speak of, he had to wear them wet and head back.
By that time, evening was approaching, so the chill was particularly noticeable.
Luckily, the prince said nothing, though he looked strangely at his healer's wet pants.
But the next day, Stas abruptly had no time for reflection.
The reason was that the camp was rapidly being dismantled, which was not an easy task.
Tents were folded, tied up, and stuffed into special wooden boxes, from which horizontal planks extended. These were hoisted onto the shoulders of the servants and ashigaru like palanquins, and then, keeping pace, they moved towards the road.
Notably, carts did exist in this world, but they were very scarce. They were mainly owned by the richest samurai and nobles.
Curious, Stas carefully asked the nearest servants why such an undervaluation of wheeled transport.
And the answer took him by surprise.
As it turned out, in most countries of this world, nobody even thought about paving roads like the Romans did. This led to the fact that a large number of carts could quickly destroy the roads between cities.
Because of that, a law was passed by all countries, prohibiting ordinary people and even merchants from owning carts.
As a result, all the variety of cargo transport was carried out using porters or servants.
There was an entire guild or class of people who did only this for a lifetime.
Horses were also utilized, but as only wealthy nobles or affluent samurai could afford them, they were used only as a military force.
Stas was fortunate that, as a healer and an outsider, he was not obliged to participate in the camp's packing. However, this did not spare him from his usual burden – the old spear he had discarded before as unnecessary and the worn tent with a sleeping mat.
All these days, they had lain idle in the corner of the prince's tent, but now they had to be carried on foot.
For Prince Sumada, the locals had splurged on an entire horse. Stas didn't know where Sansa had dug it up from, as he hadn't seen any horses with them.
On the ninth day, Jishin felt surprisingly decent for a man whose intestines were held together only by a miracle. Moreover, he almost managed to keep himself in the saddle. Although, just to be safe, they still tied him to it.
Stas walked alongside the swaying prince, who occasionally cursed through clenched teeth. Apparently, Sumada knew how to ride a horse, just very, very poorly.
They were sent off first, along with Nobunoro's personal entourage and the vanguard of warmasters. And that was a problem.
If warmasters could maintain a very fast pace on their own two feet, and nobles and samurai could keep up thanks to their horses, ordinary people had to exhaust themselves to keep up with them.
And though Stas was far less burdened than the other servants, it didn't mean he wasn't tired. Carrying the cumbersome spear and other items was far from easy. Add to that the uncomfortable shoes taken from someone else's feet, and it becomes clear why he was in such a grim state all the way.
As if there weren't enough difficulties, this world had reserved a couple more.
Stas didn't know what had caused the armies to converge in the forest, but as a result, they had to spend an indecent amount of time to reach a proper road, wandering through ravines and hills.
As for the porters' struggle with their cargo palanquins - the spectacle was both funny and sad.
Fortunately, the local forest differed from Earth's in that the trees stood quite far apart, and there were few impassable bushes around. Could it be that the roots of these giants somehow eliminated nearby competitors, including ordinary plants?
Only after several hours did they finally reach the road. And here, Stas had to marvel again.
Listening to the locals' constant mentions of roads, he somehow expected wide and well-made paths. And while there was no question about the latter – trees specially planted along the edge provided shade and prevented the road from washing away completely – it certainly couldn't be called wide by any stretch of the imagination.
Barely two horses standing side by side could squeeze through, were they to decide to take a ride there.
There was no one to ask, but after some thought, Stas still understood the reason for such a narrow road.
It wasn't talked about much, but a couple of times in the conversations of servants, there was mention of samurai betrayal in the enemy country of Rashta. This meant that seeing Hyugo's victories, some of the nobles or even samurai could switch sides, joining the enemy.
To Stas, there was nothing strange about this. Even in Earth's Japan, it wasn't so rare for samurai to betray their masters, switching sides if it benefited them.
Yes, such behavior was not encouraged and was even punished, but it was still practiced.
People, regardless of the world, remain people, no matter how much you restrict them.
However, the local rulers found a way to make it more difficult for potential rebels to overthrow them.
Deliberately narrowing the roads reduced their capacity, hindering quick passage for large armies.
Now, rebels would have to spend much more time reaching daimyos' castles with their entire force, allowing the latter to prepare a warm welcome.
Of course, this worked both ways. However, it still put daimyos in a more advantageous initial position.
This was the reason why their army stretched out into such a long snake, raising clouds of dust that unpleasantly grated on the teeth and made the eyes itch and dry out.
'That's the plain truth of life,' Stas thought sarcastically, shifting the spear from one tired shoulder to the other: 'Half a month ago, you performed surgeries and worked as a doctor, and seemingly the next moment, you're lugging around a damn spear and planning how to help a real prince escape from enemy captivity. Oh yes, almost forgot, in case of failure, it would be prudent to slit your own throat rather than let the locals come up with a more intricate execution.'
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Along the way, they passed by several burned-out outposts, standing on both sides of the road. Apparently, enemy detachments had reached even here. The remnants of the fortifications grimly grinned at the sky with the black tips of the palisades.
The bodies had long been removed, but Stas could still distinctly smell blood and burnt flesh.
Leviathan was serenely swaying inside the exhausted man's kimono. Over the last two days, she seemed to have grown even larger, gaining weight. The only explanation lay in her hunting.
Stas still couldn't calmly look at mice. Before him vividly stood that slobbered, filthy horror. By the way, the cage with Levi's living rations cheerfully swung on the bag of supplies.
Since the road to Akaru was long, they couldn't do without overnight stays. This whole rich cavalcade went off the road and settled nearby in the fields. No one attempted to set up tents again, just stretched out awnings.
Needless to say, the common ashigaru simply slept under the open sky, lying on mats spread on the ground.
Stas, however, had to make do for both. Helping the prince dismount, fetching kindling for the fire, running to the neighboring fire to borrow a couple of firebrands since he had neither a flint nor a tinderbox.
Then, he had to hustle for water for the kettle and cook porridge with bits of meat wheedled from local servants. One could have hoped they would share meals with him, but Stas did not count on it.
And finally, preparing the prince for sleep, which involved spreading out the sleeping mat and futon tied to the horse.
Lying on his usual mat, Stas felt a pang of envy as he watched the prince squirm on an actual mattress, albeit shabby.
In the morning, again, hasty food preparation and frantic gathering of belongings – no one was going to wait for them.
In this rhythm, eight days passed.
His legs started hurting on the second day, on the third, they were practically bursting with pain, and by the fourth, Stas was enveloped in a blissful numbness. Like a sleepwalker, he moved his legs, prepared food, and, collapsing on the mat, would instantly fall asleep, dreamless.
Only by the seventh day did his body begin to somewhat adapt to the new pace of life, and Stas stopped falling asleep so quickly. Colors returned, and the sun no longer burned his poor head so fiercely.
But the hateful spear, though relatively light, still managed to make his shoulders feel like they were falling off.
What can be said about this world, apart from the sandy road and the endlessly stretching trees on either side?
Perhaps, that Stas would rather shoot himself in the head than live as a peasant.
They only spent one night in a village, usually passing by settlements. But what he saw was enough for Ordyntsev to start sleeping a little worse at night.
Have you ever seen what hunger is? Fortunately, in developed countries, this problem was almost completely solved. However, videos from Africa vividly showed what it could do to people.
The peasants looked bad, to put it mildly. Tired, haggard faces, sunken bellies, and thin, veiny hands.
They stared at the world with tired, wet eyes, like beaten, battered dogs begging to end their suffering.
One look at their dilapidated, straw dwellings made it clear that there was no question of plenty here. Rather, the question could be put as: "How great is the need of these wretched people?"
It looked especially ugly when seeing the fields where rice grew quite well. Growing food that fed the entire country, the peasants themselves slowly perished from hunger.
The earthling was even afraid to imagine what it took to drive people to the point where they, even dying of hunger, feared touching the food they grew.
But the worst part was something else. If the gazes of adults could be somehow ignored, then the eyes of children seemed to penetrate the very soul.
They said nothing and asked for nothing. Parents had managed to explain to them what awaited them if they annoyed the high lords.
But if the high lords indulged in their own pride, what prevented ordinary servants or even ashigaru from giving at least a few grains of rice to these wretched ones?
Stas specifically waited for this. He deliberately sat and watched, hoping to see at least the slightest sign of mercy or generosity.
And he saw not an ounce of help, not a single shred of compassion.
The peasants received nothing, and they weren't bereft of anything only because they had nothing to begin with.
How can you regard the locals as people if they themselves don't do so towards each other?
Ordyntsev wanted to be like everyone else. He knew his help wouldn't solve anything and might only complicate his life.
However, despite all his cynicism developed over the years, he still couldn't stand by and do nothing.
When a trio of skinny, skeletal children passed by him, Ordyntsev abruptly handed them some broken wooden bucket. He had found it when he desperately wandered through the village.
One of the children tried to say something, perhaps to ask why the strangely dressed master had given them a leaky bucket, but Stas's feverish whisper cut off any objections.
"Listen, be quiet! There's a little food in the bucket, bring it to your parents. Don't dare take it out until you get home, or your own neighbors will take it from you! You don't know me. If you or your parents dare to come here again, I will kill them. If they tell anyone about this, I will kill them. If they ask for more or send you again, I will kill them. Now, go away from here and never come back. Tell them my words."
The children, surprisingly, didn't ask questions and silently moved back. Thin fingers held the broken, rotten bucket with a death grip. A couple of people looked at their burden, but thankfully, it didn't interest them.
Stas tiredly returned to his fire. The vise that had gripped his conscience loosened just a bit. He knew his handout wouldn't solve anything, and this family would probably die like everyone else from hunger, but deep inside, a faint glimmer of hope flickered.
The last crumbs of compassion that this world was so desperately trying to extinguish.
"I don't understand you," a contemplative voice of the prince came from behind, making Stanislav hiccup loudly and flinch in fright.
"You gave away most of your food to the peasants, even though you know you may not get more and will be hungry for a few days. You want to become a warmaster, even though you know you'll never reach any heights in this art. You plan to save someone who is completely a stranger to you, risking everything. What drives you, healer Shiro?"
"I can, and I do," Stas simply replied, looking into the blazing fire. "Take everything from life and have no regrets. In all your questions, I can do this, so I do. What's the point of living if you don't set the highest goals? Don't aspire to something impossible? Sorry, prince, got a bit carried away," Stas caught himself, stopping his philosophizing.
"Once again, I am convinced that you are not who you claim to be," the prince chuckled. "Go to sleep. It's late. If I remember the map correctly, we have two more days to go."
"Damn these roads," Stas moaned softly, hearing Jishin's chuckle.
Their agreement unintentionally made the prince open up a little more.
The next day, as they left the village, Stas tried not to pay attention to the piercing gazes of seven people. A husband, wife, two dried-up old people, and three little children watched the kind master even after he long disappeared.
And although the elders still passed away, nobly refusing to eat the meager supplies, this family survived. And in their personal little sanctuary appeared a figurine entwined with a little snake.
Though Stas didn't notice, the children managed to see how, for a second, a curious reptilian face peeked out from under his clothes.
When the children told their parents about it, it was solemnly decided that the stranger was one of the good kami. Subsequently, their lineage prayed to their own kami guardian for many generations.
Stas, on the other hand, walked wearily away from the village. And the question was only: how long his humanity could exist in this cruel world?
*****
The entrance to the city was colorful. All the inhabitants immediately bowed to the ground, not even daring to raise their gaze. And since Stas and the prince were inside Nobunoro's procession, the only thing they could observe was an endless field of bowed backs.
The streets changed, but the situation remained the same. The only ones who had the right not to bow fully were the few samurai. They made do with a half-bow.
'I wonder if they ever get tired of this?' Stas thought lazily, 'Time after time, seeing only people's backs, not their faces. Quite a depressing prospect.'
Suddenly, Stas's attention was caught by a small group that quite boldly gazed at the procession. Looking closer, Stas wasn't surprised to notice the marks of the Kiatto clan on them. It wasn't too hard to guess once you've spotted the characteristics of their clan. It's just that among the four of them, only one had distinctive cat ears.
'So, not only beastmen serve Kiatto? Or is beastification the essence of some kind of ritual? Intriguing.'
Only when disgruntled samurai from the guard moved towards them did the warmasters make a reluctant half-bow.
The nobles contemptuously didn't even grace them with a glance. Stas, however, noticed a malicious smirk on the face of one of the warmasters.
The architecture of Akaru mainly consisted of two, sometimes three-story wooden buildings with sharp sloping roofs. On the ground floors were numerous shops and workshops. Their workers also spilled out to greet the son of the daimyo and the owner of the city with a bow.
Once Stas saw the local architecture, his last doubts vanished. This was unquestionably an alternative version of Japan.
Distinctive roof shapes, sliding doors, and paper lanterns. This place literally breathed feudal Japan.
Above the low wooden buildings, stone towers rose here and there, serving as lookouts.
These towers were connected into a unified defense system through earthen fortifications.
And the pinnacle of this entire system was a huge palace complex located on a hill in the city's center.
Since they arrived at noon, the sun, soaring above the palace roofs, well illuminated the greenish tiles and bright red walls.
'Here we are, at the place where everything will either begin or, conversely, end,' Stas thought with anticipation.
He had a lot of work ahead of him.