The corpse lying next to him was dressed in a kimono emblazoned with the same symbol on its back and chest as that of the victorious side. And, most likely, the winners would have many questions for the killer of one of their own.
Stas forced himself to calm down and carefully examined the body lying before him.
The first thing that attracted Stanislav's attention was the clothing. Numerous puzzle pieces began to slowly assemble into a complete picture: the distinctive garments, lamellar armor, helmets with masks, and spears with long tips.
'Kimonos, weapons somewhat resembling naginatas and katanas. I'll be damned if this isn't what I think it is.'
Everything he saw virtually screamed Japan, China, or a similar Asian country. However, something didn't quite add up. The man lying before Stas indeed had a swarthy skin tone, but the earthling remembered well that he had distinctly Caucasian facial features.
Now, it was difficult to confirm this, as the man no longer had a face.
In any case, he didn't resemble an Asian at all. And Stas preferred to think that this peasant was not particularly special.
The aforementioned point was critically important in the entirety of Ordyntsev's plan. Also, one should not forget that somehow, the man's brain had already been loaded with the local dialect, and although Stas spoke it poorly, the main thing was that he had it.
If Stas also didn't know the language, he might as well have covered himself with a burial cloth and crawled to the cemetery.
The plan he came up with sounded simple - could Stas pass as one of the ordinary spearmen? A local term involuntarily surfaced in his mind – ashigaru. Or, in other words, a light-footed warrior not covered in armor.
Of course, the man could try to join the army, just as he was. His knowledge of medicine should have been enough to provide first aid or stitch someone up. Healers and medicine men were valued at all times, unless, of course, it was the heyday of the Inquisition and the witch hunts.
Only the absolute ignorance of traditions, local remedies, and much more would have played a cruel joke on him.
Others would probably see through him instantly and consider him, at best, an impostor, if not a spy, and Stas somehow doubted they would treat him with any leniency.
If Ordyntsev's guesses were even half right, he was in deep trouble.
That same feudal Japanese society was a deeply caste-based system, where not only the offender but also his entire family, along with the elders, bore responsibility for any misstep.
For instance, if a peasant carelessly spat on the shoe of a particularly noble samurai, not only would the peasant and his whole family be punished, but also the village elder. In the worst case, it could affect the samurai overseeing that village.
Concepts such as mercy, compassion, and forgiveness were utterly alien to the Japanese mentality. Stas doubted that this world also had its own Christian preachers with their "Turn the other cheek and forgive thy neighbor."
Even against their Chinese and Korean brethren, the Japanese always stood apart, hated by all others.
Of course, there was a chance that all these reflections were wrong, and Stas was just scaring himself for no reason, but he was accustomed to always preparing for the worst. It had helped him in life more than once.
Yes, the locals didn't look like Japanese at all, but everything from their clothing to their weapons spoke precisely of that.
What's worse, all the aforementioned countries were very wary of strangers, so-called gaijins, foreigners. Being an outsider in such tumultuous times would bring nothing but trouble.
And attempts to hide in the woods were likely to end in starvation or in the clutches of some local beast. Who knows what kind of monsters lived in the world where magic was quite real and giant stone golems roamed?
That's why Stas finally decided to disguise himself as one of the soldiers of this army.
But even here, there were difficulties. Most likely, each of the local peasants belonged to one of the lords who recruited them for their little war.
Which of the peasants or nobles could confirm his identity and belonging to their circle?
Fortunately, Stas had ideas on how to skirt this issue.
Undoubtedly, the role of a simple ashigaru was a dubious choice, but Ordyntsev intended to do his best to understand the traditions and structure of the local society during this time and then reconsider his position.
But he needed to hurry if he wanted to make use of any of his hastily conceived ideas.
Dressing in someone else's kimono, especially one sweaty and splattered with blood, was highly unpleasant. However, there were also positive aspects. Although the local was smaller than Stas, he wore oversized clothing, which fit the man, if not perfectly, then closely enough.
The sandals turned out to be incredibly uncomfortable and too small, but the earthling didn't complain – he feared he would have to go barefoot otherwise. In that case, he wouldn't have gotten far.
He also had to tear off a strip of fabric from his already tattered clothes to wrap around his head. The spearman's strike had cut Stas's forehead, leaving a large bruise and covering the right side of his head with blood.
The wound throbbed unpleasantly, bringing to mind unsavory thoughts about the lack of sanitation and other delights of the Middle Ages.
Another saving grace was the lack of strict hairstyles among the locals, at least among the poor warriors. Some wore long hair, some tied it up in intricate ways, and some were completely bald. With his short haircut, Stanislav wouldn't attract much attention.
Tightening his belt more firmly, Stas clenched his teeth and, as gently as possible, transferred the still-unconscious snake inside his kimono. She clearly looked ill and showed no signs of coming around.
But the latter was even better, as Ordyntsev didn't know how he would explain the presence of such an unusual pet in the early stages.
Logic suggested that he should leave Leviathan right there, so as not to create oddities in his legend. But the man simply couldn't do such a thing to his savior.
She had actually saved his life, and it would be a true betrayal not to return the favor.
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The earthling tied his clothes into a knot and hid them under the very earth slab that had nearly killed him. Watching the locals, Stas understood why so few people were heading this way. Ordinary soldiers were clearly afraid of even the slightest manifestation of local magic. So, there was a chance that no one would look under the stone.
Stas dragged the body into the nearest ravine, trying to cover it with branches and other tree debris. He hoped that no one would search for an ordinary peasant.
Picking up the spear and weighing it in his hand, the man resolutely stepped out from under the cover of the "stone" and, deliberately swaying, moved toward his "comrades."
Subconsciously, he expected someone to immediately start pointing fingers at him and shouting something like, "Catch the murderer and spy!" but all was quiet.
For the first time, Stas contemplated that he had consciously killed a person. Why consciously? Because Ordyntsev had already had unfortunate cases where, despite all efforts, it wasn't possible to save a patient.
But now the situation was different. Perhaps it had been in self-defense, but the fact remained. So, would he really feel nothing because of it?
Having waited in vain for any reaction from his body, Ordyntsev snorted acrimoniously, bypassing the first of the dead men he encountered. 'Could it be that the reaction to killing has been exaggerated by cinema and literature? The first thing that comes to mind is Raskolnikov's whining and his "difficult" moral choice. But could it be that not everyone has this nervous system response?'
Stas forcefully pushed these useless thoughts from his mind and focused on what was happening around him. With each step, more and more bodies appeared on the path. Moreover, he began encountering living ashigaru.
They tiredly walked from body to body, stabbing them with spears and searching belts for valuables.
Sometimes, from such pokes, dead bodies would cry out in convulsions and start twitching their legs, but immediately, those who had lost consciousness were stabbed with several more spears.
A little further away, Stas saw a rather unpleasant sight. A couple of men, armed with heavy-looking thick knives with short handles, were panting as they chopped off the heads of the dead and piled them into bags hanging from their belts. The gray fabric was soaked through with blood, and from it, heavy, murky drops kept dripping down.
The intended path was marred everywhere by ugly craters from the explosions of local magic. Some were so deep that they resembled scenes from the bombings of World War I.
As soon as Stas descended into one of these pits, he was sharply called out.
"Damnation!" The nearby shout nearly caused Ordyntsev to prematurely go gray. "What are you, in the name of all Kami, standing there like a statue for?! Come and help me!"
Stas quickly looked around and realized who was so fervently calling for his help.
One of the spearmen not only poorly stabbed one of the wounded warriors from the enemy side but also did so far from his comrades, leaving him without any chance of assistance.
And right now, the gasping warrior, spitting bloody foam, equipped with a sword and wooden armor – a sign of some status by local standards – was furiously swinging his blade, trying to rise and strike down his foe. The latter, barely managing to restrain him, leaned with all his weight on his spear.
There was no choice. If the spearman got chopped down, Stas wouldn't last much longer, falling to the same katana.
Ten meters passed so unnoticed that the man himself didn't realize how quickly he had crossed them.
The enemy commander, a fearsome mustachioed man, finally noticed the new threat and immediately tried to cut Stas's legs, but the earthling was on guard and didn't get too close.
"Stab!" the spearman hissed, straining to restrain the kicking foe. The tip of the embedded spear didn't properly penetrate the wooden armor and was more irritating to the swordsman than killing him.
Stas's hands didn't waver when his spear, missing its mark, slashed the commander's cheek, sinking deeply into the turf.
"You damn rats!" the swordsman raged. "You have no honor! Just let me get up, and I'll gut you like dead fish!"
'Stupid spear!' Ordyntsev cursed to himself, 'I'm as much a spearman as a bullet from crap!'
He didn't even think to aim the second strike at the head again, targeting where he couldn't possibly miss. The spear entered the enemy's belly with a wet crunch and, as if meeting no resistance, sank in.
The eyes of the enemy commander bulged, and dropping his sword, he grabbed the shaft, which Stas's comrade used to pull his own spear out from the breastplate. His second strike landed precisely on the neck of the lying foe.
Blood gushed out, and the eyes of the mustachioed man slowly rolled back.
"Phew!" the ashigaru wiped sweat from his brow, propped his spear into the ground, and broke into a crooked smile. "That was one tough boar we caught. Believe it or not, we slaughtered one just like that a couple of years ago in our village. That boar fought fiercely; the whole village beat him!"
Stas finally got a good look at his interlocutor.
The man, around forty years old, was thin, with an unpleasant sagging belly. Judging by the overall signs, Stas leaned toward attributing it to some disease rather than overeating. But despite the thinness and belly, it was clear from his knotted hands and muscular neck that the local was not so simple.
"But why am I talking only about myself," the ashigaru bowed slightly, bending at the waist, and Stas hurried to follow his example. "My name is Kansei. And what's your name, brother ashigaru?"
Stas slowly raised his hand to his head and then clearly stated, "Don't remember name. Got hit on the head."
The ashigaru frowned.
"Hit on the head? That's why you speak so strangely. And you forgot your name altogether?"
Stas just nodded, not trusting his new language.
"Well, then you're a lucky man that you haven't forgotten how to walk and stand," the spearman snorted, looking at Ordyntsev strangely. "Besides, there was already blood on your spear when you came, so you clearly fought before that. But never mind," he stared at Ordyntsev again. "Hey, lad, want to earn some money?"
"Yes." Stas thought it would be too suspicious to refuse such an offer.
"We took down that samurai, right?" the ashigaru nodded at the lying mustachioed man. "So it would be fair to share his silver, right? Half to you, half to me? And there's no need for anyone else to know, agreed?" Stas saw a flicker of greed in the man's eyes.
"Why in secret?" Stas asked this crucial question without letting his guard down for a moment. He had already realized that the only reason the ashigaru decided to strike a deal with him was because he feared starting a fight with someone he might not defeat.
"Kami didn't exactly shit flowers in your head, did they?" the warrior smirked. "Ashigaru are only allowed to take loot from ashigaru they've killed; the property of slain samurai belongs to the samurai. Even if the samurai were, sort of, killed by ordinary ashigaru. That's the law."
"And what will happen to those who break this law?"
"Their death will be harsh and painful," the warrior concluded. "So, do you agree?"
Stas just nodded, which made the spearman relax a bit. Obviously, if Ordyntsev had said "no," there was a chance that the "comrade" would try to bury him right there. What's the big deal, an unfinished samurai killed one wounded ashigaru?
Kansei acted skillfully and decisively. In the shortest time, a small pile of silver appeared on the ground. The coins, notably, had holes in the center and were tied together with thin ropes.
The division of the spoils again went quickly by eye. Stas didn't understand whether Kansei couldn't count or didn't want to waste time.
"Your share," the man extended his left hand with the coins. He held the spear quite seriously in his right. Stas did the same, carefully taking the offered sum.
As soon as the money disappeared into the ashigaru's bosoms, Kansei smiled much more amiably. Apparently, the fact that Ordyntsev had become a participant in the crime, just like him, reassured him.
"You're a good guy. And you clearly aren't afraid of blood; look how you nailed that samurai to the ground. If anything, drop by Master Taichi's camp. Ask around for the fire of the guys from Karoyama village. You'll be a valued guest! Master Taichi makes sure we always have good food bubbling in the pots, and he doesn't let us be slighted."
"Thank you," Stas replied reservedly, bowing slightly as a test. Judging by Kansei's calm demeanor, he had guessed right with the bow. "Once I come to my senses, I'll definitely consider it."
"Well, if you still can't remember your name, then I'm sure Shiro will suit you just fine," Kansei grinned at a joke only he understood. "Just like your snow-white skin. Good luck."
The men exchanged small bows, and Kansei cheerfully went about his business.
'The name Shiro, if translated, is a variation of the word "white".' Stas sorted out the information in his head, then grimaced in annoyance, 'To hell with him. They're all tanned here, and now I'm supposed to carry the name Shiro. I'll use it only as a last resort if there are no other options.'
Stas also decided not to linger at the crime scene and hastily walked away, having climbed the steep slope of the crater. Nevertheless, he felt a slight uplift in spirits.
From that short conversation, he learned several important everyday things, from greetings and farewells to a couple of local taboos.
Now that he had successfully passed the first test, it was time to move on to the second part of his plan to integrate into the local community.
And for that, he needed to develop a legend, but first, he had to gather information.
The pale-skinned man moved toward a particularly large gathering of huddled ashigaru.