Parry stopped by the tavern (also the inn, also the bar, and quite possibly also overflow for the brothel) to spend his copper coins. In return he had a small lunch for later and an apple for now.

The road was dry and packed, the air clear, a few clouds, all in all a lovely day. It would have been more pleasant if he were riding his war gryphon at the head of six columns of hand-picked troops, ready to pacify the Earl's Uprising.

You have to let go of Overlord Parry, he doesn't exist. Even the power vacuum that produced him won't come around for decades. Walk with your own two feet.

That brought a worried frown that seemed out of place on a young teenager. He was weak. How many fighting techniques did he know by now? Perhaps all of them, including a few he synthesized himself. But there wasn't a lick of magic supplement, no spells of note, no training, no muscle memory. Just picking where to begin meant getting to know his body, and then improving it hard and fast.

In the same way, he had to get a better idea of where and when in the world he'd been reborn. He hadn't roamed Tyryn for two hundred years, subjectively. It's unlikely he'd left himself too many clues from his time here. And Tyryn had almost no bearing on any of the military, political or intellectual advancements he'd been enjoying (and replaying over and over) his last dozen or so lifetimes out east.

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You have to rebuild your body, rebuild your sense of the timeline and where you're living in it, and you need memory boosters. Good ones.

This is how almost every reincarnation began. It was a long hill to climb, but the territory was familiar. Unlike this road, which was completely new to him, sloping slightly down as he walked along. The boots were comfortable and long since broken in, he must be familiar with walking and possibly even hiking, clearly, from his skills.

To keep his mind alert, he identified flora and fauna along the way.

Sun larch grove over there, good place to find mushrooms after a rain. Ratweed by the road. It has to be late in spring, if those wyvernflies are bored with the flowers and interested in courtship.

Down and up a small rise, and he could see a river sparkling in the sun below him. There were several docks, a few structures, one obvious warehouse: clearly this was the road from town down to the trade waters. Would a master shaper set up a quiet workshop along here?

Parry tried to look with the eyes of a shaper. You need wood, water, stone, life, spirit and access to all the strange and wonderful exotic goods with which to bind and shape them.

There. The little complex along the river, down a mile from the staging area: not a farmhouse, but that's a pretty big garden. Four gardens that Parry could see just from this hilltop. Big family, or maybe a shaper growing all kinds of ingredients? It made sense.

Finishing his apple and tossing the core, Parry made his way down.