CHAPTER 13 A STEP FORWARD
Waking up and squinting one eye, I saw that a dense early morning darkness reigned outside, which I promptly shut out. But after a couple of minutes, realizing that sleep had abandoned me completely and was not coming back, I stretched, opened both eyes, and got out of bed in one fluid motion.
"Well done, yawn, no need to sleep," I muttered to myself, simultaneously yawning and stretching. "While you sleep, the enemy is on the move!" A feeling of calm and... internal unity, I guess? Hard to explain, but it significantly improved my mood.
In this elevated mood, humming a somewhat meaningless melody, I made my way to the bathroom. I emerged feeling refreshed and in an even more positive mood. And even the need to take my "medicine" couldn't spoil my morning.
“A sinister and alien world
will tremble under my great sword.
I'm a monster and a lord,
a blade master!”* I sang with a zest as I dressed.
"By the way, yes! I have some time; it wouldn't hurt to conduct a few experiments. And some exercise wouldn't hurt," I thought, dressing, then summoned my cargo-passenger, Bucephalus. Handing an overgrown Neanderthal a bag filled with useful odds and ends like the branded cookies bought at the restaurant, a flask, and a cloak, I contemplated the giant thoughtfully.
"I should probably get him a backpack or a shoulder bag. He'll carry trophies and valuables."
"Maybe I should rename you to 'Loader'?" I looked up, addressing the enormous individual who held two bags in his massive hands. "Although, no, it's not dignified," I pondered, rubbing my chin. "You'll be 'Prapor*.'" Satisfied with my choice, I sent the puppet carrying his payload back to the spatial pocket.
/ * - Ensign /
In life, this individual had some grandiose and foolish nickname. What else can you expect from a Master who became the leader of a motley crew of fighters for "freedom and justice"? The freedom of all those met from extra money and a fair redistribution of benefits in favor of gang members, of course. Whether it was Duke Skullcrusher, Joe Gutwrencher, or something else, it all had to do with flesh and violence.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
In life, the strapping lad enjoyed having fun, tearing enemies to pieces, and artistically decorating the surroundings with original installations that often left the guards and garrison soldiers terrified to the point of soiling their pants. And the fate of his, um, "chosen ones"! Quite an unappetizing spectacle. In other words, a typical representative of "bad" revolutionaries. It makes one wonder: how did they persuade him to fight for the "common good," and how did he interact with the other insurgents?
I have my doubts that such an ally will simply follow orders from the Center. Although, if the directive sounds like "plunder and kill everyone in such-and-such area," then why not?
And someone else will probably argue about how the revolutionaries are better than the rotten imperials! No matter what I say, some of the missions in the other world didn't particularly bother me. After all, someone has to clean up the human filth that's too powerful for the police and regular soldiers.
In short, the new name and occupation for my puppet looked much better than the old ones. Perhaps our healthy fellow wouldn't have agreed to it, but who's going to ask him? While I may be a mentally unstable killer, addict, and necromancer with unclear gender self-identification, my madness isn't so profound that I'll obey my dolls.
I recalled my one reasonable minion and our agreement.
"I'm not that insane," I thought... or was it "we're not that insane"? Hee-hee, "We are Kurome!" The thought played in my mind, in various voices of different genders and ages. "Or is it still?" I teased myself, stretching my lips into a manic grin.
"Authentic," I concluded, looking into the mirror. Despite the youthful and almost childlike appearance, the grimace of a maniacal psychopath had turned out sufficiently eerie and repulsive. Chuckling cheerfully, I executed a little dance and turned away from my reflection.
In reality, the gender issue didn't trouble me much. While the Base taught us to adhere to the standards accepted in the Empire, it was mostly a role-play to avoid drawing public attention. The same applied to the differences between the social roles of boys and girls. Ask any of the newcomers to the missions, "Who are you?" and they would reply, "I'm an Imperial assassin." They would then provide their ranking number, preferred weapon, path of development, and so on. Somewhere at the end of the list, the respondent would recall— if they remembered— their less important information about their gender. As for the desire to establish a new family and have children, that wasn't even on the radar. We should just survive to begin with.
Of course, our girls probably wouldn't become mothers, even if my adventure ended successfully. The boys had better luck, but as for the rest of us, liberated from monthly cycles, it seemed that we were sterilized. The consequences of the alchemical mixture might not be irreversible, but knowing General Bill, you could interpret his offhand comment, "now they won't get pregnant," quite radically. It's a shame, especially for the other girls.
In his past life, Viktor also didn't believe that the reproductive organ was the main value for a "real man" or the defining factor of "manliness." Especially considering the spinal injury that stopped "Young Viktor's" clock at half-past six. Who would want to consider themselves less of a human being? In short, the instincts in both parts of my personality were too weak to seriously worry or, heaven forbid, have a hysterical breakdown about the fact that I used to be a guy and now I'm a girl.
No, if we were staying in a patriarchal village with Akame, where a girl was destined for early marriage, church, kitchen work, and heavy labor, this issue might be a real concern. But here...
What, when you get down to it, is the difference? Besides the physiological aspects, of course. Well, perhaps slightly stronger emotions, easier to share attention and a little more difficult to concentrate for a long time, thinking "deep into" about one thing. Well, a little more perseverance, cleanliness, and attention to personal appearance. And... that's it?
It somehow seems like not enough.