I have had the task of entering a new environment and catching and killing a murderer, then returning in little time. I pushed my mind to its limit only a few times in my old life. Closely remembered examples are hard to come by.

College finals were relatively simple for me, I absorbed information quickly and only needed to study for a few hours to refresh myself. That being said, there was a point in college when I did push myself.

The American Economic Thesis Competition. It was a nationwide event that happened when I was in college. I went to an obscure online school and at this point was planning to get my master's or PhD.

Honestly, I only really wanted to continue my education so that I could keep mooching off my parents. If I stayed in school, I could probably live with them longer. But to get into a higher education program I needed some accomplishments.

So I decided I would try and win this competition. For an entire month, I focused solely on crafting the perfect presentation of something I was confident in. My math skills weren't that good compared to my peers, nor was my strict conceptual knowledge. Which was why I focused on critique.

Even if I couldn’t craft new ideas like other people could, I was extremely good at tearing ideas apart. My target for my thesis presentation was to compare past public perceptions of the economy to the growth over the next few years.

I wanted to prove that everyone in the country was consistently wrong about the actual performance of their economy. I collected a ton of data, created perfect visualizations, I used tools from Excel to artificial intelligence to create the perfect method of data communication to match back up my points which I also crafted perfectly. My dad who majored in English in college even helped me with the speech I presented alongside my presentation.

After recording the video about a hundred times I submitted it. After a few months, the committee of PhD economists reached their conclusion. I won. In the mail with the letter stating that I won was the certificate of achievement.

I was the underdog that crushed Ivy League kids, and doors had opened up for me. When I came home again my parents set up a celebration for me. It was only the two of them and me, we had cake and talked for a while.

Then, when the night was over, I went into my room so that I could talk with someone other than my parents about my success. I opened my phone and then went to my contacts, only to be reminded of its emptiness.

This was a wake-up call for me. I had no reason to truly celebrate this, I got some random award, and I got congratulations from my parents, but did anything really change? No, it didn’t.

My paper award would hang up on my wall to be seen by me alone. I had no friends to show it off to, I had no girlfriend to help me rest after working so hard, the only thing truly different than a month before was I had a new slip of paper.

After checking the webpage and seeing my name on there with a copy of the certificate in my email I let my anger out on the piece of paper in front of me. The stupid thing wasted a month of my time for nothing, I kicked my chair over, ripped up the paper, threw stuff against my wall, and just sat there.

I flailed my arms around and made a mess in the fashion of a child’s temper tantrum, but it was all I could do. How else are you supposed to react when your greatest achievement is so heavily overshadowed by your emptiness and loneliness?

When my mom came into my room after hearing my tantrum end, she was shocked. This scene was no different than what had happened before, except for the ripped-up certificate on the floor.

She didn’t say a word to me as she picked up all the paper scraps. I ignored her for the rest of the night until I ran into her at the kitchen table at 11:30 pm. She was gluing together my certificate so late into the night on a work night. I simply dismissed her as acting stupid, but for some reason on the night of her funeral, I couldn’t get that image out of my head.

That was me in the past, now I’m different. I am strong, I am focused, I am thinking through everything, I see the products of my effort, and I don’t need the validation of anyone… no, that’s an understatement. I thrive on the hatred of others, it is proof that I am becoming what I need to be.

So I will put in the effort necessary to find this treacherous fuck, and then move on with my life. That is the nature of completing your mission.

For the first task of the day, I will be meeting with the fisherman. Of the four suspects, he is the least suspicious to me. For the first part, his home is on the farthest outskirts of the village. The suspicion of him mostly comes from his physical abilities and access to a fishing spear.

He has neither time nor methods of making a guard turn a blind eye pointing to him. Still, for the sake of due diligence, I should investigate him thoroughly. I can’t be overlooking anything.

The hut on the river was fairly small, as expected of a man living alone. When I knocked on the door nobody answered, I found him after walking around to the back of his yard where the river cut through.

A middle-aged man with an exhausted look on his face turned around and stared at me. He was holding a fishing pole with two buckets next to him. The one to his right had bait, and the one to his left had fish.

“Another soldier? Look I know nothing about those murders. You are the ones making our lives miserable, we weren’t doing anything to you. Maybe if you just get out of our village those murders will stop. Better yet, get out of our country.”

“I could say to you that submitting will make your problems go away, but I doubt you would listen. Anyways, how did you know I was here to talk about the murders?”

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“What else would a soldier talk to an old fisherman like me about?”

“Fair enough, I do find talking to you unpleasant. Anyways, show me your fishing spear and answer some questions. Cooperate and suspicion over your actions may dissipate.”

“Fine.”

He drew back his line, set his pole down, and walked over to a shed in his backyard. His back was hunched when he walked and he reeked of fish when he walked by. He has a very unpleasant atmosphere, well I find everyone unpleasant these days.

He took a long wooden spear with a specially shaped tip out of his shed. The spear tip had a small hook inside of it. If you stabbed a fish with that spear, pulling it would not remove that spearhead, but pull the fish out of the water with it.

“Here you are.” He handed it to me, “What do you nosy bastards want to know now?”

“Have you slept in the same building as anyone else on the night of any of the murders?”

“No, I always sleep alone.”

“Are there any guards in this village you talk to often or have some sort of connection to?”

“Yep, that boy Marcellus with the brown hair and eyes. He was a fisherman back home, he talks to me occasionally about fishing and buys some of my stock. But that’s it.”

“Who do you think killed these soldiers?”

“Well, it can only be one person.”

“Oh?”

“That retired soldier in the village of course.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’m sure arrogant people like you find this hard to understand, but some of us recognize there are people in the world stronger than us. Fishing toughens you up, but can I defeat a career soldier? No way in hell.”

“So the only person who could have performed these killings is someone in the same field?”

“That’s right. You see now?”

“How do I know the killer is not someone hiding their strength? How do I know you aren’t hiding your real strength from me?”

“If I was strong enough to kill soldiers with ease, I would have killed you a long time ago kid.”

“As I thought.”

I finished my questioning by kicking him in the stomach and leaving him rolling on the ground. The way he talked to me kind of pissed me off. Of course that retired soldier was always the number one suspect for that very reason. I decided that he would be the next person that I interviewed.

His house was just as small as the fisherman's place. The main difference was the remnants of someone else living in it, a woman. Aside from that the dining area had a lot fewer ingredients available.

There was a guard that was often stood near his home and looked nervous while I was in the building. I took note of it and then moved on.

The old man sat in his chair as I came in, he kept a sword on the side of it. He appeared to be in his mid-50s. His frame was surprisingly muscular and his hands were beaten up. He reminded me of old construction workers at my father's job back in my world. Strong for his age, yet you could tell his age affected him. A ring resided on his right hand.

Something else that stood out was his piercing glare. Even while being approached by someone as strong as I am, his attitude remained defiant. Some find that honorable, but I don’t give a fuck about honor, it’s just annoying.

“I would like you to answer some questions.”

“Ha, a kid coming into my house and acting like a big shot.”

“I’m stronger and more important than some decrepit old man at least. You will either answer my questions or have your head cut off.”

“Be my guest if you have the balls, but I doubt you can.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I was an officer once, nobody sends a cocky brat on a mission without a collar on him.”

“We can test how tight this collar is if that’s what you truly want.”

“More empty threats? I’m getting bored with this, get on with your questions.”

“What do you know about the murders that have been taking place in this village?”

“Nothing.”

“How long have you been retired from the military?”

“Since the end of the war.”

“War of the Yevenies?”

“Yeah.”

“What rank were you?”

“I was a captain.”

“Were you skilled?”

“More than you.”

“I doubt that. Who do you think did it?”

“I think the men just killed themselves. If I were a swine like you I’d want to die.”

“Do you have any friends, family, or acquaintances in this village?”

“No.”

“Really? Not even your dead wife had any friends?”

“Don’t speak of her kid.”

“Answer the questions.”

“She had friends, but I have nothing to do with them anymore.”

“Not even any acquaintances?”

“None, I remain alone… just like you I imagine.”

“I may come back for more questions.”

“Don’t waste your time.”

I left his house with very little information. The only useful thing I learned is his rank in the military, he seems to be quite confident too. Could he have the skill to pull these murders off?

As I was thinking about this a certain person passed me on the way to the old man's house. It was Carmina, the pregnant woman from the bakery I questioned yesterday. We were just a few feet away from the gate to his building. I begin to ask her about her appearance here.

“Why are you here?”

“I just came to speak with the old man.”

“Why would you do that? Are you friends or something?”

“Yeah, something like that… why are you asking about him? Why are you here?”

“I just finished interviewing him about the recent murders… how long have you two been friends?”

“For years. Why are you asking me about this?”

“No reason.”

I walk away after this. This is a strange new development certainly. I was not expecting to see the two of them together. The fisherman and the old man have both proved to be reasonable suspects, and that woman seems odd as well.

I suppose the next person to question will have to be the blacksmith, but that is something I will save for tomorrow. I only have a few more days left to find this killer, but I am certain there will be enough time. I don’t really care for rushing things.

I put my cloak over my head and then went to the local tavern to listen in on conversations from the locals, but nothing I heard stood out to me.

After returning to my tent, I got another awful night of sleep.