CHAPTER 2; THE MORNING BIRDS SONG.
After about a day, he’s learned many things. First, although this body lives in an incredibly small space, he has an exorbitant amount of money.
Judging by the words written on the coins found scattered everywhere in the house, this world uses a coin system referred to as Sovk. Why’d they write the difference between each coin on the back of them? Clearly, just in case a situation like this happen.
The Sovk coin has three different types; Copper parts, silver parts, and gold pieces. A silver part would equal 13 copper parts, and 1 gold piece equals 25 silver parts.
1 gold = 25 silver = 325 copper.
This body has about 1,500 gold pieces inside this little safe. He could imagine the almost infinite amount of copper parts and silver parts that would be. Of course, he doesn’t think these pieces are pure gold, since to make up for manufacturing costs they should need to mix it in with something.
What a valuable thing a single gold coin is. So valuable, he came to wonder why this body had never used it. Regardless, the problem of funds is not one to worry about as of now. Should he look for the first cult member?
But… What would this cult be about? He didn’t find the prospect of masquerading as a God amusing. Even the role of a Saint would be better. He refused to become an Apostle, and even if he did, how could he fake being one?
It didn’t take much for him to decide on being a prophet; After all, he does have the power of one. There are many events written in this diary and approximately 12 of them occur within the next 10 months.
Based on the extensive research written in other notebooks not labeled ‘diary’, this body wasn’t lying about his prophetic abilities and clearly had someone to prove that to. The only question was the identity of that unknown figure.
Even through the intense concentration, the pain in his throat was heavy. He intends to go to a clinic nearby, praying the costs aren’t too heavy. He still wants to save as much as possible, of course.
After resting for a little, the emptiness in his stomach grew almost impossible to ignore. The rain was still going strong, and he wasn’t sure this body wouldn’t get a cold in the downpour.
Walking to something he presumed to be a closet, he opened the door to see plenty of lounge garb and coats. Many of these clothes were of solid colors, and few had more intricate details, but those were clearly of higher quality as well.
He’d thought briefly and decided to fit in, dolling up in an intricately designed black coat, a black waistcoat, and a white dress shirt underneath. Similarly black slacks found its home on slender, long legs and after accessorizing himself with a gold watch he’d found in the closet as well.
He left the room and walked into a surprisingly tidy place, with its many books organized into shelves and a clean kitchen with few candles still lit. A hangar stood by the wooden door, with a hat and thicker coats hanging on it. An umbrella stood on the floor against the hangar.
This body indeed left home, at least occasionally. The hat was a dark brown, and when he went to grab it and looked inside, there were two initials carved into it. Perhaps it’s the name of the manufacturer, he thought as he put it on.
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He grabbed the umbrella and stepped outside the door, turning around to lock it. He digs inside his pockets and pulls the key out, locking the door and walking away.
The hall has a low ceiling, holding the odor of depravity. Lowering his face slightly, his lips faintly contort in displeasure. Wherever he lived before, the smell was certainly more pleasant than this. How disgusting, he wanted to say.
The umbrella in his hand stayed closed as he walked in the direction of wherever he assumed the exit to be. Two doors, larger than the rest he’d seen so far, appeared in his sight. One was slightly broken, he noticed, but the other was fine.
He pushed the door that was broken lightly, and it slowly swung open until it hit the wall behind it with a thud. How odd, he thought briefly. But once he walked out of the complex such thoughts were labeled unnecessary.
As he looked up at the sky, it was an endless expanse of gray clouds and torrents of rain, hounding those who did not have protection and ‘avoiding’ those who did. The crowds were not quiet but not loud either—people must be in a rush to get to where they need to be.
Looking around, although there were street signs here and there, there weren’t any visible clinics. He decided to ask around, and walked up to someone he presumed gentler in gait.
Pushing through the pain, he tapped on their shoulder. “Sire, may I inquire where the nearest clinic may be?” As their gazes met, he pointed at his neck and hoped for the best. His throat was hoarse, so perhaps the man would assume he has soreness or something.
The stranger looked at him quietly for a moment before looking at his neck. Their green irises seemed to dilate, and their lips twitched in confusion. “Sir, are you okay?! I’ll take you myself!”
They grabbed his wrist tightly, and he winced in slight pain. The stranger didn’t notice, so the state of his neck must be horrible. His umbrella collided with numerous people along the way, but every time they’d want to pick a fight they paled and hurried away.
The green-eyed fellow stopped in front of a pristine looking building with somewhat familiar letters on it. They turned and looked at him with a tense expression, before turning away in thought, and seemingly deciding on something, pulling him inside.
“What’s your name?” The stranger said as they tapped their shoe on the floor anxiously. They likely needed it for check-in.
“My name is…” He paused.
What was his name?
Could he make something up?
Right now?
Before he could continue, the person in front of them had walked away and they pulled him forward.
The person writing down on paper in front of the two seemed to recognize him. “Ah, I remember you. What name did you make up last time? Angra Hegesias, right? Will you use it again? Really, when are you going to stick with a name?”
As she chat up a storm scolding him, the stranger’s grip tightened with tension and he grew impatient. “Lady, can you hurry it up? Do you not see his neck?”
Irked by the disrespectful tone, she seemed to have stood because of the stranger’s disrespect before fully seeing the injured neck he’d badgered her about.
Various spots on his neck were a bright red reminiscent of camellia. A few darker, bigger areas were a deeper shade of purple. Overall, it looked like he’d escaped a killer.
“Oh, oh my!” Her breath heaved as her face winced in horror as she laid a hand on her chest. “I sincerely apologize, oh Lord! Get a Healer or Apothecary, please!”
She turned to one of her coworkers who immediately listened to her request. Meanwhile, the injured man began thinking about her earlier words despite the ruckus and tight grip on his wrist.
What was he to make out of the woman’s words, especially her comment having plenty of ‘doctored’ names? Angra Hegesias, despite being such a pretty name, was one of many.
Shall he make use of it, or doctor a new one?
Angra Hegesias, he murmured without making a sound. It was a name that stuck on the tongue. It was suitable for now.
Angra turned his gaze to look at the stranger who’d dragged him here. The man looked very special—someone who could be of great use to him. He looked to be someone who stood vibrantly, even in the distance.
A unique-looking Healer came by as soon as those thoughts crossed his mind. They immediately led him to a small and private room where he began receiving treatment for his neck injuries.
The man from earlier seemed hesitant to follow him in, but ended up doing so seeing Angra’s pleading gaze. His parted lips indicated his interest in speaking, but they pursed. After half an hour’s silence, Angra was incredibly bored.
“Name?” He spoke softly, feigning gentleness.
His eyes seemed to warm for a brief time before speaking quietly. “Hellain Saint, sire. I apologize for making you speak first, given how the land lies. I’m socially inept, you see…”
The only question for Hellain in Angra’s heart was if it was normal for someone to care so much about a random person’s injury. He didn’t give much thought to ‘social ineptitude’.