Snow, thin earth, a wordless tombstone.
He buried everything of the past in an empty grave.
From a sudden-death, depressed minor employee, he transmigrated into a young medieval noble who was being hunted down, retaining fragmented memories. He had been struggling for three years in this unfamiliar, desolate forest in Central Europe. Three years had allowed him to slowly integrate into this era, known as the darkest of times, and also to fully merge with this body, which retained the original owner's memories and inherited his abilities. His former name had been selectively forgotten; his current identity was Art Wood Wells, the son of a dispossessed Lombardy Baron, a hunter living in the desolate valley forest in the southern reaches of Burgundy County.
Three years ago, the original owner of this body, Art Wood Wells, then only eighteen and severely wounded, followed his father, who had been stripped of his title and lands, fleeing north from their pursuers, and escaped into this dense forest. The original Art's injuries, left untreated, led to his death one dark night. It was at this moment that he, who had died suddenly in another dimension, had his soul possess this body with its remaining memories.
The already deceased Art miraculously came back to life, but Art's father, consumed by hatred for the massacre of his family, died of depression not long after. On his deathbed, Old Wells handed the knight's sword that had accompanied him his entire life to the constantly distracted Art, making him swear to wash away the shame and restore the Wells Family.
For three years, the transmigrated soul had been living in this forest, relying on the original owner's instincts, surviving by hunting.
He couldn't predict the future of this world because he wasn't familiar with the history of this era in his previous life. Moreover, he vaguely realized that this world was merely a similar dimension; everything was seemingly alike yet not, similar yet different. Coming to such a world, perhaps he could only continue to hide in the desolate valley forest, wasting his life away.
It wasn't until a severe illness two days ago that he struggled several times at the gates of hell, almost losing his life again. After surviving, he had a sudden realization and finally decided not to let his second life continue in such a precarious manner.
.........
Bending down, he spread the last handful of snow-covered earth onto the grave. He touched the wooden tombstone, silently thinking, "Burying everything of the past. From this moment on, I am Art Wood Wells. I belong to this era." Then, the soul transmigrator, who now called himself Art, picked up the horn bow leaning against the tombstone and walked into the dense forest without looking back.
No matter what grand ambitions he held, the most important thing right now was to survive first.
...
Under a wolf-skin felt hat, a pair of hawk-like eyes quietly observed the surroundings. Suddenly, he raised his hand and drew a horn bow, and an armor-piercing arrow shot forth—
“Poof~” A wild boar, its eye socket pierced by the sharp arrow, bolted a few steps in pain before collapsing with a thud into a snowdrift, twitching its limbs and letting out continuous wails.
Art rushed forward, drew a short knife with a dark red metallic sheen, and plunged it into the boar's heart. Moments later, the white snow was stained a reddish-brown...
On the white snowy path, a dark red trail stretched deep into the jungle...
A wisp of cooking smoke was rising. At this moment, by the stream in front of the wooden cabin, Art was cleaning the entrails of his prey; the bone-chilling stream water hung like icicles from his long hair bun.
Art buried most of the entrails, then, carrying the prey's heart, liver, and other organs, turned and entered the small wooden cabin. Compared to the bone-chilling outdoors, the small wooden cabin was surprisingly warm. The walls, built from rough and thick logs, and the tightly sealed roof, made of stacked winter thatch, kept the cold out. A roaring fire in the stone-built hearth in the center of the cabin filled the small wooden house with waves of heat. At the very back of the cabin was a wooden bed covered with straw and animal furs. Hanging on the wall were a horn bow and an oak single bow, with a leather quiver full of arrows suspended nearby. A short sword, about two feet long, hung on the wall, and the surrounding walls of the wooden cabin were covered with various animal furs.
Several pieces of wild boar meat were bubbling in a clay pot, releasing a fragrant aroma.
Art casually tossed the entrails into the pot, picked up a wooden spoon, scooped up some soup, and slurped it from the spoon. The scalding hot soup flowed into his stomach, a warm current rising, making him feel completely comfortable...
A hearty wild boar meal left him, newly recovered from a serious illness, feeling incredibly satisfied.
Night fell, and this Central European forest became even quieter.
Art dragged a large wooden chest from under the bed, unlocked it, and slowly lifted the lid. A delicate chainmail lay quietly inside, glinting with a silver light in the flickering firelight. He lifted the heavy chainmail with both hands, feeling its coldness and power~
He wiped each iron ring of the chainmail with a piece of linen cloth soaked in hot oil, his thoughts drifting as he pondered how to fulfill the original owner's long-cherished wish...
The wolf howling outside interrupted Art's thoughts. He got up, took down the short sword from the wall, picked up a foot-and-a-half hunting knife from the table, wrapped himself in a bear-skin coat, and went outside, opening the traps around the wooden palisade surrounding the cabin one by one.
Returning to the wooden cabin, he brushed the fallen snow from his head, closed the wooden door, and walked to the center of the room. He picked up a few pieces of firewood and threw them into the fire. He continued to the wooden chest, lifted the chainmail, and gently placed it on the bed. The bottom of the wooden chest revealed a white tunic, a leather belt, a leather upper body armor, and black long boots. A three-and-a-half-foot knight's sword lay quietly there, its Wootz steel blade covered with fine patterns from heavy hammering, its dark gray metallic luster unable to conceal the reddish-black blood stains...
Morning light, accompanied by a chill, permeated the small wooden cabin. In the almost burnt-out fire pit, a faint reddish glow of embers still remained.
Art pushed aside the wool blanket, got up, put on his linen undershirt, wrapped himself in the bear-skin greatcoat from the head of the bed, and went to the wooden tub filled with clear water. He cupped his hands, scooped up the icy cold water, and splashed it onto his face~
"Ah~ Comfortable!"
After a loud shout, Art felt completely awake.
The clay pot boiled the leftover broth from last night. He sprinkled a handful of black, hard breadcrumbs into the soup. A wooden bowl of fragrant pork and bread soup made for a hearty breakfast for Art.
Art looked outside the palisade. Centuries of division and warfare in this empire had turned this valley forest into a no-man's-land, a kingdom for animals. Brown bears, forest wolves, elk, wild boars, goats, wild foxes, mountain rabbits, and various other animals thrived here.
Throughout the entire autumn before the long winter arrived, Art had been traversing the jungle, dealing with fierce beasts and cunning foxes. The months of hard work were worth it; various furs now covered the walls, including a bear skin and two excellent deer skins. Unfortunately, the wolf skin was damaged; the ferocious wolf, after being trapped for three days, still erupted in a brutal struggle, and Art had to continuously stab the wolf's abdomen with his hunting knife during the desperate fight.
Art rarely left the valley, firstly because the enemies had not ceased their pursuit of the “remnants” of the Wells Family over the years, making the outside world full of dangers. Secondly, life outside was no easier than in the valley, especially for an “outsider” barely surviving on the fragmented memories of the original owner. However, the long winter was approaching, and Art had to prepare salt, barley, bread, and some daily necessities for the winter before the heavy snow sealed off the mountains.
At the end of a wilderness north of the desolate valley, five days' journey from the valley, lay Tinietz County, a small town in the southernmost part of Burgundy County, and the closest castle with a free market to his valley refuge.
After breakfast, Art began to pack his belongings. He took down the furs from the wooden wall and laid them flat on the ground outside the wooden cabin door, arranging them one by one. Nearly forty furs of various sizes were wrapped in old linen cloth, then tied into a thick stack with ropes made of vines. He turned and entered the wooden cabin, standing on tiptoes to take down a piece of smoked venison, weighing about thirty pounds, hanging from a beam above the fire pit. He wrapped it in birch bark and placed it on top of the furs.
After finishing all this, a thin layer of sweat appeared on Art's forehead.
After a short rest, Art went to the wooden bed, bent down, and dragged out the wooden chest from under the bed. He opened it and took out a sheepskin money pouch. The jingling pouch contained the only money Art had left from these years—ten Mark large silver coins, twenty-four Denier small silver coins, and a pile of copper fenny. Art took out five Marks, ten Deniers, and a handful of fenny and put them into another leather money pouch. Next, he took out a thick linen cloth package, took the last three-pound mixed-grain bread from the clay pot used for storing food, and then used his hunting knife to cut down a piece of wild boar meat from the wooden beam that hadn't been smoked yet, a small packet of salt wrapped in leaves, packed the food for his journey, then turned to take down the short sword and tie it to his waist, slung the horn bow and leather quiver over his back, inserted a dark, shining hunting knife into its sheath, picked up the rabbit-skin felt hat from the head of the bed and put it on, walked out of the wooden cabin, tied the wooden door securely with a strong vine rope, hoisted the large bundle of furs onto his shoulder, and set off on his journey to the Tinietz fur trade...
