Chapter 4: The True Protagonist, Ulyan

As Leo leaned into the tent, he was immediately driven back by a stench so foul it nearly made him retch. The overpowering reek of dirty hair, sweaty feet, mold, and decay was suffocating. This was worse than a dog’s den! What a rat’s nest!

His face twisted from the assault, and even with the protection of his predecessor’s constitution, the smell clinging to his body was quickly pushing him to his limits. He hadn’t anticipated that his living quarters would be so dreadful.

He dragged all the foul-smelling furs out of the tent, rummaging through them until he found two that were still intact—a large and a small polar bear pelt. These, at least, were serviceable. He tossed the smaller one to the little “Mouse” and beckoned, “Come with me.”

When Mouse didn’t move, Leo grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and easily carried him along to the riverbank.

It was midday, and the sun shone brightly, lending a touch of warmth to the biting winter day. Leo found a sheltered spot behind a boulder, tossed the bear pelts into the water, and stomped on them. Instantly, a torrent of dirty water oozed out, and a rainbow sheen of greasy filth spread across the surface. Leo couldn’t help but click his tongue in amazement.

He undid the brace on his injured left arm, struggled out of his clothes, and glanced at the dazed Mouse. “Come on, help me out,” he said.

Mouse shuffled over and helped Leo remove his filthy garments. Naked in the river, Leo shivered as he took a rag and scrubbed the grime from his thighs. The inky water swirled around him, and as the filth was washed away, his skin lightened visibly. A strange, inexplicable sense of comfort filled him.

“When was the last time I had a bath?” he wondered. There wasn’t a single memory fragment from his predecessor that could answer that.

Unable to move easily, Leo sat on a rock in the water and tossed the rag to Mouse. “Come scrub my back. Do a good job and I’ll reward you with a black bread.”

At the mention of black bread, Mouse’s eyes lit up. He leapt into the river, grabbed the rag, and scrubbed Leo’s back with all his might. His trousers soaked in the water, and the thick, hardened layer of mud caked on them softened and sloughed off as sludge.

From Leo’s childhood memories, he knew that this thick coat of mud was Mouse’s way of staying warm. With such thin, tattered clothing, it was the only way to keep out the cold wind. Once Mouse finished bathing, he’d probably roll in a mud pit again, taking advantage of the sunlight.

A few minutes of scrubbing left Mouse panting and weak-limbed. Leo looked at his reflection in the water—golden hair, sharp features, well-defined muscles—a textbook specimen of a northern barbarian.

Though only seventeen, he already cut a figure of robust manhood. His predecessor had grown up wild, but at least he was strong enough, and “diligent” enough. If there was anything delicious to be found, he’d sniff it out; not a single smoked sausage survived the winter. The woods outside the village were riddled with his traps, and the local mice and rabbits were nearly wiped out. He’d eaten so much that even the larger predators had to migrate to avoid him. When it came to eating, if he claimed second place, no one else would dare claim first.

Looking at the muddy, dripping Mouse, Leo wrinkled his nose. “You need a bath, too. You’re filthy and you reek. The sun’s out—wash your clothes while you’re at it.”

Mouse stood there, motionless.

“A real man isn’t afraid of the cold. Jump into the water—it’s warm enough!” Leo urged.

“...”

“Take off your clothes!” Leo threatened impatiently. “No bread if you don’t!”

At last, Mouse slowly peeled off his layer of filthy, unrecognizable rags, revealing a yellowed silk nightshirt underneath. When he removed that, the two of them stood naked, face to face—a stark contrast between Leo’s solid muscles and Mouse’s jutting bones.

Leo flexed his arm and showed off his biceps with pride. “Look, I could take on a hundred like you…”

He trailed off mid-boast. Wait—where was Mouse’s…?

He quickly snatched up the small bear pelt and wrapped Mouse in it, demanding, “Where’s your—?”

But then he realized how ridiculous the question was.

Mouse, still blank and wooden, only timidly whispered after Leo carried her ashore, “Will I still get the bread?”

Cradling Mouse in one arm, Leo returned to camp and found Olivia, who was busy with chores. He scratched his head sheepishly and asked, “Could you boil a pot of hot water for me?”

“What for?” Olivia asked, coming over and sniffing him. She nodded in approval. “Haven’t you already washed?”

“This little girl hasn’t. If she bathes in cold water, I’m afraid she’ll freeze.”

“Hmph. You feed her, shelter her, and now you’re giving her hot baths—you really know how to spoil people, don’t you?” Olivia sniffed dismissively, turning away but still taking Mouse by the hand and leading her toward another tent.

Mouse clearly knew Olivia; she hurried to snuggle closer, but Olivia subtly loosened her grip and kept her distance. Mouse didn’t seem to mind, dutifully following her inside.

Leo couldn’t follow, so he ducked into Uncle Ulyan’s tent instead.

As the caravan’s leader, Ulyan had the largest tent, with even a separate partition. In the outer room, a round table stood with a map pinned to it by a dagger, surrounded by people.

Ulyan was issuing orders, and the main figures of the caravan stood respectfully by, responding promptly when called, without a word of dissent. The atmosphere was that of a military council.

A retired Imperial sergeant, Ulyan had, in just a year, won the loyalty of everyone in the village with his far-sighted judgment and decisive leadership, becoming the unchallenged authority in the settlement. Even from a transmigrator’s perspective, Leo had to admit Ulyan’s string of bold moves was impressive—enough to make one suspect he was the true protagonist of the story.

Upon returning home, Ulyan quickly assessed the village’s situation, spent his savings on grain, recruited militia, and forged weapons. In short order, he raised a force of about fifty men. After months of feeding and drilling them, he led them in clearing out wild beast lairs and hostile tribes, expanding the village’s territory.

He even persuaded a small merchant caravan to alter their trade route and pass through the village, allowing them to sell their stores of furs, animal teeth, and herbs.

Unfortunately, the village’s brief prosperity was cut short by the sudden incursion of a beastman scouting party. After a period of resistance, most surrounding villages were reduced to ruins. Realizing it was futile to hold out, Ulyan swiftly gathered refugees, expanded his militia, and used his decade of military contacts to secure a colonization permit.

He paid a hefty price to wipe out a wolf den and successfully hunted a herd of wild cattle, turning them all into preserved meat and warm tents.

Finally, he set fire to the village, leading everyone on a migration.

Before burning the village, he’d sent messengers several times to the local knight-lord for help, but as expected, received no response.

When the “refugee caravan, home destroyed by beastmen,” arrived at the town’s outskirts, the knight turned them away with a look of disdain, tossing a cart of bran for them to fend for themselves.

With “no way out,” the refugees could only journey further south, following Ulyan’s promise of a new and better homeland.