5 Chapter 5

Striding to the door, Luke paused, studying the hubbub he could hear from where he stood. The sounds of a medical institution busy with its day-to-day activities reached his ears, and he filtered through each and everything he was hearing, looking for something that might pose a danger. He was mainly searching for signs of the two nurses who he wanted to avoid at all costs, and when it seemed that they were nowhere near, he opened the door a sliver and looked out.

An empty corridor came into his vision. He hesitated before stepping out; the bloodstained, grey pants he'd been wearing on the battlefield would definitely attract notice, so it might be best to change out of them.

He scanned the room he had woken up in again, but there was nothing he could use. Opening the door further, he grimaced and walked out, eyes darting everywhere to look for any threats or anything he could use.

The unadorned wooden walls were well-made, with no gaps or uneven surfaces that typically indicated shoddy workmanship. To his left, there was a row of similar doors ending at a wall in which a large window had been set, and on the other side, there were two doors followed by a large space bustling with people.

From where he was, he could see a desk behind which another nurse sat, her station evident by the red ribbon tied on top of her violet gown. A long row of people sporting various injuries, most minor, stretched out in front of her. There were rows of seats in front of the desk which were almost entirely occupied. Almost everyone was dressed in woolen clothes, in a medieval style he had never thought he would see with his eyes. Most of the colors were drab, and the contrast would have been quite sharp if they had been placed beside the haughty aristocrat who had visited him.

'Well, at least he will be easy to spot…'

Before anyone turned his way, he headed to the door on the left. Peeking in, he found a copy of his room, albeit with an old man sleeping on the bed, snoring loudly.

A quick scan told him that there were no clothes or weapons visible, so he went on to the next one. It was empty, along with the one beside it, but he hit the jackpot in the room right next to these two.

A middle-aged man with one hand that ended in a stump was sleeping on the bed. Clothes hung from the doorknob on the side of the door facing him. In a flash, Luke grabbed them and headed to his room.

He found a few kids with bleeding noses staring at him as he walked, but he ignored them. As soon as he stepped inside, he changed out of the pants and wore the stolen garments. They were a little loose, but they were still leagues better than the alternative. The white shirt, black pants, and brown coat were all itchy, and he had to resist the urge to scratch everywhere.

Before walking out this time, he stopped in front of the mirror. An unfamiliar face greeted him, and for a moment, his own face appeared in his vision, blending into what he was seeing in the mirror and then disappearing in the next second. Vertigo hit him suddenly and the world swam, but catching ahold of the washstand below helped him stay standing.

"Dain, what was that?" He asked, and the voice spoke up so quickly that he wondered whether it had been waiting with the answer.

"A synchronization event, sir. You are slowly making yourself at home in this new body. Seeing your new face was a significant step towards full synchronization. The more you get used to using it, the faster you will achieve full control over it."

Luke nodded. It was kind of like trying out a new car. You had to put it through its paces to truly understand what it was made of, so he placed a self-training session on top of his to-do list.

'I'll get to that right after I show that asshole who he was messing with…'

He grit his teeth as he remembered what had just happened in this room. The sound of them grinding reached his ears, and to distract himself, he studied his face in the mirror.

A man with a shock of black hair, piercing brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips looked back at him. They weren't the looks of a supermodel, but they also weren't ugly. They were just… odd, but he could guess that that might be because he missed his own face.

Stepping away, he walked out the door with a confident stride, pretending that he had every right to be where he was. Entering the large reception area, he looked around, and after a moment, he headed towards a flight of stairs to the left of the nurse.

It was obvious that that jerk was here to talk to all the soldiers who must've gotten injured in that skirmish. Knowing his type, he could tell that the guy was probably rushing in his task, not pausing in any room. That meant that wherever he was, the door would be open, and as all the doors in the corridor he had stepped into were closed, he was probably on the floor above.

Of course, he might be wrong and the guy might have left, but he hoped that that wasn't the case. He didn't know how many stories this building had and whether he would find more patient rooms upstairs, but it seemed like a logical assumption that it might be so, so he took the stairs two at a time, making sure that the nurse was swamped with whoever she was talking to so that she wouldn't pay any attention to him.

He emerged on a floor where there were rows of doors on both sides of him. They were all closed, too, so he headed up again.

The baldie's deep voice entered his ears the moment he stepped foot on the third floor. Hastily, he shrunk back, not wanting to expose himself, and from a safe distance, he heard a repeat of what the guy had said when he had entered his room.

Quietly, he went back down. The first step in his plan had been to confirm whether that lord was even still here. If he had left, he had been prepared to postpone his quest for revenge, but now that he'd found the answer, he needed to find a way to assuage the ball of burning affront in his mind.

Walking into the busy reception area, he took a seat on one of the chairs. Muting the world, he entered what he liked to call his strategy planning mode. His eyes took in his surroundings, filing away everything present while his mind played with the possibilities, looking for the right combination of risk and opportunity.

Everything he had thought before still applied. He still didn't know his position in the social hierarchy of this world, so he needed to remain hidden. That narrowed down the list of possibilities by a significant amount. When he added the criteria that whatever he did should humiliate that lord who definitely valued his pride above everything else, an idea struck him, and his gaze halted on the spot right beside the staircase where construction materials had been placed.

A grin came on his face when he visualized what was about to happen. The room was so packed that the nurse had no time to do anything else but talk to the patients in the long queue, so Luke faced no difficulty whatsoever in getting there and coming back with a few nails in his hand.

There were a couple of ways he could carry out the next step, but he wasn't happy with the chances of most of them. He hated depending on luck, so he searched for a way to eliminate that random factor.

Suddenly, what Dain had said before echoed in his mind. Apparently, this voice in his head could heighten his senses for a brief period of time and even take control of his body. If so…could it control his muscles and bring out more strength than what an average person should usually be able to use?

The concept was simple. If the right muscles were used for a punch, the strength that one could display was extraordinary. He had trained in boxing recently, and when the coach had shown him exactly how we could move so that a punch thrown would use the weight of his entire body, he had been quite impressed. Of course, he had been doing the same thing on instinct for a long while, so it had also been amusing to see his own methods being taught to him.

"Listen. I need to throw this nail with enough strength to make it stick in the wooden floor. Can you help with that?" He whispered in as low a tone as he was capable of, and the voice spoke up cheerfully.

"Of course, sir! I must say, you are quite smart. Apparently, world dominators usually take weeks, or even months to figure out the capabilities of their D.A.I.Ns. I only told you that I could take control of your body. I never said anything about enhancing strength, but you figured out that I can eke out every tiny drop of power when needed!"

Luke smiled at the compliment, even though it was a simple conclusion anyone with a half-good brain should be able to reach easily. Years of dealing with underlings who loved sucking up to their bosses had given him the ability to sniff out which compliments were fake and which were genuine, so he could tell that Dain was truly impressed by his deduction.

The room suddenly fell silent when the baldie appeared at the foot of the stairs. With just an intense glare, he shooed away the line of people blocking the central walkway which led to a door on the wall opposite the reception.

"Right on time. Get ready," he whispered just as the lord swept down, his lips curling as he took in the throng of people who had all moved aside and were staring at him with expressions that ranged from fear to adoration.

Luke had chosen a seat right beside where the jerk would be walking. An old lady had entered his row, but she wasn't near enough to hinder his movement.

The nails were crude, meaning that even the edge that wasn't pointed had sharp edges. Holding one in his hand, he waited for his opportunity.

Keeping his head down, he kept his breathing steady while Lord Whitmore headed to the exit. At the exact moment when he passed where Luke was sitting, he raised his hand and whispered, "Now!" before throwing the nail with all his might.

A strange feeling descended over him as he suddenly felt as if someone invisible was taking control of his hand. He felt it being guided to move in a way he would not have chosen. Instead of jabbing his hand forward to throw, it moved in an arc, releasing the nail at the perfect point to shoot it forth like a bullet.

'Incredible. This…can be invaluable in a fight.'

He suppressed thoughts like these and the surprised awe he felt as he watched the nail strike the jerk's maroon cape. The sudden tug backward made the lord lose balance. The cape also constricted his neck, making him choke for a second, and his reddened, startled face at that moment made Luke feel a deep sense of gratification.

Suppressing the urge to laugh, he tried to keep his face neutral. Everyone watched on, stunned, as the dignified lord fell flat on his ass and grasped at his throat. He recovered in barely a second, but his fierce eyes betrayed that he knew that he had sounded and looked like a shocked chicken just now.

The cool haughtiness returned, and he got to his feet. He tugged at the cape once, but it didn't give. If there was a way he could laugh without being seen, Luke would have been rolling on the floor by now. With a low growl, the lord raised his hand, and what he did next made all the mirth disappear from Luke's head.

Something shiny glinted at the edge of his coat sleeves on his skin, right behind his palm. He squeezed his left fist, and a spurt of blood flew out of that spot. On closer examination, Luke saw that it was a metallic hole that was on top of the lord's skin.

Drawing his hand back made the blood spray out in an arc. In a practiced motion, the lord opened his fist and moved it down, making his fingers close around the blood before it had a chance to fall. By the time they touched it…the blood flashed and transformed into a jagged, metallic shard.

Smoothly, Lord Whitmore swung it, cutting the cape as if it was made of butter. The moment he opened his hand, the black knife-like shard disappeared, and with a humph, he turned around and walked out.

In the shocked silence that cast its spell over the room, a weird thought entered Luke's head.

'We're even…but damn, I'm jealous. That was awesome!'