3 A New World

"Daemon! Wake up!"

A soft yet imperious voice threw me violently into the real world. I opened my eyes wide to see the thatched vaulted ceiling above me.

"I'll be right there!" I jumped off that uncomfortable bed, washed myself with two handfuls of cold water, replaced the patched shirt with the uniform, and in a few moments I was downstairs.

Scalia and Zorech were already sitting at the table eating their meager breakfast of biscuits, watered down milk and, just for my father, hot cider.

"Finally." protested my sister angrily flicking her tail "Do you know what time it is?"

"I'm sorry, Scalia. I was fast asleep and so..."

"Enough with excuses. You are over ten years old. It's time you learned to be more responsible. I'm not asking for much. It would be enough if you woke up without having to call you three or four times."

"Come on, Scalia, don't be so harsh." Zorech said, scratching the horn at the base of his chin. "He studied until late last night after all."

"You too, father?"

This was my new family. My father, a five-hundred-year-old dragon with clipped wings, a lizard-like snout, and a body covered in blue and gray scales, and his dark-skinned, half-blood daughter.

And me? I was a human, as Faucheur –the only name I could think of for my funeral patron, since he refused to reveal his true identity to me- had predicted.

My name? Daemon.

It had been two months since my awakening in this world; or rather, from when the memories of my past life awoken in me. Because from what I was able to understand I had been living with these monsters since the day of my birth.

And when I say monsters, I don't mean it in a derogatory manner. That was what everyone called them: monsters.

It had taken me a while to assimilate my past memories with the current ones my new body had been collecting; in this way, my newly awakened conscience was able to quickly metabolize the language, culture and alphabet of that world, to the point that now reading, speaking, and understanding the local idiom came naturally to me... again.

"Hurry up and get some breakfast now, Daemon. It's late, and you have to go to school."

"Yes, father." I swallowed a couple of apples and a glass of milk. Then, I picked up the briefcase resting on a bench, and, wishing a good day to my relatives, I went out.

Although the rain had washed away the stench and brightened the sky, the Ende ghetto was still the same open-air sewer as ever. Four wooden walls served as a fence on a raised embankment and bordered the small and sea of run-down huts grouped into four blocks and divided by two streets that, joined in the center, formed a small square. The Empire's famous attention to detail and geometric order appeared even in the way it housed its slaves.

Because that's what the monsters were: slaves.

Every creature with distorted or animalistic features and a bit of self-consciousness was called a monster by humans. With very few exceptions, they were the workforce on whose blood, sweat, and bone the Saedonian Empire had built its greatness.

Which begged the question: why should monsters take care of an orphan of the same species that treat them like animals? Especially at the cost of great risk to themselves and even greater sacrifices?

The answer was as simple as obvious: empathy.

First, a newborn is always innocent of the crimes committed by its species. Furthermore, abandoning a newborn in such a remote place a stone's throw from the border meant condemning him to death. At least, that's what I assumed they might have thought, because rummaging through my childhood memories I couldn't find a single time they had answered my questions on the subject when I had asked.

Obviously, they hadn't made me sign a blank cheque. A kind of pact had been made when they took me in. I could only stay in the ghetto until I was sixteen, after which I would have to leave, never to return.

This is why they were now trying so hard to send me to school. They'd even created me a false identity to allow me to go to the village and make friends. I had to learn the skills and knowledge necessary to find my way out of Ende.

As I cautiously walked to the shack behind our house, I could see the monsters already lined up in front of the border entrance, silently waiting for the overseers who would lead them to the work camps. There were no shackles, no ropes, and no other constraints whatsoever. Each slave carried his own chain within him, in the form of a small magical stone placed at the base of the neck under the skin. Through the stone, it was possible for any guard to inflict all sorts of pain by simply moving a finger.

Because yes, magic too existed in this world. And I'm not talking about those charlatan and smoke-selling things of my old world, but real magic. I still didn't quite understand how it worked or what exactly was. That was largely why I loved going to school; any information I could find on that world and its rules would be very useful to me in understanding how to fulfill my task.

But the minutes were going by, and I was terribly late already.

The tunnel that started inside the barracks and reached a small cabin in the heart of the forest had already existed for several years. Its main purpose was to supply slaves with foodstuffs in secret to supplement their poor rations. In the said cabin lived a satyr, Drufo, who as far as everyone knew in the outside world was only the slave of one Mr. Jacob Haselworth, was also my uncle and guardian.

Obviously, Mr. Haselworth was a being made of air, as fake as a three goldie coin, the result of a show that only in such a poorly managed place and so far from the capital could not be unearthed by the rigid imperial bureaucracy.

"Finally, where in the world were you?" Drufo muttered as he opened the trapdoor under his cot to let me through.

"Sorry Drufo, I overslept."

"Then hurry up and get out of the way. I've been hunting all night, and now I'm the one who wants to sleep."

Without getting lost in further discussions, I left the house and started running along the dirt road, reaching in a few minutes the path that led me to the gates of Dundee.

Dundee had a respectable defensive system for a small town, with turreted walls, defensive gates, and a legion fortress on the hill just to the south.

They were all remnants of more than a hundred years of tensions with the neighboring Union. The very fact that the towers were now deserted, the fortress almost abandoned, and only a couple of bored city guards were stationed at the gates proved that those times now lived only in the memories of the elders.

As I entered the classroom, a beautiful little girl with glasses and a long braid greeted me, "Good morning, Daemon."

"Good morning, Mary."

"Did you oversleep? I was getting used to your new punctuality."

"I am sorry. I studied until midnight. This morning, my uncle had to yell a lot to get me up."

"You studied till midnight!?" exclaimed redheaded Giselle from the desk next to mine. "I wouldn't believe it even if I saw it."

"You should," Septimus said from the back of the room. "Daemon has grown into a good schoolboy by now. He doesn't even come throw balls of mud at those militia pigs anymore."

"Stop it and learn from him," Mary scolded them. "Daemon, how about we go to the library together today?"

"I'd love that."

"What? You promised that today we would train together!"

"Sorry Septimus, but I still have a lot of stuff to catch up on."

"You can still train with me," Giselle hissed at him with the eyes of a tiger.

"Not at all! You almost dislocated my shoulder last time! How can you be so strong?"

"I'm still an innkeeper's daughter."

The actual reason was quite different but wasn't for me to reveal it; and those two got along so well that I didn't feel like putting my nose into their brat-like quarrels.

"Stand!" Mary ordered as soon as the teacher showed up in class.

As usual, the first hour was dedicated to history, which I immediately began to ignore. By now, I knew by heart all about the Holy Wars, the glorious resistance of the great Empire, the Seven Nations and everything else. Judging by the faces of my companions, it was the same for them.

Instead, my attention was soon caught by what was happening in the square in front of the school, where the weekly market was in full swing. Despite the closed windows, one could hear the loud voice of the auctioneer who was trying to push up the value of his goods as much as possible, passing off pebbles for diamonds like the worst barker.

"One hundred and ten! We are at one hundred and ten, does anyone offer more? Come on gentlemen, look at this magnificent ogre! As strong as ten men, he can lift two logs with one arm and a sheaf of hay with one finger!"

Don't make me laugh, it would be a miracle for him to lift a single log. And look at those contemptuous eyes. I'm sure he's a troublemaker.

"I want to go broke! If we reach two hundred, with only fifty goldies more you can have this sweet little cat too! Look at those teeth and sweet little face! She will make the perfect pet for your children, and once she grows up... we get the idea, don't we?"

Too bad for you the new imperial edict that doubles the tithes for the ownership of slaves under the age of six comes into effect next month. Otherwise, why would you be in such a hurry to get rid of her?

As I'd done on other occasions, I began to write down the results of the sales, calculating the auction's final profit long before the auctioneer did.

After subtracting food, transportation, taxes, and kickbacks for the guards, that's about 2,700 goldies. Just as I thought.

The Empire had long been producing more slaves than it actually needed. This was the third week in a row already that slave auction revenues were declining. It was clear that labor was beginning to swell even in West Eirinn, where between the mines, sawmills and large agricultural estates, there were technically never enough workers.

Moreover, slavery was a double-edged sword. In the immediate or shortage of manpower it was certainly useful, but in the long run it only produced unemployment and rage among the free population. And this without counting that the slaves themselves could become a significant problem if pushed to their limit, as I had the opportunity to experience myself in Haiti during my past life.

A chalk hit my forehead with the force of a bullet.

"Haselworth, if you don't like my lesson, the corridor is right there!"

"Please excuse me professor."

That aim of yours would've made a great impression in my guard, old fart.

As promised, after class, Mary and I went to the library, located in the town hall building. Even in my previous life I had always found myself comfortable among books, and I had been particularly happy to see that in that world too there was much to learn.

My favorites were the tomes on magic and alchemy, which I read almost morbidly. I had attended some demonstrations of magical art performed by the priests of the small local temple from time to time, and I was a little sorry that I had not been reborn with the Gaia Marks necessary to practice it.

About alchemy, I soon realized it was nothing more than another way of understanding chemistry, with some exceptions. Some things changed and there were more elements to take into consideration, but once I learned the fundamentals, it was coming very easy for me to assimilate the concepts.

Mary, on the other hand, was a true math prodigy, and perhaps that was why even before my memories awoke I had always enjoyed spending time with her: we had many common interests.

We studied together until almost sunset, and the caretaker literally had to kick us out before we both decided to go home.

"Listen, I was thinking..." she said to me, all red in the face, and keeping her eyes down "Maybe I could take you home. The forest can be dangerous at this hour, and besides..."

"That would be nice, but my uncle wouldn't approve. I already told you how grumpy he can be."

"It's sad that you have to live with such a troublesome person."

"I've gotten used to it by now. Plus he took me in after my parents died, so he can't be that bad after all."

"Maybe you're right. However, will you allow me to accompany you at least up to the gates?"

"Certainly."

Along the way my attention was caught by a roll of drums. Ignoring Mary's urging to keep going I followed the sound into the central square of the village, where a small crowd was about to assist the hanging of three prisoners.

"In the name of his Excellency Tiberius Longinus, governor of Western Eirinn!" read Commander Beek, leader of the local militia. "These members of the Eirinn Warriors party hereby have been accused of conspiracy and high treason, and are therefore condemned to be hanged by the neck until dead! Long live his Majesty!"

One blow on the bench by the hangman and it was all over.

Everyone, including Mary, looked away, but not me; I had seen too many deaths executions in my life to be affected by something like that.

"Daemon let's go now. I beg you."

"Yes, all right."

"Daemon! Why don't you come to see your dear mother who loves you so much as before?"

Lori had been my nurse when I was little, but she actually considered herself my mother. Like all minotaurs, she had essentially three things that made her constantly stand out from the crowd: her dizzying height, the curved horns on her head, and more than anything else those preposterous boobs.

Seriously, even the bustiest woman I'd known in my previous life looked under-given compared to her.

Unfortunately, in her case, there was also a fourth thing that made her special. It was the one I had always found the most unbearable: she was emotional!

The worst was when she hugged me, which she did at every possible occasion, forgetting that all my bones could break from her massive strength.

"Lori, let me go! I'm not a child anymore!" I yelled trying to find a foothold in that pair of wobbly puddings

"How touchy you are. It seems just yesterday that I gave you milk and you cried when they took you away from me. Can't you become a baby again? I order you to return being a baby!"

As if that was possible. A childhood spent with her was more than enough for me.

Her house, together with our own, was one of the few to have a dignified appearance and going to dinner with her usually meant being able to have the privilege of a proper meal.

The guards personally made sure that her rations were the most abundant, because only a healthy and well-fed minotaur was able to produce that delicious white nectar that only the nobles could afford.

According to her own words, one of the reasons why she had agreed from the beginning to adopt me and let me live with her was that she could finally give milk to someone of her choice. In short, comparing Lori to my former mother meant comparing day to night.

My previous mother... that hag! Not only did she not come to my coronation, but when I asked her to kiss my imperial ring she slapped me!

But despite everything, I had loved her, as much as I loved Lori: because what kind of man is one who doesn't have the utmost respect for his mother?

We went to Lori's house for dinner about once a month. It was a day that Scalia in particular looked forward to more than her birthday, because it was the only time that she was able to appease her insatiable dragon hunger.

It was different for me: where others had millet soup, watered down milk or cider daily, because of Lori, I had small deer stews, some dried fish or a vegetable soup. They weren't the meals that even a middle-class child habitually ate, but it was thanks to this that I had managed to grow into a healthy child despite my situation. Maybe I was a little shorter and leaner than average, but nothing I wasn't already used to.

"I heard that you've been studying a lot for a few weeks now and that your grades are getting better and better. Your mom is so proud of you."

"That's right. You are all making great sacrifices for me, the least I can do is repay them by committing myself to studying."

"I can hardly believe my ears," Scalia said, "You speak like a man. If I just think that just two months ago you were a pestiferous troublemaker without the slightest intention of studying. You almost look like another person."

"Let's say that I had an awakening of conscience. But since we're talking about it, maybe I could also do something else besides studying. I could learn a trade, or help Drufo hunt."

"We've already talked about this, Daemon." my father stopped me. "For now you have to think only about school. The efforts you put into studying are the best reward. Am I right, Lori?"

"Absolutely! If you spend more time out of here, when will I get the chance to cuddle and spoil my beloved child? With those blue eyes, and those rosy cheeks. Let me hug you!"

"Please, Lori, not again."

The sudden opening of the door interrupted that umpteenth embarrassing situation, but my joy lasted only for the time it took me to realize the identity of the new arrivals.

"Good evening, Master Zorech," said the fat, bejeweled pig who led the trio.

"Good evening, Master Borg," my father replied, as if every word would cost him one of his sharp teeth.

For endless seconds, no one else spoke.

"Lori. Take Scalia and Daemon home."

"But, father..."

"Do not disobey, Scalia, and do as I said."

At first, we pretended to obey, but once outside we scrambled to reach the back of the house and peek in through the cracks in the wall.

Borg had taken my place and sat in front of Zorech, while his kobold and lizard bodyguards stood by the door.

It seemed that the situation could change at any moment. It was difficult to say in which direction; as for me, I couldn't remember a single time my father's eyes were more frightening than that moment.

"Can I offer, Master Zorech?" said the pig, taking a small silver box from his waistcoat pocket.

Zorech didn't make a move. Whereupon the pig opened the box, taking out a large cigar and lighting it with the candle placed on the table.

"Lucra. With the best dried Torian leaves. You could smoke one on these on your deathbed after a life as a beggar, and it would suddenly become a life well spent."

"You have my answer, Master Borg. And it won't change no matter how many times you come back."

Borg didn't seem to accept the provocation, and actually moved his thin lips in a smug smile.

"I must say that I thought you were much more forward-thinking. Your small hunting business has enormous potential that you don't seem to realize yourself. Right now, how much is it worth you? Seven, perhaps eight hundred gold goldies a year? With your skills and my experience, you can be sure it could yield tenfold."

"I didn't create this operation to get rich. That money goes towards Daemon's maintenance, and is the result of the efforts of the whole community. We pay for the tuition, the books, and what little food I can put on the table for him. And what's left over ends up in a chest that we're setting aside for his sixteenth birthday, when he'll have to leave Ende."

"Precisely. Why shouldn't we make it even more profitable? I only ask for a very small percentage. You know, the risks."

"Exactly. The risks. We're taking too many of them already. And I have no intention of entrusting our fate and the only small source of income we have in the hands of someone who would use it only to feed his pockets at our expense, or even worse, that would be ready to throw us away whenever things should turn for worse."

This time Borg seemed to feel the blow, but Zorech was far from intimidated by his menacing glare.

"You think you know me, Master Borg. But I know you too, and I know the reputation you have out there. You could walk out of here at any moment. The truth is, you've pissed off the wrong people with your schemes, and you've got yourself locked up here because it's the only place your enemies can't get to you. Everyone who lives here in Ende is my responsibility, and that obviously includes you and your cutthroats. But if you say or do anything that would endanger our community, starting with my family, I can assure you that what you escaped out there is nothing compared to what you will go through because of me. And now, get out of here."

The two bodyguards had already put their hands inside cloaks, but Borg nodded to them with unexpected self-control. Then, almost smiling, he got up from the table and walked towards the door.

"I heard you fought with the Dark Lord. Do you know what his biggest mistake was? He had made the wrong enemies."

Then he left, closely followed by his men.

I spent that night without sleeping, and certainly not because Scalia had fallen asleep clinging to me again as if I was her rag doll. In my previous life, I used to say that only fools go into battle with a plan in mind, and improvisation is the key to victory. That's why I took the time to settle in and have a more or less clear idea of the situation around me.

And now, two months later, I could say without question that Faucheur had been overly optimistic in describing the situation. A hell? The edge of the abyss? I had no idea what the situation was elsewhere, but this province was a powder magazine with a lit fuse!

All the ingredients for a disaster were present: an unpopular and incompetent governor, a highly repressive policy, independence movements painstakingly put to rest with tortures and executions, and to make matters worse the slaves. There was no doubt that Erthea was probably destined to collapse on itself even before the arrival of the Demon Lord.

So what was I supposed to do?

Retrying the ascent to the high ranks of political and military power of the Empire as I had done in my old life was out of the question. They may have opened the doors of military academies and universities to women, but there was no way an orphan raised in a border hovel could aim so high. Moreover, it would have taken too long anyway.

Should I try to get around the obstacle by becoming friends with someone important and explaining the situation? And what should I tell? That a guy in a black suit predicted an invasion from a continent that no one has ever even heard of? I'd be thought crazy.

Even the ecclesiastical career was not a viable path, as there was no place on the high seats for someone with no magical powers. Besides, I had problems on seeing myself playing the part of the religious fanatic who calls to the holy war against the Demon Lord in the name of Gaia.

The only option left was the only one that since the beginning I hadn't even wanted to consider: a revolution. The mere idea disgusted me, but after hours and days spent racking my brain in vain, I could not help but resign myself. All in all, something like this had to happen anyway. If I could try to take the lead, I could try to keep it within acceptable limits, without having to revisit the collective madness I had already witnessed.

It wasn't going to be easy, and I certainly wasn't in a position to make a difference at the time. I still had my memories and war experience, but not the body to do what I had in mind.

The first step would therefore have been to strengthen myself, but once I had managed to overcome my father's reticence this wasn't destined to be a big problem. Much more difficult would have been to obtain the influence and authority necessary to carry out my intentions, but there was still time to worry about that.

I wasn't going to stop. Nor would I hesitate. Fate had given me another chance to show the universe what I could be and what I could do, and I was more determined than ever not to waste it.

Turning to the window, I saw the twin moons twinkling in the night sky, and I swore to them the same oath as the day I set foot in Brienne.

I will change the fate of this world with my hands.