Chapter 99: Backstory Chapter 5: The Annoyance of Flesh (Entity POV) "What?"
"This one notices you favor your left side," Taro said, his voice a nervous whisper from five paces behind. "Did my lord sustain an injury?"
The boy was observant. I hadn’t even realized I was limping. I stopped and tested the feeling. A dull, persistent throb radiated from my lower back, down into my left hip. The body was flawed.
"This body is flawed," I said, my voice flat. "It seems to be failing."
"I... I could prepare a compress," Taro offered hesitantly. "With herbs. My father taught me how. For soldiers who’d been bruised."
I turned to face him. He immediately dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead into the dirt path. It was getting tiresome.
"Get up," I said. "Show me."
We found a patch of wild mint and yarrow growing near a small stream. Taro’s hands, though still trembling, moved with a practiced efficiency. He used two smooth stones to crush the plants into a green paste, mixing in a little water from the stream.
"My father used this for soldiers’ wounds," he explained, his voice gaining a little confidence as he focused on the task. "The mint takes the heat out of the pain. The yarrow stops the swelling."
He lifted the back of my shirt and applied the cool, damp poultice to my lower back. The sensation was immediate—a cooling relief followed by a dull, tingling warmth. The ache in my muscles began to subside.
"Hmph," I grunted. "Not useless."
Taro’s eyes widened at the grudging praise. "This one is... honored by my lord’s words."
We continued walking as the sun began to set. The fatigue in the muscles was a deep, grinding weariness I had never experienced. It was an insidious kind of exhaustion, one that made me want to simply lie down in the road and stop. I hated it.
Up ahead, half-hidden by overgrown trees, was a small shrine. The wooden torii gate had collapsed long ago, but the main building stood intact, its dark wood weathered and covered in thick ivy.
"We’ll rest here," I said. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command born of necessity. This body was about to shut down.
Taro immediately set about gathering dry wood for a fire, his movements quick and eager to be useful. I stepped inside the shrine. The air was thick with the smell of dust and decay. On a stone altar, offerings of rotten fruit and a handful of dusty coins had been left by travelers who were now long dead. A forgotten statue of some forgotten deity watched us with empty stone eyes.
"I’ll prepare food," Taro announced, poking his head inside. He soon had a small fire going and was boiling water for rice.
As he worked, I watched him. The fear was still there, etched into every line of his face, but it was now mixed with a fierce concentration. He focused on his task with the intensity of a man who knew his survival depended on doing it well.
The smell of cooking rice filled the small shrine. My stomach, the traitorous organ, let out a loud, demanding growl. Taro jumped, dropping a wooden spoon.
"Great lord’s body is hungry," he stated, as if I weren’t already aware.
"Observant," I said dryly.
He served the food in wooden bowls he found in a dusty cabinet. The rice was a little undercooked and the fish was too salty, but the body devoured it anyway, demanding fuel. I ate quickly, barely tasting it.
Taro ate sparingly, his eyes downcast. The moment he finished, he began cleaning the bowls, his hands fumbling slightly.
"I’ll take first watch," he said, his voice trembling.
"You’ll sleep."
"But my lord—"
"I don’t need to sleep," I said. "Not yet. This body just needs to be still for a while."
He looked at me, confusion and fear warring on his face. "Never?"
"Not like you do. I just... watch."
Taro nodded slowly, accepting this impossible statement as fact. He unrolled a sleeping mat near the fire and curled into a tight ball, his hand still clutching the cracked prayer bead. Within minutes, his breathing evened out into the soft rhythm of sleep.
I sat by the shrine’s entrance, watching the night. The moon cast long, silver shadows through the trees. The herbs had eased the ache in my back, but a new sensation was taking its place—a restless, coiled energy. An itch in the muscles. An urge to get up and move, to strike something, to ’do’ anything other than just sit.
’Fascinating,’ I thought. ’This body wants action even when it’s exhausted. It’s a flawed design.’
Hours passed in silence. The only sounds were Taro’s soft snores and the occasional rustle of some night creature in the woods. I found myself watching the boy as he slept. The tension had left his face, making him look younger, more vulnerable. He was just a child, caught in a storm far beyond his understanding.
Dawn was just beginning to break when Taro startled awake, sitting bolt upright with a sharp gasp.
"Great lord!" he cried, scrambling to bow. "This one failed! This one fell asleep on watch!"
"You slept because I told you to," I said, not even turning around. "Prepare food. We leave at first light."
As he cooked the morning meal, I felt his eyes on me. The fear was still there, but now it was mixed with a sharp, undeniable curiosity. He was trying to figure me out.
"Great lord?" he asked hesitantly, as he handed me a bowl of rice and fish.
"What?"
"I was just wondering... where are we going?"
I considered the question. I had no destination. I had no map. I only had a strange, faint pull, a feeling that tugged me in a single direction.
"West," I said finally.
Taro nodded as if this were the most logical answer in the world. "This one will prepare supplies for the journey."
As we packed, I watched him work. He moved with an economy of motion, carefully wrapping the remaining rice and fish in clean cloths. He was good at this. He was a survivor.
We left the shrine as the sun rose, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The path wound through forested hills, the air crisp and cool. Taro walked five steps behind, his steps more confident now.
"Great lord?" he said after we had been walking for about an hour.
"What?"
"I have a question. If it doesn’t offend."
I glanced back at him. "Ask."
"Why did you spare me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "When you killed everyone else?"
I thought about it. I could have given him some long, philosophical answer about resilience and the human spirit. But that wasn’t the truth.
"You were quiet," I said. "You played dead, and you didn’t scream. That was interesting."
Taro absorbed this, his brow furrowed in thought. "I’ll try to remain interesting, my lord," he said, a new determination in his voice.
We continued walking, the forest path stretching before us. The muscles in my legs still ached with every step, but I ignored it. There was so much to learn, so much to experience. And now I had a guide—a practical, terrified, and interesting guide—to show me what it meant to be human. And perhaps, just perhaps, he could help me understand the strange pull I felt toward something I couldn’t yet name.