Excerpt 9
(Page 28, Section 1)
During my travels, I was seized by a Zamongarai patrol—can you believe they mistook me for an invader? They hauled me off to their primitive “central tent” with not a shred of courtesy—truly uncultured beasts, if you ask me. Thankfully, their chieftain proved clever enough to realize I was an arms merchant. He immediately served what he claimed was their finest meal and proposed a long-term weapons deal.
Naturally, I took advantage of the situation. Like any self-respecting merchant, I heavily marked up the prices, and the poor fools never suspected a thing. They genuinely believed these inflated costs were normal—likely because every other seller trading with the Zamongarai imposed similarly steep rates. As a result, they rarely questioned the high prices, and even if they did, the slightest justification was enough to satisfy them.
Source: Tales of Travel – Merchant Gold Rush
Excerpt 9 End
They entered the tent, and Hassan was immediately taken aback by its immense size. Despite the simple canvas walls, the space inside towered high enough to accommodate a crowd of massive Zamongarai. Weapons and trophies lined the edges: spears, axes, and battered shields, alongside pelts ranging from coarse furs to one that gleamed with reptilian scales.
At least half a dozen guards lined the perimeter, their gazes settling on Hassan with a cool intensity. Near the center of the tent, a group of Zamongarai had gathered—some wore robes etched with faintly glowing symbols and carried staffs, while others bore hefty weapons. Several of them matched Major Megaphone in size, and Hassan realized, with a hint of unease, that the big one wasn’t as uniquely imposing as he’d first believed.
He sensed some of Major Megaphone’s usual confidence drain away amid these towering figures. One Zamongarai, a head larger than Major Megaphone, turned to address Major Megaphone, rumbling words that Hassan couldn’t understand. Major Megaphone replied in a calm tone, then carefully removed the hide covering Hassan and set him down on a thick patchwork of furs.
Hassan glanced around, uneasy. He had no idea why he’d been brought here. The robed Zamongarai fixed him with an intense stare, their postures rigid. Suddenly, Major Megaphone gave him a shove. Thrown off-balance, Hassan stumbled and fell. Annoyed, he stood up and took a few cautious steps away from Major Megaphone. Instantly, murmurs and gasps rippled through the crowd—exchanged looks that hinted at alarm or confusion.
Why are they all looking at me like that? he wondered, searching their faces for clues. He couldn’t follow their words, only the rising agitation in their tones. He hadn’t done anything special—just walked. But it seemed that his ability to stand so steadily triggered a wave of suspicion.
One robed Zamongarai near the biggest Zamongarai snapped something in a harsh, guttural voice. Another barked in reply, pointing at Hassan as if accusing him of something. The group parted, leaving a broad space around him. Blood pounding in his ears, Hassan took a step back, trying to figure out what they wanted. Had he inadvertently broken some cultural taboo?
Then a different robed figure raised a staff, the tip beginning to glow dark purple. Hassan’s stomach knotted. Are they going to attack? He tried to move, but the circle of guards left him nowhere to run. A blast of cold, violet light swept over him like a sudden gust of wind.
#####
You have been hit with a soul reading spell by Rauk, and vessel control has been activated.
Choose one of the following: deny, allow, alter.
Choose in 30, 29, 28…
#####
Time screeched to a halt, leaving Hassan frozen, mind racing. Did they suspect he was possessing this body? How could they have found out so easily? He wanted to choose deny on instinct, but realized that might confirm their suspicions. If they discovered they couldn’t read him at all, wouldn't they believe him truly possessed? After a panicked heartbeat, he chose alter instead.
#####
Choose what you wish to alter: memory, control, contract.
#####
He chose memory as that was what pertained to his situation.
#####
Explain what memory you wish to alter.
#####
Anxious to hide the truth, Hassan mentally commanded the system to obscure every trace of his former existence—anything that might reveal he inhabited this child’s body, references to the system space, or any hint he came from another world with unnatural abilities. If they discovered he wasn’t truly Zamongarai, there was no telling how they would react.
#####
False memory created. Time resumes.
#####
The instant the system prompt appeared, time lurched forward again, and he felt as though invisible claws tore at his memories, rummaging for answers. Reeling from the pain, he stumbled and fell, head pounding.
Unsure how long the ordeal lasted, Hassan finally felt some relief when the staff-wielding Zamongarai muttered a few words and lowered his staff, his posture turning apologetic. Sharp voices rose on all sides, and Hassan sensed the tension in the room spike even higher. It seemed his vessel control had worked, because the surrounding Zamongarai no longer looked suspicious, only astonished. Thankfully, it looked like they hadn’t uncovered his true origin—otherwise he would have faced far worse consequences.
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Major Megaphone, however, was anything but calm. He roughly grabbed Hassan and placed him at a distance, then let loose a guttural roar that tore through the air as he lunged at the staff-wielding Zamongarai, spear drawn from his back in one swift motion. Likely furious at their forceful intrusion into Hassan’s mind, he hammered blow after blow with terrifying might.
Several armored guards rushed in, weapons clashing. Massive shockwaves rippled through the tent, both mesmerizing and frightening Hassan—he could scarcely believe such power existed, each attack seeming to carry tons of force. The robed figures scrambled to restore order with magic spells, but chaos consumed the tent. Weakened by his pounding headache, Hassan found himself unable to stand or even crawl away.
Suddenly, the clash of steel died down, and a firm hand seized him. Through his blurred vision, he recognized Major Megaphone—fur streaked with fresh wounds and dark stains. Waves of pain swelled, and his sight faded until darkness claimed him entirely.
#####
Waking up, Hassan slowly remembered what just happened and shivered.
Thankfully, the mind-reading attempt had triggered his vessel control, letting him slip out of deeper scrutiny. Yet the memory of that violent spell—and the chaotic fight that followed—left Hassan anxious, a stark reminder that showing too much skill could draw dire suspicion.
While he mulled over the danger he now faced, a sudden, indescribable warmth coursed through his entire body, as though every cell were being gently massaged. The comfort was so intense that he briefly forgot his worries, sinking into the sensation. Just as he began to savor it, the feeling dissipated, leaving him with a pang of disappointment.
What in the world was that? he wondered, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.
He glanced around the tent, trying to pinpoint any clue as to why his body felt so incredible for those fleeting moments. Then, with a blink of surprise, he realized his eyesight had expanded. Colors seemed more vivid, and objects at the far edges of the tent appeared sharper. He even sensed the ability to slightly “zoom in” or “zoom out” with minimal effort, as if his vision had gained a delicate lens he could adjust at will.
A faint murmuring reached his ears, so soft he thought he might be imagining it. But focusing on the sound, he realized it came from outside—voices that should have been too distant to pick up. His hearing had clearly sharpened to an uncanny degree. Testing his other senses, he discovered both touch and smell felt heightened too, though without immediate reference points, he couldn’t fully gauge the extent of the improvement.
Had his Zamongarai’s Sense upgraded? he wondered, recalling he was close to an upgrade and doubting that getting soul-read would grant any positive side effects. The faint headache hinted at the opposite. Still, aside from that lingering pain, he felt fine. Better check the panel, just in case, he decided
#####
Name: None
Race: Zamongarai
Age: 22 days
Tier: 0
Attributes:
Physique: 0.43 → 0.44
Mind: 10.70 → 10.71
Soul: 9.98 → 10.00
Talents:
Human Intelligence (Rank 3: 21% → 22%) – Expand
Human Soul (Rank 2: 99% → Rank 3: 1%) – Expand
Zamongarai’s Physique (Rank 0: 48% → 49%) – Expand
Zamongarai’s Sense (Rank 1: 99% → Rank 2: 1%) – Expand
Zamongarai’s Soul (Rank 0: 48% → 53%) – Expand
Vessel Control (Rank Unknown) – Expand
Skills: Physique Manual (Basic: 6%), Mind Manual (Basic: 15%), Soul Manual (Basic: 9% → 10%)
System Training Space – Time remaining until reset: 7 hours, 8 minutes, 5 seconds – Current Mode: Tutorial
#####
His talents had evolved. In particular, Human Soul and Zamongarai’s Sense had both risen to new ranks. It made sense that an upgrade to Zamongarai’s Sense would grant sharper sight, sound, smell, and touch—explaining the sudden clarity.
As for his Human Soul talent upgrade, he’d gleaned from the manuals that it might grant greater magical control, deeper emotional resilience, and boost the production of vireth, neurotha, and soul energy. However, without any spells or manuals for sensing or casting magic, Hassan had little chance to test those benefits anytime soon.
Though he knew it meant he would become more capable—and more vulnerable if someone realized how fast he was growing. The delightful rush of expanded senses came with the sobering reality that he had to be even more cautious about revealing his abilities. If people became suspicious again, he’d risk another episode like the one in the tent.
Still, he couldn’t wait to explore his new, heightened abilities. He wanted to experiment, to eavesdrop on conversations outside and maybe pick up some of the local language. Yet the threat of drawing attention loomed.
Even if I learn the language, I can’t just act like a genius baby, he told himself. I have no idea how quickly a normal Zamongarai child learns to speak.
He guessed it might take at least two years before a Zamongarai baby could form basic words—maybe more, given the race’s reputation for physical prowess over intellect. He planned to feign a slow linguistic development, starting speech around a year and a half, just to avoid provoking suspicion. But it’s so frustrating, he thought, living day by day in this tent, unable to learn more about the world.
Unless the Zamongarai began teaching him magic or combat, he suspected he’d leave this camp the moment he was strong enough to defend himself. Part of him still longed to explore beyond the tent, but after the clash with the robed figures and all those suspicious stares, it seemed unlikely anyone would risk taking him outside again.
While he pondered, the caregiver approached and hugged him tightly. Tears rimmed the caregiver’s eyes, an expression of raw relief Hassan had never seen before. Startled, he allowed himself to be enveloped in the warmth, reminded faintly of his old life—his parents back on Earth. A surge of guilt and longing flickered through him.
I need to get back home, he thought, recalling the vow he’d made. But the caregiver’s gentle consolation also reminded him that he wasn’t entirely alone here. After a moment, the caregiver stepped back, speaking in a gentle, soothing voice Hassan couldn’t decipher. The affectionate gesture both soothed and unsettled him. I took over this baby’s body, he thought, that love was never meant for me.
Once the caregiver calmed down, it set him down and began preparing a simple meal. Hassan wondered whether he should ease off on training to avoid any more near-catastrophes. Still, he also needed to become stronger, especially if he intended to leave this place someday—or at least move freely without being treated like a delicate curiosity.
Major Megaphone had apparently fought to defend him, which surprised Hassan. Why would he bother? he mused, recalling the massive Zamongarai’s fury at the staff-wielder. Though he didn’t trust Major Megaphone entirely, at least the warrior’s aggression seemed aimed at Hassan’s tormentors, not at Hassan himself.
When the food was ready, he ate slowly, planning his next move. Once finished, he resumed daily exercises—simple stretches and balance drills that looked like a child’s clumsy play. Then he shifted to light soul training, focusing on hearing, trying to decipher the murmurs outside. If he could just catch a few common words, he might figure out how the Zamongarai language, measured time, and followed their daily customs.
He knew accurate knowledge was essential to blending in. I need to find out what’s normal for a baby Zamongarai, he told himself, so I don’t make another mistake. One more slip-up leading to a second soul-reading spell would force him to relive that pain. Worse yet, if it kept happening, they might suspect he could hide his memories and take harsher action—no more soul-reading, just direct consequences.
He closed his eyes, concentrating on the distant voices. Most were too faint, though he could pick up sharper tones if someone spoke close by or raised their voice. For now, that would have to suffice. Eventually, he hoped to train his hearing enough to grasp basic words and unravel this language one fragment at a time.
He sighed, letting the caregiver’s steady cooking and the wind’s hush calm his nerves. Though he felt caged, he reminded himself that every day he survived gave him another chance to grow discreetly—and perhaps, one day, find his way home.
