---
After a while, the pain started lessening, and Corkus's facial expressions, once twisted in agony, eased back to a more neutral state.
"I understand now," he thought. "At least in this town, a popular game among children is to nail a cat to a post. Then, with their hands tied behind their backs, they take turns battering it to death with their heads—risking torn cheeks or scratched-out eyes from the frantic animal's claws."
During one of those games, Corkus had tried to intervene. He managed to free the cat, but at a cost. The other children, furious that their fun was ruined, beat him up.
"That explains my bruises when I transmigrated."
To be honest, he never would have thought Corkus had this side to him. In the manga, he always seemed bitter, bickering with Guts at every chance he got. And, of course, later he met his fate.
Shortly after that, I stopped reading the manga because it traumatized me. That's why my knowledge only reaches the aftermath—Guts bandaged and Casca a vegetable. I wonder if Guts ever killed Griffith… I guess I'll never know.
He shook his head, dismissing the thought.
"I should head to the marketplace. If the old man sees me fooling around, he might beat me up… or worse."
---
When Corkus arrived at the marketplace, it was full of life. People of all ages moved through the crowded streets, bartering, shouting, and haggling over goods.
Vendors lined both sides of the dirt road, each trying to out-yell the other to attract customers. The scent of fresh bread mixed with the stench of unwashed bodies, creating an overwhelming assault on the senses.
Navigating through the chaos, Corkus reached a less crowded stall selling loaves of bread.
"Let me check the list." He pulled it out. "One loaf of bread… simple enough. Unless, of course, it's a cover operation to poison people."
Unfortunately, accusing someone without proof wouldn't get him anywhere—especially as a child. He sighed, pushing the thought aside as he approached the vendor.
"One loaf of bread, please," Corkus said.
The vendor grinned, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. "One loaf of bread coming right up," he said, grabbing one from the stall. "That'll be three lesser argents."
"Hmm, seems reasonable," Corkus thought, handing over the coins.
"Pleasure doing business with you," the vendor said with a smile, already turning to his next customer.
As Corkus walked away, he noticed a young boy staring at him.
"What are you looking at, brat?"
"You're a huge idiot," the boy said, deadpan.
*"An idiot? Me? The greatest detective to ever exist? Yeah, right. He must have learned a new word from his deadbeat father and can't stop saying it. Yeah, that's it."*
Before he could say anything, a sudden voice from a nearby stall caught his attention.
"He's right, you know?"
Corkus turned to see a man in his fifties with short gray hair and a small mustache. Wrinkles had started to form on his face, and he wore a simple tunic.
"You got scammed, boy," the man said, pausing to let the words sink in. "A loaf of bread costs around one lesser argent. With three lesser argents, you could've bought three loaves."
"Tch," Corkus clicked his tongue in frustration. "Damn, bastard."
"I knew it—he was up to no good. I should've trusted my judgment. After all, it's never failed me."
The man smiled. "That's how the world works. The naive, the weak, and the simple-minded get taken advantage of. I hope you've learned your lesson."
"Thanks for the advice, old man," Corkus said with a grin. "But you must be mistaken. I wasn't tricked—I was just playing along."
"Hmm, I swear I've seen that kid before… but who would've had such a dumbass for a son?"
"Anyway, you should leave now," the man said. "I've got four mouths to feed at home."
"Alright, see you later." Corkus waved before heading off to buy the rest of the items.
---
As Corkus stepped inside, his father was standing by the bookshelf, flipping through one of the worn-out books. At the sound of the door, the man turned to face him.
"Oh, so you're back. You should have been here earlier. What took you so long?" His voice carried the usual contempt.
'Because I didn't feel like coming back to this shithole.'
Corkus opened his mouth to respond, but his father cut him off before he could get a word in. "Doesn't matter now," he said dismissively. "What matters is the money. I gave you thirteen coins—you should have some left."
Of course, that's all he cared about. Not whether Corkus got robbed or beaten, just whether he wasted a few measly coins.
Corkus hesitated for a second. He already knew how this would go. "Well, you see, I—"
**Slap.**
The blow landed before he could finish. His head snapped to the side, a sharp sting blooming across his cheek.
'What the hell?'
"You let yourself get scammed?" his father scoffed. "How can you be so foolish? You remind me of your mother. She was a beautiful woman, but like all women, she was simple-minded. That's why she ended up a whore."
Corkus' hands clenched into fists.
'Here we go again.'
The priest continued as if delivering a sermon. "Women are only good for two things: bearing children and satisfying men. Sadly, she wasn't even good at the latter. She died giving birth to you—what a waste. She thought she could buy forgiveness for her sins, but God took her before she had the chance. Serves her right."
Corkus exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his expression neutral. His father wanted a reaction. He wouldn't give him one.
The priest studied him, perhaps waiting for some outburst. When none came, he let out a short laugh. "Still as ugly as the day you were born. You're proof that God punishes sinners in ways they never expect."
'And yet He lets you live.'
Corkus stayed silent, staring past him as if he weren't even there.
His father scoffed. "I'll think of a punishment later. For now, read one of the books from the shelf. I wrote them myself—seven in total." His voice lifted with self-importance. "Pick any you like."
Corkus forced a nod, careful to keep his face blank.
His father didn't linger. "I have things to take care of. If I hear you whimpering again tonight, I'll make sure you regret it. Men don't cry."
With that, he left, the door shutting behind him.
For a moment, Corkus stood still, his jaw tightening.
**Ptui.**
He spat onto the floor where his father had stood.
"What a bastard of a man."
Then, his gaze shifted to the bookshelf.
"Wait... didn't he say there were seven books? Why do I see eight?"
---