THE TRANSMIGRATOR

Chapter 2 — The Man Who Refused to Run

The first soldier lunged. John moved before fear could make the decision for him.

He seized Lily by the shoulder and shoved her toward Elena. At the same instant, he ducked beneath the soldier's spear. The weapon sliced through the air where his chest had been a heartbeat earlier.

The soldier stumbled forward. John saw the opening. He drove his shoulder into the man's ribs.

The impact should not have been enough to move a grown man, especially with John's starving body, but the soldier was already off balance. He crashed into a burning wooden post, cursed, and staggered backwards.

John barely had time to breathe. Another spear came toward him. He twisted aside. The blade tore through his sleeve and scratched his upper arm.

Pain flashed across his skin. John looked at the blood. Something inside him went cold. These men were actually trying to kill him.

There would be no negotiation. No second chance. “John!” Marcus shouted. John turned. His father was standing between Elena and the third soldier.

Marcus had one arm pressed against his wounded stomach, while his other hand held a broken wooden club. Blood had soaked through his shirt, yet he refused to move.

The soldier laughed. “You should have stayed down, old man.” Marcus tightened his grip. John's eyes narrowed. He looked at the three soldiers again.

Their armour was mismatched. One wore a metal breastplate while the other two had only leather protection. Their spears were different lengths, and none of them maintained a proper formation.

More importantly, they were watching one another. They were not trained to fight as a unit.

They were relying on intimidation. They're not elite soldiers. The realisation came quickly.

John had spent enough time in his former life studying history to understand that weapons alone did not make an army.

Discipline did. Training did. Coordination did. These men had none of it. They were dangerous because everyone around them was terrified.

John looked at the burning house behind them. Then at the narrow alley beside it. Then at the wooden fence separating the homes.

An idea formed. It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was probably the only chance they had. John bent down and picked up a handful of dry ash.

Marcus stared at him. “What are you doing?” John kept his eyes on the soldiers. “Making them look the wrong way.”

Marcus frowned. “John, you've never held a spear in your life.” John glanced at him. “I've never needed to.”

Another soldier advanced. Marcus's expression hardened. “And now?” John looked at the burning houses.

“Now I don't have a choice.” He threw the ash directly into the nearest soldier's face. The man screamed and staggered backwards.

“Now!” John kicked the burning wooden post beside him. It fell across the narrow path. Flames erupted between the soldiers and Marcus.

The third soldier instinctively stepped back. The second tried to move around the fire. That was exactly what John wanted.

“Dad, left!”Marcus understood immediately. He swung the broken club into the soldier's knee. The man collapsed.

Elena grabbed Lily. “Run!” The family moved. John stayed behind for one more second. The remaining soldier emerged through the smoke, furious.

“You little bastard!” He thrust his spear. John caught the shaft with both hands. The impact nearly tore his shoulders apart.

The soldier was stronger. Much stronger. John's feet slid backwards through the dirt. His starving body screamed for him to let go.

Then he noticed the soldier's footing. One foot was planted on loose ash. John twisted the spear sideways.

The soldier lost his balance. John pulled. The man stumbled forward. John drove his forehead into the soldier's nose.

A sickening crack sounded. The soldier fell. John stared down at him. His breathing was ragged.

His hands were shaking. He had never intentionally hurt another human being before. For a moment, the reality of what he had just done overwhelmed him.

Then another scream came from the village. John looked up. There was no time to think about it.

He ran. “Mother!” Elena was already moving toward the eastern road. Marcus followed, but his steps were becoming slower.

John reached him. “You're bleeding badly,” Marcus grunted. “I've had worse.”

John looked at the blood covering his father's shirt. “You're lying.” Marcus almost smiled.

“Good. You're learning.” They reached a small courtyard where two villagers were hiding beneath an overturned cart.

An elderly man was clutching his wounded leg. Beside him, a young woman held a crying infant. “Please,” the woman begged. “Don't leave us.”

John stopped. Marcus looked toward the road. “John, we have to go.” John looked at the woman.

Then at the old man. Then at Lily. The rational part of his mind screamed at him to keep moving.

Every additional person meant another mouth to feed. Another person who could slow them down. Another weakness.

But John remembered the promise he had made moments earlier. I'll always come back. He turned toward Marcus.

“Help me move them.” Marcus stared at him. “We barely escaped ourselves.” “I know.” “They'll slow us down.”

“I know.” Marcus studied his son's face. Something had changed in John. The weak young man he had known all his life seemed to have disappeared.

“Then why?” John looked at the terrified woman. “Because if everyone starts thinking only about themselves, this village is already dead.”

Marcus said nothing. Then he bent down and lifted the old man. John helped the woman to her feet.

“Stay close,” he ordered. They hurried through the burning village. As they moved, more survivors emerged from hiding.

Some followed silently. Others carried wounded family members. John began directing them toward the western edge of the settlement.

“Stay together!”

“Don't use the main road!”

“Keep away from the flames!”

“Take only what you can carry!” His voice grew louder with every command. People listened. Not because John had earned their trust. Not yet.

They listened because someone was finally giving them directions while everyone else was screaming.

They reached the western edge. John looked back. Blackstone Village was burning.

The place that had been home to hundreds of people was becoming a field of smoke and ash. Elena pulled Lily close.

Lily's small body trembled. John noticed how thin her wrists were. Too thin. He remembered the flashes of memory from earlier. Empty bowls. Long nights.

His mother dividing food. His sister pretending she wasn't hungry. John looked at Elena. “How long has she been eating like this?”

Elena's eyes dropped. “Eating like what?”

“Don't lie to me.” Elena swallowed. “She gets what she needs.”

“That wasn't my question.” Silence settled between them. Marcus finally spoke. “Three months.” John stared at him. “Three months?” Elena looked away.

“She is young. Children need more food than adults. I gave her mine whenever I could.”

John's hands curled into fists. His mother had been starving herself to feed her daughter. His father had been working while half-starved.

Lily had been growing up believing hunger was normal. John turned toward the burning village. He had been angry before.

Now the anger became something deeper. He wasn't angry at Marcus. He wasn't angry at Elena. He wasn't even angry at Lily.

He was angry at a world where people could work until their hands bled and still die because there wasn't enough food.

He looked down at his thin body. This world is broken. And for the first time, John made himself a promise.

He would fix what he could. Even if it took everything he had. A shout suddenly came from behind them.

“More soldiers!” Everyone froze. John turned. Several armed men were moving through the smoke.

They were searching the remaining houses. One shouted, “Check the storehouse!” John's eyes narrowed.

“The storehouse?” Marcus looked confused. “There shouldn't be anything left.” They waited until the soldiers moved away before returning through a narrow path.

The village storehouse stood near the centre of Blackstone. Its walls were scorched, but the building itself remained intact.

John entered carefully. Most of the shelves were empty. Broken containers covered the floor. At first, he thought there was nothing left.

Then he noticed something. The floorboards near the back wall were different. John crouched. He ran his fingers along the wood.

One board had recently been moved. He looked at Marcus. “Help me.” Together, they pried it loose.

A hollow space appeared beneath the floor. Inside were sacks. Dozens of them. John stared. “Grain.” Marcus's face went pale.

There was enough food beneath that floor to feed the surviving villagers for months. Months. While children had been eating bark.

While Elena had been giving away her meals. While people had been dying in their homes. Someone had hidden this food.

Someone had deliberately allowed the village to starve. John stood slowly. His anger returned, sharper than before.

He looked toward the abandoned house of the village elder. “The elder.” Marcus shook his head. “He died during the attack.”

John stared at the sacks. “Then who hid them?” A weak voice came from behind him. John spun around.

An elderly villager lay against the wall. Blood covered his chest. John rushed toward him. “Who did this?”

The old man's breathing was shallow. His eyes moved toward the hidden grain. “The elder wasn't the one hiding it.”

John froze. Marcus stepped closer. “Then who?” The old man coughed. His trembling hand lifted. He pointed toward the eastern road.

Then his eyes widened with fear. “They came before the soldiers.” John's expression changed. “Who came?”

The old man tried to speak. Only one word escaped his lips. “Black...” Then his hand dropped. John stared at him. Outside, something moved through the smoke.

Not a soldier. Something taller. Something carrying a black banner. And beneath that banner was a symbol John had never seen before.

A symbol that would soon become the first clue to the truth behind Blackstone Village's suffering. John slowly reached for the farming knife at his waist.

Whatever had begun in this village was far bigger than a simple attack. And now... someone knew that John had survived.