Chapter 9: The Birth of Fire

The hero stared blankly at the wall.
His thoughts gnawed at him, slow and merciless.
Dying no longer scared him.
At least now he had a roof over his head… and warm food in his stomach. A luxury he hadn’t tasted since arriving in this cruel world.
But the price?
He was someone’s dog now.
A dog that obeyed commands.
If the man in the suit said “kill,” he’d kill.
If he said “steal,” he’d steal.
There was no room for dignity.
No room for hesitation.
A knock at the door broke the silence.
“Come in,” the hero called out.
A servant entered with a tray of food. Without a word, he placed it on the table and left.
The smell hit him instantly—rich, savory, unfamiliar.
He sat quickly and examined the contents.
Most of it he didn’t recognize.
But the wine in the glass? That, at least, he knew.
A strange-looking pie sat in front of him. It looked like something from an American movie.
“…Isn’t pie supposed to be sweet?” he muttered.
He took a spoonful.
Chicken and raisins.
Not exactly appealing—but after days of hunger, he finished every bite.
Sitting there, full for the first time in what felt like years, a thought crept in:
How much longer do I have?
Three months?
Five minutes?
The medicine dulled the pain… but didn’t stop it.
He needed the blood of the goddess.
If it even existed.
For now, staying near the suited man and investigating was his only path forward.
If he could build a team, if he could dig deep enough—maybe, just maybe, he could break the curse.
He laughed bitterly to himself.
“What the hell have I become?
Stealing. Killing.
Back in my world, I’d switch sidewalks just to avoid stepping on a bug…
Now I’m dreaming of leading a party?
I don’t even know how to use a sword.”
Another bitter chuckle.
“If this guy’s got any real magic, he could crush me in two seconds.
I’m basically a cockroach.”
Another knock.
“Come in.”
The man in the suit stepped through the door.
“I see you’ve eaten well,” he said.
“Good. But nothing’s free.”
His voice turned cold.
“We’re facing some… financial setbacks.
I want you to sabotage our competitor’s convoy.
Six vehicles will pass through Keats Road in two days.
Burn them. Rob them. Kill the guards. I don’t care how—it just needs to be done.
Adventurers will be protecting the shipment.”
The hero frowned.
“…Am I doing this alone?”
The man laughed.
“Of course you are.
You haven’t proven yourself yet.
You think I’d assign men to help someone I don’t trust?”
The hero’s patience snapped.
“If I die out there, what’s the point of being your damn dog?!”
The man’s smile vanished.
He grabbed the hero by the collar, dragging him forward.
“Listen here, mutt.
I feed you. I give you shelter. I keep you alive.
All I ask is obedience.
Disobey me again, and I’ll bury you myself.”
The hero locked eyes with him—tense, angry… and afraid.
“…Fine,” he muttered.
The man released him and turned away.
He left, slamming the door behind him.
The room was quiet again.
Two days.
Six targets.
Just him.

---
He stepped into the garden for air.
A breeze passed through the trees.
Fresh. Calm.
Too calm.
His mind was racing.
He needed a plan.
That’s when he saw it—one of the mansion’s servants carrying a crate of glass bottles.
“Hey,” the hero called out. “What are those?”
“Old wine bottles. We were going to toss them,” the servant replied.
The hero approached and took the crate without hesitation.
“I’ll take them. Also… I need about four liters of ethanol. Can you get that?”
The servant raised an eyebrow.
“Well… this estate does belong to a family in the alcohol business. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
That made the hero pause.
“…That’s actually perfect. Also, if you’ve got any spare cloth or cotton—bring that too.”
The servant nodded.
“Give me one day.”
“Leave it all by my door.”
The hero returned to his room, crate in hand.
He placed it on the table.
Then grabbed a pen.
And began to sketch.
An old-world solution for a new-world war.
Molotovs.
If the vehicles were carrying liquor, it would burn beautifully.
He didn’t need swords or spells.
Just fire.
Simple. Brutal. Effective.
He stared at the page.
No hesitation.
No turning back.
Just survival.
And the beginning of his new life… as a weapon.