Chapter 2: The village of silent murders

The ground was damp under his bare feet, but strangely enough-it was not unpleasant at all. The earth seemed to welcome him, as if welcoming him to that new world.

He had been walking for several minutes now, following the direction of the arrow etched on the tree. There was no precise path, only grassy expanses that stretched like an undulating sea of green, punctuated here and there by hills as gentle as barely hinted thoughts. The air was cool, almost crisp, and clean.

Too clean.

"It doesn't even smell like smog.... Where the hell am I?" he muttered, scratching his head.

He paused. Just to listen. The gentle rustle of grass under the wind, the distant chirp of unfamiliar birds, and the faint hiss of the wind. No horns, no sirens. No human voice.

The world around him was silent. But not an eerie silence-it was more like a caress.
A silence that seemed to say, "Breathe. You are safe."

Then, suddenly, he saw it.

Between two hills, a wisp of smoke rose straight up into the blue sky. It wasn't much, just a thin gray column. But for him, at that moment, it was like finding a lighthouse in thin air.

“A village...?”

He wasted no time. he began to run, his bare feet brushing against the wet grass, his heart beating faster with each step.

And then he actually saw it. A village. The houses, low and solid, were made of stone and wood. The roofs looked like they had just been redone, and the streets were simple, but alive. People were smiling, chatting, laughing. A child chased a chicken laughing, an old woman put out colorful cloths while two men exchanged greetings by a fountain.

The air was saturated with smells. Freshly baked bread, sweet fruit, a vague aroma of burning wood. And above it all, a sense of peace. He stopped at the roadside, almost in disbelief. There was no vehicle. No rattling, no engines roaring. Just ... people. And the natural sound of life.

"Is this how ... the world should be?"

He had always lived among noise, racing, sirens, cities too narrow to breathe. But there, in that nameless village, he felt for the first time that perhaps, that new life ... was not so bad.

Ren felt like an outsider, an intruder in a world that did not belong to him. But at least there were no weapons pointed at him. An encouraging start.

He was about to take a step back when-

“Look mom, a man with no shirt on!” The squeaky little voice of a child echoed from afar.

He froze. With the cruel slowness of awkward dreams, he felt people's gazes converge on him. Or at least-so it seemed to him. His cheeks burned.

"Are they ... looking at me ...?"

He barely turned around. Sure enough, he had no shirt on. And the pants he was wearing looked like they had been borrowed from a medieval peasant.

He wished he had sunk. “S-sorry...” He made an awkward bow, trying to disappear at least with his posture.

It was then, in the crowd, that an elderly man stepped forward. White hair, neat beard, kind eyes like an old country grandfather. He had the air of someone who, as a young man, must have beaten up a few bandits with his gaze alone.

"Kid, are you new? I haven't seen you around here before." His voice was calm, but not authoritative. Almost cheerful.

The awkward tension still clung to him, squeezing tight. The words stuck in his throat, as if each syllable was a stone.
“E-e-e-excuse me, I-I-I f-followed t-the a-a-arrow...of a...a-tree...”

A second of silence. Then the old man burst out laughing. "Ahahahah! I see, boy. So it did serve a purpose after all! I recorded it, years ago. I thought no one would ever notice it."

Ren looked at him, confused. “Do they have a purpose arrows in trees?”

“Of course not!” replied the old man, laughing even louder. “But apparently they do now!”

Ren couldn't tell if he had been tricked-or lucky. He was still trying to find a balance between embarrassment and relief when he heard the sweetest sentence of all:
“Anyway...if you follow me, I can get you a shirt.”

His eyes widened. "R-really? t-thank you, really...!"

That simple gesture affected him more than he wanted to admit. He was ready to be kicked out, laughed at, or worse. But instead.

They had offered him a shirt.

So, walking beside the man with the kind smile, Ren walked toward a small thatched house. His first real step ... into that new life.

"A new dress...a new life."

The small house had a light scent of wood and spices. A simple but warm place. Ren was now wearing a new shirt and pants, both light brown. They were a little baggy on the sleeves, but after all-it was the first real thing to happen to him since he woke up in that world.

“They fit you well,” the elderly man said with a smile.
"T-thank you very much! W-well-if I can do anything to repay you-"

The man raised his hand, stopping him. “Actually ... there's something I want to tell you.” His voice changed tone. Lower. More serious.

Ren stiffened.

“Look kid...” The man sat in a nearby chair and crossed his arms.

"In the last month, here in the village ... things have happened. Bad things."

The boy held his breath.

“There have been murders.”

That word fell like a stone. “Murders...”

The boy heart stopped for a moment. A sudden pang in his chest. Those images came back to his mind. The blood, the fall, the darkness.

His hands began to shake. His breathing became shorter.

"Hey, kid...? Are you okay?" The elder's voice called him back to reality. It was warm, reassuring.

Ren forced himself to smile. "Y-yeah...everything's fine. It just...surprised me. But I'll be careful. I promise."

The man nodded slowly, satisfied. "Good. You don't have to be afraid, but don't let your guard down either."

Then he stood up, clapping his hands. The tone returned to that of before.
“Anyway, welcome to our village!”
"T-thank you...! Really!“
”And by the way -- you don't have a home yet, right? For now, you could stay here. If you don't mind, of course."
"W-what?! But it's really too kind, I could never-“
”Then it's settled!"

The elder laughed, as if the answer was obvious from the start. “I'll explain the rules of the house, so you won't make trouble.”

And so he did. Although he listened attentively, part of his mind was still elsewhere. That word kept ringing in his ears. Murder...?

That night, he found himself lying on a modest bed with a rough but warm blanket. He looked up at the wooden ceiling, lost in thought.

"Apparently ... they had never happened before. Yet there have been more in a single month than in recent years."
"It's disturbing. But at least, people seem happy. Kind."
“So ... what am I really doing here?”

Clutching the sheet between his fingers, he tried to stifle the fear in his chest.