Chapter 2

Konlan groaned painfully. Rays of sunlight streamed in through the holes in the roof and cast a beautiful speckled pattern over his body. 

Unfortunately he was in no mind to appreciate this scene.  From the moment his eyes opened his stomach rumbled with painful hunger. 

His tone laced with unwilling resignation Konlan sighed and slowly got out of bed, "Every fucking day." 

In exchange for a few oren the bloodhound gang promised a safe dwelling for the night. Members of the gang patrolled while the moon shone and every few days a hopeful thief would have their hands publicly chopped off. 

Kindness however was not a word that had ever been associated with the bloodhound gang. They would provide security during the night, and maintain order during the day. Beyond this they didn't give a single shit for whether some addict's belongings were stolen while they staggered to a ditch to empty their bladder. 

Konlan kept any and all of his belongings on him at all times. Alas while an copper oren could endure hundreds or thousands of years, a piece of bread could not. 

There were various channels to acquiring food in the slums and it wasn't an exaggeration to say that half of them would result in an untimely end. 

Konlan valued his safety above all else. While the sellers in the bloodhound market might cheat him of a few orens, there was no reason for them to waste the effort in killing an unremarkable and filthy youth. 

Human life was a commodity in the slums. A skinny malnourished street-child turned young man like Konlan was almost worthless. 

"Two pieces." 

Separated from the filthy urchin in front of him by thick metal railings, the ugly balding seller revealed a set of crooked yellow teeth. 

"That'll be 4 orens boy." 

Konlan's expression did not change, "Last week it was 3." 

The seller grinned wickedly and leaned closer to the bars, "Then why don't you fuck off back to last week boy." 

The insult almost made Konlan smile. This was the way of this cruel world. Those in power leveraged their position over the poor for nothing more than their own amusement. 

The crisp and alluring sound of coins falling made several pairs of eyes jerk sharply to the market stand. 

Like a snake's tongue the seller's hand darted out and snatched the coins. Serpents were famed for their deceitful and cunning nature, but man was capable of far greater evil. 

From somewhere at his feet the market-seller pulled out two pieces of blackish bread. Pushing them through a gap in the railing he said in a sickeningly sweet tone, "Eat up boy." 

Through the air sickly yellowish globulets arced, reflecting the scorching sun above . A string of saliva dribbled down from the market-seller's chin as his gleeful eyes anticipated the moment where the urchin in front of him realised his worthlessness. 

Unfortunately this moment never came. 

The market-seller's counter was now covered in spit and the two pieces of bread safely and swiftly disappeared into Konlan's jacket. 

This scene brought great joy to the onlookers around and the atmosphere was filled with raucous laughter. 

The market-seller's ugly face quivered with rage. With every second that passed his cheeks visibly reddened with rage. 

White hot anger spread like venom through his body and a roar burst forth from his cracked lips, "I'll kill you!" 

Flinging open the locked door the market-seller charged out with his fists raised. Unrestrained murderous intent shone in his eyes. 

But his target was already gone. 

The market-seller now found himself standing foolishly several meters away from an open door, behind which were stored hundreds of coins worth of goods. 

The faces that had been grinning with laughter just moments ago now held a new emotion. 

"N-no! Get back! Get back you bastards don't you realise-" The market seller's cries were cut off with a bone-chilling crunch. 

Some moments later the delighted men scattered like rats from the now empty stall. They were smart enough to leave the stall-holder alive to take the blame for the incident. 

The fate of the stall-holder who's legs and arms had been crippled was obvious. Facing the fury of the bloodhound gang he wouldn't even get the dignity of dying a quick death. 

Rumours of a terrible incident at the market spread like wildfire. Konlan couldn't help but smile to himself as he heard passers-by animatedly discussing the execution of an incompetent stall-owner. 

'The beast gets what it deserves.' 

Sheltered in his house, Konlan hid from the burning heat and slowly allowed his saliva to soften a piece of bread in his mouth 

Each summer the kingdom battled with terrible drought. The magic of sorcerers and sorceresses could bring rain to the kingdom's grain fields and ensure a sufficient harvest, but they could do nothing against the scorching sun's rays. 

"Fucking Rivia." Konlan grumbled. 

The tales of the white-haired witcher of Rivia were spread throughout the continent. Even in the slums his name was known to all. 

Konlan had discovered after 2 weeks that he had been reborn in a world he recognized. For a short time he had entertained the fantasy that he might become one of those nigh-ageless yellow-eyed mutants; travelling the continent slaying monsters and romancing beautiful sorceresses. 

'I can barely survive here. Without the element of surprise even a child could best me in a fight. If it weren't for that knife I might not even be able to resist.' 

There were no breathing methods or cultivation techniques in the Witcher. Systematic and rigorous training was the only path an ordinary person could take to gain power. 

After the destruction of Ka' Er Morhen decades ago the torturous trials that transformed children into Witchers had been lost to time. 

Konlan had attempted to exercise and strengthen his body. It didn't take him long to realise the foolishness of this idea. 

His diet was made up of coarse bread and vegetable scraps. Hunger was an ever-present companion. Muscle could not be built out of nothing, without proper nutrition the only effect of exercise was to drain his already meagre strength. 

As for becoming a sorcerer. Ha! Such a notion was laughable. The decades of intensive study required aside, no sorcerer could learn the art of magic without first being a source. 

Considering he had already long past the age where most children would exhibit signs of magic, he didn't hold out much hope. 

Konlan sighed deeply and said what had become a sort of catchphrase for his new life.

"Fuck." 

For the time being he had no worries regarding food or rent. The orens he had gained from killing Malcom would last him for several months. 

But it was this cycle that made him consider giving up. 

Eventually he would run out of coin. That meant he had to find a new income source, a new target. What about after that, when that coin ran out. 

Spending each and every day trapped in this hellhole eeking out a pitiful existence. For how long could he hold onto his moral values. 

'A murderer discussing moral values, what a cruel joke of fate.' 

Humans were adaptable creatures; with time, things once thought impossible could be achieved almost effortlessly. 

Murder had come easily to Konlan. His victims were carefully selected, he only killed those who deserved it. But what gave him the right to decide who lived and died. 

Day by day this place was changing him. He was becoming colder, more critical; the values he that he once cherished on earth had no place in this cruel world. 

One day perhaps he would forget he ever held those values at all. 

He was like a bird in a cage. No matter what he did, no matter how he struggled, there was no way out. 

So why bother doing anything at all? 

Konlan held the knife in his hand, staring intently at its edge. With just the lightest pressure his skin would tear like paper. All it would take was a slight movement of his wrist and he could leave this cruel world in a pool of red. 

Konlan didn't know how long passed in this way. But by the time his thoughts returned to reality, the stars could be seen in the night sky above.

He sighed, "It happened again." 

The wooden bed creaked and groaned under his weight. For the scarce warmth it provided he covered himself with the straw, forcing himself to ignore the immense itching. 

As sleep overtook him, Konlan seemed to hear a familiar voice  whisper.

Despite the constant stress and exhaustion that ravaged his mind and body throughout the day, his sleepy thoughts, for just an instant, became sharp once more.

Something deep within him understood that his chance for a better life was in front of him.

He would not allow this chance to pass him by.

Then he heard it.

[ Do you wish to draw a multiversal character card? ]

Konlan's eyelids fluttered rapidly and his hands trembled as if he was trying to rouse himself out from slumber.

The almost invisible struggle lasted for a few brief seconds and then it was over.

The warm embrace of sleep welcomed Konlan into her arms.