"Is this an explosive skill?"
Duncan realized he seemed to have looted the enemy’s combat techniques, as if he’d undergone years of military training, effortlessly mastering various basic forms.
Although he couldn’t claim they were highly advanced, the foundation was undeniably solid, and it would have taken at least three to five years of effort to achieve this.
His consciousness was slightly dazed.
When Duncan’s vision returned, his consciousness had already left the god’s perspective. He smelled a rich scent of blood, which, although he felt during the previous battle, wasn’t as distinct then, even making him feel like retching now.
The gruesome corpses in front of him also made his heart tremble slightly, different from the god’s perspective where it felt like playing a game. Duncan couldn’t help but retch a few times.
His consciousness returned to his body, but now it seemed like he had acquired combat skills honed through long-term training.
A wave of hunger hit him.
Duncan searched around and eventually turned over a knight’s corpse, finding a blood-soaked bag with small pieces of jerky inside, which seemed like venison. The jerky was soaked in blood, giving off a slight stench, but since no other food was nearby, he washed it with water by the well and chewed it directly.
In his previous life, he would never have eaten something tainted with dead man’s blood. But now, having killed three people, he didn’t mind at all, taking the bit of blood as seasoning, focusing on replenishing his energy first.
He now understood why people said that a new soldier who survives and comes back from the battlefield is different.
Duncan found his mindset was changing rapidly.
He dragged over the three defeated soldiers’ corpses, looting them one by one, and piled up what he found aside. The Grim Knight was about the same height as him, presumably of noble birth, because he wore garments resembling silk under his armor.
He took them off, washed off the bloodstains; they were far superior to the tattered clothes Duncan was wearing.
He wore the dead man’s clothes without hesitation.
Having traversed worlds, he had nothing to be superstitious about.
The sky gradually darkened.
It was only then Duncan had the energy to digest the original owner’s memories. This guy happened to have the same name as him, which saved some trouble. The body’s original owner had lost his parents in his youth, growing up with the support of relatives, notorious for stealing, fighting, and causing trouble. Fortunately, he was already thirteen or fourteen by then, considered half a laborer and managed to eat.
After coming of age, he was sent via connections to a town’s blacksmith shop to learn a trade, but he was essentially just doing odd jobs; the old blacksmith never seriously taught him.
This guy was unscrupulous, seeking shortcuts, having an affair with the still-charming boss’s wife next door. When the affair was exposed, he could only flee back to this impoverished rural village in disgrace.
The original owner’s memories held nothing significant; the most vivid part was of that snow-white-skinned lady boss.
No good person either.
As for the cause of this village massacre, it was unclear. The original only heard, "You damned commoners!" Then a fierce conflict erupted, and the defeated soldiers were killing indiscriminately, leaving others no choice but to resist.
According to Duncan’s guess, it was indeed the defeated soldiers pillaging the village, sparked either by looting or by assaulting women.
Having lost the battle, they slaughtered some commoners to vent their anger; a tradition of the old empire.
The empire’s military discipline was abysmal!
As soon as they faced a minor defeat, they would pillage nearby towns and villages indiscriminately.
Surrounded by desolate mountains and wilderness, Duncan couldn’t leave. He gathered the corpses, found a relatively clean house, laid out some straw, and made do for the night. The village had long been thoroughly looted; not even a chicken could be found, the shacks devoid of livestock, only a little animal dung remained.
Early the next morning.
He piled the victims’ bodies beside the wooden house’s haystacks, found some firewood, and with the rising morning light, set it all ablaze.
"This is the most I can do!"
He slung a shoddy hunting bow he found at the hunter’s house over his shoulder and calmly said toward the direction where the fire was rising, "Old friend, I’ve avenged you and buried your people."
"You can rest in peace."
Duncan had no intention to bear the original owner’s karma, and he wasn’t the one who slept with that charming lady boss, so he had no more attachments to this place.
The wooden house ignited.
The fire blazed high.
Amid the flying dust, Duncan took what he could use and left the secluded little mountain village without looking back.
After traveling for half a day, he first decided to ditch some items.
Those armors were excessively heavy, carrying them over mountain roads was literally torturing himself, so Duncan ended up only wearing a set of inner-lined short robes with studded leather armor, somewhat resembling a ranger’s outfit, a light armor set, discarding anything else that would hinder his movement.
At that moment, with food, water, and a bit of scavenged money on him, he felt like a refugee escaping from famine.
"I need to find a way to get a horse."
This place was truly desolate, and he didn’t even know where those defeated soldiers came from. Rumor had it a lord in the southern border had rebelled and directly defected to an enemy country.
After the empire weakened, border lords frequently rebelled.
Unfortunately, the original owner had little knowledge, never having traveled far, so he had to gather most information on his own.
Duncan walked for half a day on mountain roads and finally stepped onto the official road.
Four Directions Avenue.
Constructed at the empire’s peak, it was now a pothole-ridden dust road, having remained unrepaired for decades.