Chapter 22
Suddenly taking full control of the frail body, Stano nearly stumbled and fell to the ground.
He had never felt so weak before.
Because until now, Leticia had never lost consciousness, no one knew what would happen in such a moment.
Now, it was clear.
While Leticia was “offline,” Stano’s spirit, because of this mysterious connection, had completely crossed over here. He could not only feel his own body back home, but also freely use this one.
It was a bizarre sensation. Two different visions merged, two different sets of feelings overlapped. Stano had no idea how to react.
On his palms, he felt the coarse sting of dirt and gravel. On his arms, he felt the smooth velvet of his bedspread back in his own room. The exhaustion of limbs and the burning pain in lungs clashed against his body’s comfort, balancing out just enough so he wasn’t overwhelmed.
It was an unprecedented experience!
But the situation was urgent, and the boy didn’t know what this really meant. So he could only grit his teeth, suppress the sensations from his real body, and sink more deeply into this “bamboo pole’s” body.
“She must’ve fainted. This body really is in bad shape... Did I push it too hard?”
Stano plopped onto the edge of a field ridge. Even moving the slightest felt like being weighed down by tons of iron.
Helpless, he propped up the weary frame and quietly looked at his surroundings.
This might be the first time he was truly seeing Rhodes City.
Leticia had been there once with her uncle. Back then, at her request, Stano had only looked through her eyes. It hadn’t meant much. The city wasn’t even that prosperous—where he lived was far better.
But now, viewing it with his own consciousness—it felt entirely different.
Still, before he could ponder philosophical questions about whether existence was defined by perception or by body, he overheard a few travelers hurrying along: “Quick, or we’ll miss it!”
Miss what?
Only then did Stano remember the thought buried under those overwhelming sensations.
He had seen this scene before.
Crowds streaming toward the city. Guards increasing at the gate. A few clerics present to keep order.
This was the scene before an execution.
Someone was about to be executed here!
“Damn it!”
The foreboding in his chest grew stronger. Gritting his teeth, Stano dragged the exhausted body toward the city.
“Child, wait a moment.”
A monk at the gate called out to him. Stano turned his head to see the monk smiling kindly. “Could you come here a moment?”
“Cleric, sir.”
Though his body was drained, his upbringing guided him into a proper bow. Yet such polished manners contrasted strangely with the frail appearance of a weary little girl.
The monk also found it odd, but didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he enjoyed the respectful address—something he rarely heard. Smiling, he said, “No need to be so stiff. I mean no harm, child.”
He was only a simple monk assisting in church affairs, not a true cleric. Being called “cleric” by a child was naturally flattering.
“What is it you need, sir?”
Stano asked patiently, though even standing made him feel faint.
“Nothing much. I just saw you alone and looking unusual, so I wondered.”
The monk walked over, touching Stano’s sweaty forehead. “Covered in sweat, child. Why are you in such a hurry?”
“Well, sir...”
Stano’s mind raced. “My master told me to train—sent me to fetch some necessary materials, with a time limit. But I ran into trouble and... I failed...”
He spoke without the slightest hesitation, like recounting a real event.
This was his third lie.
The first time, he had boasted before others and enjoyed it.
The second time, he had lied to his family—his father had beaten him harshly and locked him in confinement for a week.
He had sworn never again.
But now was different.
“I see.”
The monk didn’t doubt him at all, even filling in the blanks himself. “Poor child. Don’t worry. When you return, tell your master that Brother Kafka of Rhodes Chapel vouches for you. You are a good child. Hurry home now. If you break rules about time again, it won’t be good.”
A kind soul.
“Thank you, sir.”
Stano feigned curiosity. “Why is it so busy today? Even you are here. Is some important figure coming?”
Brother Kafka replied, a little puzzled, “No, just some criminals to be executed. Why, child?”
“Ah, nothing. Thank you, sir!”
Stano’s heart clenched. Without delay, he dashed into the city.
“What a strange child.”
Brother Kafka chuckled, shook his head, and returned to his duties.
...
“Ha... hhh... haaah...”
Swept along with the crowd, Stano knew they would lead him to the place.
And there it was—in the square stood a wooden execution platform.
On the ground lay trails of blood, still pungent, forming a dark line that drew flies and gnawed at the nerves.
On the platform, a barely-breathing man was dragged toward the final stake by two soldiers.
Another was already bound to a stake, unconscious, covered in filth and blood—like some poor wretch corrupted by demons.
Neither was his uncle! Good! There was still hope!
Stano’s spirits soared—until he saw a third figure appear at the end of the street.
Wretched, broken, his body covered in wounds, rotting gashes buzzing with flies, dragged along by two masked soldiers.
The third condemned was alive—but only for the moment.
Fresh blood spilled across the road, and it felt the same in Stano’s heart.
Like an arrow loosed, something inside his head snapped.
“Uncle! Uncle!!!”