The Reincarnator's True Identity

Once they steered the ship into the harbor, the entry procedures went as smoothly as clockwork.

In truth, there wasn't much of a procedure to speak of.

The black pirate flag had long since been swapped for a standard merchant sail, and Orgilrian had plundered every single scrap of booty they had seized from the merchant ship, leaving not even a single seed behind.

"Damn it... Why did he take the spices? It's not like an undead can even eat them!"

"Looks like we'll have to do some hard labor to raise funds for our next voyage..."

"..."

Doran let the grumbling complaints of the pirates wash over him as he waited for the port inspection to finish.

Still, unlike the other pirates, Doran had found a pouch of emergency silver coins hidden beneath the desk in the captain's quarters, so they wouldn't go hungry immediately. It was a stroke of luck that their adversaries were undead who harbored a deep aversion to silver.

Once the paperwork was finalized and they disembarked, the pirates rushed ashore in a chaotic swarm, shouting in excitement as if their previous terror had been nothing but a dream.

"Bwahaha! Dry land! I'm back, you bastards!"

"We're actually stepping on solid ground! When we were surrounded by those undead, I thought we were done for good!"

"Let's get to the tavern and tell those idiots what we went through! No one's going to believe us!"

No sooner had the words left their mouths than the pirates bolted toward the nearest tavern. Doran quietly watched them go before turning to leave, prompting the first mate to approach him cautiously.

"...Aren't you coming with us, Captain?"

"I have other business to attend to, so I will pass."

"If you need my help with anything..."

"No, it is fine. It was a grueling journey, so rest up for five days, then meet me in front of the Barba. Tell the crew the same."

Doran firmly cut off the trailing first mate and headed deeper into the port.

If things went according to plan, this would be his final farewell to them, and he felt no lingering regrets. Though they had crossed the line of death together, they were entirely different kinds of people. They were criminals who made a living out of pillaging and plundering; nothing good would come from staying entangled with them.

Besides, he had a far more pressing reason to move on.

His joy at surviving the worst tutorial imaginable was short-lived, replaced by the chilling warning that now floated in his field of vision.

When the goddess had casually mentioned before his transmigration that there would be 'a few minor restrictions,' he had never imagined it would be something like this.

Level 30 in two months... I don't have time to waste.

Actually, it was just as well.

To survive in this brutal dark fantasy world where a Lich could casually appear just off the coast of a starting village, he needed to acquire power anyway.

And for someone like him, who had no connections and no money to set up a workshop, there was one perfect profession.

An adventurer.

But this port town is too small to do anything of note...

The public security here was abysmal, allowing criminals like pirates to roam the streets with impunity. Since there were no suitable hunting grounds nearby, his plan was to travel to Verastin, the nearest major city, and register as an adventurer there.

He could grind low-level mobs in the surrounding fields to level up, and then challenge dungeons to accelerate his growth.

Come to think of it, he also had to deliver the letter Orgilrian had entrusted to him...

Well, I can do that later. It's not like he's going to track me down.

Doran pushed the matter of the letter to the back of his mind. He was just about to step into a narrow alleyway to take a shortcut when a voice spoke from behind him.

"I knew it... You aren't Captain Barbo."

"...!!"

The chilling words echoed from the shadows. Doran spun around to find the pirate first mate standing there, his eyes filled with deep suspicion.

...Just how long has he been tailing me?

Doran's heart hammered against his ribs, but he immediately lowered his voice, adopting an arrogant, theatrical drawl to play it off.

"I have no idea what you're talking about! If I'm not the famous captain of the Barba, the terror of the Charybdis Coast, the great pirate Barbo, then who else could I be?"

"Liar. You aren't the Captain Barbo I know."

"Why do you think that, First Mate Robert? Have I done something to offend you?"

"Your gait."

"My gait?"

"Captain Barbo has a habit of walking splay-footed. Besides, when we're in private, he speaks much more vulgarly. And despite his low-class nature, he plays the grand captain and refuses to touch rum, claiming it's a cheap drink only fit for peasants."

"...I see."

Seeing the absolute certainty in the first mate's eyes, Doran dropped the act. He hadn't expected to pull off a flawless deception from the start anyway.

Even with the assistance of the Rune of Antagon, relying on impromptu acting to fool a close associate who had shared meals and sailed with the man for years was practically impossible. He had known the first mate was suspicious of him for some time now.

He had only hoped the man would keep quiet until they reached the port and he could slip away...

...Can I win if we fight?

As Doran's hand slowly drifted toward the cutlass at his waist, Robert took a step back and raised his hands.

"Don't misunderstand. I didn't come to fight. I sailed with Barbo for a long time, but he was a piece of trash, so there's no love lost between us."

"Then... why did you come after me? Why go out of your way to stop me?"

"Because... there's something I want to ask you."

"Something you want to ask?"

"Yes."

First Mate Robert hesitated for a brief moment before speaking.

"Are you, by any chance, a reincarnator?"

"What...?"

Reincarnator.

The word hit Doran like a physical blow, leaving his mind reeling.

...What did I just hear?

How did this man know about the existence of reincarnators? What could have possibly tipped him off?

Doran fought to suppress the rising tide of shock and panic, desperately trying to maintain his composure. Having his disguise as Barbo exposed was one thing, but being revealed as a reincarnator was an entirely different, far more dangerous matter.

Swallowing hard, he asked, "You... know about reincarnators?"

It was practically an admission, but he had to know. He needed to understand how reincarnators were perceived in this world and correct any mistakes in his behavior that might give him away in the future.

To his surprise, the first mate let out a dry scoff.

"Of course I do. Is there anyone in this world who doesn't know about those disgusting bastards?"

"..."

"If you still don't know anything, let me fill you in. In this world, beings like you are called reincarnators, evil spirits, parasitic souls, or usurpers. The slurs vary by region, but the meaning is the same. And that includes the fact that everyone absolutely loathes you."

"...I see."

Doran recalled his final moments before arriving in this world. The goddess had warned him never to let the natives find out he was a reincarnator. She had warned him that if he were caught, he would face a horrific end—either being torn limb from limb or thrown to the goblins as live bait.

So it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't a system-enforced restriction...?

When he had first heard it from the goddess, he assumed that exposing his identity would trigger some sort of penalty or warp the laws of causality. But it seemed that wasn't the case. If it were, the knowledge of reincarnators wouldn't be so widespread among the common folk, as this pirate's words suggested.

It meant there had been quite a few reincarnators before him.

Just how many people did that goddess kidnap...?

It was clear that many others had been brought to this world before him, and the natives were well aware of their existence. But why? Why did the inhabitants of this world harbor such a visceral hatred for reincarnators?

When Doran voiced his question, the first mate replied in a cold, detached tone.

"Because you evil spirits are born by stealing our bodies."

"...Stealing bodies?"

"Yes. The moment the souls of you outsiders dwell in our bodies, those bodies lose their past memories and become mere vessels containing the personality of the new soul. You become a completely different being who can't even recognize your parents, spouse, or children. ...Like an insect whose brain has been eaten by a parasite."

"I see... I understand."

Hearing Robert's explanation, the truth finally clicked into place.

What he had experienced wasn't a simple reincarnation. It was possession.

Unlike in a game where a new body is created the moment a character is generated, this process involved usurping the body of an existing inhabitant of this world. The body of 'Doran' that he now inhabited merely shared his past appearance; it had belonged to a real person who had lived in this world.

Only now did Doran understand where the sudden impulses and dark thrill had come from when he killed Tyrosh and the captain with his own hands. He understood how he could naturally comprehend and speak the language of this world from the very beginning. He understood why the man before him looked at him with such hostile eyes, and why the natives of this world treated reincarnators as mortal enemies.

To them, reincarnators were nothing but alien invaders who had stolen the bodies of their loved ones.

He also realized the misunderstanding Robert was harboring.

He thinks I possessed the captain's body.

Strictly speaking, Doran had possessed the body of 'Doran' and then used the Rune of Antagon to disguise himself as Barbo, but he saw no reason to correct the first ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mate. He was indeed a reincarnator, and nothing good would come from revealing his true identity.

"...Yes, I have experienced reincarnation. But why? If you dislike me so much, you could have crept up and killed me, or turned me in."

"...Repayment."

"Repayment?"

"Yes. I hate evil spirits like you to death... but you saved my men's lives. That's something the real Barbo would never have done."

Robert pulled out a cigarette from somewhere, lit it, and took a long drag. "Though an outsider who doesn't understand our bond would never comprehend..."

"..."

"But yes, you're right. If we hadn't had our weapons taken by the undead, I might have stabbed you in the back by now. I don't really know... what choice I would have made."

"..."

"But since I've decided to help you this time, don't waste my advice. If you're going to hide that you're an evil spirit, hide it to the very end, no matter what. ...Even if it's from your friends, companions, or lovers. And above all..."

First Mate Robert pointed a finger at Doran's head, his gaze suddenly shifting to one of cold calculation, as if looking at a sack overflowing with gold coins.

"Hunting evil spirits is highly lucrative."

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

After a deep, restorative sleep at the inn, Doran lay in bed, mentally organizing the information he had gathered.

His mind was a tangled mess of thoughts, weighed down by what he had learned from Robert and his own existing knowledge.

Whew...

The goddess had warned him not to let anyone find out he was a reincarnator. He hadn't given it much thought at the time, but it was a far more serious issue than he had anticipated. If knowledge about reincarnators was this widespread, it meant there would be plenty of others ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who, like the first mate, could see right through him.

...It was a bit of a shock.

He hadn't expected to face such raw hostility so soon. If it were merely resentment, he could have rationalized it, but the look in Robert's eyes had been a volatile mix of hatred and suppressed greed. There was likely a massive bounty placed on the heads of evil spirits.

And...

Why are the gods standing by and watching this happen?

No matter how much he thought about it, it made no sense. The conflict between the inhabitants of Velheim and the reincarnators directly opposed the goals of the gods who had brought him here. If the gods wanted them to succeed, securing the cooperation of the natives would have been ideal. He couldn't see any benefit to letting this hostility fester.

Was there some deeper, hidden lore he was unaware of?

And just how many other reincarnators—evil spirits—were out there? If they were currently blending into this world, could some of them be people he knew from his past life?

His questions didn't stop there.

...Why is the infrastructure so intact?

In his memories of the game, this port town was not in such pristine condition. It should have been a ruined harbor, devastated by a massive tsunami, with the wreckage of ships and buildings strewn everywhere. It should have been a lawless place where pirates and mermen roamed the streets, and the stench of rotting fish and brine filled the air.

But what was the reality?

Even the pirates changing their flag before docking was strange.

The fact that entry procedures were being enforced meant that a proper, functioning authority was still in place. Under normal circumstances, a decent inn like this shouldn't even exist.

Was this simply the difference between a game and reality? Or was it...

"...This won't do. There's too little information."

Doran massaged his throbbing temples and slowly got out of bed.

The truth about reincarnators, the intact fishing village—none of this had been in the game. Sitting here racking his brain wouldn't yield any answers. For now, his only option was to gather information step-by-step while keeping his identity strictly under wraps.

Doran splashed cold water on his face and stepped out of the inn just as the faint, gray light of dawn began to bleed into the sky.

Today was the day he would leave this small port town and head for the city.

To prepare for the journey, he had visited the Adventurers' Guild the previous day to request an escort. With his current stats, attempting to cross a forest teeming with monsters and bandits alone would be nothing short of suicide.

Having deactivated his Disguise skill, Doran walked in his original form.

Passing the village guards who were dozing off by the wooden palisade, he stepped onto the lush green plains and spotted a small convoy gathered around a baggage wagon. The wagon bore the flag of the Ophelia Caravan, surrounded by a group of mercenaries.

These were the people he would be traveling with to the city over the next three to four days.

As he approached the convoy, a man who appeared to be an adventurer stepped forward, his green robe fluttering in the wind. With his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠golden hair, green eyes, and strikingly handsome features, he was the textbook definition of a fantasy elf.

However...

Wait, what...?

The man's face was incredibly familiar. It wasn't just a passing resemblance; Doran had definitely seen this man in the game!

In fact, he knew him very well.

As his memories churned, his initial doubt transformed into a powerful sense of déjà vu, which solidified into absolute certainty the moment the elf walked up and offered a hand.

"Ah, are you the last client? I am Malton, and I've been assigned to be your personal escort for this mission. Pleased to meet you."

What the hell is this crazy bastard doing here?