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Clearly, there was no way Matsurize could reason with those two giant wild boars—reason simply didn't apply here.
All he could do was run.
The moment he bolted, the two big and three small boars behind him charged after him in a frenzy.
Matsurize darted blindly through the forest, zigzagging between trees, knowing that running in a straight line would only get him caught faster.
Sure enough, his strategy worked—the distance between him and the pack widened a little.
The trees in this dense forest were tall and sturdy, far beyond what wild boars could topple. The beasts, hindered by the thick trunks, couldn't unleash their full speed to chase him down.
But Matsurize's stamina was almost gone. His body felt drained, his legs weak and heavy.
He kept glancing over his shoulder—though weaving through trees helped him dodge for a while, it burned through his strength at an alarming rate. The boars were closing in again.
There was no better plan. Nothing else came to mind.
He thought about climbing a tree, but with his current state and poor climbing skills, that idea was a fantasy.
So he abandoned it and kept running for dear life.
After a while of panicked running, he suddenly realized he had circled back to the same patch of shrubs where he'd first encountered the boars.
Before him stretched a thicket that seemed low compared to the towering trees, but was tall enough to swallow him whole.
He had no time to think. The sound of hooves and grunts was closing in fast.
Only one boar remained on his tail—the other must have stayed behind to protect the three smaller ones.
Matsurize cursed under his breath.
"Damn it! Why are you still chasing me? Shouldn't you be back there taking care of your kids?"
He clenched his fists and plunged headlong into the dense brush.
There was a faint trail through it—likely trampled down by the boars themselves—but even so, every step was agony. His clothes were shredded by thorns, his skin marked with fresh scratches and bleeding welts.
He didn't dare look back anymore, but he could still hear the wild boar crashing through the thicket behind him, relentless.
He didn't even know how he managed to keep going. He felt utterly humiliated—what kind of "transmigrator" was he, running for his life from pigs? The past two days had been hell.
His strength kept fading, his breathing ragged. The boar was almost upon him. He summoned the last ounce of energy in his body—every bit he had left.
He didn't know when it happened, or how long he'd been running, but the world around him began to blur. His consciousness slipped away.
He tripped and fell forward, his body collapsing to the ground.
That fall sent him tumbling out of the brush and down into a narrow, fast-flowing river.
Whether it was good luck or bad, he couldn't tell.
Good, because it freed him from the boar's pursuit.
Bad, because he plunged straight into the rushing water, which quickly swept him downstream.
At least the danger was over. But as for his fate—who could say?
The sun blazed overhead—it was noon now.
Not far from the forest where Matsurize had been running, a small village was preparing lunch.
At the western edge of the village, in a quiet corner, a young girl stepped out of her home after finishing her meal early. She carried a wooden basin full of clothes, heading to the river to wash them.
Her family had lived in this village for generations.
Her name was Ayane.
Her life had been full of misfortune. She once had a father and mother like any child, but when she was little, her father grew restless and left their dull village life behind to seek fortune at sea.
Her mother raised her alone after that, the two relying on each other just to survive.
But their peace didn't last—Ayane's mother died not long after in a tragic accident.
Since then, Ayane had lived by herself, sustaining her life through the small inheritance of her family's home. Now eighteen, she had grown into a quiet, strong young woman.
Cradling the washbasin, Ayane made her way to the riverbank near the village.
She had just set down the clothes and was about to start washing when she spotted something lying on the riverbank not far away.
A person.
Startled, Ayane dropped the clothes and ran over at once.
When she reached him, she saw that the person was lying face-down on the sand by the water. His clothes were torn to rags, his body covered in bruises and cuts—some wounds were so soaked by the river that the flesh looked raw and sickening.
He was barefoot, of average build. Ayane turned him over carefully—his face, though pale and dirt-streaked, was actually rather decent-looking. He seemed around her age.
She pressed her fingers to his nose—he was still breathing, but faintly. So faintly that he could die at any moment.
Her heart ached. There was still a chance to save him.
She made up her mind. She would.
That half-dead young man was none other than Matsurize, the one who had fallen unconscious and been swept away by the river.
Ayane was not a frail girl like she appeared. She crouched down, slid one arm under his waist, and with surprising ease, hoisted him over her shoulder.
Supporting him with one hand, she even had the strength to pick up her washbasin with the other.
Under the midday sun, a strange scene unfolded—a young girl jogging toward the village gate, one hand holding her laundry basin, the other supporting an unconscious man over her shoulder.
It was almost comical. Matsurize, though slim, wasn't exactly light. For someone like Ayane, who looked delicate and gentle, to lift him so easily was unbelievable.
If Matsurize had been awake to see this, it would've wounded his pride as a man beyond repair.
The village Ayane lived in was tiny—fewer than twenty households, not even a hundred people in total.
There was no doctor here. So Ayane had no choice but to take him back to her own home.
As she passed through the village entrance, a few older women saw her and couldn't resist teasing.
"Oh, Ayane, looks like you've grown up—you're even bringing a man home now!"
Ayane's cheeks turned bright red, and she quickened her pace.
Fortunately, her house was on the western edge of the village—close to the very gate she'd just passed.