NOVEL FROG Chapter I - His soul is marching on!
Old John Brown's body lies a moldering in the grave,
While weep the sons of bondage whom he ventured all to save;
But though he sleeps his life was lost while struggling for the slave,
His soul is marching on.
- John Brown's Body by William Weston Patton
68th of Winter, 5859
Mount Curry, Azdavay / Casamonu
Today was a beautiful day like any other.
The last few precious snowflakes were slowly floating down to the ground, racing each other in a futile attempt to cover the earth with a thin sheet of heavenly white. The famous mountains of Curry, consisting of earthly dark green with disappearing hints snow-white that were slowly beginning to brim with life, were quite a sight to behold.
In the midst of these scenic mountains was one earthling otherworlder whom had been titled “Watanabe Generico” by the few comrades he had acquired. He was a young man with a protagonistly look befitting his title: short black hair, distinct lack of facial hair, and a twig-like physique. Watanabe had been a gamer in his past life, having spent many hours grinding for levels in MMORPGs and whatnot. He had gladly accepted the offer made to him after his death; to use his gaming skills to save the land of Gemeinplatz (or something vague, he wasn’t sure what he had been told)!
However, the great ambitions of Watanabe didn’t just stop at the vague notion of “saving the realm”. In his previous life, Watanabe had never had any chances to have any relationships with women other than his mom and his sister (which thankfully were not romantic relationships). He wanted to rectify that in this new world. He thought of himself as the peak of masculinity, an alpha male if you will. He was a self-declared intellectual, spending copious times watching videos on YouTube and listening to podcasts by self-declared “independent thinkers”. He thought, and the people that he listened to told him, that society on Earth must have brainwashed women into ignoring true men like him, what other rational explanation was there for his previous maidenless predicament? It couldn’t have been the fact that he only showered only once a month, nor the fact that he never went outside, and surely, this predicament couldn’t have come about because he always looked down at any woman he was with. No, surely, a man like him would seem so attractive to the traditional women of this world that he’d soon gather a harem… Right?
Watanabe couldn’t really afford to wait, so he had used his “hero”-ing money to buy a slave. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do” is what he thought when he had made the purchase, which was admittedly at a very convenient price. Following him bound in chains was some slave whom Watanabe simply referred to as “Rye Bread”. He couldn’t actually bother to learn how to pronounce her name (he couldn’t really bother to pronounce anyone else’s name in this realm either), which was Kyauta. She was a woman around two heads taller than him and she could’ve easily beat Watanabe to death, she really wanted to do so, if she was the one who was armed and not in chains.
Other than having someone around him that wanted to kill him if given the chance, Watanabe Generico had another problem: he craved something sweet to eat. This otherworld lacked in conveniently accessible sugar found on Earth. An absence of Mountain Dew had been troubling him since the beginning of his otherworldly journey. He seemed to hit the jackpot, only in terms of his quest for sweets, when he chanced upon a plateau in the lower regions of the mountain. There lay some trees, and under their protective shade laid bushes which had green pear-shaped berries crowning them.
Is this edible? I shouldn’t put myself at risk, he thought. He plucked one of the berries and would have handed it over to Kyauta if her hands weren’t preoccupied with being in chains. “Hey, be grateful. Your gracious master’s giving you a generous gift.”
Kyauta recoiled in response to the berries being presented. “Sir, they are not edible, these are-”
“What, you think you know better than me, woman? I’m a modern, intellectual man from the 21st century, you should listen to my words. Come on, don’t be shy, say ‘Aaah’…”
He got a prompt spurn from Kyauta, in the shape of a spiteful spittle spate of spit spat towards his spoilt face that splashed and spread, sploshing into spongy sphereal spatter. He was mad, quite mad, frothing even due to his spiffy face being used like a spittoon. He raised his generic broadsword to retaliate with unjust punishment, his anger trapping him in a state of tunnel vision.
Without a chance to even shout or retaliate any further, Watanabe suddenly collapsed. He hit his head on the cold hard ground with great force that ended his springy life in another world before he got to see spring once more.
Watanabe Generico had failed to notice the fact that John Brown had been slowly sneaking up to him, a novice mistake to not be aware of any wild abolitionists while adventuring. The old man had simply done the Lord’s work by caving his skull in with a large boulder. Brown quickly checked the many pockets of Watanabe Generico, finding a set of keys that he thought might be useful. He got up, intending to free Kyauta from her shackles, only to notice that she was already a few meters away. She had been doing the sane thing by running away from the possibly-less-than-sane stranger who had bashed someone’s head in a few seconds ago.
“Don’t skedaddle just yet!” shouted Brown. Seeing that she had no intention to approach him, Brown threw the keys towards her as far as he could “Young lady, get those cuffs off!”
Kyauta paused for a second, leaning down to pick the keys as best as she could with her limited movement capability. She then continued her merry way away from Brown, clearly unwilling to take any chances with the wild man from the mountains.
Brown didn’t intend to give chase; it’d probably cause more misunderstandings if he did so. Plus, he had a whole corpse to dispose of now. The old man had honestly hoped that he’d get a break in the afterlife, where he would finally reunite with all the family he had lost over the years, where Earthly sorrow and separation would end under the grace of the Almighty. John Brown had already considered his mission done when he had sacrificed himself to become a martyr on Earth.
No matter his personal desires, if Providence had prevented his death, if he had been raised again by the Heavenly Father, then he’d never stop or falter in his divinely ordained mission, not until he finally found himself in front of the Pearly Gates.