A Cold-Blooded POV

A/N: I wanted to let you guys know as reminder if I never said it before: the storylines excluding the MC's(Ethoss) is not all taking place during the same time. Some events may be taking place a few days ahead of Ethoss's storyline, while others, a few days behind.

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*Shhhhh*

The shuffling of hay rustled each time the boy moved or rolled over. Finding a comfortable position on such prickly hay was a difficult thing to do, especially for the boy since he was currently in a unique dilemma. 𝘧𝚛𝗲𝘦𝚠𝙚𝙗𝙣o𝙫𝗲𝚕.𝐜o𝓂

"Jeez… how can anyone sleep like this? This is almost unbearable…" He thought out loud.

He had brought new clothes due to his last ones being ripped from the incident within the Elzic Dungeon. He had already wore the same clothes for days and had only recently washed them one by one at the river close by the village. His white grayish hair stuck up all over from the lack of a brush. Strays of hair covered the top half of his face and concealed his sapphire blue eyes, making him look unidentifiable.

"Well, I should try to get more comfortable," he grunted as he rolled over again, twisting his body to the left - so he could lay on his side. He scratched at his itching body from the hay rubbing and poking at his shirt against his skin, and paid little attention to his surroundings.

Most of his attention was locked on the weird system-like status in his mind.

"I still can't get over how similar this is to a game, even Hell's Paradise's UI was kinda similar to this. The hell is this place? Seriously…"

"And the memories I received: dungeons, monsters, exp, it seriously sounds just like a game."

This boy was the recently expelled Tremblebane guild's recruit, Blake Foxx, at least his body was. Internally, the soul and consciousness of this boy was of a worldly foreign origin. f𝓇𝘦𝒆𝘄𝑒𝗯𝑛𝗼ѵ𝙚l.𝒄𝘰𝓶

The guy, formerly known as Chris Johnson in his previous world, or perhaps in better words - his previous life, had unexpectedly woke up in the body of Blake.

Chris was a 28 year old game design and developer, and one of his most successful games was an rpg called Hell's Paradise. One day after working for nearly 36 hours on end - fixing the bugs that plagued Hell's Paradise, he was leaving his job's office department. He hadn't had much sleep throughout the nearly 36 hours of work and was terribly drowsy.

Crossing one of the main streets that lead to the parking lot where his car was stationed, he ended up encountering a drunk driver who was speeding in a super car - and before he knew it, he abruptly woke up within a forest with blood red trees of tremendous height.

And not too long later, memories of a boy named Blake Foxx surfaced in his mind, assaulting his brain with the most painful migraine he had ever experienced.

Suddenly, out of the blue, sharp bangs on the door and extremely loud shouts rung out from the outside of the barn he was using for residence - waking him out of his internal thoughts.

"Traitor of the kingdom, come out here now, you are no longer welcome here!"

"Yeah, get the hell out here and face your sins like a real man!"

"Damn traitor, I knew you were too dangerous to be around our village."

The shouts were loud and mixed together, making certain words too indistinguishable to be understood.

Blake, or internally known as, Chris, flinched and jumped up - instinctively shook from the sudden flux of yells and screams followed by the banging of the barn doors.

'The hell is wrong with these people? I don't remember doing anything that would have made these guys so pissed with me.'

'Even the memories that I received of the boy, Blake - he kept to himself mostly, only speaking to merchants and other store or stable owners when he needed to. I don't get why these guys are banging on the doors so loud this late at night.'

More and more shouts came from the outside and the smell of smoke and fire became noticeable…

Luckily, unlike the barns that were constructed in his previous world, in Atinen, these barns didn't have the wood board lock -and could be locked from the inside. This was why no one was able to enter all this time, it was also what kept him sane while he slept, since in his old world - secure and locked homes were a must.

Blake started to walk toward the barn door, preparing to explain that he hadn't done anything to warrant there hate. However, something ate at his mind, and he paused his movements.

'Wait… How do these guys even know that I live here? I've only come in and out of the barn during the times this village is usually asleep, due to Mr. Hartelle's rules.'

This was true. No one besides Mr. Hartelle, his landlord, knew about him living in this barn. Of course, the people knew he stayed somewhere within the village due to seeing him so often, however, no one knew where exactly.

'Also, the tone of these peoples voices, their hostility seems more fumed than it usually is. Not to mention this smell of fire…' He thought.

Blake turned around, glancing toward the sword that he carried around with him everywhere.

"Maybe I should take this with me…" He whispered in a low voice.

The thought of using this sword to inflict injury on another person scared Chris, but he felt that he wouldn't need to - just carrying the sword should be enough to stop any brave ideas from the villagers, surely.

'I'll just take this with me to be on the safe side…' He comforted himself, reaching down to pick up the sword.

*Cling Cling!*

As he reached for his sword, the sounds of metal touching and tapping against itself rung out, and Blake immediately recognized what this was.

'Keys? Wait, but keys means…'

As his mind was putting the pieces together, the barn door swung open.

A mob of people in a large hoard stood at the entrance. They were equipped with fire torches and had weaponized pitch forks, axes, and other workplace tools.

At the very front of this mob - was Blake's landlord, Mr. Hartelle, holding a key chain that held three large keys.

"I knew he was in here" Mr. Hartelle stated with a disgusted expression on his face.

Blake turned around, his sheathed sword in hand.

"Mr. Hartelle, what's all this about? What did I do wrong?" Blake genuinely asked.

Mr. Hartelle didn't even get a chance to answer, a woman stepped forward instead.

"Look at you, playing all innocent. That won't work with us, we know that that is just a facade. Just get the hell out of here you criminal!"

Blake looked at this woman confused, internally he couldn't help but be annoyed though. These people still hadn't told him anything he had done wrong, yet, they continuously accused him of unknown acts that he had no idea of.

"I seriously don't know what you guys are talking about" he stated in a solemn tone.

Suddenly, Mr. Hartfelle lifted his arms, holding a shirt that was full of tears and rips. It looked to had been drenched in blood, however, since the blood had already dried up - it had turned burgundy. The old man tossed it on the floor in front of Blake.

"If your so confused, maybe this will jog your memory. Recognize this?" The old man said with a ferocity of sarcasm and hate mixed together.

Blake did indeed recognize this clothing, how could he not; it was literally his shirt. Well, more precisely, it belonged to the old owner of his body - Blake Foxx. It was the same shirt he was wearing when he woke up in this new world.

When he purchased his new set of clothes he had tossed the old and bloodied ones into the garbage when he arrived at the barn.

"That's my shirt. I don't understand what you are trying to insinuate though. What's your point?" He asked with even more confusion.

Again, before Mr. Hartelle could speak up, the woman responded instead, her words ingrained with hatred, along with literal droplets of her saliva.

"Look at you, still acting ignorant. Pharenskus should strike you down with his sword and drown you in his deep waters, you murderer!"

Pharenskus was one of the many gods that were being preached about throughout the entire kingdom of Asrich by the religious organization called the Cathedral. But what did the woman mean when she called him a murderer? He hadn't hurt anyone!

"What?! That is a lie, you guys are trying to frame me. I haven't killed anyone, I don't even talk to anyone." Blake retorted to the woman revealing his frustration.

Mr. Hartelle eyes widened a little as if he was surprised, however, his face went right back to disgust and hatred instantly.

"Hmph! I didn't expect this kind of response from you, I thought you'd try to put on your usual fake innocent front you'd usually do. Regardless, in the end you still lied." Mr. Hartelle stated.

He took a step forward toward Blake, then he contiued.

"You see, there's already enough proof for us to hold you for the Enforcers to arrive, or simply just kick you out."

"Recently, a well loved man was killed in the dungeon southeast of here. He had been making a living off delving in the lands below far earlier than when you arrived here, and never was there a time where he was seriously injured. However, as soon as you arrive, he is found dead? Not to mention, I found this shirt in the trash, all bloodied up. What? You tried to hide the evidence, and thought no one would find it?"

"This cannot be a coincidence."