The settlement appeared through the trees like something from a history textbook come to life.
Wooden palisade walls, maybe three meters high, surrounded a cluster of buildings with curved tile roofs. Torches burned at regular intervals along the wall, casting flickering shadows. I could make out a gate—heavy timber reinforced with iron bands—and two figures standing guard outside it.
I stopped at the tree line, suddenly aware of how insane this was about to be.
I was covered in dark stains that might be blood. My clothes screamed "wrong time period." I had no identification, no currency, no plausible explanation for my presence. And somewhere in my gut, a supernatural parasite had just granted me the ability to see in the dark by eating a demon.
The smart move would be to observe from a distance. Learn the language patterns, the customs, figure out what I was dealing with before making contact.
My stomach cramped, sharp and insistent.
No. Not now. I'd just fed it—fed myself—less than thirty minutes ago. But the Ghost Stomach didn't care about my timeline. It wanted more. Needed more. The hunger coiled in my gut like a living thing.
I gritted my teeth and stepped out of the forest.
The guards noticed immediately. Both straightened, hands moving to the weapons at their belts—one carried a spear, the other a sword. Even from fifty meters away, my enhanced vision picked out every detail of their equipment. Reinforced leather armor. Well-maintained weapons. Professional soldiers, not militia.
"Tomare!" one of them shouted.
I stopped, raising my hands slowly. The word was Japanese—"halt" or "stop"—and I understood it perfectly. That was wrong. I'd studied Japanese for my archaeology work, but I shouldn't be fluent. Shouldn't understand a dialect that was centuries old.
The Ghost Stomach's doing? Some side effect of the consumption?
The guards approached cautiously, spears leveled. As they got closer, their expressions shifted from wariness to confusion. The taller one, a man in his thirties with a scarred cheek, stopped three meters away.
"Nani mono da?" What are you?
Not "who are you." What are you.
"My name is Ryan," I said slowly, trying the Japanese words. They came out smoothly, naturally. "I'm... lost. I was attacked in the forest."
The guards exchanged glances. The shorter one, younger with sharp eyes, pointed at my clothes with his spear tip.
"What manner of garments are those? What province do you hail from?"
"I'm not from—" I caught myself. Saying "I'm from the future" would get me killed or locked up as a madman. "I'm a foreigner. A scholar. I was traveling when bandits attacked my group. I'm the only survivor."
It was a terrible lie, but it was all I had.
The scarred guard's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, and I saw his nose wrinkle slightly. Could he smell the stains on me? The remnants of whatever the Wild Ghost had been?
"A foreigner," he repeated, his tone making it sound like an accusation. "And you just happened to survive an attack that killed everyone else? In these forests?"
"I ran. I hid." I kept my hands visible, non-threatening. "Please, I just need shelter for the night. Information about where I am."
"You're at the Kuroda checkpoint," the younger guard said. His hand hadn't left his sword hilt. "Border territory. These forests are crawling with yōkai—spirits and demons. Normal travelers don't survive alone out there."
The emphasis on "normal" wasn't subtle.
The scarred guard circled around me, inspecting me like a suspicious horse. "Your story stinks worse than your clothes, foreigner. No wounds. No fear. And your eyes..."
He leaned in close, studying my face in the torchlight. I forced myself not to flinch, not to look away. My enhanced vision picked out every detail of his weathered face—the suspicion, the barely concealed disgust.
"Your eyes are wrong," he said finally. "They catch the light like an animal's. Like a yōkai's."
My stomach chose that moment to cramp again, harder this time. I doubled over slightly, unable to suppress a grunt of discomfort.
Both guards jumped back, weapons raised.
"He's cursed!" the younger one hissed. "Captain, we should—"
"Enough." A new voice, deeper and carrying authority, came from the gate. A third figure emerged—older than the others, maybe fifty, with gray threading through his topknot. He wore better armor, and the way the other guards deferred to him marked him as their superior. "Bring him inside. Carefully."
"Captain Oda, this foreigner is—"
"I said bring him inside." The Captain's eyes fixed on me, and I saw calculation there, not fear. "If he's what you think he is, better to contain him within walls than leave him loose in the darkness. And if he's not... well, we'll find out soon enough."
The scarred guard grabbed my arm roughly, his grip tight enough to bruise. They marched me through the gate into the compound. Inside, I could see maybe twenty buildings—barracks, storehouses, what looked like a command post. More soldiers watched from doorways and windows, their expressions ranging from curiosity to open hostility.
The Captain led us to the largest building. Inside, a single room lit by oil lamps. Tatami mats on the floor. Weapons hanging on the walls—swords, spears, a bow. He gestured to a spot near the center of the room.
"Kneel."
I knelt, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. The two guards flanked me, spears still at the ready.
Captain Oda settled onto a cushion opposite me, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He studied me in silence for a long moment, and I forced myself to meet his gaze without challenge.
"A foreigner," he said finally. "Alone in demon-infested forests. Unmarked. Unafraid." He leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, scholar. What do you know of the yōkai that hunt these woods?"
"Very little," I admitted. It was safer than pretending knowledge I didn't have. "I know they exist. I know they're dangerous."
"Hmm. And yet you survived."
"Luck."
"Luck." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I've been stationed at this checkpoint for twelve years. In that time, I've seen what happens to people who venture into those forests alone at night. Bodies torn apart. Minds shattered. Sometimes nothing left at all." His eyes hardened. "Luck doesn't explain your survival, foreigner. So I'll ask once more, and I suggest you answer truthfully: What are you?"
The hunger in my stomach pulsed, recognizing the threat in his words. And somewhere in the back of my mind, the Ghost Stomach whispered its simple truth:
Predator.
But I couldn't say that. Couldn't reveal what I was—what I was becoming. So I met the Captain's suspicious gaze and said the only thing I could.
"I'm just a man trying to survive."
The Captain's expression made it clear he didn't believe me for a second.