Chương 60: I hate the rain. And I Hate Walking.

Rain, rain, rain, rain. I hate the rain. It's not new you know? Well, at least I never had the time to be born, learn, and then decide to hate the rain, this unique experience. I only lived it once. Which is annoying considering that this is my second life. The first second since I was born in this world. I've been hating the rain. My foot freezes. The leaves under my feet creak, not enjoying my weight on them.

When my foot comes up, it comes up with stuck mud and leaves attached to said mud, that's the problem with rain, even in my first life, it always dirtied me. And I don't like being dirty. Rain cleans, yes, the water drops, and it's water so it's clean and bla bla bla, yes, but that only works when dirt doesn't exist, and when you're well covered, and when your drenched shirt doesn't stick to you and make you cold.

Most of those things are covered because of my cloak -Hatomo the goat- but that still doesn't help me with the dirt, and the-! A big sigh escapes me, the biggest of all sighs. With a shrug of my right shoulder, I make sure that the crossbow over it doesn't fall, renew my grip, and keep up my trip away from the village. Okay. I'll admit it. I just want to complain. Let me feel like a poor unfortunate soul for a second, I'll gather myself soon enough when I start training with.... The thing on my shoulder.

It's a heavy thing. Well, I think? However, I may be biased, it's been a while since I started walking, a quick look back shows me.... nothing, but I know that if I jump over the big rock on my left and get on my tip toes, I'll be able to see the edge of my village. Some houses at least, and even closer, I'll be able to see the villagers working in the fields, and the ones working to build the walls. So really, I'm not THAT far, I don't need to be that far. That's the advantage with being invisible.

Don't need to be silent. The wind pushes rain on my face, I can smell the cold. Like I can smell the bullshit. I do need to be silent. Just... not that silent. I decided to go to a place that's pretty far, but not too far. Get all the benefits between privacy, and having help nearby if a wolf decides to jump off from the pathetic forest in front of me and have a meal made of sweet baby flesh that would crackle and sparkle in it's big toothy maw. The wind passes.

I can almost see a tumbleweed stumble through my vision. Even if it doesn't exist. The rain falling on me gets even more annoying, just like the weight on my shoulder, even if I don't feel the pain. That's the problem with staying still and silent under the rain, you start thinking crazy shit. Yeah. Yeah. You only think about crazy shit when you're still and silent. Yeah. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Only then. Yeah, yeah. So... Uh. Let's. Let's just move.

Turning away from my thoughts, almost quite literally, I get myself over the rock and jump over the small annoying pothole that wants nothing more but twist my ankle. They are everywhere. Everyyyyyyywhere. The potholes I mean. There's one behind me. There's one on my left, so a turn right it is, but on my right there's another, ah-! Wait, it's not a pothole this time, it's a slope that leads to a ravine, a pretty small one but one nonetheless. So we'll walk between the two of them.

Unfortunately, in front of me, there's rocks everywhere, and another slope, this time it leads up, so a hike in the middle of the rain it is. The land around my village is like that. It's annoying like that. I don't know how much luck the people in my village got, but the small plain around the walls is a fucking rarity, more shiny and rare than a piece of gold on the side of the road. Well, at least I think it is.

My farthest hike away from my house definetly gave me this idea, so I would love for the geography here to change NOW if it wants to correct my opinion. I'm answered by a small hole under my sole, and I need to focus and avoid slipping in it, because of course it rains, and there's mud, and there's rocks, and sometimes there's leaves, and I'm two years old, and there's a crossbow on my shoulder, a crossbow that's shorter than me, yes, but not by that much. So yeah. I hate the rain.

Well, technically, I hate the ground under my feet, the geography, the slick fucking ground that's trying to sweep me off like the most annoying of cats, always walking around my legs and all and.... Do I need therapy? Eh, nah, I just need to insult the rain. It's cathartic, that's my therapy. I hate the rain. Ugly rain. Bad rain. Not cleaning rain. Constant rain. Dirty rain. Naughty naughty rain. You're always trying to make me fall, so it's fair you fall off the sky. Loser.

Hating on the rain gives me the drive I need. The power. The drrrrrrriiiiiive to reach this ugly little tree atop of the hill I've been climbing. It's a ugly tree. Because apparently you can drown trees, and the rain is ALWAYS there, so they're constantly drowning. Thought plants would strive under water, but even they hate the rain. See? Nobody likes the rain. And if anybody says the opposite, well, they're just a fucking liar. I guess the grass likes the rain.

The grass under my feet, the one in front of the poor tree, the one atop the small hill I climbed, and the one that can only exist when it's not crushed by the mountainous climate around my village. I really fucking hate it. But if I hate it that much, why am I out you'll ask! Why, in the name of all that is holy, did you decided to torturrrrrrre yourself by going on a walk under the rain! Well, that's a great question you have here. And the answer to that resides in my pocket. And in front of me.

And I guess, more obviously, over my shoulder. Finally done with my walk of hell, I shrug off the weapon above my shoulder and let the tip of the crossbow rest on the ground. It's heavy. Not as heavy as I thought, but heavy nonetheless. What's extremely heavy though, is this rope. Well, rope. It's more like a... string? Thingy? Above the crossbow, the thing you need to crank back before putting your bolt. This is heavy. This is hard.

At first, I put the handle of the crossbow on my belly, grab both side of the rope-thingy and pull. I go farther than I thought I could. But then I remember I'm a baby and let out a weird gasp of air as the handle shoves itself in my abs. For two good seconds, I look down, realize that I could push it and make it work. But also that there's probably a handle shaped bruise building up on me right now. Sagely, I put the crossbow down on the ground.

Sit down, and try again, this time, both feet on the metallic thingy that's in the shape of a bow frame, grab the rope with both hands, put the handle between my thighs and squeeze them. Then. PULLLLLLLLLLLL The rope snaps back to it's resting place like nothing happened. What? I try again. Then I almost slap myself after looking around the crossbow. The trigger. It's not like a gun, it's.... more like a pulley thingy, a weird metallic band hanging from the bottom of the shaft. A bit of lease on it, kinda loose.

When I push it up against the shaft, it loosens something. There's a sort of knob ON the shaft of the crossbow. A mettalic thing. This is thing that loosens. If I push this knob forward, it's in the perfect position to lock a rope in place. Wow! I WONDER what it's for! Sarcasm aside, I do just that. And try again. Both hands, feet pushing on the metal, and HAUL! When the rope pass over the knob, I let it go, and the knob locks it in place.

I also notice that there's tension on the loose metallic trigger under the shaft. I press it up, the knob snaps back to it's original place. Just like the rope. Ohhhh! That's how you shoot! Ohhhh! I need to pull it again! Fuck. A bit of elbow grease later, the crossbow is ready to shoot. A second later my hands take out a crossbow bolt out of my cloak inner pockets, ignoring the kunais in it, and put it on the ONLY place where a bolt could be put. I get up.

And get into a firing pose, aim at this ugly tree that will need to sacrifice itself, my walls are too precious, and way too weak, would be a weird talk if I needed to explain to why a bolt pierced the wall and magically landed in the living room. Pushing the thought away, I focus. Breathe. And finally. I shoot.