KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess-Chapter 104: [] Wrong Face, Right Problems

Xavier leaned against the stone wall of the blacksmith’s shop, massaging his temples as another wave of pain crashed through his skull. The headaches had been constant since waking up in this frozen hellscape, coming at random times.

"Sorry, lad. Got no need for another pair of hands," the blacksmith said, not looking up from the sword he was hammering. "Specially not hands soft as yours. Come back when you’ve done some real work."

This marked the sixth rejection today. The tannery had laughed him out of the building. The stables had told him he’d spook the horses. The tavern wanted women servers not men. The lumber yard had taken one look at his slender build and pointed him to the door.

"Thanks for your time," Xavier said, pushing away from the wall.

The blacksmith grunted, hammer still rising and falling in a steady rhythm. "Try the docks. They’ll take anyone with a pulse."

Xavier nodded and stepped back into Vykengard’s narrow streets. The city huddled inside its massive walls like a child wrapped in blankets against the cold. Buildings of dark stone and timber pressed together for warmth, their steep roofs heavy with snow. Smoke rose from countless chimneys, creating a hazy ceiling that trapped what little heat existed in this frozen world.

People hurried past, bundled in furs and thick woolens. No one lingered in the bitter cold. Merchants shouted prices from doorways rather than open stalls. Children darted between adults, playing some game involving colored stones and frozen puddles. Guards in silver-gray armor patrolled in pairs, their breath fogging around metal helmets.

A wagon loaded with split logs rumbled past, forcing Xavier against the wall. The driver didn’t spare him a glance.

"Move aside for the Rimeguard!"

Xavier pressed himself flatter as two armored figures strode down the street. Unlike the city guards, these warriors wore armor of bluish metal etched with frost patterns. Ice crystals seemed to form and melt in their wake. People scrambled to clear their path, bowing their heads respectfully.

When they passed, Xavier continued toward the market square. His stomach growled. The meager breakfast at the inn hadn’t been enough, but his dwindling coins demanded caution. Rachel had paid for their room, but her generosity had limits—especially after he’d destroyed her valuable sword.

Xavier paused before a shop window, the wavy glass offering a distorted reflection. He still startled at the sight. Gone was his white hair, replaced by black that fell across his forehead. His purple eyes had turned a deep blue. His face remained the same—but the overall effect was entirely different.

"Still pretty enough to turn heads," he muttered to himself, "just not the right ones, apparently."

A group of young women passed behind him, their conversation pausing as they noticed him. Xavier caught their whispers and giggles in the reflection. At least some things remained constant across worlds.

But admiration wouldn’t fill his stomach or pay for the room. Xavier turned away from his reflection and continued through the market. He approached a stall selling meat pies, the savory smell making his mouth water.

"How much?" he asked the round-faced woman tending the stall.

She looked him up and down, taking in his foreign clothes. "Three copper for strangers. Two for locals."

"Sounds fair," Xavier said, reaching for the coins in his pocket. He had exactly seven copper left. "One pie, please."

The woman took his money and handed him a steaming pastry wrapped in a scrap of cloth. "New to Vykengard?"

Xavier nodded, biting into the pie. The filling of meat and root vegetables scalded his tongue, but he was too hungry to wait.

"Looking for work, I’d guess," she continued. "Try the Ember Quarter. Plenty of rich folk there looking for pretty servants."

"Thanks for the tip," Xavier said, though the idea of domestic service held little appeal. He’d been many things in his previous life—assassin, thief, seducer—but never a servant.

As he finished his pie, the pain in his head spiked again. Xavier winced, pressing his palm against his temple. These headaches were getting worse, not better.

The sky darkened as afternoon slipped toward evening. Xavier made one last attempt at the docks, where men loaded and unloaded goods from ice-breaking ships. The foreman took one look at him and laughed.

"You wouldn’t last an hour. Come back when you’ve put some meat on those bones."

Xavier trudged back through the city as lamps were being lit in windows. The temperature dropped further, making his breath fog heavily before his face. By the time he reached The Frozen Hind inn, his fingers and toes had gone numb despite his gloves and boots.

The inn’s common room hit him with a wall of warmth and noise. A massive hearth dominated one wall, logs crackling and spitting as they burned. Every table was occupied by dockworkers, craftsmen, and travelers sharing stories over mugs of ale and bowls of stew.

Harrick, the innkeeper, spotted Xavier from behind the bar. The man resembled a gnarled tree stump—short and wide, with a face weathered by decades of harsh winters. His gray beard reached his chest, braided with colored threads that matched the beads in his hair.

"Any luck today, lad?" Harrick called out as Xavier approached the bar.

"Not unless you count being laughed at by half the city," Xavier replied, sliding onto a stool.

Harrick set a mug of something steaming before him. "On the house. You look like you need it."

Xavier wrapped his cold fingers around the warm mug. "Thanks."

"Vykengard doesn’t trust outsiders easily," Harrick said, wiping down the counter with a rag. "Takes time to prove yourself here."

"Time and a different face, apparently," Xavier muttered. He sipped the drink—some kind of spiced cider that burned pleasantly down his throat.

"Your sister’s been asking for you," Harrick said, nodding toward the stairs.

Xavier nodded. Rachel wasn’t his sister, of course, but that was the story they’d concocted to get him through the gates. Xavier Von Rictor, returning with his sister to seek work in the city after their village was destroyed by winter beasts. The guards had recorded his name in their ledger, making him an official resident—albeit one without prospects.

"I’ll head up," Xavier said, finishing his drink. "Thanks again."

"Don’t thank me yet," Harrick replied. "I still need the payment for the room tomorrow."

Xavier climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, the wood creaking beneath his boots. The headache intensified with each step. He paused outside their door, taking a deep breath.

Well, here goes nothing.

Rachel sat cross-legged on the bed, a small book open in her lap. She wore the same blank expression she always did, her black hair pulled back from her face. Her pale blue eyes lifted to his, revealing nothing.

"I assume from your expression that your hunt for employment was unsuccessful," she said.

Xavier closed the door behind him. "Unless you count collecting creative rejections as a success."

"I told you this would happen." Rachel closed her book. "You don’t fit any role they understand."

"And what role would that be?" Xavier asked, removing his gloves and flexing his stiff fingers.

"Vykengard has no category for men who look like you yet move like you do," Rachel said. "You have a warrior’s awareness in a courtier’s body. It makes people uneasy."

Xavier dropped onto the room’s single chair. "I need to find work. We’re almost out of money, and I doubt your generosity extends to supporting a stranger indefinitely."

"You’re not a stranger," Rachel said. "You’re the subject of a prophecy."

"You keep saying cryptic shit like that, then refusing to explain."

"Because you’re not ready to hear it." Rachel set her book aside and stood. "How’s your back?"

"Completely healed," Xavier said. "Not even a scar."

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. "That’s not possible. Those wounds should have taken weeks to heal, if they didn’t kill you outright."

Xavier shrugged. "I’ve always been a fast healer."

This was true enough, though not the complete truth. His Longevity ability had accelerated his recovery dramatically. The deep gashes from the Vorthak’s claws had closed within hours and fully healed overnight.

Rachel moved behind him and tugged at his shirt. "Show me."

Xavier pulled the garment over his head. Rachel’s fingers traced his back, cool against his skin.

"Impossible," she murmured. "There’s not even a mark."

"I must be blessed," Xavier said. Another spike of pain shot through his head, making him wince.

Rachel moved back into his field of vision. "The headaches are getting worse."

It wasn’t a question. Xavier had tried to hide his pain, but Rachel missed nothing.

"They come and go," he lied.

"They’re constant," Rachel corrected. "And they’re not natural. Something is pulling at you."

Xavier met her gaze. "My friend. Calypso. I need to find her."

"The silver-haired woman you mentioned before losing consciousness," Rachel said. "You believe she came through the same... door... as you did."

"Gate," Xavier corrected. "And yes, along with others from our... village."

Rachel’s expression remained unreadable. "These headaches could be a tether. A connection between you."

Xavier sat up straighter. "Can you use that? To find her?"

"Perhaps," Rachel said. "But not tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to someone who might help."

"Who?"

"A man who deals in information. If there are other strangers in Frostfall with unusual abilities, he’ll know of them."

Xavier nodded. "And the room payment?"

"I’ll handle it," Rachel said. "For now."

"Why are you helping me?" Xavier asked.

Rachel regarded him for a long moment. "Because the winds told me to find you in the snow."

Xavier leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Fair enough."

A ghost of a smile touched Rachel’s lips. "Don’t get used to it."

Xavier closed his eyes as the pain in his head ebbed slightly. Somewhere in this frozen world, Calypso was alive—he had to believe that. And somehow, he would find her, along with the others who had been pulled through the gate.

"Get some rest," Rachel said. "Tomorrow will test you in new ways."

"What does that mean?" Xavier asked, opening his eyes.

But Rachel had already turned away, ending the conversation as abruptly as she’d allowed it to become personal. Xavier sighed and began removing his boots.

Tomorrow, perhaps, he would finally get some answers. And maybe a step closer to finding Calypso.

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