KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess Chapter 104: [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 tis.

"Sorry, lad. Got no need for another pair of hands," the blacksmith said, not looking up from the sword he was hamring. "Specially not hands soft as yours. Co back when you’ve done so 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 won servers not n. The lumber yard had taken one look at his slender build and pointed him to the door.

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

The blacksmith grunted, hamr 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. rchants shouted prices from doorways rather than open stalls. Children darted between adults, playing so ga involving colored stones and frozen puddles. Guards in silver-gray armor patrolled in pairs, their breath fogging around tal helts.

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 Riguard!"

Xavier pressed himself flatter as two armored figures strode down the street. Unlike the city guards, these warriors wore armor of bluish tal etched with frost patterns. Ice crystals seed to form and lt 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 ager 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 sa—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 won passed behind him, their conversation pausing as they noticed him. Xavier caught their whispers and giggles in the reflection. At least so 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 at pies, the savory sll 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 at 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 dostic 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 n loaded and unloaded goods from ice-breaking ships. The foreman took one look at him and laughed.

"You wouldn’t last an hour. Co back when you’ve put so at 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 ti 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, craftsn, 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 sothing 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 ti to prove yourself here."

"Ti and a different face, apparently," Xavier muttered. He sipped the drink—so 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 na 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 yet," Harrick replied. "I still need the paynt 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 sa blank expression she always did, her black hair pulled back from her face. Her pale blue eyes lifted to his, revealing nothing.

"I assu from your expression that your hunt for employnt 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 n 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 ."

Xavier pulled the garnt 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 co and go," he lied.

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

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

"The silver-haired woman you ntioned before losing consciousness," Rachel said. "You believe she ca through the sa... 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 soone 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 paynt?"

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

"Why are you helping ?" Xavier asked.

Rachel regarded him for a long mont. "Because the winds told 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. Sowhere in this frozen world, Calypso was alive—he had to believe that. And sohow, he would find her, along with the others who had been pulled through the gate.

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

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

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

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