Darwin found the village shortly before sunset.
It was exactly what he had hoped for.
Small.
Remote.
Forgettable.
A collection of perhaps two hundred people surrounded by wooden palisades, farmland, and enough livestock to suggest a reasonably prosperous harvest season. More importantly, it was far enough away from the Second Sun Incident that the villagers only spoke of it in hushed rumors rather than immediate panic.
Perfect.
Circling overhead in the form of an eagle, Darwin spotted a narrow alleyway tucked between a blacksmith and what appeared to be a storage warehouse. The setting sun cast long shadows across the space, leaving the dead-end alley almost completely dark.
He landed.
And began to change.
Flesh flowed.
Bones rearranged.
Feathers receded.
Moments later, a familiar figure stood in the alley.
One of the cultists.
Well, an improved version of one.
Darwin had discovered that memories did not necessarily grant fashion sense. Fortunately, he had lived an entire human life previously and possessed a basic understanding of what clothing was supposed to look like.
The "clothes" he grew looked convincing enough.
Shirt.
Pants.
Boots.
Cloak.
All technically part of his body.
Which meant Darwin was, from a certain point of view, completely naked.
He chose not to think about that too deeply.
The pouch at his waist, however, was separate.
He grew it from detached cells and filled it with carefully crafted coins. Each coin consisted of compressed biological material reinforced with a keratin shell polished until it resembled metal. More importantly, they felt cold to the touch.
Realistic enough.
Hopefully.
Stepping from the alley, Darwin joined the evening crowds.
Nobody looked twice at him.
Success.
He spent the next several hours exploring.
The market provided an abundance of information.
Food prices.
Current events.
Political gossip.
Monster sightings.
And actual food.
Darwin purchased bread, fruit, smoked meat, and several pastries. Most of it was converted directly into biomass reserves.
He was mildly disappointed to discover that pastries remained delicious even after reincarnation.
His wallet would never recover.
Eventually, he located the village inn.
The innkeeper, a broad-shouldered human woman with prematurely gray hair, barely glanced up.
"Room?"
"Ten days and nights," Darwin replied, carefully using the local language. "Room service included."
The innkeeper raised an eyebrow.
"Traveling merchant?"
"Something like that."
A few fake silver coins later, Darwin had a room.
Civilization was surprisingly easy.
That evening, Darwin visited the local tavern.
Not for information.
Well.
Not entirely.
He wanted to answer an important scientific question.
Could he get drunk?
Several mugs of ale later, he had his answer.
Yes.
And no.
Biologically speaking, his cells absolutely became intoxicated. Reaction times slowed. Balance suffered. Fine motor control became noticeably impaired.
Mentally, however?
Perfect clarity.
His consciousness remained completely unaffected.
The result was deeply bizarre.
Darwin watched with detached fascination as his body attempted to walk in a perfectly straight line and failed spectacularly.
Interesting.
His thoughts remained clear.
His body did not.
"Good to know," he muttered while carefully not falling off his chair.
Objectively, this meant he should avoid excessive alcohol consumption.
Subjectively?
He now possessed an excuse to drink as much ale as he wanted while remaining mentally alert.
Science truly was wonderful.
Night brought hunting.
Carefully.
Discreetly.
Darwin selected isolated targets.
Travelers.
Drunkards.
People unlikely to be immediately missed.
Information was gathered.
Biomass was acquired.
Knowledge expanded.
Unfortunately, villages noticed when people disappeared.
By the third day, rumors spread.
A monster haunted the outskirts.
By the fifth day, adventurers arrived.
Bronze-ranked.
Not especially powerful, but competent enough to organize patrols in teams of two.
Darwin adapted.
Smaller meals.
Less frequent hunting.
Greater caution.
He had no intention of attracting unnecessary attention.
Then, on the sixth night, inspiration struck.
Specifically, fungal inspiration.
Darwin had consumed countless fungi throughout his existence. Their reproductive methods fascinated him.
Spores.
Distributed growth.
Dormancy.
Rapid colonization.
He wondered.
Could he replicate it?
Hours of experimentation provided the answer.
Yes.
The resulting organisms were... concerning.
Victims exposed to sufficiently concentrated spores became extensions of Darwin. Their bodies remained functional, retaining many learned behaviors and physical capabilities.
Some variants specialized naturally.
Standard infected retained mobility and basic tool use.
Others developed increased musculature and resilience.
A smaller subset displayed unnervingly stealthy tendencies, moving almost silently through darkness while utilizing combat instincts copied from previously consumed individuals.
Darwin studied the results with growing fascination.
And increasing concern.
"Okay," he admitted to himself, "that's actually terrifying."
The spores represented an entirely new avenue of expansion.
One he would need to use very carefully.
As dawn approached, Darwin surveyed his newest creations.
Then he made a decision.
Every infected received the same instruction.
Move.
Travel.
Spread away from the village.
In random directions.
Specifically, directions completely opposite from where Darwin intended to go.
Misdirection remained one of his favorite strategies.
As the first rays of sunlight crested the horizon, Darwin watched the infected disappear into the wilderness.
Then he returned to the inn.
After all, he had paid for ten days.
It would be rude not to use the room.