(Third Person POV - Undercity)
Deep within the depths of the Undercity, untouched by the warmth of sunlight, time seemed to move following the rhythm of thousands of wall clocks filling Stain's workshop.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
That mechanical sound usually felt soothing to the outcast Dwarf. A symphony of order amidst the chaotic underground world. However, tonight, the rhythm felt different. The cadence felt urgent, exactly like the inevitable countdown of a time bomb.
Stain stood behind his workbench, which was crowded with gears and springs. His rough, grease-covered hands were busy wiping a wrench using a dull cloth. Before him stood an uninvited guest.
The person wore a thick black cloak covering their entire body up to the face. The cloak fabric looked dull, dusty, and emitted the smell of coal smoke. The signature scent of the miners and factory workers who formed the backbone of this underground city.
"The situation is worsening, Stain," the voice from behind the hood sounded heavy. It was the voice of a middle-aged man carrying the weight of thousands of lives on his shoulders. "The division can no longer be contained."
Stain snorted roughly. He picked up a small screwdriver, then turned a screw on a mechanical owl toy without looking at his guest.
"Politics again? I have told you, Commander. I am an engineer, not an orator," answered Stain curtly. "As long as I still have iron and oil, I do not care who shouts the loudest at your council meetings."
"This is not merely politics, Stain. This is civil war," interrupted the figure called Commander. His tone sharpened, full of frustration and disgust. "The Fascist Faction within our movement is getting crazier. They are impatient. They are tired of hiding and merely assembling printing presses to spread propaganda."
The Commander placed his rough hand on Stain's workbench. The hand was covered in chemical burn scars.
"They want to overthrow the Kingdom right now. And to achieve that goal, they are violating the sacred oath of the Revolution," continued the Commander with a voice trembling holding back anger. "They formed an alliance with the Iron Blood Sect."
The movement of Stain's hands stopped instantly. The screwdriver in his hand froze in the air.
Slowly, Stain looked up. His red eyes glared sharply from behind his protective goggles.
"Heresy?" hissed Stain. "They are cooperating with those flesh mages? The faction that uses blood as fuel?"
"They call it a Strategic Alliance," sneered the Commander while spitting onto the workshop floor. "They started combining our steam engine technology with that cursed blood magic. They are creating abominations. Machines powered by human hearts, Stain. They are no longer Revolutionaries, but monsters worse than the nobles we fight."
Stain slammed his screwdriver onto the table hard.
CLANG!
"Fools!" cursed Stain. "The Revolution is about proving that ordinary humans can stand equal to mages using intellect and machines! If they use blood magic, what is the difference between them and the tower mages who enslave us?!"
"That is the problem. Our position is squeezed," explained the Commander with a grim tone. "The Pure Idealist Faction like us is now hunted from two directions. Up above, the Royal Dogs hunt us as rebels. Down here, the Fascist Faction hunts us for being considered weak and conservative. We lack weapons, lack funds, and lack hope."
Stain fell silent for a moment. He stared at the pile of metal on his table, then remembered something.
"Hope, huh?" mumbled Stain.
He reached into the drawer under the table, pulling out a large roll of paper that was slightly crumpled and smelled of oil. He threw it in front of the Commander.
"Look at this."
The Commander opened the scroll hesitantly. His eyes narrowed behind the darkness of the hood, observing the intricate ink lines.
A drawing of a machine. There were tubes, a shaft, gears, and a strange component in the form of a ring filled with small iron balls.
"What is this?" he asked confusedly.
"Centrifuge," answered Stain. A proud smile curled behind his dirty beard. "A machine for separating liquid particles based on specific gravity. Without magic, without runes, and without blood. Pure mechanics and physics. This thing can spin two thousand times per minute using only human foot pedal power."
The Commander fell silent. He traced the drawing with his index finger. As the leader of a movement worshipping non-magical technology, he understood perfectly how revolutionary this design was. Rotational stability that high without the aid of stabilizing magic was an engineer's wet dream.
"This... this is pure physics," he muttered in awe. "Who is the architect? You?"
"No. I am just the hands that made it," Stain shook his head. "The brain is a human child. A student of Lion Academy."
The Commander immediately straightened his body, taking a step back away from the table. The atmosphere turned cold instantly.
"Lion Academy?" he hissed suspiciously. "That is a noble's nest. You are working with the enemy, Stain? You are selling our technology to them?"
"His name is Arin. He is a commoner, just like us," interrupted Stain quickly, defending his business partner. "And believe me, Commander, he hates the concept of Divine Talent more than you do. He dissected his own body, installed a machine in his heart, and uses science to deceive those arrogant mages."
Stain looked sharply into the Commander's eyes.
"He has thoughts aligned with ours. But he is cunning. He uses noble money to finance technology that will one day bring them down. This machine is proof that we do not need heretical blood to win."
The Commander was silent for a long time, weighing the information. He looked back at the blueprint, then rolled it up slowly.
"Double agent, or opportunist?" he asked.
"A crazy genius," corrected Stain. "I am trying to pull him completely to our side. If we can recruit his brain, we will no longer need to steal leftover technology from the kingdom's trash cans or be tempted by blood magic."
The Commander nodded slowly. He placed the scroll back on the table.
"Very well. Monitor him. Maintain your relationship with him. But be careful, Stain. A person walking in two worlds usually ends up dead split down the middle."
The Commander then reached deep into his cloak. He pulled out a small wooden box that looked heavy and placed it on Stain's table.
Clack.
"Take this," he said.
"What is this? Payment?" Stain opened the box.
Stain's eyes widened.
On top of a dull red velvet cushion, lay an object made of pitch-black iron and a walnut wood grip. The object had a six-chambered cylinder and a menacing short barrel. The smell of gunpowder and gun oil emanated sharply from it.
A Revolver.
The most forbidden weapon on this continent. Technology erased from history a hundred years ago by the Church and the Kingdom because it was considered an insult to knighthood. A tool that allowed an ordinary farmer to kill an armored knight just by moving one finger.
"Commander," Stain's hand trembled as it touched the cold iron. "This..."
"A new prototype from our Chemistry Division who remains loyal," explained the Commander seriously. "The bullets are limited, but the penetrating power can tear through a low-level Mana Shield."
He stared at Stain sharply.
"The Fascist Faction has started sending assassins to forcibly recruit our best engineers. Or kill them if they refuse. You are our best weapon maker, Stain. I do not want you dying foolishly here."
The Commander leaned in.
"Keep this. If our misguided 'brothers' come knocking on the door, give them an answer with hot lead. Protect yourself, and protect the future of our pure technology."
Stain took the weapon. It felt heavy, cold, and full of sin in his hand. He gripped it, feeling a different kind of power than his forging hammer.
Stain straightened his body, then clenched his right fist holding the gun and placed it on his left chest. He bowed slightly.
"From the people, for the people..." said Stain solemnly.
The Commander returned the same gesture with a fist to his chest.
"...and back to the people."
The figure turned and disappeared into the shadows of the steam pipe corridor, leaving Stain alone with the noisy ticking of clocks and a murder weapon in his hand.
(Arin's POV)
The world returned to me in the form of dull pain and blinding white light.
My head throbbed violently, as if a sledgehammer were hitting the back of my skull rhythmically. My ears rang with a long, high-pitched ngiiiing..., masking the sounds around me. It felt like seasickness, but happening on dry land.
I tried to open my eyes. Blurry. Everything was white and blinding.
The sharp smell of antiseptic pierced my nose. A distinct smell I hated very much yet always welcomed me.
"He is conscious."
A woman's voice. It sounded distant, like from underwater.
I blinked a few times, forcing my stiff eye muscles to focus. The blurry shadows above me slowly sharpened into faces I knew very well.
Doctor Edna stood right beside my head, holding a blinding magic medical flashlight. Her face was tense, her forehead deeply furrowed, her lips pressed tightly together. There was none of her usual cynical smile.
Beside her, Elena Rhyms sat on the edge of the bed. She held my right hand tightly with both her cold and trembling hands. Her beautiful face was deathly pale, her eyes red as if she had just finished crying or held her breath for too long.
At the foot of the bed, Duke Edwin stood with arms crossed over his chest. His face was stiff like a stone statue, staring at me with an intensity hard to read. He looked impatient, like an investor awaiting his company's audit results.
Behind them, Instructor Karim stood guarding the door. His hand did not leave his sword hilt, as if ready to slash anyone bringing bad news.
And Selena Rhyms, she stood by the window, her back to me, looking out toward the academy courtyard. Her posture was extremely tense.
"Argh..." I groaned softly. My throat was dry like desert sand.
I tried to get up. My brain sent commands to my back muscles to lift my body.
However, my body felt strange.
Heavy and stiff.
And the most terrifying thing was, I could not feel the tips of my toes.
Cold panic struck my chest instantly. My piston heart pounded fast out of pure terror.
Paralyzed? Did Ghislain's needle miss? Did he sever my motor nerves while extracting bone marrow?
"Do not move suddenly, Fool," reprimanded Edna sharply. She placed her hand on my shoulder to hold me lying down. "Your spinal fluid was just forcibly extracted in large quantities. Your intracranial pressure is not yet stable. If you get up now, your brain will feel like it is going to explode and you will vomit on my clothes."
"My legs..." I whispered in panic, my voice hoarse. "Doc, I cannot feel my legs. Why can't I move them?"
Elena squeezed my hand tighter. She looked at Edna with a pleading gaze full of fear. "Doctor? What is wrong with his legs?"
"That is a side effect of the local anesthesia concocted by Ghislain," answered Edna quickly, though I could hear a slight tone of worry in her voice. "That madman used a dose to paralyze a Wyvern so you wouldn't move in the slightest when he pierced your spine. The effect will wear off in an hour. Pray that it does."
I exhaled a trembling breath of relief. Not paralyzed yet. At least not permanently.
"Ghislain, where is that old geezer?" I asked with grinding teeth.
"He immediately ran to his private laboratory the moment the needle was pulled out," answered Duke Edwin with a heavy voice. "He carried the tube containing your marrow fluid as if it were the water of eternal life. He was shouting about the key to evolution then locked himself in the lab bathroom."
"Crazy fool," I cursed softly. "So, what are the results?"
I looked at them one by one. The atmosphere in this room was too heavy for a mere post-operative recovery visit. They were all gathered here, the higher-ups, not to watch me sleep. They were waiting for something.
They were waiting for a verdict.
Am I human? Or a monster? Or just a defective person lucky enough to survive this far?
Edna sighed deeply. She picked up a medical clipboard from the bedside table. The paper on the board looked crumpled, as if it had been squeezed by its reader.
"Ghislain sent this five minutes ago via a mechanical owl courier," said Edna softly. "The preliminary analysis report of your bone marrow and blood structure."
Edna looked at the paper, then looked at me. Her hand holding the paper trembled slightly. Her face was pale, as if she had just read an obituary.
"Arin..." whispered Edna. "We have always suspected you had a genetic abnormality. Or a mutation due to the serum. Or clogged mana channels, which we call Static Mana Syndrome."
She did not finish her sentence. She turned the paper around and shoved it in front of my face.
"Read it yourself."
I narrowed my eyes, reading Ghislain's messy, chicken-scratch handwriting. Aggressive black ink scribbles on white paper.
There, below a roughly drawn yet detailed diagram of my blood cell structure, was written a single conclusion circled heavily with red ink multiple times.
A verdict sentence that made my artificial heart stop beating for a moment.
[SUBJECT DOES NOT POSSESS STATIC MANA SYNDROME.]
[DIAGNOSIS: PURE MANA VOID.]
[NOTE: THE SUBJECT'S BODY IS NOT A DAMAGED OR CLOGGED VESSEL. THE SUBJECT'S BODY IS AN ABSOLUTE "REJECTOR". HIS CELLS ARE THE ANTI-THESIS TO ETHER. HE IS NOT UNABLE TO USE MAGIC, BUT HE REJECTS THE VERY EXISTENCE OF MAGIC ITSELF.]
My eyes widened staring at those words.
Not damaged? Not static?
Absolute Rejector?
Before I had a chance to ask what it meant, Selena Rhyms turned from the window. Her usually calm and arrogant face was now deathly pale. Her eyes stared at me with a horror I saw for the first time from a mage as strong as her. It was the gaze of someone seeing a terrifying myth become reality.
"Mana Void..." whispered Selena, her voice trembling.
"That... that is impossible, Arin. That is a cursed condition only written in forbidden fairy tales from the dark ages."
Selena stepped closer, staring at me as if I were a ticking time bomb.
"History calls people like you God Killers."
The room was grippingly silent. The verdict had been handed down, and my destiny had just turned into something far darker than merely a failing student. I was not defective. I was an anomaly that should not exist.