Nekols shook his head slowly.
"…Exactly."
"No human is born without mana stones," the priest said, his curiosity quietly evident.
"Are you sure about this, Nekols?" Captain Vecia asked, his tone calm, yet laced with quiet intrigue.
"I am," Nekols replied, steady and deliberate.
Vecia exhaled lightly, composing himself. "Then… can you tell me how this is possible?"
Nekols turned his gaze toward the boy, his expression thoughtful. "I cannot say for certain," he admitted. "I have never seen anything like this."
Vecia's eyes lingered on the boy, studying him carefully. "And yet he lives?" he asked, curiosity sharpening his voice.
"I… I do not know, sir," Nekols said, his own calm beginning to falter ever so slightly. "This is the first time I have ever seen someone completely without mana stones… and still breathing."
Vecia tilted his head, thoughtful. "Mana stones are essential. They act like a second heart, circulating mana through the body. Survival without them… should be impossible." His gaze did not waver from the boy. "And yet here he is."
"What should we do, then?" Vecia asked, maintaining his calm composure.
Nekols turned toward the captain and placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "You should take him to the capital," he said. "Seek help from the Arch-Priest Reyhold. Perhaps he can provide answers… perhaps even understand him, sir."
Nekols stepped back, his eyes lingering on the boy for a long, silent moment, before he turned and left the cage.
Captain Vecia exhaled quietly, the weight of the situation pressing on him. What mess have I gotten myself into? he muttered under his breath
.
"Zigg," he said, turning to his lieutenant. "Unchain the boy. Keep him alive, and make sure he is secured at the waist." He paused for a moment, his calm tone betraying only a hint of unease. "We depart first thing in the morning. I have a bad feeling about this."
Without waiting for a response, Vecia left the cage, his cloak brushing the stone floor.
Zigg nodded sharply. "Understood, sir." He turned to the guards standing by and issued orders. "Release him carefully. Feed him if he awakens, but make sure he remains contained."
For several hours, the boy lay unconscious, still and pale. Then, slowly, a surge of pain coursed through his body. A small moan escaped his lips as he stirred, wincing against the chains.
As he opened his eyes, he surveyed his surroundings with confusion. His voice was weak and trembling. "Wh… where am I?"
A guard nearby shifted slightly, glancing at him without fully turning. "You really don't know, kid?" asked the middle-aged man, his face lined with exhaustion.
"No…" the boy replied faintly.
The guard sighed, shaking his head. "This is Perus, a town in the Kingdom of Quile. Situated near the borders of Marque and Druagon." He leaned closer, studying the boy. "You came from the direction of Marque… wearing strange clothes. Are you sure you're not a spy?"
The boy's brows furrowed, confusion and fear in his eyes. "Spy? What… what are you talking about? We're in… London, right?" His voice trembled.
The guard opened his mouth to respond—"Lon—"—when Zigg descended the stairs, intercepting the conversation.
"Royal Guard Rom, be on alert," Zigg called crisply. Rom, flustered, saluted immediately.
Zigg approached the boy, his tone steady. "Have you eaten?"
The boy shook his head, eyes wide and flustered. "N-N-No…"
Zigg glanced around the room. "Feed him. Keep him alive. We depart early in the morning."
Rom saluted again. "Yes, sir."
The boy's gaze followed the guards as they moved about the room, his thoughts tangled and restless.
He didn't know where he was… or why he was still alive.
What is going on?
Why are they treating me like a criminal?
He swallowed, his throat dry.
"The last thing I remember…" he muttered faintly, staring through the narrow prison window. "I was lying on the ground… then walking… for days… and then I found this place…"
The questions kept coming, faster than he could answer them.
Then—
A whisper.
Soft. Faint. Almost nonexistent.
"…Mheton."
The boy froze.
His body tensed instantly as he looked around, panic flashing in his eyes.
"W-Who's there?!" he stammered.
Silence.
Only the cold stone walls. The iron bars. The dim flicker of torchlight.
Nothing else.
His breathing grew uneven.
"…Am I hallucinating?" he whispered to himself.
No answer came.
The night passed slowly.
Pain pulsed through his body, dull and relentless. Sleep never came.
At dawn, the sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Two Royal Guards approached the cell, chains and shackles clinking in their hands.
They entered without a word.
One of them tossed a rough, worn cloak toward him.
"Wear it."
The fabric was coarse—slave cloth.
The boy hesitated for a moment… then obeyed.
Cold iron clasped around his wrists.
"W-Where are you taking me?" he asked, his voice weak but urgent.
No response.
The guards remained silent as they led him out.
They moved through a narrow back alley behind the station.
Two carriers stood waiting.
One bore the insignia of the Royal Guard—a hawk emblazoned above crossed swords, fluttering faintly in the morning wind.
The other… was a cage.
The boy's stomach dropped.
Without ceremony, they forced him inside.
The iron door slammed shut.
Moments later, Captain Vecia approached.
His gaze fell briefly on the boy.
"Are the preparations complete?" he asked calmly.
"Yes, Captain."
Vecia gave a small nod.
"Then we move."
He stepped into the main carriage.
Ten Royal Guards assembled around him, forming a tight escort.
Lieutenant Zigg remained behind—left in charge of the town.
The convoy began to move.
Through the gates.
Past the walls.
Into the open road.
The forest stretched ahead, quiet and watchful.
Inside the carriage, Vecia sat with a set of documents in hand, scanning them absentmindedly.
It's been a while since I visited the Church…
He exhaled softly.
"The believers of Axis are always troublesome," he muttered under his breath.
A faint, knowing smirk crossed his face.
"Especially the Arch-Priest Reyhold…"
He leaned back slightly.
"…That man is something else."
A pause.
"…Still, fortunate timing."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"He's in the capital."
Soon after, Captain Vecia sat within the carriage, eyes fixed on the documents in his hands. His expression remained calm, focused—unshaken by the long journey ahead.
Hours passed.
The caravan moved steadily through a narrow valley. A cold breeze drifted through the air—clean, almost unnaturally still.
Too still.
One of the escorts at the front narrowed his eyes. Something felt off.
The trees.
They were moving—subtly, unevenly. Not with the wind… but against it.
His grip tightened around his weapon.
"…Did you see that?" he muttered.
The escort beside him followed his gaze. The branches shifted again. Slow. Deliberate.
Not natural.
The guard leaned forward slightly, trying to focus—
Then—
Something heavy dropped onto the road.
A massive shape.
"HALT!" the escort shouted. "Mythic ahead!"
The caravan came to an abrupt stop.
At the center of the path stood a giant toad-like creature. Its bloated body was a sickly green, coated in a thick, bubbling purple foam that hissed faintly—like acid eating through flesh.
Its long, swollen tongue dragged across the ground, dripping viscous fluid that sizzled upon contact.
For a brief moment—
everything went silent.
Then the creature turned.
Its eyes locked onto the escorts.
And it struck.
The tongue snapped forward with terrifying speed—
Two front escorts were hit instantly, their bodies thrown aside as the corrosive slime splashed across them.
For a brief second, nothing happened.
Then—
A sharp hiss filled the air.
Their armor began to warp, metal softening and sinking inward as if it were melting. The purple foam clung to them, bubbling violently.
Screams erupted.
The acid seeped through the gaps in their armor, reaching flesh. Skin blackened on contact—then split, peeling away in wet, tearing layers.
One of the escorts clawed at his chest, his voice breaking into something unrecognizable as the corrosion spread. Muscle dissolved beneath the surface, exposing bone that quickly darkened and cracked.
The other collapsed to his knees, his body trembling uncontrollably as the slime continued to eat through him—slow, relentless.
The stench followed a moment later.
Burnt flesh. Rot. Acid.
By the time their bodies hit the ground, they were already dissolving—reduced to twitching, ruined remains.
Screams echoed across the valley.
Inside the carriage, Vecia's eyes lifted slightly. "…What's happening?"
The noise grew louder—chaotic, uncontrolled.
He shifted, catching a glimpse through the window—
The creature.
Without hesitation, Vecia grabbed his sword and stepped out of the carriage.
"It's a Murktoad!" one of the guards shouted. "Be careful!"
Vecia's gaze sharpened as he assessed the situation in a single glance.
"Form ranks," he ordered calmly. "Battle formation."
The soldiers moved immediately.
"Long-range attackers—forward."
Mana began to gather in the air—
"Fire—"
Before the command could fully leave his mouth—
Something moved.
From the rear.