"Welcome home," the smiling man told him, sounding out the words twistedly.
Before he could react, he was grabbed from behind, yanked off of the horse's back as he heard the heinous laughter of a man.
"Nice catch, Rubert! This slippery little brat really gave us a chase!"
His hair was held onto tightly by the callused hand of the abductor, who had a bald, scarred head, dressed in a black cloak that smelled of urine and booze.
"Let go–!" He yelled out.
Before he could yell further, another man tied a cloth around his mouth to silence him as he tried fighting back, but the grip on his hair from the stronger, larger adult was too powerful.
"Careful now, this brat knows magic," the lanky, rat-faced man who tied his mouth said, pinching his cheek.
"Ha-ha! You're right–I'm not taking chances with him again!"
On that same thought, filled more with fear and desperation than anger, he tried to focus his magic, but it was difficult to hone in while his heart thumped so wildly and his mind raced with dreadful thoughts.
But, just as he managed to focus onto a spell–
THWACK.
The pommel of a sword hit him bluntly against the back of his head, once again knocking him unconscious.
–
As he came to, he could feel the warmth of his own blood trickling down his scalp as he sat there with his hands held over his head, anchored to the wall by steel chains.
"--"
"Finally awake, huh? I'd recommend you to stay asleep, he-he."
In the chamber this time, one of the kidnappers stayed, seemingly on guard to watch him closely now after his previous escape. It was the bald-headed, burly man, who rested a blood-stained broadsword on his leather-armored shoulder.
"--"
He remained silent. Around the room, he swept his gaze, finding something surprising–there was another prisoner in there with him.
It was a girl with curly, dark-blue hair who seemed to be around his age. She was left in a tattered outfit with bruises on her arms and legs, bound in chains as well.
"--"
His eyes quivered as he began to fully realize what a terrible situation this was. Still, it wasn't completely hopeless for him.
He could still use magic even with his hands bound and his words stifled, but it would be more difficult. Casting spells wasn't the issue, though.
These men already know I can use magic, and if they're guarding me like this…are they confident they can stop me? He thought.
As he looked at the man guarding the room, who was leaning against the wall, he took note of the sigil etched onto his clothes: it was the symbol of a bearded man surrounded by three stars.
He recognized it; that symbol was something his father had shown him a few times.
"The Mountain God Style."
It was an area of swordsmanship that was born on the continent he lived on–Milligarde–it was the same style his father practiced, as well.
The three stars on the bald man's badge signified he held the title of "Sword Noble" – the third rank of the Mountain God Style; it was just two ranks shy of his father's own.
This knowledge made him more hesitant, knowing how easily somehow like his father was able to dance around his spells while merely playing around.
…What do I do? There's another person here, too…He thought.
Tugging on the chains a bit, he was met with an immediate bark from the scar-headed trafficker:
"Cut that out! You should be kissin' my boots for not breaking your legs," the man yelled at him, "You know what? Go ahead. Keep testin' me. I'm still in a real shit mood, so give me a reason to vent some anger, brat."
"--"
He could see it in the man's dark eyes; deep inside of his irises, the darkness bore only from somebody who had witnessed death many times swirled.
There was no doubt about it; that man was a bonafide killer–somebody he couldn't simply test.
Death here means death…That's the point of this new life…Still, something like this is just…! He thought.
"...My dad won't let you get away with this, you know…" He said.
"Huh?" The man looked at him with a stink eye.
"--He's strong! He'll hunt you down for doing this!" He told the man.
Part of it was simply him releasing his frustration at the unfair situation he found himself in, but most of it was a stray hope that the fear of his father, who he knew had some fame around his name locally, or even the recently discovered noble lineage–it was a shot in the dark, but it was all he had.
"What the fuck did I just say? You got a mouth on you, don't you?"
"--"
He immediately regretted opening his mouth as he watched the bald man stomp towards him, cracking his knuckles as he left his sword by the wall.
The man, much larger than himself, built like a brick house, reared his hand back–
At that moment, half by instinct and half by intent, he summoned a wind spell–or at least, he attempted to.
The only thing that came was the man's fist directly against his cheek, hitting him without any restraint as if he wasn't a child.
"Pyuh!"
He spit out blood from the blow, still shocked that somebody would lay their hands on a child in such a way as his eyes quivered.
Why didn't my magic come? He questioned.
Again, he tried to summon magic, but was met with another slam of the man's knuckles against his nose this time.
Why? He thought.
He began to be kicked, hit in the ribs repeatedly as he coughed up blood.
"Wind Blast-!!!"
This time, he tried yelling out the name of the spell to try invoking it a different way, but this seemed to make the man not only angrier, but also laugh as he kicked him harder, stomping on his body.
"Ha-ha! You think we'd let you use your little spells after the crap you pulled earlier?! We gave you a bit of medicine to help with that!" The man laughed.
Medicine…? He thought.
"The "Mage Killer" medicine costs a good penny, so we didn't want to waste it on a brat…But, you forced our hand," the man told him with a wicked smile.
Now it was clear to him–he was drugged. He wasn't aware of any such thing that could neutralize spells, but there was a lot he wasn't aware of in this world–there was one thing he was learning right at this moment: how cruel it truly is.
…How is this a "Grand Rebirth"...? This isn't right, he thought.