"Why do you always come home late, looking battered and bruised?" Lily gestured, placing her spoon down with a hint of concern.
A faint trace of worry crossed Elias' face as he took a spoonful of the stew in his bowl, momentarily distracted.
"This broth is delicious. Did you make it?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation away from her probing questions.
"I've told you time and again to be more careful," she continued, tapping Elias gently to capture his attention.
As she lectured him, Elias found himself wondering how something as simple as a broth made of only cabbage and water with a subtle blue tint could taste sweeter than even the richest, most flavorful soups he had known on Earth—like the famous sopa de gallego, for instance.
Snapping out of his reverie, Elias met Lily's gaze, her hands still gesturing as she inquired about what had happened to him the previous night.
Elias, wincing slightly as he moved his broken arm, gestured to Lily with a strained effort. His words spilled out quickly, almost too smoothly. "The others signed off early," he gestured, "So I stayed a bit longer, earning extra. The bruises?" He waved a hand dismissively. "Just clumsy. Nothing to worry about."
But the smile that tugged at his lips felt too stiff, too rehearsed. The tension in the air thickened as Lily's gaze sharpened, her silence louder than any accusation.
Although that's the story he fed Lily, Elias couldn't quite reconcile the details himself. He didn't remember reaching into his vest pocket, nor did he understand how a soli had ended up there, as if it had simply appeared—like a piece of hair slipping from his pillowcase.
***
When the Master of Ceremonies proclaimed the result of the bout between Percival and Elias, Victor swiftly made his way toward one of the openings near the registration area—the designated entry point for participants heading to the arena.
Weaving through the bustling crowd, Victor navigated with agility, his small frame making it impossible to simply push through the throng.
Upon reaching the arena's entrance, he spotted a familiar sight: a guard cradling the unconscious form of Elias. With a knowing expression, the guard carefully handed Elias over to Victor, evidently accustomed to seeing the pair frequent the arena nearly every night.
Despite the disparity in their sizes, Victor lifted Elias with surprising ease, his wiry strength a testament to the grueling labor that had shaped his physique in the factory.
As Victor prepared to carry Elias back through the same route they had entered, a sharp whistle caught his attention. Turning, he saw an old man clad in a weathered top hat. The man tossed a single soli into the air, which Victor deftly caught.
His gaze shifted to the old man's companions—eight rugged figures clad in leather armor with high-collared vests. Their appearance left little doubt in Victor's mind: these were raiders.
"Have you mistaken me for someone else?" Victor asked, his tone tinged with both confusion and suspicion.
The old man smirked, his response cryptic. "That's an investment." His eyes briefly flicked toward Elias before he turned on his heel and departed, the rest of his companions following in silence.
Victor stood there, puzzled by the peculiar encounter. "Well, that was strange," he murmured uneasily. Looking down at Elias, he muttered to himself, It's your birthday, yet I seem to be the one enduring all the surprises.
As Victor prepared to leave, another voice called out from behind. Turning, he saw it was the same guard who had earlier delivered Elias' unconscious body to him.
"Kid!" the guard called out. His attire was unremarkable yet practical—a set of black-and-red leather armor, sturdy high boots resembling those of a soldier, and a plain firearm at his side. It was a simpler, inferior version of Matilda's gun, marked by its lack of adornment.
Expressionless, the guard extended a hand to reveal the metal token Victor had given Elias earlier at registration. With a subtle nod, the guard gestured toward the third window of the registration area.
"Oh, right," Victor muttered, suddenly recalling their original purpose for being there.
The guard handed over the token, and Victor made his way to the third window. Behind the glass sat a young woman with bright, lively eyes and dark hair that framed her face. Her striking appearance momentarily caught Victor off guard.
Without thinking, he blurted out, "Hey, Amy, are you free tomorrow?"
The girl chuckled at his boldness, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Dear participant, please hand me your token," she said, amusement evident in her tone.
Victor, realizing his mistake, quickly fumbled to comply. "Oh, of course!" he replied, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
Taking the token, Amy glanced at a paper on her desk, hidden from Victor's view by the glass divider. "Would you like to withdraw your winnings now or save them for your next visit?" she asked, her professional tone returning.
Victor, still distracted by her presence, stared blankly until her voice broke his daze. "Participant, if you wish to claim your winnings, please let me know."
Startled, Victor blurted the first words that came to mind: "I wish to claim you."
Her expression froze for a moment, her irritation barely masked by a forced smile. With deliberate calm, she slid a check through the slot in the glass. "Here you go. Please return for your money next time," she said, her tone clipped.
Realizing his blunder, Victor snatched the check and bolted from the counter, his movements as hurried and chaotic as a passing storm.
The street was bathed in dim light, the shadows stretching long across the ground as Victor walked, the weight of Elias' unconscious form a constant reminder of the battle that had just unfolded. The fight, the roar of the crowd, Elias' daring moves—all of it played over in Victor's mind like an unending echo.
To distract himself from the monotony of carrying an unconscious companion, Victor began talking to Elias, even though he knew there would be no reply.
"When that massive tree monster's giant hand grabbed you, I was sure you'd surrender," he began, his voice tinged with admiration. After a brief pause, he added, "But then you bit that arrogant's ear, and the crowd went wild. That was incredible."
As he recounted Elias' daring feat, his words were abruptly cut off by an unexpected voice from behind.
Without hesitation, Victor found a nearby staircase and gently lowered Elias onto the steps, the weight of his body falling slightly to one side. Kneeling beside him, he leaned in, his voice a whisper now. "How did you do it? That move... you didn't tell me you were a specialist. Was it something like a technique?"
His tone shifted to mock curiosity as he playfully reenacted snippets of the earlier battle, shadowboxing into the night air.
He paused, his gaze lingering on Elias' unconscious body. Sighing, Victor pushed himself back to his feet and spoke aloud, though there was no one to answer. "Of course you're passed out," he muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.
With a grunt, he reached down and pulled Elias up once more, his small but wiry frame handling the dead weight with ease. His hand wrapped around Elias' arm, lifting him without much thought. The broken arm.
Victor froze for a heartbeat, realization dawning on him like a cold chill. The sound of bones snapping echoed in his mind, a potential nightmare he couldn't afford to repeat. Right... can't break another one, he whispered to himself, adjusting his grip more carefully.
With a muttered curse, Victor threw Elias over his back, the burden shifting slightly. He exhaled, speaking as if the world owed him an explanation. "Just don't get too comfortable, Elias. You owe me answers."
He then resumed walking, the silence stretching out before him, broken only by his mutterings to the unconscious figure at his back.
As they approached the modest yet cozy house at the edge of the slums, Victor paused briefly, muttering to himself, "I can't just leave you here in those filthy clothes." He worried that doing so might alarm Elias' sister.
Carefully, he set Elias down by the door, removed his own vest, and swapped it with Elias' tattered garment.
After ensuring everything was in place, Victor knocked gently on the door and promptly walked away, not waiting for anyone to answer. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a small figure standing in the doorway, peering outside to identify the unexpected visitor at such a late hour.
Lily immediately knew it couldn't be her brother knocking, as he was well-versed in the art of opening the heavy wooden panel that served as their makeshift door.
Throughout the night, the delicate and fragile Lily tirelessly tended to her brother's bruised and battered body, carefully cleaning his wounds and washing his soiled clothes.
After an hour or two, Lily began to feel the exhaustion her body had temporarily forgotten, overwhelmed as she had been by her concern for her brother.
With a faint sigh, she lay down beside her brother, fashioning a crude bed from a bundle of spare clothes. Meanwhile, Elias occupied the mattress that was supposedly hers.
***
After finishing his meal, Elias prepared to leave and asked Lily where his vest was. Lily pointed to the door, signaling that it was outside.
Elias seemed to have forgotten everything he had done, as if he were unwilling to accept the idea of fighting for money. Yet, what choice did he have when it was the only way to survive?
As Elias became lost in thought, Lily gently tapped him on the shoulder.
"I found a piece of paper in the vest you were wearing," she signed, "and I placed it under the mattresses so you wouldn't lose it." She then added, "The vest I cleaned wasn't yours," knowing that her brother typically wore a dark blue vest, while the one she had washed was black.
"It's Victor's," he replied, aware that only Victor could have lent him his vest since his own was dirty.
"Are you going to work today? You look unwell," Lily signed, her eyes filled with concern as she looked at Elias—weak and injured, his broken arm wrapped in cloth with a strap supporting it behind his head.
After a while of conversation, Lily stood up to clear the table and wash the dishes. Before doing so, she moved toward the counter and grabbed a plastic container that held bread with jam.
"Take this. You can eat it later if you get hungry while looking for a new job," she gestured.
Elias took the container with a grateful smile and thanked her, but as he tried to stand, he found his legs unsteady beneath him. I never skipped leg day in my previous life. Looks like Elias needs some exercise, he thought with a wry smile, bracing himself as Lily busied herself at the sink.
Elias stepped outside, intending to retrieve his vest, but was immediately met with the foul stench of the streets they called home. The air was thick with acrid smoke rising from burning barrels lining the roadside, and the sight of rats scurrying from the sewers to the murky, run-off-laden streets added to the oppressive atmosphere.
The nauseating environment overwhelmed him the moment he stepped out. His legs trembled under his weight, his body drenched in sweat. The sickness clawed at his resolve, forcing him to collapse. Catching himself against a nearby wall, Elias slid down, his breath ragged, his soaked collarless shirt clinging to his heaving chest.
At the same time, Victor emerged from the orphanage at the heart of the slums, his usual smile lighting his face. He intended to meet Elias before their departure for work. However, as he approached the edge of the slums, his cheerful demeanor faded.
Victor spotted Elias slumped outside his small, dilapidated home, his breath shallow and labored, sweat pouring from him as faint wisps of smoke seemed to rise from his overheated body. The sight struck Victor like a blow.
"What in the hell is going on?!" Victor exclaimed, rushing to Elias's side. He crouched down, his expression shifting to alarm and confusion. Without hesitation, he gathered Elias in his arms, carrying him inside as carefully as one might carry a wounded comrade.
Inside, Lily, who had been washing dishes, turned sharply at the sound of the commotion. Her gaze fell on Victor, who now bore Elias in his arms like a storybook knight rescuing a princess. Recognizing her brother's condition, she quickly set aside her tasks, moving to prepare the mattresses with quiet efficiency.
"What happened?" she gestured silently, her eyes sharp with concern.
Victor, unable to comprehend her gestures, launched into a hurried explanation of what he had witnessed outside. His voice was a mixture of disbelief and desperation, hoping she could understand and provide some insight into the bizarre and alarming state of Elias.
Elias opened his eyes, finding himself inexplicably within the grandeur of an opulent mansion. Clad in his simple collarless shirt and worn trousers, he seemed utterly out of place amidst the lavish surroundings. Above him, the ceiling soared to impressive heights, crowned by an ornate chandelier, its brilliance speaking of wealth and status far beyond his comprehension.
He wandered toward a grand balcony, its twin staircases curving downward to a sprawling garden. The grounds were teeming with finely dressed individuals, their every movement exuding refinement. For a moment, Elias wondered if this could be a royal castle, a residence befitting a king—yet no crown, no flowing cape, no sign of a monarch graced his vision.
This must be some kind of banquet... but how did I end up here? he thought, his memory offering nothing beyond the unbearable heat of the sun outside his modest home, where he had merely stepped out to retrieve his vest. Realizing that this must be a dream.
His gaze drifted to the crowd below. Among the elegant figures, one man stood apart, radiating an aura of authority and power. His every motion seemed to command respect.
"It's Azael!" a woman's voice rang out, her cry cutting through the hum of conversation.
The crowd halted their murmured conversations, their attention shifting to the man astride a towering black horse. His armor gleamed under the fading light, an intricate ensemble of polished steel and dark leather adorned with silver filigree. A long, flowing cape hung from his shoulders, dusted with traces of travel. The design spoke of nobility and purpose, its sharp lines and engraved emblems suggesting both regal authority and the marks of recent battle. His posture was upright, commanding, as though he had just returned victorious from some perilous mission.
Elias observed him keenly. He must be in his mid-thirties, perhaps early forties, yet even the youngest women seem captivated. Is this the influence of nobility in this world? he mused, unsettled by the gulf of status and admiration.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden voice behind him. "Hey, brother!" Startled, Elias turned to see a blonde boy, no older than thirteen, rushing past him toward the stairs. The boy's face lit up with joy as he approached Azael.
Elias blinked in confusion. Brother? he repeated internally, watching as the boy ran down the stairs. His suspicions solidified as the gathered crowd parted reverently for the child, confirming his noble lineage.
Azael dismounted, crouching to welcome the boy, his face softening into a rare smile. "Gus!" he called warmly, opening his arms. The two embraced, a familial bond apparent even to an outsider.
Is this a dream? If so, how is any of this connected to me? He scanned his surroundings, his gaze flitting over the opulent details of the mansion, desperate for some shred of understanding. The grandeur around him felt surreal, like a scene from a distant tale, yet there was an unsettling weight to it all. Searching for a clue, a sign—anything—he hoped to unravel the mystery of how he had ended up in Elias' body.
The scene lacked the familiar trappings of a Victorian setting—the gas lamps, cobblestone streets, and industrial haze were absent. Instead, it bore the unmistakable air of a distant past, an era where firearms were yet to be conceived and power rested in the hands of kings and queens. The architecture, the attire, and the formalities of the gathering spoke of monarchs and feudal grandeur, a time far removed from the soot and steel of modernity.
It was then that Azael's gaze shifted—slowly, deliberately—until it locked onto the balcony where Elias stood frozen. The warmth in his expression gave way to something unreadable, something sharp.
The sight startled Elias, his breath catching as he instinctively crouched behind the balcony railing, his heart pounding against his ribs. He clung to the frail hope that this was merely a dream, yet the sheer vividness of it gnawed at his certainty.
How is this even possible? Even with magic, something like that shouldn't happen... unless—unless this isn't a dream at all! The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
A wave of panic surged through him, his mind racing as he considered his options. He had to leave, to escape this unsettling place before anyone discovered him. Scrambling for composure, Elias resolved to slip back inside the mansion, find an exit, and vanish beyond its imposing perimeter. Being caught here—where he clearly didn't belong—could only lead to trouble.