When night fell, Luther and Borik sat around a small campfire. The nearby summoned laughed and sang, enjoying a cookout and sharing stories. But Luther simply stared into the flames, lost in thought.
"I don't understand how they can be celebrating," he said quietly. "After everything that happened today, they're acting like it's just a normal day."
Borik, also gazing at the fire, sighed. "It's normal, kid. People don't want to think about it. They just want to forget what happened and hold onto anything that makes them feel alive."
As the two spoke quietly, a small group of summoned passed by, casting disdainful glances at Luther. "See? That's the idiot who made the princess doubt him. He's probably some kind of monster…" they murmured, snickering among themselves.
Hearing this, Borik stood up, visibly furious. "Hey! Why don't you say that to his face?" he shouted.
But before Borik could do anything, Luther held him back by the arm. "Let it go… It's not worth arguing with people like that."
Borik looked at him with a mix of disbelief and anger. "Why are you acting like this now?" he asked, not understanding Luther's calm.
Luther lowered his head, a confused expression on his face. "I'm just… processing everything that just happened, okay?"
The group of summoned walked off, laughing and calling Luther a monster, hurling insults as they left. Borik, still furious, sat back down next to Luther.
"God… I really don't understand you," Borik muttered, unable to contain himself.
Luther, with a faint smile, started to share a bit about his past. He explained how his father had abandoned him and his mother when he was young, and how his mother had blamed him for everything, taking out her frustration on him. He described the insults and abuse that were constant throughout his life, having to live in an orphanage where they were treated like animals until he escaped and eventually rose to power as the leader of a criminal gang.
Borik listened with a look of surprise. When Luther finished, Borik sighed and began sharing his own past. "It wasn't easy for me either. My father left us too… and my mother was sick. I had to take on the role of father when I was 12, working construction to support my three younger siblings… We barely had enough to eat, but I made sure they always had something on the table."
As Borik recounted his story, Luther listened in silence, finding a strange sense of comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one who had suffered in the past. Borik's experiences, though different, were just as painful.
Before they could continue talking, a shout broke the silence. The summoned who had been celebrating had gotten drunk and were starting to fight, raising their voices and causing an uproar. "It's late; we should probably get to sleep," Borik said, standing with a tired smile.
Luther nodded, following his friend to the tent assigned to them. They said goodnight and went to sleep, preparing for what awaited them the next day.
Elsewhere in the Kingdom...
Under heavy rain, a hooded man moved with quick, determined steps. Raindrops rolled off his cloak, dripping onto the ground as he walked through deserted streets in the dead of night. The moon barely illuminated his figure, and the shadows of the ruined buildings around him gave him a sinister air. His destination appeared to be an old, abandoned house, its crumbling walls seeming ready to collapse under the weight of years.
When he reached the door, the man raised his fist and knocked three times in a specific pattern. A small slit in the door slid open, revealing a pair of dark, penetrating eyes. The voice from behind the slit was dry and cautious.
"Identification?" it demanded.
The hooded man rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a golden badge, its surface gleaming even in the dim light. He held it up for a few seconds, long enough for the gatekeeper behind the slit to recognize it. The slit closed, and after a brief silence, the door opened with a low, ominous creak. Without a word, the hooded man entered and made his way into the building.
The interior of the house was gloomy and dark, but the man seemed to know the way. After crossing a narrow corridor, he descended a steep staircase that led him to an underground passage. As he walked, his footsteps echoed in the silence, and a series of transparent tubes appeared on either side of him, each containing something different: monstrous creatures floating in a dark liquid, their bodies deformed and grotesque, some apparently dead and others moving weakly. Further along, disfigured corpses lay piled on metal tables, their insides exposed in a macabre scene of experimentation.
The hooded man kept his gaze forward, unflinching, until he reached a large meeting room at the end of the corridor. In the center of the room was a long stone table, surrounded by several hooded figures, all seated and murmuring among themselves. As he sat down, one of the hooded figures looked at him with visible irritation and spoke in a reproachful tone:
"Number 2 is always late! Can't you be on time just once?"
The other hooded figures laughed in murmurs, and one of them joked, "He must be too busy admiring himself in the mirror."
The conversation continued with a sinister air of camaraderie until the door opened again, and a presence imposed silence immediately. It was Number 1, who strode in with firm steps and took a seat at the head of the table. His figure radiated unyielding authority, and the other hooded figures fell silent instantly, bowing their heads in respect.
"Enough gossip," said Number 1 in a dry, cutting tone. "We're here to discuss important matters, not waste time. How are the plans going? Is everything proceeding as expected?"
There was a pause until the hooded figure who had arrived last, Number 4, leaned forward slightly and spoke in a solemn voice.
"I've located one of the new summoned," he announced. "His affinity with dark mana is exceptionally high. In fact, I suspect his affinity is completely pure."
A murmur of surprise rippled through the hooded figures, some leaning forward with renewed interest. One of them commented quietly, "Pure affinity with dark mana? That could accelerate our plans. We should use him before he slips from our grasp."
"This individual could be what we've been waiting for," added another, in an eager tone.
But before the conversation could devolve into speculation, Number 1 struck the table with his hand, imposing silence once again. "Calm down," he ordered, with a severe gaze that none of the hooded figures dared challenge. "Number 4, keep an eye on him. I want him watched at all times. This individual is of special interest, and we can't afford any mistakes."
Number 4 nodded in silence, accepting the order with a slight bow. Number 1 scanned the table, making sure each member understood the gravity of the situation.
"Listen carefully," he continued, his voice as sharp as a blade. "The final phase of our plans is approaching, and if any of you fail or leave loose ends, there will be no forgiveness. Make sure you do your damn jobs well, or not even your lives will pay the price."
The hooded figures nodded, some with nervous expressions on their faces, fully aware of the seriousness of his warning. Number 1 stood, marking the end of the meeting. Without another word, he left the room, and one by one, the others began to follow, whispering silent farewells before disappearing into the dark passageways of the underground.
Number 4 was the last to remain, pausing for a moment to look at the empty table before finally rising and heading to the exit. A new target was on his mind, and his mission was clear: stay close to the summoned with dark mana and ensure he served the purpose they had secretly laid out.