1765 took a moment to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and while his body had endured the battle without issue, the tension still lingered in his muscles. He observed his bloodstained daggers and, with meticulous movements, wiped them clean against the damp grass. He inspected them once more before sliding them back into his improvised belt.
The forest air was still thick with the remnants of combat: the disturbed earth, the blood splattered across the foliage, and a faint, lingering sense of latent danger. But the beast had fled. For now, at least, it posed no immediate threat.
With one last glance at the battlefield, 1765 turned and resumed his journey. Each step reminded him that he was in unfamiliar territory, but his body had changed over the past year. His senses were sharper, his endurance greater. He walked with purpose, alert to every sound and shadow that might betray the presence of another predator.
The forest was dense, with tree canopies intertwined, blocking most of the sunlight and leaving the ground in a constant semi-dusk. The humidity clung to his skin, and each step through the thick undergrowth made his breathing heavier. As he moved forward, he noticed the environment beginning to change. Though still dense, the forest started to open up little by little. The vegetation became less suffocating, the trees more spaced out.
The crunch of dry leaves and branches underfoot indicated that he was in a less-traveled area, likely free of larger predators. He knelt by a stream of crystal-clear water and plunged his hands in, splashing his face to refresh himself. The cold water against his skin was invigorating. He drank slowly, savoring the moment of tranquility the surroundings offered.
He lingered there for a while, staring at the distorted reflection of his face in the flowing water. His long, unkempt hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes reflected an unyielding determination. He still didn't know the direction his life would take, but at least he had a purpose: to keep moving forward.
With a sigh, he stood and continued his march. The path he followed was uneven, barely visible through the vegetation. As he advanced, the shadows lengthened, and light filtered through more easily. The forest was thinning, and with it, a sense of anticipation began to build in his chest.
After several hours of walking, he noticed something unusual in the landscape. In the distance, through the underbrush, he saw something that didn't belong to the natural surroundings. A strip of cleared earth, a path forged by human hands. He approached cautiously, examining the ground with curiosity. It was a dirt road, well-trodden and wide enough for several men to walk side by side.
He knelt and touched the ground with his fingers. It was compacted from the constant passage of people or possibly even carts. The idea of encountering other humans sparked a mix of emotions: relief at the prospect of learning more about the outside world and caution about the dangers such encounters could bring.
He stayed there for a few moments, observing the road that stretched in both directions. He had no clear destination, but one thing was certain: this path would lead him somewhere. Taking a deep breath and casting one last glance at the forest behind him, he decided to follow the road.
He moved cautiously, sticking to the underbrush along the side of the path. His goal was clear: to find someone without exposing himself too much. He moved with the stealth of a predator, his steps light and his breathing controlled.
It didn't take long before he found something.
In the distance, he spotted movement—several figures. He crouched behind a fallen log and observed carefully. There were two carts traveling down the road, escorted by four vigilant individuals. The carts were pulled by sturdy horses, and each carried three men dressed in simple clothing, likely the drivers and guards of the merchandise.
What caught his attention most, however, were the escorts.
Two of them wore long robes that fell to their ankles, their hoods lowered enough to reveal their faces. There was something about them that felt different, as though the very air around them vibrated with an unusual energy. They walked with an air of calm, but their eyes carried a calculated sharpness.
The other two escorts were entirely different. They wore plate armor with intricate details, covering their torsos and limbs with polished steel. At their waists hung finely crafted swords, and their movements were rigid and disciplined, like soldiers accustomed to combat. One was a burly man with a short beard and a stern expression, while the other was a woman with braided hair and sharp eyes that scanned the surroundings with precision. The second woman, younger and of a lean build, appeared more agile but no less alert.
1765 remained motionless, silently observing. He wondered what kind of group this was and what they were carrying in their carts. Merchants, perhaps? Important travelers? His curiosity grew, but he knew he had to be cautious. Any mistake could cost him his life.
He didn't know much about this world, but thanks to S.I.L.A.S., he could draw comparisons to his own. Based on his analysis, this world was significantly underdeveloped in terms of technology, which explained the use of horse-drawn carts instead of more advanced transportation. With this logic, he deduced that what he was observing was likely a group of merchants. And their escorts? There was no way to confirm without approaching and asking.
Finally, 1765 decided to reveal himself. With S.I.L.A.S.'s insistence, he had concluded that he needed to head toward a city. If there were mines and slaves, then there had to be trade centers or settlements supporting that social structure. The only way to find them was to interact with other humans.
With a deep breath, he stepped out of the underbrush.
The escorts immediately noticed the presence of a stranger emerging from the forest. Their hands instinctively moved to the hilts of their weapons, and the two robed individuals exchanged a quick glance. Tension filled the air.
"Who are you?" the armored man demanded firmly, his tone making it clear he wouldn't tolerate evasions.
1765 raised his hands slightly, a gesture of peace. His appearance worked in his favor. With his long, tangled hair, tattered and dirty clothes, and expression of weariness, he didn't look threatening. In fact, he seemed like a simple, lost beggar.
"I got lost in the forest," he replied hoarsely, as if he hadn't spoken in days. "I don't know how long it's been, but… I wandered too far and can't find my way back to the city."
The escorts exchanged glances, evaluating his words. The woman with the braided hair narrowed her eyes, studying him for a moment. Then, one of the men on the cart—a middle-aged individual with a faint scar on his cheek—nodded. He was the driver of the first cart.
The younger woman among the escorts stepped forward with a serene smile, her movements calculated but non-aggressive. "You're in luck," she said calmly. "We're heading to the city of Verenthia. If you want, you can travel with us."
1765 nodded cautiously. "Thank you… My name is…" He paused briefly before improvising, "Ethan."
The woman tilted her head slightly in approval. "Ethan, I'm Liria. As you can see, we're escorting a group of merchants. Don't worry, you'll be safe with us."
Although her words were kind, 1765 noticed the looks from the two male escorts. They weren't convinced, and their disdain was barely hidden. To them, he was probably nothing more than a leech now hitching a ride.
Even so, no one openly objected.
"Get on the back of the second cart," said the man with the scar. "Don't cause trouble, and you'll reach the city with no issues."
1765 nodded silently, understanding that, for now, he had achieved what he needed: a safe way to get to the city.
The journey continued in relative silence. Few words were exchanged, but the cart drivers whispered among themselves.
Thanks to S.I.L.A.S., 1765 could hear every word of their murmurs clearly.
"Strange, he doesn't have a slave mark," muttered one of the drivers, his voice hoarse. "Could he be from one of those wild tribes out there?"
"I doubt it," replied another, younger driver with a tone of disdain. "He's probably hiding it under those rags. Wouldn't be the first time a slave tried to escape by covering up their mark."
"Doesn't really matter," added a third with a low, malicious laugh. "If he belongs to someone and we return him, we'll get a good price. But if he doesn't belong to anyone…" He paused to make sure no one else could hear, "…we can sell him as good merchandise. He's well-fed and toned, and his skin's in decent shape. You know, there are some ladies with peculiar tastes for wild ones."
A stifled laugh rippled through the group of drivers, as if amused by the idea.
1765 felt a heat rise in his chest, a mix of anger and disgust. He wasn't surprised they thought that way. After all, he had grown up in a world where a slave's life was worth only as much as their usefulness.
He kept his face expressionless, forcing himself not to react. Their mockery didn't bother him. What concerned him were the implications of their words. If the caravan ever decided he was a burden—or worse, that they could profit from him—they wouldn't hesitate to sell him.
He glanced at the escorts. They didn't seem to react, either for or against the drivers' conversation. Liria had been kind, but how much could he trust her?
For now, his best option was to stay with them until they reached the city. There, he could disappear into the crowd and forge his own path.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment, regulating his emotions. This wasn't the time to act. He just had to wait.
The journey continued until the sun began to set on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The merchants, displaying evident efficiency, started setting up a small camp in a clearing by the road. Within minutes, a campfire blazed at the center of the makeshift camp, casting dancing shadows on the nearby trees.
Liria approached 1765 with the same kindness as before, motioning for him to come closer to the fire. "Come, it's better if you eat something."
1765 hesitated for a moment, but the need for food outweighed his distrust. He walked cautiously to the fire and sat on the ground as they handed him a piece of bread and a bowl of hot stew. The aroma was tempting, and although he didn't trust the merchants, he couldn't afford to refuse food.
As he ate, he noticed the merchants' obvious stares. Some watched him with a mix of curiosity and disdain, as though he were an exotic creature they couldn't quite categorize. However, the escorts were different. While two of them seemed annoyed by his presence, they didn't show any interest beyond their duty.
Once he finished eating, Liria handed him a sleeping bag. "Here you go, it's better if you get some rest."
1765 took the bag without saying much and, true to habit, moved away from the group to sleep. He didn't trust them enough to share space in the circle around the fire. He chose a secluded spot where the firelight barely reached and settled into the rough fabric of the sleeping bag.
In the center of the camp, one of the escorts remained awake, standing guard, his hand resting near the hilt of his sword as he scanned the forest's darkness.
1765 closed his eyes, keeping his body relaxed, though his mind stayed alert. He still wasn't safe.
The night passed quietly in the camp. Only the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of the wind broke the silence of the dark. 1765 slept, his body wrapped in the coarse fabric of the sleeping bag, his breathing steady. But his rest didn't last long.
"Alert. Suspicious individuals are approaching."
The mechanical voice of S.I.L.A.S. resonated in his mind.
1765 opened his eyes immediately, his body reacting before his consciousness fully processed the words. This wasn't an empty warning. Throughout the night, S.I.L.A.S. had been monitoring the electromagnetic frequencies in the area, recording the energy signatures of the merchants and escorts. With that baseline, any anomaly was instantly detected.
Now, four anomalies were moving toward him.
1765 rose slowly, his mind still foggy from sleep. His first thought was that the merchants had finally decided to sell him, but S.I.L.A.S. dismissed that possibility.
"The approaching individuals' energy signatures match those of the escorts. They are not part of the merchants."
1765 frowned. The escorts? Why were they approaching him at night and with such caution? If they simply wanted to rest, they could have done so by the fire with the others. Instead, they were moving stealthily, as if trying not to be detected.
1765's instincts flared to life. Something was wrong.
His breathing grew lighter, his body tense. He sharpened his senses, picking up the faint sound of barely perceptible footsteps treading on dry grass. There was no doubt—they were surrounding him.
Without wasting any more time, 1765 sprang from his sleeping bag in one fluid, silent motion, adopting a defensive stance. His hands instinctively reached for the wooden daggers at his waist, ready to draw them. His gaze locked onto the shadows emerging from the darkness.
The four escorts halted immediately. They seemed surprised that 1765 had noticed them, but their astonishment was short-lived, quickly replaced by irritation.
"Damn it… you woke him up," hissed the youngest female escort, glaring at the man in front. "Don't you know how to be quiet?"
The man leading the group didn't respond right away. He held a coiled rope in his right hand, and his jaw tightened as he realized they had been discovered. His dark eyes gleamed with a mix of frustration and annoyance.
1765 didn't need to ask what they intended to do with him.
Liria sighed with a forced smile, stepping forward. "Ethan, right? We know you're an Indomitable. We can sense it—you're not the first to try escaping," she said in a patient tone, almost as if speaking to a stubborn child. "But seeing how well-fed and cared for you are, I'd say you weren't treated badly. So let's make this simple; we don't want to hurt you. Just tell us who owns you, and we'll take you back to them in one piece. Quick and easy."
The eyes of 1765 hardened. Those words struck him in a way he hadn't expected. He recalled some of the images S.I.L.A.S. had shown him in his dreams—images of men and women treated as mere commodities, sold to the highest bidder without the slightest shred of dignity. He was no different from those memories. To them, he was nothing more than property that needed to be returned to its rightful owner.
He gritted his teeth, and his voice emerged firm, laden with resentment he didn't bother to conceal.
"I have no owner. I own myself."
Liria frowned at his response. Her kind expression hardened slightly, and with a swift gesture, she pulled a red stone from a small case on her belt. 1765 recognized the stone immediately. It was similar to the gems the mine guards used to manipulate the mark on his forehead—the ones that could activate paralyzing pain or even death in a slave.
Liria raised the gem and pointed it at him with a precise motion. 1765 felt a chill run down his spine... but nothing happened.
The silence grew heavier. The escorts exchanged confused glances. Liria frowned deeper and pressed the gem harder, as if that would change the outcome, but there was still no reaction.
"What the hell...?" one of the escorts murmured.
The largest man in the group smirked, crossing his arms with an expression that was equal parts amused and calculating. "Oh, look at what we have here… a real savage. A genuine Indomitable." His grin widened. "You know what that means. Catch him without causing too much damage. He's far too valuable to waste."
The youngest woman in the group grinned mischievously, and before 1765 could make a single move, she raised both hands and began chanting in a guttural tone. A faint glow illuminated the ground beneath her feet, forming a complex circular pattern that pulsed with pure energy. The air grew dense, laden with an almost tangible pressure.
1765 didn't fully understand what was happening, but the scene reminded him of the fireball the robed man had launched when he escaped the mine. He didn't need more clues to know this wasn't going to end well for him.
Without hesitation, his hand slipped into his rags and retrieved a small throwing kunai. It was one of the many improvised tools he had crafted for self-defense, precisely carved from the resilient wood of the Silent Forest. In a swift motion, he hurled it directly at the woman.
The other escorts saw the projectile but didn't react. Even the large man chuckled mockingly, underestimating 1765's attempt. However, as the kunai was about to reach its target, a translucent blue barrier appeared in front of the woman, shining briefly.
But the kunai didn't stop.
The weapon pierced through the barrier as if it were mere air, shattering it into fragments and embedding deeply into the woman's shoulder. A scream of pain tore through the quiet night as the glowing circle beneath her feet abruptly dissipated.
The escorts were stunned. That barrier was supposed to protect her from any physical attack. They had inspected the boy before, and it was impossible for him to have any affinity. So why was their companion bleeding on the ground?
The large man barely turned his head to glance at the injured woman, and that moment of distraction was all 1765 needed.
Without wasting time, he drew a dagger and lunged forward, closing the distance with impossible speed. His movements were precise, calculated. He had studied the man's armor—resilient and heavy, but not completely protective. He had identified its weak points, and one of them was exposed.
With feline agility, he climbed the torso of the man who towered over him and aimed his dagger directly at his neck, seeking a clean cut.
But the man reacted.
With impressive reflexes, he managed to shove 1765 away with a powerful swipe, but he wasn't unharmed. He felt a burning sensation on his skin, and when he touched his neck, he found hot blood trickling between his fingers. His eyes widened in disbelief.
He was supposed to be a warrior with a defensive aura. That aura should have nullified any physical attack from an insignificant child. And yet, the dagger had cut through his protection as if it didn't exist. If he hadn't reacted in time, his head would have been rolling on the ground.
The impact sent 1765 hurtling directly toward the other robed man. The boy didn't waste any time and extended his daggers in a lethal arc.
The slash was clean.
The man's head was severed from his body in a single movement, his expression frozen in shock as his lifeless body collapsed onto the grass.
1765 landed in a roll, his body already preparing to continue the fight. He could hear the camp stirring—merchants waking up in a panic. Liria was recovering from her stupor, but 1765 didn't give her a chance to act.
Without hesitation, he drew three more kunai and hurled them with surgical precision at the wounded woman.
Liria reacted instantly, drawing her sword and placing it in the path of the projectiles. But her expression changed when she felt an unexpected impact. The kunai embedded themselves in her weapon with ease, piercing the metallic surface and lodging deeply.
That didn't make sense. Her sword was forged with magical steel, reinforced to be more resilient than any other metal. With her aura active, the blade should have been indestructible. Yet, the kunai had pierced it effortlessly. If the projectiles had been launched from closer range, Liria probably wouldn't have been able to block them in time.
Before the three remaining escorts could regroup, 1765 had already disappeared.
He moved like a shadow in the night, his agile and silent steps carrying him back into the forest. Within seconds, he had left the scene far behind, vanishing several meters deep among the trees.