1765 was seated on the branch of a tree, observing from above as several golems worked in the plains below him. This was not the Silent Forest, as the golems could not function properly in that environment. Although the liquid extracted from the fruits of the Silent Willows was not absorbed by the forest, the energy transmission through the runes was entirely disrupted. Thus, 1765 had to find another suitable location for his project.
His search led him to a valley at the foot of a mountain. It was a vast region, bordered by hills and dense forests, with a beautiful crystal-clear lake ensuring a water supply. Although the valley was inhabited by ferocious beasts, his explorations revealed no human cities nearby—not within several kilometers, at least. Additionally, its western border adjoined part of the Silent Forest, a territory 1765 already considered his own.
Thanks to the constant supervision of S.I.L.A.S. and the 24-hour operation of the golems, progress had been exponentially faster than expected. More than 40 golems were already working simultaneously: collecting resources, refining materials, and constructing new models from recovered parts. In a short time, a rudimentary camp began to take shape.
Although S.I.L.A.S. emphasized the importance of a stable base, 1765 still harbored doubts about establishing a camp outside the Silent Forest. Over time, however, he reached a conclusion: if he could not join any city without being hunted and marked as a slave, the solution was to build his own city. Thus, he set out to work alongside the golems to make this idea a reality.
Initially, he didn't want to involve himself too much in S.I.L.A.S.'s grand projects, but he didn't have many other options. His physical training was constant, and he occasionally hunted beasts to diversify his diet, but beyond that, his routine was reduced to exploration and monitoring his surroundings. He had learned much about this world—its magical systems, its societies—but that knowledge alone wasn't enough.
1765 knew this world had no place for him. Wherever he went, he would be hunted, rejected, and marked as a slave. In his mind, the Silent Forest remained the only safe haven, the only place where no one would bother him.
One day, like any other, while the golems continued their work, 1765 went out hunting. His target was giant rabbits, a common species in a dense forest located two days away from the valley. These creatures, about a meter tall, were agile, fast, and dangerous. Their teeth were strong enough to break stones, and some were even capable of spitting small bursts of fire. However, their meat was tender, and their fur was ideal for making clothes. In fact, much of his clothing was made from rabbit pelts, helping him endure the cold nights.
To hunt them, 1765 had designed a special weapon: a dart gun, crafted with materials he had obtained from his surroundings. It was made with wood from the Silent Willows, granting it resilience and, most importantly, ensuring the darts were lethal to any creature using mana. Each dart was coated in juice from the poisonous fruits of the Silent Willows, a toxin deadly to any being with magical affinity.
The greatest challenge in crafting the pistol was the spring mechanism. For this, 1765 had to experiment with minerals and melted sand, eventually creating a rudimentary alloy flexible and strong enough to withstand the necessary pressure. Through ingenuity and the information provided by S.I.L.A.S., he managed to design a manual loading system, allowing him to fire with precision without relying on advanced technology.
The gun had a compact and discreet design, allowing him to easily conceal it within his clothing. It featured a five-dart magazine, meaning he only needed to reload after five shots. Its firing system worked through an improvised hammer that, when activated, released the spring's energy to launch the dart at high speed. Although it lacked the power of a conventional firearm, the projectile was fast enough to pierce a rabbit's skin from under 50 meters away.
The best part was that the mechanism was silent, allowing him to hunt without alerting other prey in the area.
1765 moved cautiously through the underbrush, analyzing every trail left by his prey. He observed recent tracks in the damp soil, some with deep marks indicating quick leaps. Broken branches and bits of fur on the shrubs confirmed that the rabbits weren't far.
Each step was calculated, his breathing controlled, his senses sharpened. He crouched to examine fresh droppings; their smell indicated the prey had passed recently. S.I.L.A.S. whispered in his mind, pointing out a likely direction based on the distribution of the tracks.
The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. As he advanced, he noticed the terrain gently rising, and the vegetation became less dense. A clear sign that he was approaching a trail.
He hid behind a thick fallen trunk and watched intently. A few meters ahead, he spotted a clearing in the forest where the trail widened. The evening breeze began to blow, carrying with it the scent of damp wood and disturbed earth.
As the day drew to a close and twilight began to blanket the forest, 1765 remained hidden in the underbrush, patiently observing the clearing. He knew this was the perfect moment, as giant rabbits typically emerged at dusk to forage for food.
He didn't have to wait long. From the shrubs emerged one of the rabbits. It was a formidable creature, at least a meter tall when standing on its hind legs. Its thick, brown fur had a reddish sheen under the last light of the sun, and its long, muscular ears swiveled in various directions with uncanny precision. Its dark, alert eyes reflected the light like a predator's in the night. Its jaw, equipped with teeth capable of breaking stone, opened and closed slowly as it sniffed the air cautiously.
1765 raised his dart gun with calculated movements. His hand was steady, his breathing calm. He aimed directly at the animal's neck, the spot where the toxin would take effect most rapidly. His finger slid to the trigger, ready to fire.
But before he could pull the trigger, the rabbit's ears twitched and stood upright abruptly. It turned its head in the direction of the wind, as if it had caught a distant sound. In an instant, its muscles tensed, and it darted away at an impossible speed, disappearing into the underbrush without a trace.
1765 frowned in frustration. What had scared it? His senses sharpened, his training taking over. Then he heard it: screams.
These were not the typical sounds of the forest. They were human screams. He recognized them immediately—a man and a woman. Their voices carried desperation and fear. 1765 remembered he was not far from a path, but something didn't add up. Travelers were usually cautious in this area; escorts rarely allowed noisy situations.
Curiosity got the better of him. With agile movements, he climbed a nearby tree and began advancing through the branches, moving silently among the shadows.
With every leap and swing, the sounds grew clearer. It wasn't just screams; there was also laughter and the mocking voices of men. Finally, upon reaching the canopy of a taller tree, he saw the source of the commotion.
Below him, a group of armed men had set up camp. Warriors with swords and mages in robes gathered around a large fire, laughing and eating without a care. To one side, arranged in a circle of wagons, were several iron cages. Inside them, crammed together like livestock, were humans.
1765 observed the scene coldly. It was nothing new to him. Human slavery in the empire was a reality he had seen before. He had heard rumors, seen similar caravans. It was simply another group of merchants trafficking indómitos or prisoners. Nothing that concerned him.
His eyes scanned the scene with indifference. Among the cages, men and women remained silent, some with vacant expressions, others murmuring to each other. They were accustomed to humiliation, to hopelessness. 1765 let out a faint sigh and turned to leave.
And then, another scream.
This one was different. It didn't come from the cages. It came from farther away, behind the fire. The men in the camp laughed again, but this time with a mocking, amused tone. 1765 moved a little closer, ensuring he remained unseen.
Just a few meters away, between the trees, he saw the scene.
A man was holding a woman by her hair, dragging her across the ground effortlessly. The woman kicked, clawed, and struggled, but the man was too strong. Her face was covered in tears, her clothes torn, and her body bruised. Around her, other men watched with cruel smiles, making mocking comments among themselves.
This scene brought back memories of a book he had read earlier. In it, recommendations were given on how to treat indómitos, the enslaved men, while women were considered useful only for breeding. Yes, breeding. If a child was born with magic, they could serve as a soldier; if they were born without magic, they would be laborers. This practice had spread throughout the Human Empire. Essentially, indómita women were treated as mere toys to satisfy the desires of anyone who could lay hands on them.
Why? Why did they have to live like this? Why, just for being born without magic, was their fate sealed? Who decided their lives didn't belong to them? Who decreed that they were mere tools, commodities, toys? Why did the powerful claim the right to decide who was worthy and who wasn't? Why did no one do anything? Why did everyone accept it? Why… why had he accepted it until now?
The thought soon turned into anger. 1765 had told himself he planned to live peacefully in this world. He just wanted a good place to live and eat, where no one would bother him, and he didn't want to get involved in problems.
But amidst his anger, he couldn't control himself. He threw himself to the ground from his hiding spot. Despite the height and the leap, he used one hand to grab the tree trunk and slide down with precision. His movements were calculated, instinctive, and his hardened skin barely suffered scratches.
He landed without making a sound. His breathing was controlled, his pulse steady. In a blink, he slipped behind the man, drawing his short sword in a single fluid motion. The blade gleamed faintly under the dim light, and with lethal speed, he separated the man's head from his body.
Silent. Precise. Deadly.
No one but 1765 witnessed the act.
The girl, who had lost her voice from screaming so much, had closed her eyes tightly, bracing herself for the worst fate. The last memory her mind captured before resigning was the disgusting face of her assailant approaching her, his filthy hands reaching to strip away her last shred of dignity.
But then, something changed.
The grotesque laughter of the man abruptly stopped. The pressure on her hair disappeared. And the girl felt the air grow heavy, almost unreal. She slowly opened her eyes, her breath still ragged.
The man's body stood upright, motionless, swaying… until it fell heavily to its knees with a dull thud against the ground. His head rolled across the earth like a doll without an owner, his expression frozen in a mix of surprise and horror.
An absolute silence took hold of the place.
A silence that chilled the blood.
A silence that marked the beginning of something irreversible.
The girl trembled as she saw the bloody scene before her eyes. Her body wanted to scream, run, flee from it all, but for some reason, her gaze slowly lifted, following the trail of death until it met a dark figure in the shadows.
Under the pale moonlight, the silhouette seemed more a shadow than a human being. His clothing was strange, an improvised armor made of dark wood, bound with thick strips of cloth that seemed to provide flexibility without losing durability. His face showed no expression, only a smooth wooden mask without features, as if nature itself had sculpted a soulless visage.
But what struck her most were his eyes.
A pair of cold blue orbs glowed behind the mask, shining with an impossible intensity. They were as deep as the ocean and as sharp as a freshly forged blade. They conveyed no hatred, no mercy—only pure, cold determination, as if life and death were calculated decisions in his mind.
Before she could react, the masked figure raised a finger to his lips in a clear gesture of silence. His presence was imposing, like a specter born of the night itself. The girl felt her body tense, but she couldn't look away.
Without haste, the masked figure pulled out an object from his clothing, a wooden plaque carved with intricate symbols she didn't recognize. He passed it in front of her face, and at that moment, a blue glow emerged from her forehead.
The girl felt a strange pull within her. Her slave mark… she had seen it thousands of times reflected in the water, etched into her skin like an eternal curse. But now, that blue glow was being drawn out, absorbed by the wood as if carried away by an invisible current.
Her breath caught. She didn't understand what was happening, but her heart pounded desperately. Was this another kind of magic? What did it mean? Was it an illusion?
Before she could form a single word, the masked figure lifted her with surprising ease and, with a few agile movements, carried her to a hollow log. He gently placed her inside, ensuring her small body was hidden in the darkness.
"Stay here. I'll come back for you soon," he whispered in a deep, low voice, a voice that seemed unshakable, unyielding.
Quickly, he grabbed a handful of bushes and dry branches, covering the entrance of the log with meticulous precision. His movements were methodical, calculated, as if this were part of a plan he had executed many times before.
And just like that, the masked figure vanished into the night, blending with the darkness, as if he had never been there.
Shrouded by the night's shadows, 1765 observed the camp with an analytical gaze. He counted twenty-five guards in total: twenty warriors and five mages. It was a standard formation, at least based on what he had observed during his previous incursions. Typically, these escorts were made up of these two classes, leaving other specializations for the army or societal tasks.
Everyone was still awake—it was early in the night. He could wait for their vigilance to drop, but that was risky. There were too many prisoners, and the road they were on wasn't completely isolated. If they delayed too long, another traveler might cross their path, complicating his operation.
Acting quickly was the best option.
1765 moved slowly through the shadows, his silhouette blending seamlessly with the darkness. His mind focused on the plan, his breathing controlled, his pulse steady.
As the moon rose in the sky, a hunting scene quietly unfolded.