He held his head low, staring into the murky water. His reflection twisted beneath the ripples—a face marred by black veins, creeping like rot across his pale skin.
Hideous.
"Guhya."
A voice called his name. He didn't turn.
"Guhya."
Again.
And again.
He pulled his hood over his head, adjusting the mask that concealed his cursed face.
"Guhya, you brat!" Mecca's voice rang sharp behind him, growing louder as she stormed after him. "What the hell do you mean you want to be a mercenary?! An adventurer, of all things?! Are you an idiot?! Do you have a death wish?!"
He didn't stop walking.
"If I die, then that's that." He shrugged.
Mecca practically growled. "If you want to grow stronger, the Academy is the best place for you! Do you even hear yourself, you reckless brat?! You're twelve! What the hell do you know?!"
"The Academy, huh." His steps didn't falter.
How could he possibly survive there? A place where mana thrived, where it was everything. A world where power was abundant, woven into the very fabric of existence.
And yet, in his veins—nothing.
Mana was life. Those without it were worse than trash.
He had no place in that world.
"Guhya! If you don't turn your ass around right this second, I'm gonna burn all your—"
"I'll be back within a year or so, Aunt."
He glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of her furious, exasperated expression. Then, he turned away again, setting one foot in front of the other.
Even as Mecca's shouts faded into the distance, he knew she was still there, watching, cursing his name.
---
The Past
Once, he had been a nameless slave, dragged from auction to auction like a piece of discarded trash. Until that night—
The night Mecca and her party stormed the market, cutting down the slavers like weeds.
It should have been his salvation. Instead, it was the beginning of something worse.
"Can't you run faster, brat?!"
Mecca yanked him forward, her grip tight on the filthy blanket wrapped around his frail body. Beneath it, cursed black veins slithered across his skin like the mark of something inhuman.
Guhya barely registered her words. His legs moved, but his mind was blank.
What was the point of running?
In the end, we all die anyway.
"Motherf—!"
A blade swung toward them. Mecca blocked it, metal screeching against metal as she was forced back.
Another one came.
And another.
The slavers weren't going down without a fight.
Mecca gritted her teeth, exhaustion weighing on her. Yet she kept him behind her, shielding him as she fought.
Guhya hated it.
Why?
Why was she protecting him? Why was she struggling for his sake?
It was pointless.
In his frustration, he shoved her away—
And at that moment, a sword cut through the air.
Blood splattered across the ground.
Mecca screamed.
Her foot—severed.
The world spun. The scent of iron filled his lungs.
Guhya had never felt more disgusted with himself.
---
The Road to Le Vorndel
Now, years later, he found himself on the back of a wagon, staring at the horizon.
The road stretched before him, leading to Le Vorndel Kingdom.
A far cry from the quiet, rotting cottage where he had spent eight years of his life. A place overgrown with dead flowers, its silence more suffocating than any chain.
He closed his eyes, remembering the only visitors that had ever come to that miserable place—adventurers.
Scarred. Loud. Reckless.
And yet, something about them had made him lift his head for the first time.
"What?! A kid with no mana?! How the hell is this little twerp still breathing?!"
A burly man with wild brown hair had laughed, slamming a heavy arm against the table.
"I bet you're living the dream, huh?" A blonde woman giggled. "Or not. You're even cursed! I'm a saintess, but even I can't do anything about that!"
"Hah! That must be depressing as hell!" Another man, blue-haired and spiky, clapped Guhya on the back—so hard that he nearly fell off his chair.
Guhya had only glared at him in response.
Then came another voice.
A man with a scar over his left eye leaned in, draping an arm over Guhya's shoulders. The stench of alcohol was thick on his breath.
Damn. This guy's heavy.
"Listen, kid." The man grinned. "It ain't about mana. It's about the urge—the drive to live. You get me?"
Guhya frowned.
"So what if some people have more mana than others? You'd still die in the end." The man laughed, ruffling Guhya's hair.
"Ha! You're only saying that because you barely have any yourself!" a red-haired woman taunted.
"Says the bitch who nearly dropped dead when she ran outta mana!"
"What did you just say?!"
"Oh, you wanna go?!"
The table erupted into chaos as drinks spilled and chairs scraped against the floor.
For the first time in his life, Guhya didn't feel completely empty.
---
The Adventurer's Guild
Now, he stood before an inn, his boots dusty from travel.
Inside, adventurers crowded around tables, talking, laughing, arguing. A bulletin board near the entrance was plastered with job postings.
An old man at the reception desk eyed him.
"You looking for a room, lad?"
"Yes." Guhya answered simply.
He could feel the gazes of some adventurers on him—measuring, scrutinizing. He ignored them.
"This way," the old man said, leading him toward the stairs. "I'll show you the rooms and prices."
Guhya followed without hesitation.
His journey had only just begun.
____
To be continued