The evening air was warm—not uncomfortably so, but enough to draw out a light sweat. A gentle breeze rolled through the balcony, offering a fleeting sense of relief. But for Neros, no amount of fresh air could ease the storm in his mind.

He sat slouched in a chair, gripping a half-empty beer bottle while his friend nursed another. The bitterness of the drink lingered on his tongue, oddly fitting for the mood he was in.

"This can't go on much longer," Neros groaned, rubbing his temples. "This job is killing me. I thought working for myself would be easy—buy some stocks, follow the news, and boom, profits. Instead, I'm stuck refreshing my account every two minutes just to see if I've gone bankrupt yet."

His friend chuckled, taking a sip before replying. "You just need to give it time."

"Time?" Neros scoffed. "At this rate, I'll go gray before I make a cent. Hell, I swear even fighting dragons would be less stressful. At least that'd come with some excitement instead of sitting at a desk pulling my hair out."

He reached for another bottle, but as he lifted it, his vision wavered. The world around him blurred, colors smearing together like wet paint. His fingers slipped, and the bottle tumbled to the floor with a dull clink.

Then, his legs gave out.

His heart pounded against his ribs, hands clammy and weak. His friend called his name, shaking him, but the words barely reached him. Sounds dulled, movements slowed—it felt like slipping into a warm bath, the chaos of reality fading into a tranquil abyss.

Just before everything went black, a deep, amused voice rumbled from somewhere unseen.

"Ooooh, I hope this one will do. I can't wait to see what he's capable of."

Neros gasped, breath catching in his throat as sensation returned. A strange texture pressed against his bare feet—not the hard floor of the balcony, but something soft. Grass?

Blinking rapidly, he tried to clear his vision. Strange lights flickered in his periphery, casting the world in hues of red and gold.

"What the hell is happening…?" he muttered, his voice weak and unsteady.

Before he could process anything, a massive shadow passed over him. Instinct kicked in, and he ducked, heart hammering as he looked up. His breath caught.

A beast soared overhead, its crimson scales gleaming in the firelit sky. Around it, streaks of energy cut through the air—bolts of lightning, roaring fireballs, glowing projectiles of unknown magic. The sky itself seemed alive with chaos.

He turned, only to be met with a sight straight out of a nightmare. Soldiers clad in dented armor clashed in brutal melee, steel meeting steel with ear-splitting force. Others, dressed in flowing robes, flung spells with terrifying precision. The battlefield stretched endlessly, littered with the fallen, some unmoving, others writhing in pain.

The stench of blood, metal, and something burnt filled his nostrils.

His stomach twisted.

This wasn't a dream.

This was real.

And he was right in the middle of it.

Panic surged through Neros as he stumbled forward, barely managing to avoid the blasts erupting around him. Explosions tore through the battlefield, bodies fell one by one, and the ground was slowly being painted crimson. His breath came in ragged gasps as he spotted a nearby trench just outside the main line of fire. Without thinking, he sprinted toward it, diving in headfirst.

For a moment, all he could hear was his own ragged breathing. But then—

"I think there's someone down there!" a young female voice called out.

Neros' heart skipped a beat. Fear rooted him in place. Footsteps approached, more of them by the second. He squeezed his eyes shut, barely daring to breathe.

A helmeted figure peeked over the trench's edge.

"We have one over here!" the young woman shouted. Before Neros could react, a strong hand grabbed his wrist and hauled him up with surprising ease.

Stunned, he didn't even resist. He was still trying to process everything, barely able to form a coherent thought.

The armored soldiers surrounded him, their gazes sharp with suspicion. The young woman who had pulled him up frowned, eyeing his strange clothing.

"Looks like this human was hiding inside our lanes the whole time. I hope he didn't overhear anything. He's not a warrior, and he's definitely not a mage. I don't recognize this robe either..."

Her commander, a tall man with a scar running across his cheek, studied Neros with narrowed eyes. "Take him to the tent. Tie him up. We'll deal with him later."

Neros' breath hitched. "Wait! Please, I—I don't know what's going on! I'm not supposed to be here!" His voice was raw with desperation, but no one seemed to care.

The young woman barely spared him a glance as she shoved him forward. "Move."

Inside the dimly lit tent, Neros sat bound, listening to the distant sounds of battle—screams, explosions, the clash of steel. His mind raced. Just hours ago, he had been drinking on his balcony, worrying about stocks. Now he was in the middle of some kind of war, surrounded by people who thought he was the enemy.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, but before he could calm himself, the tent flap swung open.

A massive figure stepped in.

"So, you're the one hiding in our lines," the man said, his deep voice carrying an air of authority. He was at least two meters tall, with long blond hair and strange, pointed ears. His piercing gaze held both amusement and suspicion. "Did they send you on a suicide mission or what, boy?"

Neros swallowed hard. "P-please, sir, I don't know what's happening or where I am. I swear, I wasn't trying anything! I just want to go home!"

The man smirked. "I, too, want to go home and be done with all this. But as long as you humans hold the Emitter Orb, none of this will stop."

Neros blinked, confused. "I—I don't even know what that is! I don't have it! Do I look like any of the people outside? I don't even know where I am!"

Commander Niall tilted his head, his expression shifting. "Boy… why don't I see any mana coming from you?"

Neros clenched his fists, trembling. "I—I don't even know what that means!"

For a long moment, Niall simply stared at him. Then, with a tired sigh, he turned to the guard outside. "Keep him here until the fighting dies down."

He tossed a small package of bread and a flask of water beside Neros before leaving. "Eat. Drink. You're no use to us dead."

The tent flap closed, leaving Neros alone once more.

Four days passed.

The cold, hard floor beneath him made sleep near impossible. His body ached, hunger gnawed at him, and his throat was constantly dry. Food and water were given once a day—barely enough to keep him going. The stench of the small pot they gave him for waste made his stomach churn.

He had never felt so helpless in his life.

As he lay there, exhausted and miserable, he almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

A few days ago, he had been pulling his hair out over stock losses.

Now, he was a prisoner in the middle of a war he didn't understand.