"Yes, I'm here!" Nerion shouted, forcing the sound from his throat like a flare into the unknown.
Suddenly—
BOOM!
A violent crack tore through the air. Nerion flinched, squeezing his eyes shut just in time to avoid the flying splinters as the door burst inward with brutal force. Shards of wood clattered across the floor.
Then came footsteps. Heavy.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
He opened his eyes.
He couldn't believe what he saw.
A towering figure stepped through the ruined threshold—a monster carved from flesh and rage. Bronze skin stretched over a broad, muscular frame that radiated brute power. Two thick horns spiraled back from his skull, and a tarnished iron ring hung from his nose like a hunter's brand. His face, like stone weathered and cracked by time, bore no softness.
Only strength. Only threat.
A Minotaur...?
His armor was dark leather—worn, stained, and reinforced in places with mismatched metal. It clung to him like a second skin, revealing slabs of muscle beneath and years of violence etched into every scar and dent.
It consisted of three pieces. A shawl-like guard draped over his chest and one shoulder like a loose mantle, leaving his abdomen strangely exposed. A pair of dark leather trousers followed, clearly crafted from the hide of some powerful creature Nerion could not recognize. And lastly, his boots—faded, almost dull compared to the rest of his armor.
Cold sweat slid down Nerion's temple.
'Oh, my God!'
His limbs didn't budge.
Still paralyzed. Still trapped in this new flesh.
Still helpless.
'Heh. Of course. Why wouldn't a monster burst in the moment I try to survive? Used up all my luck getting here... figures.'
Despite the rising terror, a small, shaky smile tugged at his lips. Not from hope. Not from foolish optimism.
From calculation.
He studied the Minotaur's face—every twitch, every breath.
The situation might seem overwhelmingly in the newcomer's favor. After all, he was facing a paralyzed man while he himself was strong and heavily built. But that wasn't truly the case. Certainly, the Minotaur had the advantage in certain areas, but Nerion had never relied on brute force as the primary solution to any problem he faced.
In fact, in his previous life, Nerion had worked as an undercover spy for a nation that aligned with his principles and served his goals, even if only indirectly.
He had survived until his death under unusual circumstances in a cemetery, so it was certain that someone like him was anything but normal.
Then a soft laugh escaped him. Light. Unthreatening. Almost relieved.
A lie.
He only wanted to see how the Minotaur would react to something as simple as laughter, and based on that reaction, Nerion would decide how to play him in order to get the most out of him—
assuming he survived after letting it out.
The scowl that followed told him everything: irritation, pride, and a temper waiting to snap.
At that moment, Nerion let out the nervous sigh he had been holding in ever since the Minotaur entered the room.
'I survived.'
"What are you laughing at, you son of a bitc—"
The Minotaur stopped mid-curse, eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring.
"You... You're a human?!" he snarled, a twisted grin spreading across his thick lips. Teeth bared. Eyes gleaming.
And in that grin, Nerion saw it.
Greed.
Nothing but greed.
At that moment, many thoughts crossed Nerion's mind as to why the Minotaur wore such a greedy smile, but one possibility stood out more than the rest.
A cold weight pressed into his chest.
'No... no way. Is this world... really like that?'
The Minotaur answered the unspoken horror with words like chains.
"I'll make a fortune selling a human like you. Especially one with a face like that. Women will fight to see you—let alone own you."
Nerion's smile vanished. His blood turned to ice, but in his mind—
Fire.
'Unbelievable. Rescued just to be auctioned off? Is this some kind of sick, cosmic joke? And did that bull just compliment me?'
His gaze dropped to the weapon at the Minotaur's side—a sword, broad and chipped, but deadly. The Minotaur had not lifted his hand from it since entering the room. Even now, as he reveled in his latest prize, his fingers idly traced the hilt while he spoke, as if it were the most precious thing he owned.
'It is unlikely, but it is possible...'
Then his gaze returned to the beast.
But still, he couldn't move. His body refused.
No miracle had healed him during the transmigration.
But he still had his mind.
And he still had his sharpest blade—observation.
From the moment slavery was mentioned, he hadn't blinked. He forced tears to well at the corners of his eyes, preparing for the performance. His ability to cry on command had always been useful.
Now, it was survival.
"Aren't you... worried?" he asked, voice steady and carefully pitched. "Powerful humans might come looking for me. If you sell me, someone might trace it back."
A twitch crossed the Minotaur's face.
The Minotaur's lip curled slightly in irritation.
And Nerion saw it.
'There it is. A crack.'
"You damn human!" the Minotaur roared, lunging forward and grabbing a fistful of Nerion's hair. Pain lanced across his scalp as his head was yanked back.
As the beast snarled above him, the upper strap of the Minotaur's armor slipped, revealing something beneath.
A tattoo.
Nerion's eyes locked onto it.
Etched into the bronze skin was a skull cloaked in black flame. Fire flickered inside its hollow eye sockets. But it wasn't ink—it pulsed faintly, alive somehow. Arcane lines extended from the skull like veins, fading beneath skin and armor. Ancient symbols circled it, some nearly erased, and the surrounding flesh bore scorch-like scars.
A shiver crawled through Nerion's spine.
Not fear of the Minotaur's strength.
Something deeper.
Something wrong.
The closer the beast came, the heavier it felt—as though an invisible weight were pressing on his soul. His chest tightened, his breath stuttered, his thoughts... flickered.
It wasn't the design.
It was the presence.
Like something beyond reality was looking back at him through that mark.
Watching.
'What is that?'
He had no answer.
Another yank tore at his scalp.
"You think I fear your kind?" the Minotaur barked. "Slave markets don't leak. Yeah, humans are smart—even strong—but they're not the top race on the Elderas Plains. And don't you ever insult the Minotaur race!"
'Elderas Plains. So that's what this world is called... and humans aren't weak, but we're not the apex. That matters.'
He steadied his voice.
"But look at me. I'll draw attention. What if a noble human sees me—someone unstable, vengeful? What if they tear the place apart just to make a point?"
His body remained still.
His mind stayed sharp.
'So, how deep does the fear go?'
"Ha-ha-ha-ha! Do you really think you're that important, human? No noble would risk going to war with the Dark Castle over a pretty, crippled boy who lacks the Source of Will. You're a nobody. You really are scum," said the Minotaur, laughing and staring intently into Nerion's eyes.
But Nerion saw it.
A flicker. A doubt.
He was weighing the risk.
'He's not fearless. He's just greedy. That fear... that's my leverage.'
'And he mentioned the Source of Will...?' Another term. Another mystery. He stored it away, along with Elderas, auctions, nobility, and ranks.
'This world is built on systems—power, status, class. Slavery implies hierarchy. Nobles imply politics. And the Dark Castle... it sounds like a power far above both.'
'It seems this Minotaur isn't going to leave me here under any circumstances, and that's fine, but I also need more time to try to deal with this body. I have two options: either I try to find a solution while I'm with him, or I accept being sold and then use the woman who buys me to find a solution for me.'
'But there's something else I can use to delay things as long as possible.'
His gaze flicked once more to the Minotaur's sword.
He sniffed faintly, then lowered his voice.
"So this is how it ends?" he whispered, letting it crack. "Sold before I can even cure my legs... before I fulfill my father's wish... before I lift the family sword."
A tear escaped. Just one.
But it gleamed.
And it worked.
The Minotaur's eyes shifted.
"You—did you say family sword? You have one here?" His voice sharpened. "Where?! What's it made of? Silver? Black steel?!"
He grabbed Nerion's shoulders, shook him hard, then tossed him into a chair.
'Damn you—at least take care of my body, the one you'll profit from selling,' Nerion thought, pained by being thrown so carelessly.
The Minotaur's eyes scanned the room and lingered briefly on Angelina's corpse.
Then they passed over her without pause.
Nerion watched.
Amused.
'So novels really weren't exaggerating... creatures like this do exist. And with the same IQ.'
The Minotaur returned, fuming.
"You lied! There's no sword!"
Nerion's expression changed in a heartbeat—from stoic to frightened.
"No! I swear—on the honor of my human bloodline," he said, voice trembling. "My father left it for me... hoping I'd recover and carry our legacy." Nerion recalled how proud the Minotaur was of his lineage, so he swore by his own as well, not realizing the significance such an oath held in this world.
The Minotaur froze.
'A lie like that... if it weren't true, it could destroy even the slightest chance of awakening the Source of Will forever,' the Minotaur thought.
He knew that this man had none; he had sensed no willpower when he entered the room. But he ruled out the possibility that the man would give up trying—after all, it was the quickest way to heal his paralyzed body.
And because of that, he believed him.
"You're not lying?"
"No, bull sir. If you let me go, I'll show you. Deal?"
The Minotaur's eye twitched.
"I'm a Minotaur, you wretched runt! Not a bull!" he spat.
But greed had already dulled his edge.
'Hehe... humans are clever. But desperation? That makes them stupid.'
His grin widened.
'When I get that sword, I'll sell you at auction. Some noble lady will love owning you—even if you can't walk.'
But he didn't notice.
The stillness.
The stare.
The gleam in the boy's eye.
He didn't notice that the fragile 'doll' in front of him...
...was watching him the way a predator watches its prey—
as if toying with it before the kill.