The forest was behind them, a dark memory fading into the distance. Reine and Argol moved deeper into the village. The further they went, the heavier the air felt. It wasn't just the lack of food; it was a lack of spirit. Even the children were hollowed out, sitting in the dirt with glazed eyes, not a single toy or game in sight.
Argol, visibly shaken, stuck to Reine's side. "Reine, I don't know about this," he whispered, his voice trembling. "This place feels... haunted. Everyone is looking at us like we're exotic creatures."
Reine didn't respond. He was too busy filtering the atmosphere. He closed his eyes, extending his mana perception in a 360-degree sweep. Amidst the stagnant, dead air of the peasants, he caught a spark. A single, refined Mana Signature radiating from a dilapidated house near the center.
Reine changed course immediately.
"Reine, why are we going there?" Argol asked, his hand on his sword. "That house looks like it's about to collapse."
"Someone with mana lives there," Reine whispered back. "The only person in this entire village with mana."
The Ghost of Oakwood
Before he could knock, the door flung open. A man stepped out—skinny, dressed in ruined rags. Argol let out a muffled yelp and dove behind Reine, convinced he was looking at a ghost. But as the man stepped into the light, he offered a weary, gentle smile.
"Greetings," he said. "I am Morgo, the chief of this village."
He extended a hand. Reine took it. This old man... he's Advanced Level, Reine's logic flared.
"I am Reine Vangalf. This is Argol Orlon," Reine said. "We're just mercenaries adventuring through the kingdom."
Argol glanced at Reine. He's good at lying, he thought.
"Mercenaries? Please, come in. I will brew some tea."
The interior was a shock. While the outside looked like a ruin, the inside was warm and well-kept. Pictures of Morgo's family lined the walls. As they sat on the couch, the silence grew awkward. Reine's mind began to wander, his eyes drifting to the sword at his hip.
Aurelian. Why did I pick up this piece of junk? It keeps twitching, it drains my mana... it's useless.
Suddenly, the sword vibrated violently against his leg.
'Oh, you can hear my thoughts too, you junky?' Reine thought with a mocking grin. 'Wait... if you can hear me, does that mean you know about the Snap? Do you know about the loops?'
"You're right, human."
The Reflex Measure
"Oh, I see..." Reine thought back casually, his mind still drifting.
He sat there for three seconds, staring at the steam rising from his cup. Then, his entire body stiffened. His eyes went wide as dinner plates. He nearly fell off the couch, his head whipping around frantically to look at Argol, then at the corners of the room.
'Wait... WHAT?!' Reine screamed in his mind. 'WHO SAID THAT?! THE SWORD?!'
"Hey, are you okay?" Argol asked, staring at Reine as he made weird, panicked gestures. "You're acting... really strange."
Reine froze, forcing his face into an over-exaggerated serious expression. "That... that was my training measures. A mental exercise for muscle reflexes."
Argol looked at him like he was a total weirdo. Reine sat back down, his heart hammering, realizing that the "piece of junk" at his hip was a sentient witness to his greatest secret.
The Burden of a Chief
Morgo returned with the tea, laughing softly. "You youngsters don't look like the talkative type," he said. He sat across from them, and suddenly, the air changed. A heavy, advanced-level pressure began to leak out.
"So," Morgo said, his expression turning grave. "What business do two 'mercenaries' have in a dying place like this?"
The pressure made Argol almost choke on his tea. But then, three small children ran into the room, hugging Morgo's legs. The terrifying pressure vanished instantly as Morgo patted their heads. Reine watched them leave, sipping his tea. He's not a bad person, Reine realized.
"We came to rest," Reine said once the children were gone. "But after seeing the state of this village, I'm intrigued."
Morgo let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing. This village... Oakwood... it was a jewel once. We were the trade hub between kingdoms. Then the war came. The border closed. The trades stopped. The Kingdom... they didn't care. They didn't want to help a village so close to the border."
Morgo began to cry, the tears carving paths through the dust on his face. "The smiles, the spark... everything was taken. Now, the babies are dying of malnutrition."
The room fell silent. The man who was laughing just a second ago was now sobbing, his spirit as broken as the village he led. Argol looked down at his lap, his jaw tight. He was a soldier of the Kingdom, and hearing how his own country had left these people for dead made him see red.
The "Auditory Hallucination"
Reine, however, was focused on the logistics. "Morgo, sir... do you know why the war started?"
Morgo wiped his face with a trembling hand. "From what I know... the Paekl Kingdom wanted more power. They want to unite the Eight Heavenly Kingdoms under one crown."
Reine listened, but he'd heard this propaganda before. Unite the kingdoms? No one does that for peace. They do it for resources. He went to ask another question, but he was interrupted.
'Hey kid. Hey!'
Reine looked around the room. 'No, idiot! Down here!'
Reine looked down at his feet, then started peering under the couch and the coffee table. Argol and Morgo stopped talking, watching him with identical looks of concern.
"Reine... did you lose something?" Argol asked.
"No, uh... someone just called me. I don't know where it's coming from," Reine said, still scanning the floorboards.
"Young man," the old man said, his voice soft with pity. "It seems you are very tired. You're hearing things."
'Oh my god... it's me. Aurelian. You utter fool,' the voice shouted directly into Reine's consciousness.
"Oh, it's you..." Reine thought back casually, his brain still stuck on the war talk. "...Wait, IT'S YOU!"
Reine shouted the words aloud, jumping up from the couch so fast he nearly hit the ceiling. He caught himself a second later, realizing he was standing in a silent room with two people looking at him like he was a mental patient. He sat back down, face heating up.
"Sir... are you okay?" Argol whispered.
"Young man, perhaps you should really rest," Morgo said, stood up. "I have a room with two beds. Go ahead."
Argol agreed instantly, practically dragging Reine toward the back.
The Mythical Ego
'Idiot. Watching you gave me second-hand embarrassment,' the sword hissed in his mind.
'Shut up. Who even are you?' Reine mumbled as they reached the guest room.
'I am Aurelian. The Mythical Sword.' The air in the hallway seemed to freeze for a split second, a heavy, ancient weight pressing against Reine's soul.
"Oh, no shit," Reine muttered.
The weight vanished. The sword didn't respond—it seemed genuinely offended by Reine's casual reaction.
The lights went out, leaving the room in shadows. Reine and Argol lay in opposite beds. The village was silent.
"Today was really tiring," Reine said to the darkness.
He got no response. Argol was already snoring, sleeping like a baby. Reine smiled faintly and closed his eyes, his body finally shutting down.
The Slaughter
CRASH.
A sound like a battering ram hitting a stone wall shook the house. Then came the screams.
"MONSTERS! THEY'RE HERE!"
Reine bolted upright and grabbed Aurelian. He lunged for the window. Outside, the "Grit" of the world had turned into a slaughterhouse.
These weren't beasts. They were Orcs.
Massive, green-skinned warriors with tusks like ivory daggers and eyes full of bloodlust. There were dozens of them
Reine's hand tightened on the hilt of his "junk" sword. The time for talking was over.