“Faith alone can be stronger than any magic or skill you earn. So think twice when you mock the Godless for not choosing to bear the blessings of the Gods, for they travel this land with a fanatical faith and fatalistic need without the aid of our Gods.”

- Herald of Nerem the Goddess of Honor

The eleven Ancient Lords continued their discussion after nearly half an hour of silence. Though the Elder himself seemed to not be interested in the following discussion as it went on without him, and the others noticed this. But none offered an objection to this, as they knew what the Elder of Delving was doing. The Elder, being the most gifted among all the Delvers of the Forest of Ancients was constantly having visions.

It was a literal constant flood of what may occur in the future, every single possibility was relayed to him. It was a fate that only a very few Delvers had ever experienced, and most do not even reach the age to acquire the possibility to become an Elder of Delving. It was mostly due to the stress of such a gift forcing many to suppress their power, or become so enamored with a particular future that they fatalistically pursue it, leading to them dying as with each disregard for other possibilities they drag themselves to a darker one.

The Elder was a victim of this, but he had the foresight, a quite literal one to heed the other visions he had been having. As the Elder of Delving he had the ability to completely null his power for a time, and this allowed him to live a normal life until his ability was needed. And when Benedict washed up on the lake of cleansing, and subsequently was found by his granddaughter, he had gotten a grand vision.

It was grand in the sense that it was large, too big to be truly comprehended in a single vision that took several minutes. He had gotten a brief piece of that vision, and it was one that started in the beginning of a new race, and ended in bloodshed. Yet in that small piece he was able to discern that no matter what action he or any of his fellows would take, it will occur no matter what.

For the Ancient Delvers, they called these visions ‘Anchors’ as they are a part of fate that could never be changed. Yet from these anchors different versions could occur, all having the same beginning and end, but to who they were directed, it remained unseen. Without even thinking of the consequence of his actions, he pursued it.

And he could remember it clearly. With it beginning directly after they had finally found Benedict, moments after he was chosen by the Forlorn.

“The coming of the twelfth.. The one to finally succeed Centerious?”

Salia asked as members of the Choir looked at the boy in confusion and shock. They began to gather behind them, their eyes looking at the boy in curiosity and fear. Their faces had twisted to that of a grimace, with most reaching out to cover their ears. It seemed to be a tune to be the cause of their expression, and whatever it was the Elder and Salia could not hear it.

“Another path for our bloodline.”

He replied as he motioned his hand towards Benedict, whose horns was still being caressed. With the very sight of that, a continuation of the vision would take him. It was only for a few seconds, as he had tried his best to suppress his ability. It showed him the boy, surrounded by a dozen or so humanoid things rushing out and hatefully tearing away at unseen foes.

“Elder! You can’t possibly consider-”

Salia protested but the Elder turned towards her with a sudden scowl, his glowing blue eyes turning red just for a few moments before he sighed. Salia involuntarily tried to take a step back, but with her kneeling she could only look down. The peaceful face of the boy greeting her, whilst the strange appendages on his back twitched as if he knew they were there.

“I told you, this is for the betterment of our kind.”

He replied as he signalled the Choir with a gesture of his hand. Moments later a song would be heard coming from one of them which quickly faded. This was a signal that indicated a messaged had been sent to the other members of the Choir within their city, and that the others had been alerted.

“But Elder.. Certainly there must be another way..”

Salia voiced out her thoughts as she shot a conflicted glance to the Elder. But his face was resolute as a small manic smile crossed his aged features, this in turn was followed by the Elder rapidly drawing a magical circle on Benedict’s chest. It was a six circled magical spell, with each stroke of his finger runes came to its surface, before causing the circles to begin rotating rapidly.

“No. There is no other way. I lost your Mother to this damned power, and I will not lose you to it. Now be a good child and accept this.. Even if you will hate me now, it is for the future of our kind, and it’s a future for you.”

Salia would frown at hearing the words of the Elder. She could not doubt him, as whatever he saw would come to pass. If he would even go as far as to do this, to quickly do a spell towards the supposed successor of Centerious the Forlorn, he must be so desperate in preventing a future he had seen. But what he was trying to enforce caused a blush to cross her face, as she couldn’t help but find this situation to be embarrassing.

“E-Elder.. I want to be like you, to help guide our people to a better path!”

She pleaded to the old man, but the Elder did not look moved as his face became truly serious with each additional stroke of his finger. The six circled magic circle was spinning rapidly, each layer having numerous runes that coincided with sentences and names of long dead ancients. This was a man willing to do anything to get what he wanted, all for the sake of his people and family.

“Then do what is right here, make sure that this successor of the Forlorn will not die. Nor will his blades ever be pointed towards our kind.”

He nearly hissed towards her as the circles was completed. Without even stopping to say anything more he would go to look at Salia, his expression softening for only but a few seconds. With that Salia would reluctantly nod as she held her hand out, reaching towards the magical circle with a slight tremble. Growing impatient with her reluctance, the Elder pulled at her hand and forcefully made her touch it.

In the instant that her fingers had hit the first outer circle, the magical circle would go deathly still. Before it would suddenly glow in a bright orange color, followed by the sound of a dozen voices piercing out to their ears. And before their eyes the six circles would split into three, three for Benedict and Salia. These circles would go and place themselves on specific parts of their body.

One in their foreheads, another on their chest just above their hearts, and the third seemingly going inside their bodies and attaching itself to a part they could not see. The Elder however knew where the third of the circles went, and it made him nod as he let go of Salia’s hand.

Without anything else to say, he would stand up and look to his granddaughter. He saw her having a conflicted expression as the magical circle visible on her head slowly lost its glow and faded, followed by her letting out a groan of pain. Benedict who was unconscious also let out a similar response, this indicated his spell was successful despite it being utterly invasive.

“It is done, I shall have faith in you Salia. Make sure this rising Despot will be a sword of our people, and not against it.”

With that the memory faded as the voices around him was strangely silent. He blinked his eyes in confusion as he turned to regard the other Lords. He found each one of them looking at him, as if expecting an answer from him. Instead they would receive a bow from him as he apologetically spoke.

“Forgive me brothers and sisters, a vision has overtaken me. What was the question directed to me?”

The Conduit in response would speak, its hand motioning towards the others as it spoke. In particular the Mistress, the Lord Mender, the Master of Hymns and the Warborn was staring at him, waiting for his answer.

“The Lords wish to know if the Soul-Binding was thorough. For it seems that the Lord Mender has revealed that exactly an hour ago, just as our discussion began about the Soul-Binding of the Despot and Salia, two Aberrations had suddenly been born. Followed by that, these newborns, these Aberrations are sexless.

The Lord Mender noted that as they were born, they came out of another creature. A Raemir to be exact. It suggests that they are either still underdeveloped and are initially propagated through parasitic means, or they are purely parasitic.

However the Lord Mender also noted a bizarre quality to these newborns. As he is connected to Malvirek, our ancient home, he had tapped into one of the trees. There he witnessed these Aberrations of nature, and just as you had described them, they resembled human-like entities.

But what was bizarre to them, is that they had no soul at all. And worse of all, they did not emanate mana, as if they are truly empty. It is further made strange by the fact that, like the Despot they ‘devour’ mana around them.

Not only that, they show startling signs of sapience. Acting out in clear purposeful actions, as they are now as we speak, gathering several creatures and fruits to the place they had come to life in. This only means that they are but among the first to be born, and that the Raemir they came from contains more. The Warborn insists that should we make the proper choices, we will have a great ally to our forces.

Moreso when even these newborns show intelligence akin to that of a mature human, or as mature as these strange beings could be.

So would you kindly tell us if the binding was true?”

The Elder nodded as he prepared his explanation. He himself knew what kind of soul-binding he had done, and he in particular felt utterly glad that he did so, even when nearly half of the present Lords did not truly agree to it.

“The binding was true, honorable Conduit of Order. I had personally done it, as the Anchors I have seen all pointed to this to be the true binding. I had done the six circles of Azameia and Zajal, their union re-created to bind the soul of my granddaughter, and that of the Despot.

Six circles split into three, one side pertained to Azameia the first queen of our kind, and another to Zajal the warlord of clan Beramir. Like the ancient songs of old, and echoes of fate, each circle was moved to their respective places on each individual.

One to the forehead, to render both unable to think ill of the other, or to even do anything harmful to each other. Another is on their chest, above their hearts, to ensure that whatever occurs, they will grow to love one another. And should the husband find it in himself to fall for another, the same circles will appear to the other female, binding them, and ensuring that no conflict among the lovers occur. Though the other female must truly love the husband.

Lastly the third circle has placed itself upon their soul. With this ancient magic, their union is complete. A chain nearly as strong as the weave of fate binds them, letting both feel what the other experiences, should they choose to do so. In essence it allows them to never feel alone, letting them feel the presence of the other.

Like the romance of Azameia and that of Zajal, they shall be intertwined in the tapestry of fate. And I daresay more so than our ancient ancestors were.“

After his explanation, most of the Ancient Lords would nod with surprised expression. As they did not expect for this kind of a soul-bind to actually have been done, especially when it is so ancient and related to their ancestors. The Master of Hymns, the girl that sang would speak next, her voice relaying a mixture of excitement and surprise.

“Truly? You had bound the Despotic Child akin to how Zajal was bound to the first Queen? Unconscious, untamed, hateful and unbound? To recreate a romance like that of our forebears in a similar setting, to ensure that a rising twelfth would not bare its fangs upon us.

Was the vision that you had seen so woeful, that you had to resort to this dearest Elder? Was such the Anchors associated with it so unchanging that all you could do was lead it to a path that would not cost us so dearly?”

The Elder replied with a simple nod, this would cause a brief gasp of surprise from all the present Lords. As the romance between Azameia and Zajal was one that was initially born out of a forceful contract, their souls was bound together by a vengeful God, and they had to learn how to love one another to ensure that they would bring prosperity to their people. This was thousands of years ago, when the world was young, when the younger races did not even had a culture of their own.

This was one of the first instances that their kind had united, even when the reason was a forced union. And for it to be reenacted akin to an echo of fate, was admirable though distasteful in a way too. Regardless, the gathered Lords would look satisfied with that knowledge, as the discussion moved on.

“Aye, I understand why you would do that. But I want to know something, which hand does the Despot kill with?”

Rudely without any prior signal at all, a voice of an impatient male would boom out. It was like the sound of a hammer banging against metal on an anvil, breathed life by ancient forges from the Dwarven Halls hidden somewhere to the far west. The source was an Ancient, stockier and surprisingly shorter than the rest, almost as short as a dwarf.

This Lord himself did not truly look special, as he had worn a simple leather overall made for forges, with him surprisingly being completely bald. But he had half of his head tattooed with tiny runic letters of their language, which extended down to his neck. His eyes was completely white, as if he was blind. His horns were also rather plain and covered in what seems to be ashes.

“I assume he kills with his right hand, Forge Brother. Though that remains to be seen.”

The Elder replied with a smile, and the Forge Brother would let out a grunt as he continued to speak, directing his attention to the Conduit of Order.

“The way I see it, tis new Lord is an untested little bugger. But despite that, I’ll tell my boys to begin their work on preparing materials for these Aberrations. Also as dictated by our customs, I will create an armor for the the young lord. But that stupid bug-arms he has growing on his back will be a bloody problem! Though I’ll get around to preparing the items the Forlorn has bequeathed to the kid. Can’t let him have some unsharpened axe or unpolished shield!

I hope this is well worth the investment.”

The Conduit would simply nod to the Forge Brother, its featureless mask showing not a sliver of emotion. Neither did its voice as it spoke, the scale on its staff leaning more to a certain side.

“Our new brother shall join us in the months to come. But the state he is in now, is anything but useful. He shall be trained and tested in the use of his gifts, and to see if he can control the Aberrations that now stalk the forests of our home.

Warborn, Master of Hymns and Lord Mender, you three shall oversee the growth of our new brother alongside the progress of his rising kind. The situation regarding the Ivory Concord shall be further debated, but in this aspect this is more important.

As the Forlorn once fulfilled the purpose of Hunter and Diplomat, what the Despot will be is his choice entirely. But from the title the Elder of Delving has given him, he shall most likely be one for violent confrontations, with this in mind we shall watch his steps.”

With a slam of the butt of its staff, the Conduit would let out a surge of magical energy for a minute. Letting all others know that it was serious about this. Any rising opinions that was meant to question that ruling was quickly silenced, as the other lords opted not to voice them. Instead one of the Lords would direct a question to the Elder, his voice being akin to the whisper of shy librarian.

“Forgive me if this sounds insulting brother, but this Despot, this child. Consumes mana, as some sort of fuel to his change? This is of no particular concern mind you my honorable brothers and sisters, but I cannot help but find it fascinating.

As you have told us an hour ago, you were late due to the Despot waking too early. The mana of our home, undiluted and truly raw with power was being absorbed by his body. Normally one would die due to such a thing, as they are not Ancients like us. But you said this boy.. Survived and most of all is actually only in pain because of it.

If what the Lord Mender and you have said.. Is true, I believe we have an equivalent of a mana devourer among our ranks. If you would allow me, I shall try and tutor him in the manipulation of mana. But I fear Salia may have already done that. Though I wish to instead teach him magic, as it is obvious he does not know any.

But regardless, I wish to help this rising brother of ours!”

The lord that spoke resembled a thin male, wearing a strange robe that was covered in thousands of tiny elaborate runes. His head was covered in a helmet that had no holes for his eyes, and instead it had a fake eye at the center that was reminiscent to those of serpents.

“Your offer is much appreciated Weaver. But I have a hunch, a simple hunch mind you, that our new brother is averse to magic.”

-

“This is nothing but a hassle.”

Benedict scowled as he involuntarily extended out his scything-blades, letting his bony appendage scrape against the wooden floor as he looked down. His dark brown eyes expressed impatience and anger, his lips parting to allow one to see the surprisingly sharp rows of teeth he had, which he himself did not know. Behind him Salia would gently rub his back, gently tracing his spine.

“I cannot ‘manipulate’ mana, that is fucking obvious.”

He had for the past hour and a half, followed Salia’s instructions. She had said that he must will the mana within him to calm down, but there was no reaction at all with all his ‘willing’. Instead it made him frustrated, slowly feeling angry at his incapability to even do something so simple. He perceived it to be an easy task, as he had seen many of the other summoned do something similar.

Which in turn fueled spells that came from their hands, or staves that acted as catalysts. Granted that these spells were for beginners, simplistic things such as creating a small flame, a spark or even a small glowing light that dissipated quickly. This made him assume that it was easy, as he could now feel his own flow of mana, but his assumption was wrong.

“Calm down, everyone has their own failings Benedict. Don’t let the rage flow, it only excites the mana within you.”

With Salia speaking next to him, he felt the urge to listen and let go of his rising anger. But with it not being directed towards her, and instead being simply directed to something that was intangible, it did not disappear like before. This further made him suspicious of Salia, but any other emotion that was purely negative could not be felt regarding her.

So now he could only feel a sort of attraction towards her, one that was forced and entirely not of his will. It annoyed him greatly, as it obviously meant that there was something done to him. He assumed that it was the white bolt that the Elder fired towards him an hour ago, but there was no further effects due to it. Instead now he would grumble, directing his thoughts to his body.

After the revelation that he could do no harm, or even think ill of Salia, Benedict had been able to feel true comfort just simply being next to her. It was like how it was described in the romance novels he had read, though he did not read them for the romance, it was mainly due to the fact most of those novels had fantasy with them.

This situation he was in allowed him to remember something from his home. It was related to the alleged magical things that went on in Earth, in particular in his country, there was something called ‘Gayuma’. He did not know what the word truly translated to, but it is used to describe a magical spell or item, being used on an individual. Specifically when it is used to render the person in the receiving end, to fall in love with another. This love was irrational, transcending rational thought at all, making them feel only love to the individual that casted the spell, or the one that made the item.

This caused them to not see anything negative about the one they had been forced to love, not realizing it themselves. When anything is said about this false love, the receiver would feel an irrational hostility towards other individuals, wholly in denial about the situation. It was sad that only the other mystic practitioners could break it.

Gayuma was similar to what he is experiencing now, or at least something similar in nature. He was thankful that he at the very least was aware of what was happening, despite the fact that his emotions were truly manipulated by some unseen force. He had to assume that only he was the one affected, but Salia’s strange show of affection and emotion made him doubt that.

So either she was a great actor, or the Elder had done this to both of them. Which explains why she had glared at the old man in that one moment. With his assumptions seemingly hitting a dead end, he would once again direct his attention to his body. Specifically what he felt beneath his skin.

There he felt the heat that coursed within his veins, it circulated with the blood that flowed with each beating of his heart. With his anger however, the heat as much more intense and he felt excited, with the primal desire to hunt and shed blood coming over to his mind. With each breath he took, he could truly feel the air around him grow hotter, as if he was a living furnace with his anger the flame of it.

He had been trying to calm that anger, and that heat within him. But it was not working, as if he was looking at it in a far different way, to the point his body rebelled against it.

‘So no zen thing.. No willful commands to stop this heat from within.. It’s like some bullshit about getting angrier equates to getting stronger! But this time it’s more like get angry and burn from the inside! What hogwash!’

Benedict had a brief monologue as he thought about his situation. First he was chased due to a crime he did not commit, obviously framed by someone within the Lonesome Frost. Someone that saw him as a threat, enough to actually frame him. Then he had actually died and woke with these two new limbs, alongside his body quite literally absorbing mana rapidly to the point it physically pained him.

Now he was obviously affected by a spell, alongside the fact that he was like a living furnace. And with it the problem of his goals surfaced. What should he do now? He knew not where he was, nor if he could even return to the Lonesome Frost.

His friends waited for him there, like how they promised to meet again after a month or so. But now that promise would be broken, and that thought pained him and angered him. To think that his friends would bear the weight of thought that he was dead, how could he allow that?

If given the chance he would suffer for them, for Carleon and for Jio. As he knew they would do the same, surely now should they find out about his supposed demise, they would investigate it. But that would place them in needless danger and possible controversy.

This made him sigh in defeat, his emotions shifting from regret, sadness, to anger and hate. At this Salia would speak out, her head gently laying itself on his right shoulder. It at least had somehow allowed those emotions to mellow down, as he felt sure and confident.

“Do not feel so dejected Benedict. It normally takes the young ones years to properly control the mana within them. This does not stop them from trying, or doing spells. How about this, try willing the mana within your veins outwards from a specific point? Your palms for example, and try thinking of something to materialize.

With your apparent rage, why not a flame?”

As she suggested that her right hand would be held out, allowing him to see it as she looked as if she was holding something. For a few seconds, he stared at her hand in confusion as there was nothing there, only that of her gentle looking hand. He wondered if he was supposed to touch it, and hold it with his own. But the answer would come quickly then, in the form of a sudden ball of light forming at the center of her palm.

“The mana within us and around us, can be manipulated by our mind. If you cannot convince the mana within you to settle down peacefully, perhaps.. You can use your anger?”

Nodding at her suggestion as he stared at the ball of light, he would let out a small gasp of surprise as the ball would suddenly be replaced by a globe of water. Before it was quickly succeeded by a sudden freezing chill around her hand, which caused the globe of water to turn into ice. This further showed him how magic and mana seemingly imposed laws of their own, breaking the laws of reality he once knew.

But with that in mind, just as the frozen globe would begin to melt and evaporate, Benedict would try to forcefully will his mana outwards. This was a brutish way of going about his problem, but it seems logical in this sense. And with her suggestions, he felt compelled to follow them, even when he did not want to truly do so.

“You make it sound as if I was an incompetent individual.”

He frowned as he visualized his veins, or at least tried to. He thought of some other thing that flowed within his veins, something that traveled alongside the blood cells in him. Then he followed it with his anger, visualizing the representation of mana within him to be dispersed around his body, forcefully with his own will. He imagined them to be coming out of his body, to wrap around him in a sort of protective aura.

For minutes there seemed to be no change, causing him to further be frustrated. But soon he felt the heat within him start to mellow down, it was still there, but not to the point that he felt like he was a metal being tempered in a forge. Salia as if being able to see mana, which she obviously could would let out a squeal of joy.

“You did it! Not in the way I expected it, but you did it my lo-.. Err.. Benedict.. A-Anyways, the mana within you is coming out, letting the heat within you disperse. But curiously it surrounds you, the heat, but not the mana. This is interesting!”

He looked up to her face, seeing her smiling so happily at him. He felt the urge to blush, to smile back, but instead he would quickly look down. His fingers curling in uncertainty as the heat within him further mellowed down.

“I guess I won’t be in constant pain then.. Hurray.”

With one problem solved, he would turn to look to the door that led outside. It was open, which he did not initially notice. Outside he would be able to see bright rays of light, alongside the unmistakable trees that towered as tall as skyscrapers. It was obvious he would be spending a long time here.

“Ah, do you wish to explore the city beyond this room? The Elder has said that you can if you wish, I will accompany you if you choose to.”

Salia’s enthusiastic and benign voice seemed to be so caring, so loving. But despite that Benedict would deny her invitation with a shake of his head.

“No, not yet. Teach me more, teach me how to properly deal with this stupid mana flow inside me.”

-

It felt him, it felt the patriarch. It felt the Despot, their progenitor, their leader, their mind. Though despite that, despite their link to their Despot, they chose to haul still living creatures to where they had been birthed from. They clearly felt the need to eat, to kill, but these creatures were knocked out instead, and they opted to actually devouring fruits and plant-life to stave off their hunger.

The Gadator, one that had earned the title for its genus through a shared vision with their progenitor stalked the forest. It was following a large buffalo-like creature, its body covered in grey fur as its horns curve out and crackled with obvious energy. But the Gadator continued to stalk it, being quite literally further behind it and squatting behind a bush.

It didn’t really see the creature with its own eyes, but instead it could see it through the mana it emanated. As everything around it emanated mana, the Aberrations that existed discovered they themselves had no mana, and this allowed them to lurk and chase these mana-filled beings. Like literal darkness snuffing out the light.

With confirmation that the thing it stalked had halted, obviously moving to devour a mana-rich plant, the Gadator slowly began to stand up. Its posture shifting to that of one meant for sprinting, vaguely reminiscent of that used by people of Earth. With a low growl, one that went unheard, it would kick against the ground as it began to sprint.

The beast did not notice the Gadator as it quickly rushed out of the bush it hid behind, and out into the dimly lit forest of Malvirek. With surprisingly silent steps, the Aberration neared the creature with increasing speed. As each step it took increased its momentum. But as it gained more speed, its steps began to cause the earth it step upon to crack, until it was like a rushing rhino headed towards the buffalo-like creature.

Due to this, the creature would try to move away, to turn its body and run away. But it was too late, as the Gadator would move its shoulder a bit as if it was about to shoulder-charge the creature, and it did, hitting the side of the beast. The impact was unsurprisingly strong, augmented by the nature of the Gadator. With a loud pained groan, the beast had the air knocked out of its lungs, followed by it nearly toppling over.

Unaffected by the shoulder-charge, the Gadator would leap back as if there was something that was about to happen. Most likely the beast would retaliate with rage or so, trying to defend itself. But what followed next did not allow it.

As high above the creature, the second Aberration hanged from the tree branches. One of its large hands clung to one, as the other was twitching in anticipation. Its permanent grin looked malicious here, as it allowed itself to fall down. With that it would hold its hands together, intertwining its fingers just before it would reach the creature below.

The Venator, without grace or remorse would slam its fists against the back of the creature just as it landed on its back. It caused a disgusting crunch to reach their ears, with the beast letting out another pained groan before suddenly slumping to the ground, unconscious. The Venator with this action had broken the spine of the beast, but due to the mana within its flesh, it had survived, though surely it could not walk anymore.

With the beast disabled, the Venator would hop off, quickly walking towards the hind legs of the creature. With its arms he would reach out and grasp it. With a brutish tug it would begin to pull and drag the creature, heading towards the direction of the corpse they came from. The Gadator would follow, as he accompanied its brethren in bringing more bodies for their kind.

-

“How long would it take for them to arrive?”

Leila asked with a conflicted expression, her hands clutched the large journal of Benedict as she watched what was behind the window she stood next to. The large journal was open on a particular page, which was the twelfth page among the hundreds of others. The page was illuminated the ray of sunlight that passed through the glass window, and it allowed one to see what was written there. Though without the knowledge of the language it was written upon, all they would see was gibberish.

I think it has been two weeks? Three maybe. But it has been that long since we have been summoned to this world. I don’t like this world, this world of fantasy. But initially I was overjoyed, excited… This world is too different from what I once knew. It offered a chance for me to be different, to be something more than I was. Since we were summoned to be.. Well Heroes in a way.

But the others, they so disgustingly believe easily on what the natives said. Even accepting the fact that the Gods of this world, may they rot in perdition, wishes for us to be their ‘champions’ in exchange for power and abilities to survive in this world!

I saw it, they accepted the words of the Heralds of this.. Gods. And they have damned themselves, damned themselves in the eyes of the Gods of our world! I understand that we must do what we can to survive in this new land, this new world filled with magic and monsters.. But to even sacrifice what we were raised with, what defined the culture we came from? Blasphemy!

It is stupid. They think that these people are helping us for free! How naive could these people be! We are weapons to them, weapons to be used and refined against this bullshit ‘dark’. None even thought of asking if there is a way back to our world!

All they are interested in is being the hero they want us to be. Following to the tune of the instructors and nobility that go to us, to give us gifts! But nay, we ‘Godless’ a stupid term, receive no such gifts for they know we would die without Gods. But that is heresy, we have a God. A God that is the one true God of our world, praise be in his name.

I will not accept any God from this world, because I know they are heretical beings. They do not care for us as beings that think and feel, but only weapons! And as such I shall not accept them, until they prove to me that my assumptions are wrong! But till that day comes, I shall be resolute in my choice, I shall be uncaring to their plots.

My friends, the only true allies I have in this world have.. Decided to heed my words. I am thankful about this, but I fear they are only putting themselves in needless suffering because of me. Regardless I shall stand with them, even if they will abandon this.

But as for I, I shall stay true to this. And I will not let anything stop me, as I have no plans of dying in this world. If anything else I wish to get this stupid thing over with, and leave.. For I miss my home, a thing I never thought would have been penned by my hand.

Right now, I am weak. Weaker than any of the other summoned save for my friends. Their gifts, the blessings that they have received have.. Made them strong obviously. Giving them a growth like none other. But I know better. They are convinced of their own invincibility, of their infallible nature. It’s stupid, we are human. And as our world have shown, good and evil is only the product of our thoughts.

But now in this new world? I cannot say for certain. But one thing I am certain of, is the fact that a chance to.. To kill has presented itself. To slay monsters, to earn glory and honor.. I shall take that chance. Even if it will be the long road towards it.

With that in mind, I have spent the allowance given to us by the King, towards commissioning a piece of equipment from the Royal Blacksmith. It’s a highly impractical thing, but if I would stay true to my beliefs. Then let this equipment be the face of my resolve.

If Damien’s face is that of a hero. Then mine would be that of death. As edgy as it is, it shall be my face, and the cross of the Templars shall be etched upon its forehead. As a reminder to myself that I am a child with a Catholic heritage.

Now as the days pass by, these words ring truer than before; In suffering there is absolution, in pain there is forgiveness. In death there is a path to war eternal, and eternal rest.

Now I must go to sleep, hopefully I will not dream. But I do not hope.. And tomorrow will surely be another tiring day of idiotic drivel from the other summoned.

That was what was written on that particular page, and it was one of the few translated pages of the journal. Leila had read it and the other pages, and she felt a strange conflicting set of emotions after reading them. It had been nearly a week after the journal was sent to be translated, and the various linguists of the Ivory Concord had made magical copies to decrypt the language.

Though they also covertly sent agents to some of the summoned, acting as if they were interested in learning the language they knew. They had learned a great deal to translate the journal slowly, trying to match the translations properly before they would give it to the king and his daughters. Though despite their progress on translating the English language, the second language the journal was written in remained an enigma to them.

There were a total of thirty pages that had writings to them, not including the ones that had drawings upon them. The rest of the journal was empty, as if it was meant to have never left Benedict’s hands at all. Among the thirty pages, only twelve of them was translated at the moment. This was due to the fact that the second language the journal was written in, had words similar to those found in the English language but paired with words they could not understand.

Leila could not help but find herself looking at the page again. She had just finished reading it minutes ago, reading through the translated entries twice now. And what she had discovered was unexpected, for what was written down, was insight on the thoughts of one of the summoned. In particular, a summoned that refused to compromise to even survive in this new world.

The way the thoughts of Benedict was penned, told her many reasons as to why he slowly grew dispassionate with his fellow summoned, and how he had dealt with the scorn of the other summoned. It painted a picture of pure stubbornness in his case, one of which made him look distrustful and paranoid towards others.

But there was clarity in it, as she had read the many assumptions of his that there were other reasons as to why they were being aided. But the way he had vehemently assumed that they were nothing but weapons, caused a tinge of sadness to cross her heart. But the rest of the pages that did not deal with hate or assumptions, showed her that Benedict, alongside his two friends were actually happy about their situation in a way.

As many of the entries had described them exploring the general area, and interacting with non-dangerous wildlife they deemed amusing. But she found it strange that compared to what was written here, their actions in reality was heavily guarded. Showing little to no joy when viewed by others, and they were mostly seen sparring with one another in the most secluded of the training rooms in the castle.

“I do not know, our initial estimates was a week and three days. It was under the assumption that they had chosen to ride horses. But with winter being upon us, it would take them far longer. We can only hope they had instead chose to travel with a convoy of merchants, as they routinely arrive a week or so in Isalabi.”

Aniara’s voice would ring out behind her, a tinge of annoyance trailing behind it as the sound of her heavy armored footfalls rang out in the room. It was followed by the sound of fingers tapping at the wooden table behind her, before the sound of two heavy items being impatiently dropped upon them rang out.

Leila would not reply for a time, before she would gently close the book and turn to face Aniara. The elf was fully armored save for her head, the armor that covered her body was of a pale grey color. It was a traditional armor for the snow elves, though it resembled a mixture of heavy plate mail and chainmail that was delicately made for a grand warrior. It strangely offered a decent mixture of both durability and agility to its wearer, as it wasn’t as cumbersome as the full plate mail of humanity.

Obviously beneath the chainmail would be a gambenson of sorts, to null any sort of impact damage even if it was barely substantial.

“I understand. We have sent them a letter so suddenly, knowing full well that they were doing something. As reports of our watchers suggested that they were.. Heavily involved in situations, which individuals such as them shouldn’t be in.”

Leila would sigh as Aniara motioned to the table she was next to. There Leila would find two items, one of which she knew of. There was a fairly unremarkable double-edged steel sword, made from a sort of grey steel with little to no designs at all. But upon its hilt and crossguard was a stylized cross, similar to the one written and drawn in the entries of Benedict’s journal.

On its pommel was a chain connected to it, with its total length being an arm’s length as it had a part of it obviously broken off by a sword. On its length a strange sentence was written upon it, written in the english alphabet but not related to the language at all. It was ‘Ira Incarnatum’ and it was crudely etched upon its surface, obviously by the hands of Benedict.

“Yes, this is his sword. We found it near the outskirts of Plorty, the chain suggests that it was connected to Benedict’s person. The Royal Blacksmith, Deremel told me that he had received a request from Benedict to attach it to his right gauntlet. Similar requests came from Carleon and Jio, with a war-hammer and a sword respectively.

It’s strangely ritualistic, and as Deremel noted, seemingly a faithful act of sorts. As they also asked for him to create the cross of the ‘Templars’ and attach it to their weapons, but for Carleon’s he opted to simply etch it upon the head of the hammer.

This one however..”

The other was a helmet, a helmet in the shape of a human skull. It was meticulously crafted, obviously forged by Deremel the master and royal smith of Isalabi. Each part of it looked to be made individually, to be connected piece by piece. But it looked whole and truly like a skull of a human, grinning out as if it was to represent the defiant nature of humanity. On its forehead was the Templar cross, and Leila at the sight of this shook her head.

“A skull? It is perhaps no wonder that Damien and Benedict did not see eye to eye.. For him to even make this, to make this ‘face of death’, I can only wonder what kind of God would have wanted to choose him..”

Leila walked to the table, her barefeet not making a sound as she neared the table. With a loud thud she placed the journal next to the skull, and she would go to caress the surface of the strange helmet.

“A God of Darkness most likely. Or perhaps Laktori himself. It would be of no surprise if Benedict would return as a Revenant, one that seeked to achieve vengeance upon the other summoned.”

Leila grimaced at Aniara’s cold reply, the very thought of Benedict becoming an undead was not impossible. In fact it would most likely be possible, as he had been forced to die in the face of false accusations.

“Oh no… I dearly hope he does not become one.. His friends will surely not take these news lightly.”