In a shadowed nook, squeezed between two broken walls, within a tight alley, a small, still puddle lay beneath a worn wooden board, shielded from the falling rain. Its dark, mirrored surface, like a cracked looking glass, remained unmoving, undisturbed.
Then...
That stillness began to ripple, and the puddle's reflection warped. The echo of bare footsteps approached, halting and quick, shattering the silence. Two small feet, stained with mud and blood, cracked and bleeding, red and swollen, their toes blue from the cold, stamped hard onto the puddle's surface, scattering the muddy water in every direction..
A small boy running wildly...
He tried to delve deeper into the narrow, intertwined alleys, a labyrinth without end.
The darkness was absolute, broken only by sporadic flashes of lightning, which momentarily revealed the features of those wretched neighborhoods—dilapidated wooden buildings, muddy streets filled with rot and filth, and emanating a foul stench.
Torrents soon swept through those alleys, carrying away dirt and grime, and bringing with them a chill that compounded the misery. His feet sank into the floodwaters, hindering his progress.
his clothing barely covered his body, torn and thin, completely soaked.
He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, struggling for each ragged breath. His eyes were wide, lost between fear and hopelessness, like windows to inner suffering. His steps faltered from exhaustion and pain, but he didn't stop...
He couldn't stop...
The sound of his footsteps receded from that alley as he delved deeper into those neighborhoods. Then, other sounds approached... terrifying sounds.
The barking of rabid dogs echoed in the distance... rapidly closing in, reverberating through those impoverished districts like the echo of death.
Their shadows appeared from afar, moving like black specters in the darkness of the alley, racing quickly, following the trail of the boy's scent. Their eyes glowed with savage hunger, and their saliva dripped, as if they smelled the scent of a desperate prey as they ran towards the boy.
Behind those dogs, two men followed. Their features were indistinct, but it was clear they were the dogs' owners. Their heavy panting and the thud of their feet on the rain-soaked mud indicated they were running with unyielding determination , as if chasing a ghost.
"Damn, he's quick! Where the hell did he vanish to?!" one of them growled, his voice rough with frustration.
"The dogs are tracking him; he's trapped now," the other replied, his voice calm, but with a hidden mean edge, like a promise of something bad.
The boy continued to run without looking back, without stopping, without thinking. He didn't know where he was going. But it didn't matter. Just to escape. survive. To prove that there was hope in this hell... even if it was a fragile hope.
His steps stumbled over the wet stones and accumulated mud in the narrow alleys. Without thinking, he turned randomly, trying to evade the obstacles, lost in the chaos of his escape and unaware of where it would lead him. He couldn't stop, but one thought remained clear—to head north.
Therein lay hope…
The features of the neighborhoods began to change; perhaps he was close to the city that was his goal, perhaps he had actually succeeded…
Suddenly he finds himself in a long passage, its high walls of old brick closing in on both sides, the other end obscured by darkness. He didn't care, he just ran. But he stopped abruptly when he hit a dead end—a thick wooden barrier, firmly fixed between the walls, as if placed specifically to prevent anyone from passing.
He looked around, his eyes desperately searching for any outlet, any opening, anything that might help him. He ran his trembling hand over the barrier, feeling it, trying to push it with his small body, but it was sturdy, and didn't seem like it would break easily. He looked to the walls, trying to climb, but the slick brick provided no grip. He was trapped.
He took two steps back, his heart a frantic drumbeat. Retreat was no longer an option... He murmured, a hollow sound, "A barrier... Who put this here?"
Then, he heard them—the dogs, drawing near...
His blood froze in his veins, and he turned quickly. Shadows moved at the passage entrance, and the sounds grew louder—heavy footsteps and the panting of his pursuers. There was no escape; his legs trembled.
Tears filled his eyes against his will. He didn't want to cry, but couldn't control it.
He muttered in despair, tears streaming down, "This isn't fair... things shouldn't end this way."
He searched with desperate eyes, until they fell upon a pile of garbage accumulated at the side of the passage. Its stench was unbearable—rotting waste, torn fabrics, scattered filth, but it was the only available place.
He didn't think twice. He threw his thin body into the garbage, burying himself under layers of rot and dirt, covering himself with it as much as he could, and holding his breath.
His trembling hands pressed tightly against his face, and he clamped his mouth shut, trying to stifle his panting. Any sound, no matter how small, could be his end.
The sounds were getting closer.
"He's here!" one of them shouted, gripping his dog's leash, which was pulling its owner madly.
"It smells his scent! He's close!"
Slow, heavy footsteps echoed closer, their voices cruel with anger.
The dog's savage growl broke the silence. Its hot, moist breath, its nose twitching as it sniffed the ground, its eyes gleaming. It was now only a few steps away from the boy.
The boy pressed his trembling hand tightly over his mouth, holding back his breath, stifling the terror about to explode within him.
The dog started closing in... Only a few steps remained before the boy was discovered.
Out of nowhere, the dog steps stopped. It raised its head, its ears flicking, as if listening to something else. A weird light appeared in its eyes, a change in its attention. Then, in a flash, it dashed into a side alley, violently dragging its owner behind. The other dogs also instinctively followed, their hunger driving them forward.
"Hey! Where do you think you're going?!" the man yelled, trying to control the dog that seemed to have gone mad.
But the animal didn't respond, continuing to run wildly, dragging the man behind him, forcing him to chase after it.
The other man cursed under his breath, watching his companion run after the crazed dog. "Damn... could that rat have used some kind of trick? Did he use the other passage? But it's impossible for him to be there by now." Then he ran after them in turn, and they all disappeared into the darkness.
The boy stayed where he was, trembling. He still didn't move. He waited... for what felt like an eternity... the silence stretching on, each second dragging by. He waited, his patience fraying.
he couldn't believe it. "Did... did i survive?" He kept asking.
Perhaps the rain, the garbage, and the enveloping darkness were enough to hide his scent...
For a moment, he felt a flicker of hope, but fear still held him captive. He remained still, unmoving, silent. His wide eyes continued to stare into the darkness, his heart still pounding in his chest, as if his body itself refused to believe it. But he knew he had to move; more pursuers would be coming.
The boy emerged from the pile of garbage, his body stained with filth, his eyes scanning cautiously. He thought they were gone, that the danger had passed.
He surged towards the end of the passage, a step from escape...
A sinister whisper, "Hello," froze him. He turned, slowly, to see the hunter's face. A smile, like poison, and then the crushing blow of a kick to his chest.
The kick was powerful, hammering into his chest like a mallet, forcing the air from his lungs and sending a sharp pain through his thin body. He fell to the ground, gasping for breath, struggling to regain his ragged breaths.
The man made a magical light gesture to signal his gang to gather at the signal, piercing the night's darkness. The others responded quickly, emerging from the shadows, surrounding the boy, their eyes glowing with malice, and the dogs barking fiercely.
One of them shouted, "Damn it, he tricked us."
"You wretch, how dare you betray us and then run? And even worse... you became a spy?""
His rough voice rang out, carrying a tone of undeniable threat, as if delivering a death sentence. He continued in a cold, merciless tone, "Didn't you learn the rules of slaves? Absolute obedience, total loyalty... breaking any of them means death."
The boy trembled, his voice coming out broken, trapped by fear, "Please... I had no choice... if I hadn't done it, Godric would have been killed—"
Before he could finish his words, the man pressed his foot forcefully against the boy's head, crushing his face into the ground. He cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Ah, boring... You don't even know how to beg. Just a worthless rat..."
Then he said in a calm voice, with a malicious smile, "Let him be food for the dogs."
He stepped back, and with a single gesture, the other man moved and set the hungry beasts loose.
A savage growl filled the place before one of the dogs lunged at the boy, its fangs sinking into his arm, tearing the flesh mercilessly. A desperate scream escaped his throat, a scream as if his soul was being forcibly ripped from his body. He tried to escape, to wriggle away, but his frail body betrayed him, his feet stumbled, and he collapsed to the ground.
The dog dragged him, tearing his skin with its teeth, the pain spreading through his body. The air became thick with the scent of blood and fear.
Then came the second one. Another beast, its fangs aimed directly at his neck—as if death itself had opened its jaws to swallow him. The dog opened its mouth, its fangs gleaming in the darkness, and before it could close them—
The boy woke up, panting, his body covered in cold sweat, and his eyes lost, as if waking from a nightmare that still haunted him.
He began checking his neck, making sure it was intact. He was breathing rapidly, his eyes in utter confusion, trying to comprehend what had happened.
"This body again...?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated, then muttered, "Was that just a nightmare... or something else?" His thoughts were scattered, but one thing pressed on his mind more than anything else...
He remembered his state before losing consciousness, especially the feeling of pain that surprised him last time. He didn't want to relive that experience, so he quickly braced himself for the shock.
But this time, his body wasn't aching, only a few minor stings.
He began examining his body curiously, shuddering when his fingers touched prominent scars on his chest. "These wounds... they've healed?" he wondered, with a mix of astonishment and suspicion.
Even his breathing began to stabilize, gradually.
"I can breathe easily now," he noticed, a hint of relief in his voice.
"But what happened?" he muttered, still confused.
His memory started to come back in fragments, hazy but recognizable. "That priestess... she said something about a spell, incantation?"
"Something like 'Sacred Light'... and that other... 'Gate' thing?" he recalled, trying to piece it all together.
"Could magic really be real?" he thought, the question lingering in his mind.
""Did I really get healed... with magic? That warm feeling... was it from that?" he wondered aloud, still struggling to make sense of it all.
Most of the wounds that filled this body have healed, he realized. "This isn't normal... there's no logical explanation."
He paused, trying to make sense of the situation. "If I rule out the possibility of a simulation malfunction... then that means I'm dead. Those previous warning messages... they confirm it."
"So, did I actually die and get reincarnated into this body? he wondered, struggling to accept the absurdity of the idea. "Does this mean I'm in another world... a world where magic exists?!"
"I know it doesn't make sense... but I can't think of any other explanation for now," he admitted, staring at his hands as though they no longer belonged to him. He examined his features and body again, desperately searching for anything familiar.
"No use... I can't remember anything. I only remember my own past," he muttered. "But that nightmare..."
"Could those be the memories of the original owner of this body?" he wondered, his mind racing.
"He was younger... so he must've survived that ordeal..." He paused, his curiosity taking over. "But the number of dogs... the chase... all that for a little boy?"
He found himself asking, almost aloud, as if someone might answer, "What could he have done?"
The cell was dimly lit by light filtering through the barred window in the wall, indicating it was morning. Sunlight could be seen piercing the dust motes in the air.
He managed to stand up with ease, though a slight dizziness lingered, accompanied by the faint sting of his still-healing wounds. He ran his fingers along the cell walls, feeling their rough, cold surface. The walls were built of massive, uneven stones, some areas covered in a thin layer of green moss.
"Stone walls, uneven cobblestone floors... and that guard's clothes…" he mused. "Feels like something straight out of the medieval era. But more importantly—"
His thoughts trailed off as a deeper concern settled in.
"Why am I here?" he muttered under his breath.
Bits and pieces of memory surfaced—the argument between the priestess and the guard.
"She was arguing about money… the cost of my treatment… and something about my low value…" he recalled, his brows furrowing.
While he was lost in thought, familiar footsteps echoed outside the cell. They stopped right in front of the door, and a moment later, the hatch slid open, revealing Borin's face. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the boy standing.
"Damn you," Borin blurted out. "If it were nighttime, I'd have had another panic attack because of you!" He muttered to himself, giving the boy a once-over.
"He was supposed to wake up yesterday… It's been three days already." Shaking his head, he added, "Whatever. I'll go tell Elara."
Moments later, he returned with Elara in tow. She moved briskly, her expression a mix of excitement and relief.
"Finally, he's awake," she said, stepping up to the cell. "Took longer than expected, but at least he's fine."
"Open the door quickly," Elara ordered Borin, her face showing anticipation.
"Okay okay, calm down," Borin replied, and quickly opened the door, revealing the boy who seemed lost in thought.
Elara stepped forward cautiously, examining the boy from a distance, muttering, "Excellent, so he can move now."
The boy didn't react, he remained standing and didn't utter a word, he was trying to confirm his analyses, or confirm something specific.
Elara approached the boy without any formalities, her focus solely on examining his body and abilities. She didn't ask his name or show any interest in his past—just another slave.
She began to examine his scars, her face showing signs of displeasure.
"The scars have healed a bit since the last time I checked him, but there are so many... his entire body is covered. This isn't good" she muttered, irritation creeping into her voice. "Damn, treating scars costs more than treating fresh wounds... Forget that."
Then she grabbed the boy's chin and lifted it high, carefully examining his face, then muttered in relief, "Well, at least his face is untouched. There's still hope."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, she was taken aback. She stared into his blue eyes, which seemed like a vast starry sky or a turbulent ocean, concealing secrets within their depths.
She felt herself drawn to those blue eyes, as though pulled toward a deep, mysterious abyss.
Murmuring to herself, she said, "His sharp eyes are captivating, and his features... irresistible. Despite the scars, this might still be a worthwhile find."
As for the boy, his gaze remained cold and unblinking, betraying no emotion.
Elara looked at Borin, who was silently observing the scene. "Borin," she said excitedly, "Do you see what I see?"
"I see a slave," Borin replied coldly.
"No," Elara said, "I see something more than that. I see something... special."
"Special?" Borin asked sarcastically, raising his eyebrows. "You're delusional, Elara. He's just a slave, like any other slave."
"No," Elara said firmly, her voice determined. "You're wrong. He is different. He has something... something I can't define."
Borin muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a mix of skepticism and mockery, "I see, you're on the verge of losing your business. You're so desperate now, huh?"
Elara looked at the boy again, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Tell me, nameless one, what element of magic do you use?" she asked eagerly.
Then, she became excited and started thinking, "His price would be multiplied if it were the fire or earth element? It doesn't matter, as long as his magic level isn't weak..."
The boy hesitated, his expression unreadable. He had no idea how to answer her question, but he knew better than to admit ignorance outright. Instead, he lowered his gaze slightly, adopting a tone of respectful curiosity.
"I... wish to serve well, Mistress," he said carefully. "But I do not fully understand. Would you honor me with your wisdom?" His features were innocently feigned, but his acting was flawless.
The words rolled off his tongue smoothly—too smoothly. It was a line he had read in his previous life, taken from a book about courtly etiquette.
He hoped she would take the bait and explain more, giving him the context he needed.
Elara was surprised by his polite manner and gave a slight smile, "I'm asking about your magic," she clarified. "Do you wield fire? Water? Or another element?"
"Don't worry, it doesn't matter what kind of magic."
The boy paused for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Forgive me, mistress, but I do not know my magic type. I've never used it before."
An arrow seemed to pierce Elara's heart. She forced a smile, though it was strained, knowing full well this was a bad sign. With a slight tone of resignation, she said, 'It's fine, I can check it using the Mana crystal.
She glanced at Borin. "Borin, bring us a Mana Crystal."
Borin nodded and left, returning shortly with the crystal in hand.
Elara placed it in front of him and said to the boy, "Just gather some mana in your hands, then touch the crystal with your palm, and it will absorb it. Its color will change according to the type of magic you use. Just focus, and you'll feel your magical energy. It's simple, even four-year-olds can do it..."
The boy thought, "Okay, let's try what she said."
He extended his palm towards the crystal, closed his eyes, and tried to focus. For a moment, he felt nothing. He tried again, drawing on the meditation techniques from his previous life, centering his thoughts... He felt the steady beat of his heart, but still, there was nothing. He pressed his palm against the crystal, but no change occurred.
nothing...
He turned to Elara and said, "Mistress, I don't think I feel anything."
Elara smile froze, and her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" she asked sharply.
"I don't feel anything," the boy said, his eyes staring at Elara coldly, "Sorry to disappoint you, I don't feel anything."
"That's impossible," Elara said, her voice rising. "Well, I'll check it myself."
She approached the boy, her eyes gleaming with determination. She raised her hands and began to mutter magical words. "Mana Third Gate: Energy Flow Detection"
The boy felt something strange, as if a hidden energy was flowing through his body.
After Elara examined the boy, she stepped back, her eyes widening in astonishment and amazement. She sighed deeply, as if she had released her soul from her body. "The boy not only doesn't use magic," she muttered in a low voice, as if talking to herself. "But he doesn't have any magical energy... it's completely absent."
She raised her hands in disbelief, her eyes wide with shock. "The chance of that happening is one in a hundred thousand people... this is insane," she said in a trembling voice. "Damn, that explains a lot of things... so those gangs were abandoning him because of this... completely the opposite of what I expected."
She looked at the boy, her eyes filled with a mix of disappointment and frustration. "What terrible luck," she muttered, her voice tinged with bitterness. "It seems my cursed fate still haunts me... we're bound to be broke at this rate."
She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply as she muttered to herself, "I thought I had finally struck gold… He has the looks of a high-class slave, and I was sure he had some rare magic, considering how different gangs kept passing him around. I thought they were fighting over him, not tossing him aside…" She clenched her fists, her expression darkening. "If only he had even a hint of magical talent, I could've sold him for a fortune."
With a weary shake of her head she said, "It seems we've failed... let's just try to sell him to one of the ladies, maybe we'll make a decent profit."
While she dragging herself she said to Borin "let him clean himself up and bring him some clean clothes at least... we can't sell him in this state."
Then she left with heavy steps, her head bowed and her hands swaying with her body, carrying the burden of her disappointment. Her face was gloomy, and her eyes stared at the ground, as if searching for an answer to her misery.
She muttered in a voice dripping with bitterness as she walked away, "What a bad day... as usual."
Borin stood by the door, watching Elara leave, he felt sorry for her, but he suppressed that feeling, and did what she asked. He closed the cell door tightly, then left the place, and went to get a bucket of water and some clean clothes. He didn't feel comfortable near the boy, and he preferred to stay away from him as much as possible.
He returned shortly after, carrying the bucket of water in his hand and slightly worn clothes. He opened the cell door and placed the bucket and clothes in front of the boy.
"Wash yourself," Borin said sharply, pointing to the bucket and clothes. "And these are new clothes. wear them after you finish, I'll check on you after a while."
After Borin finished speaking, he closed the cell door tightly, and left the boy alone.
The boy approached the corner where the bucket of water was. Curiosity took over him as he leaned over, his eyes fixed on its still surface. When he looked into the water, his breath stopped. The face staring back at him was the same as in his previous life, but younger, with the same features—only his long, messy hair was the only noticeable difference.
"Is this really me?" he thought, his heart pounding. "Am I... the same? Or is this some kind of twisted reflection of my past?"
He stared a moment longer, feeling a sense of familiarity mixed with unease.
"Enough. I can't dwell on this now. He straightened up, shaking off the thought. Let's move on..."
The clothes Borin brought were nothing more than another slave's old garments. They carried a stale odor and traces of dirt, but they were still better than the ones he was wearing—at least they weren't full of holes or stained with dried blood, dirt, and the unbearable, worst smell.
Unwilling to wear them in their filthy state, he decided to wash them first.
He had scrubbed them vigorously against the rough stone wall—after cleaning a small part of the wall, using the water from the bucket to rinse away the dirt. The fabric was still damp, but much cleaner, and the stale odor had faded.
He thought about a way to spread the clothes, but he couldn't find anything to help him spread them, the walls and the floor were full of dust and dirt, and the only window was far away. Also, the sunlight was limited, he thought of a way to spread them...
He started collecting some dry and clean straw from his bed and then spread it on the ground to make a pile where the sunlight was.
Then he placed the damp clothes on top of it to dry.
After that the boy began to take off his tattered clothes.
Unpredictably, as if his passion for bathing from his previous life had taken over him, he grabbed the rough cloth that Borin had brought, wet it with cold water, and began to rub his body with movements, the layers of dirt that were sticking to him began to disappear little by little.
He rubbed his body vigorously, as if trying to remove every trace of dirt and grime. Focusing on every part of his body. He washed every corner and crevice, several times, as if he was cleaning a precious work of art.
The cold water stung his skin, especially the wounds that had not yet healed, but he didn't care. He felt comfortable and calm when he washed himself.
After he finished rubbing, he began to rinse his head and body with water. He was shivering from the cold, but he felt comfortable and calm. He felt like he had become a new person, as if the cold water had revived his soul.
After he finished, he stepped into the sunlight, his mind deep in thought.
"...The concept of slaves... wasn't mentioned," he murmured.
His brow furrowed. "Also this place... wasn't mentioned at all."
He paused, recalling the nightmare. "But...the name 'Godric'... "
His gaze shifted. "And the incantations they used... I recall them because of that naive style..."
"... the method for determining magic types..."
"... calling me nameless one..."
He paused, his mind racing. "I'm completely sure that this world is from that novel..."
"Sacred Prince's Journey novel: Crown Warriors."
His eyes softened as he muttered to himself, "This means that Victoria is somewhere..."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Well, it seems that this life will have some meaning now..."