Shackled in the bowels of that ship, I was only beginning to process the pain of grief. Memories of the moments I'd shared with the soldiers who had become my family drifted through my mind.
Our relationship hadn't started well. I was nothing but an arrogant bastard. I thought myself superior. I hadn't been born enslaved—I was the son of the Archduke of Iberus. A fool—that's what I truly was.
"The mark you bear on your chest is the same one each of us carries. The only difference between you and any of us is the weight of the chains that remain, even after they've been torn away."
Those words had struck me deeply that day, and now, chained in this ship's hold, they made more sense than ever before. The curse carved into my chest, the weight of the shackles on my wrists. Now, I was fully a son of Aruanda.
No—at that moment, I still had no idea what it truly meant to be a child of Aruanda. I was merely playing the role that had been forced upon my people without our consent. I was what they wanted me to be. I was what was expected of someone bearing this sadistic curse etched into my flesh.
An entire race cursed before birth. Just imagining the sheer amount of mana required to cast and sustain a spell of that magnitude made me feel insignificant, powerless.
Religious fanatics preached that the curse was divine punishment—a celestial retribution for those who dared defy the natural hierarchy of races. The disciples of Galton argued that the curse was actually a blessing. By blocking our bodies from the natural flow of mana, it supposedly protected our "inferior" forms from a power our minds were too feeble to control.
The truth? The curse was a tool of conquest, of domination, likely born from the sadistic mind of some greedy bastard. Cut off from mana, severed from our ancestral connections—how could we resist subjugation?
The kingdoms once ruled by the Aruanda people in the southern continent's heartland fell one after another. Now, they were all exploited colonies under the control of the Western Empire's powerful families. Our people, enslaved, forced to build the wealth our enemies flaunted.
For years, I'd tried to deny my heritage. I was the Archduke of Iberus' son. My mother was just an unwanted stain on my past.
Beautiful. I'd been taken from her when I was young, but I remembered her beauty well. A wretch—that's what I'd been for most of my life. What kind of life might I have had if I hadn't wasted years denying my roots, my own mother? What kind of despicable man rejects his own blood? The kind I was until not long ago.
My thoughts were cut short by footsteps on the stairs.
"Well, well, well... look who we have here. The uppity little n—. Finally in the place you belong".
Ferdinand Hernandez. A jealous bastard who'd never gotten over being outmatched in swordsmanship by the Archduke's mixed-blood bastard. I stayed silent. Ferdinand was a sadistic piece of work. Provoking him would only feed his pleasure.
"Cat got your tongue? The loudmouth who can't keep his filthy trap shut for a second suddenly has nothing to say?"
He kept taunting, clearly relishing his moment of superiority.
"Commander Arturius has always been too soft on your kind. I knew if nothing was done, your punishment would be too lenient. And General Argus agrees. That's why I'm here under his orders—to deliver the punishment Commander Arturius wouldn't, out of respect for your father."
Just imagining being tortured by that bastard enraged me. I wouldn't go down without a fight—I needed to find a way to strike back. Breathe. Stay calm. Anger is the enemy here. These fools will slip up.
"Take this n— to the deck and tie him to the main mast. Anyone who wants to watch an arrogant bastard get his divine punishment is welcome."
Ferdinand barked at the crew, his gaze dripping with near-sexual glee. I didn't resist—just waited for my opening. I focused, refining my aura to its sharpest edge. And the moment came.
On the deck, as they moved to chain me to the mast, the shackles linking my wrists to my ankles loosened.
Ferdinand was distracted, drunk on sadistic power. A single instant was all I needed. By the time he realized, the chains were already coiled around his throat.
"Take one step closer, and I'll strangle him dead."
The crew froze.
"Idiots! He's got nowhere to run! Move—he can't do shit to me before you stop him!"
Ferdinand was right. My odds were slim. The first to react was a hulking sailor charging at us. I yanked the chains from Ferdinand's neck and shoved him into the giant's path.
Then I leapt. My refined aura amplified my strength. As Ferdinand crashed into the sailor, I kicked off their backs, using their weight to propel myself high enough to grab a rope hanging from the main mast's yardarm.
I swung over the encircling crew toward the sea. At the peak of the arc, I faced a choice:
Return to the ship—be captured, tortured, condemned to forced labor.
Jump into the sea—drown.
I didn't know our exact location, but we'd sailed far from shore. Even if I fought, the heavy chains would drag me under.
A final act of freedom. Choosing how I'd die.
I let go.
The chains pulled me down, but I didn't resist. I'd accepted my fate—until fate itself intervened.
A blinding blue light erupted. My memories of that moment are blurred, but I swear the light came from the cloak of a beautiful woman. The Lady in Blue.
Beautiful—like my mother. Long, curled hair spreading like waves in the water. Dark skin reflecting the moonlight.
Her cloak wrapped around me like a newborn's swaddle. A gentle current pushed me toward safety. I felt so protected, I fell asleep.
When I woke, I was lying on a deserted beach. The shackles were gone. Somehow, miraculously, I'd survived.
A burning pain wracked my body, fiercest in my chest. The mark was gone. The curse I'd borne since birth had vanished.
"Mainha went through the trouble of saving you, so I'll make sure you stay alive."
I didn't know it yet, but the strange figure looming over me would become a guardian who'd protect me for the rest of my life.