"Am I the child of calamity?" Aeolos, with fresh blood still on his face, showed a look of doubt and self-reflection. Just now, he had persuaded another adventurer party to agree to take him out of the labyrinth, but once again, they were ambushed by a group of monsters midway.
In reality, getting an adventurer party to take him out wasn't that difficult, as this labyrinth had been discovered a year ago. Many adventurer parties, who had settled in the city of Holy Flame to explore it, were already somewhat familiar with Aeolos, the little boy always surrounded by a group of dainty, doll-like girls.
In fact, Aeolos was something of a small celebrity in Holy Flame City. As long as he could explain the reason for his appearance in the labyrinth, many adventurer parties were willing to help him leave.
However, disaster followed. Up to this point, Aeolos had successfully convinced three adventurer parties to take him out, but much to his despair, each of those three parties had been hunted down by a pack of powerful, unstoppable beasts on the way out.
"Are you the one attracting these monsters?" Aeolos, his clothes soaked with blood and grime, looked down at the short sword in his hand. This sword had saved him countless times with its extraordinary power, helping him narrowly escape death in the labyrinth.
But after three adventurer parties met a terrible fate while helping him, the young boy grew wary. He sensed something strange was happening, but instead of suspecting himself, he blamed it on the sword.
"Are you a cursed sword? Does anyone who helps me face disaster?" Aeolos held the sword tightly, his eyes filled with doubt. But despite his suspicions, there was no way he would throw the sword away. It was his lifeline, the only thing keeping him alive.
…
"Hahaha, this kid's imagination is wild! He actually thinks his misfortune is because of the sword!" In a comfortable room, a man with a mischievous grin laughed as he held his wife.
"The cause of his misfortune isn't the sword or himself, but his prank-loving father!" Mikaela, irritated, spoke up as she looked at her husband, Muria, who was laughing with his head buried in her chest.
"And what about those adventurers who died because of your son?" she asked, annoyed.
"Don't worry, I've already collected their souls. Even though they helped Aeolos with selfish motives, they still died helping my son, so they deserve a reward!" Muria smiled. "Those adventurers with noble character will have a chance to enter the angelic reincarnation pool and be reborn as angels. As for the less virtuous ones, they'll be reborn with stronger bodies, gifted with equipment that enhances their abilities by one major rank. That's my compensation for them."
Muria's view on death was no longer the same as that of ordinary mortals. For him, the loss of a physical body was nothing. He could revive any being whose body had been fatally damaged whenever he wanted.
He had strong connections with deities who ruled over death, and in exchange for offering them the faith of his followers, Muria was granted the ability to resurrect those who died unnaturally.
…
"I absolutely cannot ask another adventurer party for protection!" Aeolos thought. Whether it was coincidence or a curse, he had made up his mind to find his own way out of the labyrinth and stop bringing disaster to others.
"But…" He hesitated as he looked around, confused. "Which way do I go?"
Though he had made his decision, the unfortunate reality was that Aeolos was already hopelessly lost in the labyrinth. He had been thrown into it unexpectedly and had no idea where the exit was.
At that moment, Aeolos felt the short sword in his hand, which had turned a pale blue, grow warm. A faint pulling sensation radiated from the sword.
"Where do you want to take me?" Aeolos looked at the sword. After a moment of thought, he realized he had no better option. Since the sword had brought him here, following its lead seemed like a reasonable choice to get out.
…
Dressed in fresh silk clothes, Aeolos pulled open the curtains. The morning sunlight poured into the room as he gazed out at the peaceful scenery, feeling dazed. The events of the previous night seemed like a dream.
But Aeolos knew it wasn't a dream. He looked toward the corner of the room where a pile of torn, bloodstained clothes lay—the clothes he had just changed out of.
"What is this mark that the sword led me to?" Aeolos raised his palm. A faint sword-shaped mark, surrounded by intricate patterns, was etched into his wrist.
As his thoughts stirred, a flash of light flickered on the mark, and a tugging sensation pulled at his mind. Suddenly, the world around him transformed.
Everything turned to a void of pure white. But soon, from beneath his feet, land began to stretch out, and a desolate world appeared before him—completely empty.
As Aeolos curiously surveyed the surroundings, a figure in gray robes, carrying a sword on his back, silently appeared before him. Just as Aeolos was about to speak to him, the gray-robed figure wordlessly drew his sword and swung it.
A bright flash of sword light engulfed Aeolos' world. The desolate landscape, along with the gray-robed swordsman, vanished, and the warm, comfortable room with its shining sunlight and calm streets reappeared.
"Ahh!" Aeolos winced, clutching his head. It felt as if his skull had been struck by a sword, yet when he touched it, there was no wound.
"My mental power!" Unsure of what had just happened, Aeolos quickly checked his body. He realized that half of his mental strength had silently disappeared. His forehead throbbed painfully, as if he had truly been struck by that sword.
…
Seven days later.
"Father, there's something I need to tell you!" Aeolos, looking a little haggard, spoke to Muria, who was lounging on the sofa, reading.
"Hmm? What is it?" Muria, looking every bit the refined gentleman, smiled warmly at his son, who had just graduated from primary school.
"I, um, I stole the amulet you brought back from the labyrinth a few days ago," Aeolos confessed. Having been tormented by the amulet and the mark on his wrist, he finally sought help from his father.
"Oh?" Muria remained calm, playing his role to perfection. "Just a simple lighting amulet. If you like it, you can keep it."
"Father, it's not just a lighting amulet! The appraiser was completely wrong!" Aeolos exclaimed, frustrated by his father's nonchalance. To prove his point, he held up the amulet, which began to transform into a short sword, glowing faintly.
"Hmm, it can even turn into a short sword? Not bad. It suits you!" Muria still showed little emotion, demonstrating the composed demeanor of a well-traveled father.
"No, Father! This amulet doesn't just turn into a sword. It has teleportation powers. Seven days ago, it transported me into that labyrinth you once entered!"
"What?" This time, Muria's expression finally showed a trace of surprise.
"I spent a night in the labyrinth," Aeolos continued, his face growing sadder as his mother rushed over, looking worried. He was truly at his limit.
"In that labyrinth, guided by the sword, I entered a strange underground palace filled with broken swords. When I stepped inside, they all began to glow and gathered into this mark on my wrist!" Aeolos recounted the events to his parents, then showed them the sword-shaped mark on his wrist.
"You're very lucky. Despite the hardships, you've gained great benefits," Muria said, pretending to be moved by his son's tale, even though he had orchestrated everything behind the scenes.
"So, have you figured out what this mark on your wrist does?"
"I have!" Aeolos' eyes reddened as he spoke. This mark had pushed him to the brink, forcing him to confess everything to his father.
"Every night, the mark pulls my consciousness into a mental space where I'm forced to fight a swordsman I can't communicate with…" Aeolos explained how the mark had tormented him for the past seven days. Each night, he was forced to battle a swordsman far stronger than him, only to be instantly defeated, experiencing death with terrifying realism.
In simple terms, Aeolos had been mentally killed seven times over the past seven days, each time without the slightest chance to resist. The experience had been unbearable.
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