Loryn knew Daion well when he was wounded and depressed—basically, that was how he had been since the first time they met. But he couldn't understand how a healthy and cheerful Daion could be so damn irritating. Passing between the trees with laughter, testing his recovered body, Daion swung his sword from side to side, slicing through trees as if they were butter. Trunks fell at random; Loryn even had to deflect several that came straight at him, and he was starting to get tired of it.
Behind them, Aelith followed, staring at the ground with a hint of sadness. She wore the clothes Daion had bought her: black pants and a simple beige shirt. He had thought about buying her armor too, but it made no sense if she was still growing, and besides, she seemed capable enough of taking care of herself.
Ten days had passed since they left Cadenar. The medicine had done its job—the Summoned was fully healed—and since his body was no longer wasting resources repairing itself, now he had far too much energy.
During that time they hadn't run into any Corrupts, or anything remotely interesting. They had resigned themselves to just moving on. Loryn estimated they were only a couple of hours from the border, and it was easy to see he was right when they noticed the sky darkening unnaturally, as if a cloud of dust was painting the horizon.
"Hey!" Loryn shouted. Daion glanced at him for a few seconds while hanging off a tree. "Stop messing around already, it's dangerous from here on."
Daion came down reluctantly and looked for a moment at Aelith. She hadn't spoken to either of them since they left the city, but she also hadn't tried to escape, so Daion supposed that was as good as things could get. They continued down the path; the trees were starting to wither, just like in SteelWall, which meant predators. An unpleasant memory of the soldier's screams flashed in his mind, but he suppressed it and instead smiled to himself.
"This body is amazing," he said, staring at his gauntlet. He had only gone up one rank, but with his injuries healed he could finally enjoy it properly. He felt like he could run faster than any beast and lift an entire tree. "I've got to admit, this shitty world has a few perks."
"The gauntlet, you mean. The world is still shit," Loryn replied. Daion shot him a look that clearly said Buzzkill. Loryn knew he was trying to distract himself, and it was starting to bore him—though he trusted that something interesting would happen once they reached the border.
"By the way, what does 'Category 4 Demihuman' mean?" Daion asked.
"Well, Demihumans aren't considered Corrupts or humans," Loryn said, glancing at Aelith, who seemed to care little if at all about them talking about her species. "They're children of Corrupts, so they still carry some Omega-corrupt power, and since they're also born from kidnapped human women, they inherit pure Omega energy too. That makes them unstable in both form and strength. They're classified into ranks depending on the influence of their beastly side. She's Category 3 right now, but as she grows she'll become stronger and more unstable, rising to Category 4."
Daion nodded. It had to be the worst possible combination: the corruption of primordial force and the hormones of a normal teenager.
"Well, we'll worry about that later," he sighed, before moving on carelessly.
It seemed more hours of boring walking awaited them—until the ground trembled, and a shockwave hit them along with the thunder of a massive explosion. Looking back, they saw the forest light up in the distance. Daion ran in that direction. Loryn and Aelith followed close behind.
"Hey! I don't think rushing in is a good idea!" Loryn yelled. Daion glanced at him with clear disdain. Loryn sighed and lifted his gaze slightly, seeing a fireball rise into the air and crash back down.
"Come on, what's the worst that could—" Daion began to say, but an explosion erupted right behind him, cutting him off and hurling him through the air until he slammed against a tree. Loryn burst into laughter, clutching his stomach, and Daion could've sworn he saw Aelith turn her face away to hide a laugh.
Daion's playful grin vanished, replaced with a look of irritation. Flames still clung to his clothes and hair; he patted them out quickly as he got back up. Aside from a few scrapes and lightly scorched skin, he wasn't seriously hurt. Loryn approached, still laughing at him.
"Told you so," he said, almost as if it pained him.
"Yeah, yeah, what the hell was that?" Daion muttered, looking toward the source as they walked a few more meters.
He was left speechless when they reached a cliff. The grass ended abruptly, giving way to a wide, parabolic ledge overlooking a place completely dead—even worse than SteelWall. It was nothing but a gray wasteland: blackened trees collapsed under their own weight, the shredded remains of animals, smoke rising from multiple points. Trenches scarred the landscape, craters and ruins scattered across the terrain.
He spotted the center of the explosion. The ground still glowed from the heat, and the unrecognizable corpses of Corrupts melted into the soil. The culprit was easy to see: floating above the crater like some kind of superhero. A shining golden armor gleamed on his body, and an exaggerated cape flowed from his shoulders.
"Well, didn't expect to see him right away," Loryn said as he pulled up the cloth covering his face, making sure nothing recognizable showed.
"Who is he?" Daion asked.
"The third strongest Summoned in existence. Thaloren."
Thaloren turned his gaze toward them, as if he had sensed their presence, and Daion immediately understood what a true hero was supposed to look like. Long, straight, reddish hair that fell gracefully, brushing against his cheeks. A symmetrical face, marred only by a few scars earned through years of battle, giving him a hard, rugged look. His eyes gleamed like twin suns reacting to the world around him.
He descended from the sky until he was nearly standing beside the trio, his presence so imposing and magnetic it seemed to even affect Aelith. He had to be at least two meters tall—or at the very least, far taller than Daion. His eyes lingered on Daion's wounds, and the young man sighed, bracing himself for yet another insult.
"Are you alright?" Thaloren asked in a warm voice, bowing his head slightly toward Daion with a careless smile. "I'm sorry for injuring you, I didn't know there were low-ranked Summoned around." His eyes shifted to Loryn's gauntlet and rifle, narrowing in suspicion before turning toward the hooded Summoned. "Or perhaps… not so low-ranked after all. Anyway, what brings you to the border?"
Daion felt relieved that at least someone was acting like a decent human being. He opened his mouth to answer, but Loryn cut him off.
"That's none of your concern. We're heading to the fortress." Loryn began walking away.
"Of course," Thaloren replied. Daion glanced at Loryn with disdain and let out a weary sigh. "Hiding won't protect you forever," Thaloren murmured, not quietly enough to escape Daion's ears. "Ah, good luck, Summoned. Try not to die."
"Yes, it's been a pleasure," Daion muttered, and he and Aelith followed after Loryn.
They traveled along the edge between life and corruption, keeping a steady pace. Daion kept glancing back to make sure Aelith hadn't tried to escape. He pulled one of the healing orbs from his travel bag and swallowed it as quickly as he could, trying to avoid the putrid taste—unsuccessfully. Fighting back retches, he felt his burns vanish, even his hair regaining its normal color.
"Well," he began, trying to distract himself from the lingering taste, "what's the deal with that guy?"
"All you need to know is that the only reason we haven't been wiped out is because he protects this border," Loryn explained, deliberately dodging the real question. "He keeps the Corrupted at bay for hundreds of kilometers. In truth, he's not so different from you—another hypocritical hero."
Daion ignored the jab. He looked back and saw a sudden flare of light erupt across the wasteland, the raw power overwhelming. The endless trek across the barren land was beginning to feel eternal. Yet faintly, sounds of chaos reached them from the distance. The land was devastated, littered with jagged rocks scattered like remnants of some great disaster. They tread carefully to avoid falling into trenches, and Daion was startled when figures suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
They moved sluggishly, whole families trudging across the broken terrain, their eyes fixed on the ground. Their clothes were nothing but torn, filthy rags. The children looked on the verge of starving to death.
Daion stopped, letting the refugees pass by him, all heading toward the forest, searching for another place to live. But his mind wandered—the images overlapped, and when he blinked, he was somewhere else entirely. Tall buildings rose around him, the people had changed, their features all strangely similar, soldiers in matching uniforms like his guiding them.
He returned to reality when one of the refugees bumped into his side. Daion instinctively grabbed the man's wrist—he was holding Daion's coin pouch. The refugee trembled, eyes wide with fear and despair. Aelith looked on with pity, almost expecting him to kill or maim the man. Daion sighed, took his pouch back, and let the refugee go. The slave looked at him in confusion, and Loryn barely paid attention.
The refugees disappeared into the landscape. They pressed on until the distant sounds of explosions and screams grew louder. Crossing a cliffside path, Daion finally saw it—the most awe-inspiring and pitiful sight he could have imagined.
A colossal fortress loomed against the mountainside, its many watchtowers and turret-lined walls resembling those of Cadenar. Yet it was covered in mud, its very foundations barely holding together. The soldiers manning it were caked in filth, their bodies marred with untreated wounds they seemed too numb to care about.
Looking out into the dead wasteland, they saw the source of the thunderous noise: squads of soldiers and Summoned clashing with a horde of Corrupted. Daion couldn't make out the details at such distance, but he could see the extravagant attacks of the Summoned and the desperate movements of the humans.
They moved toward the fortress. Loryn explained with disdain that this was the greatest defensive bastion of the border, erected some twenty years ago and held together only thanks to the divine guild's Summoned and the reckless ones seeking quick power, for the fortress was assaulted day and night.
When they reached the gates, a soldier was slumped against the wall, barely clinging to life. He looked at them with what little willpower he had left.
"More Summoned?" he asked, pretending he wanted to rise. "Slaves, or psychopaths who just want to kill without consequences?"
"Somewhere in between," Daion joked, but the soldier didn't seem to get it. "We're looking for Seraphine."
The soldier let out a weak chuckle and looked at him.
"Bad luck for you, she won't be here for another week." Daion cursed under his breath. The soldier picked up a list and a pencil, then glanced at Aelith. "And what rank is the cannon fodder?"
"Who the hell are you calling cannon fo—" Aelith tried to snap back, but Daion quickly covered her mouth before she got them into trouble. She struggled against his hand.
"Demihuman, rank three," Loryn finally said. The soldier nodded without much care, then leaned his head back against the wall and drifted back into sleep.
They entered through the gates without any obstacle. Daion immediately understood why there was so little security. First, there was no reason to search for anything at the border, and second, the place was crawling with Summoned and soldiers moving back and forth, unloading cargo that arrived through tunnels in the mountain. At least the soldiers seemed to move in an organized fashion. The Summoned, however, were split into two clear groups.
There were the slaves, wearing the same collars as those sent to SteelWall, obeying the orders of armored soldiers with medals—military leaders. They looked barely fed, their bodies like brittle branches on the verge of snapping. On the other side were the free Summoned, murmuring among themselves, mocking the slaves as if saying "serves you right for getting into debt." All of them had gauntlets far more advanced than Daion's, and weapons of every kind—from spears to assault rifles. Daion wondered if there was a reason behind the type of weapon. He definitely used his sword with natural ease, but if he had been a soldier in his past life, shouldn't he have received a rifle like Loryn?
The Summoned noticed them soon enough, but only turned their gaze away with disinterest. Aelith kept her head low, eyes darting from side to side with suspicion, as if expecting any of the Summoned to make a move. She also glanced at the enslaved Summoned with a flicker of empathy, though it quickly hardened back into her adolescent hatred.
"Hey, Summoned," said one of the soldiers approaching from behind. He was young, unremarkable, just a regular foot soldier, though his eyes still carried a hint of life. "Have they asked your ranks yet?"
"No," Daion answered flatly. The soldier looked at him, waiting for more. "Aspirant rank."
"Rank E? Damn, you know there are faster and less painful ways to kill yourself, right?" the soldier replied. Daion frowned. Loryn smiled to himself, as if this only fed his self-proclaimed hero complex.
"And you, faceless Summoned?" the soldier asked.
"Champion," Loryn replied. Those nearby stopped dead and stared at him in surprise. Even the soldier lifted his gaze with a flicker of fear.
"Rank A?" He wrote it down with trembling hands, then gave a reverent bow. Daion and Aelith were left speechless—neither had ever seen such respect for a Summoned before.
"It's an honor to have you here helping us. Do you plan to stay in the fort?"
"Yes, that's the plan."
"And they're with you?" The soldier spoke only to Loryn, ignoring the others entirely.
"Unfortunately."
"Well then, allow me to show you where you'll be staying," he said, leading them into one of the towers. "Please, call me Fabian."
They climbed several floors. The walls looked worn and cracked, dampness seeping out, and the sound of small creatures scuttling echoed within. Fabian stopped by a door marked 15th floor and pushed it open. Inside, a hallway wrapped around the tower, with doors lining both sides. They followed him down the corridor toward the outer wall—there were dozens of doors. But in the center, there were only three. Halfway around, Fabian opened one of those central doors.
Daion was stunned. The room wasn't a barrack—it was a private residence spanning two floors, almost palatial in atmosphere. The massive bed was so wide even the gluttonous lord of SteelWall could have sprawled across it without filling it. The mattress was covered with silk sheets and cushions embroidered with golden thread, radiating a luxury that felt almost insulting. Several wardrobes of fine wood stood along the walls, filled with intricately forged armor and ceremonial clothing that seemed better suited for a noble than a soldier.
At the far end, an imposing bookshelf lined with leather-bound tomes and carefully stored scrolls rose toward the ceiling. In front of it stood a mahogany desk adorned with quills, inkpots, and a miniature globe.
On the second floor, a wrought-iron railing overlooked a polished wooden bathtub large enough for three, with gleaming bronze faucets and a small dispenser filled with aromatic soaps and sweets wrapped in shining paper—as if it were a shrine to rest and sensory pleasure.
"We'll be here for two months, so get comfortable," Loryn said.
"Well, if all our rooms are like this, I'd stay an entire year."
"Our rooms?"
"Hm?" Daion lifted his eyes to Fabian, who smiled faintly before turning.
"Summoned are assigned rooms according to rank. Yours is there." He pointed to a nearby door, marked with an E.
When Daion opened it, his disappointment was indescribable. It was barely a room—more like a closet with a bed so thin he'd have to sleep on his side. A cramped wardrobe was jammed between the bed and wall, only able to open halfway. Aelith also peered inside with disappointment. She was about to ask something, but Fabian answered her unspoken thought.
"Communal baths are one floor below. Showers are only available at the 28th and 30th hours of the day." Daion paused, remembering that in this world, days were thirty-six hours long. It was confusing—he'd spent the first days mostly unconscious. "Ah, the demi-human sleeps with her master," Fabian added with a smug air, before leaving. "You can rest for today. Orders come tomorrow."
Aelith cursed silently before stepping inside, wondering where she was supposed to sleep.
"Well, maybe I'll take a bath and then sleep. What do you say, Daion?" Loryn mocked.
"I say you should kindly go kill yourself," Daion shot back irritably before shutting the door, though he couldn't block out Loryn's laughter.
He collapsed on his bed, which felt more like a pile of bricks. Somehow, the room felt more fitting for a militarized place.
"You didn't talk much today," Daion said to Aelith.
"There was nothing worth saying," she muttered, trying and failing to curl up on the floor. "If you come closer, I swear I'll rip your balls off."
"Comfortable down there?" Daion asked, ignoring her threat as he stared at the ceiling with a tinge of nostalgia. "Want me to lend you my coat?"
She looked up for a moment, but doubt clouded her face.
"No, fuck off," she said, closing her eyes. Daion sighed. He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep, but apparently his body didn't care about the miserable room and simply collapsed in exhaustion. For the first time, he had a clear memory of his past life.
End of Chapter.