The sun was rising on a new day, and the air in Cardana felt heavy, almost as if the land itself awaited the results of the unfolding events.
"What do you think?" Leno asked, taking a slow sip from a mug filled to the brim with wine.
Meyer gave him an odd look at the display, but set it aside and considered the question. He swirled the coffee in his own mug before shifting his attention to the third man seated in his chambers.
"I'd like to hear Master Gordoi's thoughts first," the redhead said, his gaze flicking briefly to the man's beer-filled cup. 'Did everyone just bring their own drinks and ignore proper drinkware…?'
Gordoi's tired eyes flickered between the two.
"They will... be okay," he said after a moment, voice edged with hesitation as he downed his drink in one go. "At most, some will be injured, but it's a good learning experience."
He paused.
"Cardana's going to change soon," he continued, tilting his mug toward Leno for a refill. "Those kids will likely become the spearhead of the coming era—"
"So they need to grow up and become competent," Meyer cut in, eyes closed, tone cool and final.
"Are you including him when you say that?"
Gordoi's gaze shifted to the Chieftain. The man looked more alive than he'd seen him in decades—more than even when his own daughter was born.
He shook his head faintly.
"Of course," the blond said, scratching his head slowly. "He's the one I'm thinking about most."
Leno smiled, almost as if the anticipation of what might happen amused him more than any actual outcome.
"You think he won't die?"
"He probably will," Meyer said, glancing aside with cold indifference. "I instructed Roy to keep them all safe, but that outsider… if he doesn't pique his interest—"
"Roy won't lift a finger," Leno concluded.
"That's right," Meyer nodded. "He's a hero of Cardanians, after all."
Gordoi stilled, his eyes gaining more depth.
"There's something about that kid," he started, eyes narrowing. "You wouldn't understand... I don't either, really."
He leaned forward, slumping slightly as his eyes drifted to a picture in his hand—Lavere as a child with the bare minimal traces of a smile, looking frosty as ever.
For a moment, his expression softened. Then it hardened again.
"Unlike us, the world has been changing," he continued seriously. "We've been fortunate to stay an isolated silo from the noise, but the upheaval our ancestors feared has arrived at last."
"Potential upheaval," Leno corrected, though he didn't seem to fully care about the distinction himself.
Gordoi exhaled through his nose, rubbing at his temple and ignoring him.
"I used unorthodox methods to get the boy used to pain and extreme situations, but that doesn't make him a better fighter," he went on. "If anything, we should be more worried about what happens once he actually hits his stride."
---
Reoloy sat, bloodstained, atop a pile of the larger sabres' corpses.
He spat to the side, suddenly and vividly aware of the metallic, fleshy taste in his mouth—and finding it far from pleasant.
"Would you look at that," he said, running a hand through his hair, his relic recently deactivated. "Now that I can fight too, these guys hesitate to come at me."
His thoughts drifted back to his struggle out at sea. All that time, he could have been doing this. Humans were no different from beasts. Even Hugo and Graham would've paused from seeing what he could do now. He might've dwelled on it, but the rush still burning through him made introspection feel distant, almost irrelevant.
He felt the faint hum of presence from the glove on his hand. It was conscious, all right. A part of him quietly berated himself for missing something so obvious.
Regalia.
Relics on the same tier as both the game's titular ignition point and the core target of his entire journey so far. He had encountered a few during his gameplay, but only two had ever exhibited personalities. Those same aforementioned two.
He had assumed it was a unique quirk, something exclusive to them, but clearly he'd been wrong.
'It's not exactly talking like Luvarne or Galaplexius… but it's there.'
"Gaiskas."
"Yes, master," the laikern replied instantly, appearing at once, its tone uncharacteristically obedient.
Reoloy's face twisted with distrust and disgust.
"…What are you plotting now?"
Gaiskas was afraid.
Not just because Reoloy could hurt it, but because of everything that had happened over the past hour. Before the sun had even fully risen, the boy had butchered several dozen monsters—including the crimson wolves he seemed especially vicious toward.
The laikern could tell he wasn't accustomed to combat. His movements still lacked refinement.
And yet, he fought without the characteristic hesitation found in amateurs.
'There was a generalised term for people like him back in the day...'
Lunatics.
Whether born from detachment, self-destruction, or a complete disregard for their own lives, they were always the ones most willing to throw themselves into madness—and more often than not, they became the forces that changed the world.
Gaiskas should have realised it while watching him train under the blacksmith. Instead, it had assumed Reoloy was simply getting dragged around by the man due to a lack of backbone.
It watched the boy lazily extend his arm to the side.
The translucent claw expanded instantly, slicing through a timber scout's throat.
A second later, Reoloy flicked his finger—and a large sabre wolf was cleaved apart like wet paper.
'He seems to have a disdain for those ones,' Gaiskas noted, catching the brief smile that crossed his face after the kill. 'More importantly, if he was able to grasp how to handle that Regalia that quickly, then it won't be long before—'
"You're ignoring me now?" Reoloy asked dryly, repeatedly extending and retracting the spectral claw. He noticed the way Gaiskas stared at it nervously. The change in attitude had started the moment the weapon first manifested its latent ability. "Anyway, did you have anything to do with these?"
"...Sorry?"
"So that's a no." Reoloy sighed. "Lucky you. I was planning to grill you if you were involved."
He turned his attention to the altered sabre wolf corpses littering the ground around him.
He had never seen these particular variants before, but he recognised the phenomenon immediately.
Monsters evolving absurdly beyond their natural limits.
Some researcher in RON had named the process Derivation and the results of the transformation Derivatives. It was never revealed what triggered it, but it was well known that it wasn't naturally occurring.
The first appearance that triggered the studies wasn't supposed to happen until the middle game section, though.
'If it wasn't Gaiskas, then something else entirely is happening in Cardana...' Reoloy mused grimly.
He stood up, moving away from the commotion he sensed in the distance across multiple directions.
"You were right earlier," Reoloy started, drawing the laikern's attention. "We never properly struck up a deal. But first... you. You can't absorb mana on your own without permission, can you?"
It wasn't even possible to describe the tension that struck Gaiskas. If he had a physical body, he would've likely felt his knees go weak and his stomach twist in on itself.
Reoloy smiled. 'That's one.'
The ancient being was too easy, even for him. It had probably hoped he wouldn't think about it right now, but unfortunately for it, this was the best time for him to slow down, think and get things in order.
Reoloy swung the spectral claw casually, barely grazing Gaiskas's shoulder, and despite being spiritual, the reaction was instant.
It recoiled violently, instinctively widening the distance between the two of them, almost forgetting that its vessel was still in the boy's left hand.
The reincarnator's smile widened into what Gaiskas could only describe as a grin of pure, unadulterated wickedness.
"And that's two," Reoloy chimed brightly.
"H-Hey. What are you doing?" Gaiskas asked, trying to disguise its panic as confusion, but even it knew the act was useless now.
"About that contract..." Reoloy replied in a mocking sing-song tone, echoing the way the spirit had spoken earlier. "Technically, I could force you into any kind of deal I want right now—seeing that I hold your very life in my hands. But I've decided to discuss it fairly later."
The laikern blinked in surprise.
For a moment, it wondered if it had misread the child—believed him to be completely tyrannical when he actually had a soft streak.
"Of course... until we deal with all the mess," he added casually. "There's a lot you'll have to make up for."
His face darkened suddenly as he extended a hand.
"You understand what I'm saying?"
Alarm bells blared through Gaiskas's mind.
Even so, it slowly drifted forward and took the offered hand.
"...Yes."
---
"Need some help?" Roy asked lazily, honestly just to mess with Avron.
His gaze swept the other side of the cave he'd just blown open, curiously eyeing the familiar yet abnormal beasts.
With his appearance alone, the atmosphere shifted. Relief washed over the group almost instantly as they realised they would actually make it home. Though Runi and Garm still had to steady Avron in his wounded state—both physically and mentally.
Roy descended slowly from the air, hands tucked in his pockets the entire time. The moment his boots touched the ground, the oppressive pressure of his ki receded, clinging tightly to only his immediate frame.
He idly toyed with his sword's guard, debating whether to draw it before ultimately deciding against it.
"Tangerine," Roy called, drawing surprised looks at the nickname—especially because Avron showed absolutely no reaction to it. "I can wipe these guys out easily, but what do we do?"
Avron sobered immediately, expression hardening as he struggled to nod.
"This isn't our trial to get through," he said, pushing himself upright with support. "But we can't exactly let these guys run loose until the outsider shows his face."
Fen, only just recovering on the ground, couldn't help remembering how aggressively Avron had talked earlier about beating Reoloy to the target and humiliating him. The contradiction between then and now almost made her point it out, but she held her tongue.
Roy closed his eyes, possibly masking some faint disappointment.
"It is what it is," he muttered, stepping forward and prompting the beasts to crouch low in preparation.
One derivative sabre wolf vanished into motion, appearing in his blind spot. It had instinctively decided Roy was too dangerous to confront head-on. Its claw ripped through the tiny opening between itself and its target with lethal precision, leaving no room for error in its execution, and yet—
No one moved.
No one panicked.
No one looked surprised at the results.
The claw appeared to strike true, but the one left writhing and yelping on the ground was the sabre wolf that had been looming over the dark-haired teen.
The beast's metal-like claws were torn clean from its paws. It was as though it had tried to cut through something vastly harder than itself, only for its own body to give out first.
"Ah, that was reflex," Roy said, glancing down at the crippled creature. "Sorry about that."
He then lightly kicked the trembling monster—more a casual tap than an actual strike—and its flesh violently burst apart into millions of fragments of soft tissue shrapnel.
Roy slowly turned toward Avron, giving him a look that practically screamed "you struggled with this?", much to the orange-haired teen's irritation.
"You're not interesting enough to play with," Roy said, scratching the back of his head. He raised a hand coated in ki, and its qualities quickly became sharper. "Die all at once."
The area was instantly swallowed by an indigo glow. There was no explosion, no visible force behind it, yet it felt as though countless thin blades or threads were slicing through the space as the sabres were carved apart into chunks.
The deeper cave walls echoed with the sound of deep gashes carving through their surface, thin lines etching across stone before entire sections quietly slid apart. Blood mist drifted through the glowing air while severed chunks of flesh struck the ground with wet thuds. For a brief moment, the battlefield became unnaturally silent, aside from the staggered breaths of disoriented teenagers and the faint hum of Roy's ki lingering in the atmosphere.
When it ended, Roy looked mildly surprised that three of them had actually survived.
He let out a short laugh before a red blur the size of a small house slammed into him.
"Roy!"
Everyone's eyes snapped toward the massive wolf as it instantly came to a stop, a strange, murky aura rolling off its enormous frame.
The further the mana spread, the heavier everyone's bodies became, as though disease itself was seeping into their flesh.
'Poison mana?!' Avron's eyes widened in horror. 'Monsters using raw attributed mana to create effects this strong is unheard of!'
He clutched at his chest, forcing his exhausted heart and dwindling mana to resist the corruption spreading through him, but he already knew he wouldn't last long at this rate.
"Ha."
Every head turned toward the dust cloud left behind by Roy's collision with the cavern wall.
"Hahahahaha!"
As the black-red-haired teen emerged from the settling debris, his laughter rapidly shifted from amused to completely hysterical.
Dense indigo ki flooded the cave—far more vivid and oppressive than before—pulsing violently in rhythm with each escalating fit of laughter that escaped him.
"He's lost it..." Runi muttered, the poison already becoming secondary compared to the far more immediate danger standing before them. He forced himself upright and looked toward the others. "Move! Get out of here now!"
As the squad scrambled toward the exit, Roy silently tracked them with his eyes.
His breathing had grown rougher. His thoughts blurred and dragged against one another, yet he still clung desperately to consciousness.
Steam poured from his lips as the inside of his body continued to superheat, and he remembered why he hated being the "one."
"You will become my successor."
A four-year-old Roy, his hair still completely black, stared up at the fourth-generation captain of the town militia—Meyer Friedrick.
"Why?"
"You're strong," Meyer replied simply. "And you already possess ki. That alone puts you ahead of everyone else."
Roy frowned.
He wasn't interested, but he could already tell this man would keep coming back until he got the answer he wanted.
"You said the transfer process hurts," the boy said. "I don't want to go through that."
"You don't have a choice," Meyer answered apathetically. "Unlike my predecessors and I, this power wants you. No matter how harshly you reject it, it will ultimately still seek you out."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Roy scowled.
"I meant why should I go along with it?" he asked indignantly. "Even if it wants me, I can just keep refusing."
Meyer paused.
Then looked off into the small shack the boy lived in, catching a glimpse of the two little girls who clung fearfully to a corner.
Roy stepped in front of him before he could observe any further.
The captain closed his eyes briefly before nodding.
"I didn't like you," Meyer admitted, removing his left glove to reveal the mark branded into his palm. "I only agreed to make you my successor because this power tormented me until I finally gave in."
A faint smile twitched onto his lips.
"But there might be hope yet," he continued. Before Roy could respond or react, he seized his left hand, and a crushing heat descended on the boy. "It will pass. That's the price attached to great responsibility."
Roy convulsed violently, a silent scream catching in his throat as unbearable pain surged through him.
"Brother!"
"Bwother!"
The younger girls ran outside, throwing themselves beside him and stretching their arms protectively toward the red-haired man.
"That sense of protectiveness you felt just now," Meyer said, walking to the shack and examining it. "I'll help you learn how to extend it to the entire town."
He placed a piece of paper and a virtual transfer bracelet by the doorway before turning away.
"Training starts in a week." He raised a hand in farewell toward the slowly recovering boy without even looking back. "Until then, get your living affairs in order."
Roy gritted his teeth, glaring after him.
"I won't do it!" he yelled. "I promise you I fucking won't!"
Meyer shook his head.
"You don't have a choice." He flashed the symbol on his palm. "It may only be partial, but the transfer has begun."
Strangely enough, despite having never considered it to be a burden, Meyer felt lighter. Like something had shifted from his shoulders, and for the first time ever, he looked forward to the next chapter of preparing to fully pass on his mantle.
"Also..." The redhead stopped, glancing over his shoulder at the furious children. "You're the next hero, speak properly."
In the years that followed, Roy begrudgingly trained under Meyer with the intention of fully inheriting his duties at nineteen, but—
Roy's pupils dilated, his focus sharpening to a razor's edge as the monster vanished from sight despite its massive size.
It was clearly targeting the fleeing squad members.
He took a single step, and the world blurred.
In the next instant, he stood directly in the creature's path, the beast's claw crashing into his forehead before stopping dead in its tracks.
Red wisps bled from the boy's form, consumed by the far darker indigo ki surrounding him, yet their glow still shone vividly through. The energy wrapped tightly around his frame, etching intricate patterns across his skin.
Red Scales.
Roy Graven. Fifteen-years-old.
He was projected to become militia captain at nineteen, but he shattered every expectation placed upon him.
"He is simply too talented."
That was Meyer's response whenever others questioned his strangely hands-off teaching methods when Roy had been only eight years of age.
Even without giving it his all, Roy had already surpassed the limits of what any of his instructors could teach him. The only reason he wasn't even stronger was because he lacked the desire to become so.
As for why he still hadn't claimed the rest of the power that had chosen him—
Use me more!
Why won't you use me more?!
Let's destroy everything standing in our way!
The glowing red scales pulsed feverishly, seemingly trembling with excitement at finally being called upon.
"What an irritating contract..." Roy muttered, a vein bulging against his temple. "Shut up already!"
He backhanded the sabre wolf aside like an insect, repaying it for launching him earlier.
Then Roy lowered himself into a crouch, both arms tightening beside him as his palms flared outward.
"This fucking hurts!!!"