Chapter 30
Oswin was in a conference with the leader of the Subjects, four senior bards, Ignis, and Arthur—who acted as the communicator between them all. They sat around a long wooden table in the town hall. It was the same table settlers used for their communal meals—breakfast, lunch, and dinner served with silence and routine.
Oswin's two extra limbs had healed significantly. The wet, raw patches that had torn open during the test were now sealed, and small clusters of fresh skin had begun forming across the exposed muscle. The limbs no longer dripped; they twitched occasionally, but the worst was behind them.
Everyone at the table wore the same kind of garment—the simple draped cloth that extended from shoulders to thighs. Both men and women wore it without difference. Modest, functional. At a glance, one couldn't differentiate them from the mundane.
Oswin wore one too, now. One of the settlers had handed it to him when he first entered the settlement. It was rough, uncomfortable, and constantly irritated his skin. Whenever it brushed against his extra limbs, the itching worsened—raw muscle and coarse fabric didn't mix well.
Pain was something Oswin could ignore, at least when he was focused. But discomfort? That was harder. It crept in quietly, stayed, and gnawed at the edge of his attention like a dull whisper.
The voice of Arthur rang in Oswin's mind, steady and clear. "The Leader asks you—why were you taken by the fiends?"
Oswin looked at her.
The Leader of the settlers sat at the far end of the table, a woman likely in her mid-forties. Hardened. Not old, but worn by experience. Her gaze was sharp, cutting through silence. Wrinkles gathered at the corners of her eyes and mouth—not from smiling, but from years of scrutiny.
The flickering light of the pig-fat candle played against her bronze skin, casting shadows that deepened every edge. She looked terrifying. Not in size or shape, but in presence.
Her eyes didn't blink much. Her brows were drawn tight, almost disapproving by default. Her deep burgundy hair was short, uneven, clearly cut with no care—damaged, like it had been burned or torn before. She hadn't bothered to fix it.
And she was still staring.
"I… I don't know," Oswin muttered. "They did some experiments on me. Asked questions. Then more experiments…"
The first part was a lie.
He did know why they took him.
But what was he supposed to say? That he wasn't even from this world?
Arthur and the Leader exchanged glances across the table. No words passed between them, just a long, heavy look.
Then Arthur's voice came again in Oswin's mind. Calm. Translating.
"The Leader says to inform you—here in the settlement, the real danger to day-to-day life isn't the fiends. Fiends are like natural disasters or disease. You can't reason with them, and you can't stop them. We just endure."
Oswin blinked, listening.
"Their twisted experiments. Their appearance. Their chaos. All of it—it's just background noise.
What truly threatens the settlement… are the humans.
The ones who can't accept their new reality some snap go rogue and lash out in denial or desperation.
And if they're bards—if they still carry fragments of blessings that haven't fully expired—the damage they cause is worse. Far worse.
And here, in this place, the most precious resource we have is humans.
Bard or mundane. Doesn't matter. Every single one of them counts."
Oswin didn't move. Just stared at the candlelight, flickering on the table.
It made sense.
The fiends didn't kill on purpose.
The deaths they caused were just… side effects—the fallout of whatever twisted experiments they were running. A detached cruelty. Clinical. Mechanical.
But a rogue person?
Especially a bard?
That was different.
A human who couldn't accept this new reality—who cracked under the pressure—lashing out blindly. They'd destroy deliberately. They'd kill with intention.
That kind of destruction was more devastating, messier, harder to predict., harder to stop.
And as the Leader had said—humans were the most precious resource in this place and every single life lost here ment loss of one pair of working hands.
One of the elders, close to the leader's age, tapped the table twice. The sound echoed across the hall, drawing the attention of everyone seated, including Arthur.
Arthur turned his head toward the elder, their eyes locking in a long, silent exchange. The elder gave no physical gestures, no movements—just a firm, unblinking stare.
Then, Arthur's voice rang clearly in Oswin's mind.
"The third elder wishes to ask you something."
There was a brief pause. Then Arthur continued, his mental tone taking on a slightly awkward, hopeful quality:
Arthur tilted his head slightly, still staring, his telepathic voice echoing softly in Oswin's mind. "Third elder asks—why did Caro not take your voice? Oh, and when answering, can you please declare the question too? Please? It'll save me the trouble of repeating it to everyone individually."
There was a pause. "...Please?"
Oswin glanced at him. Arthur had his usual blank expression—but he was also slightly hunched forward, brows raised and lips subtly pushed out in a pitiful expression.
A puppy face.
"The third elder asks why Caro did not take my voice."
He paused, then added, "She did. Once."
Everyone around the table remained silent, eyes fixed on him.
"But she gave it back while experimenting on me—wanted to ask questions about my state, how I felt."
Oswin's tone was flat, controlled, but beneath it was a hint of discomfort.
"I answered… then stayed silent. Maybe she forgot to block it again after that."
He looked down for a second, then met the leader's eyes. "Or maybe she didn't care. I don't know."
The room remained silent for minutes, no one made a sound.
Then, finally, the settlement leader clapped her hands together—a sharp, echoing sound that immediately signaled the end of the conference. Everyone began to stand, chairs scraping softly against the wooden floor, the air now lighter but still tense.
Arthur's voice rang in Oswin's mind once more.
"The leader told me to keep you in my hut tonight, We'll decide on your living quarters tomorrow."