Master.
A word that held many meanings. All of which implied power, authority, and responsibility.
They might be mentors who grant knowledge, skills, or wisdom. Some are leaders who command their subordinates to fulfill objectives. Others are owners who control the lives of their slaves on a whim.
While some might take offense, Elian welcomed the notion.
The world had already decided he was a defect. His classmates even tried to kill him. In this reality's eyes, he was trash. Yet the beauty before him saved his life. All because she needed him. Not just anyone—him.
If someone like me has a place by your side...
Elian bowed his head and agreed. "I understand."
Then until the day I die, I will follow you.
It might have been better to give a vow or some flashy gesture. But a part of the boy's mind stopped him. After all, apart from her name, he knew nothing about his new master. However, as Elian admired Bianca's noble and powerful visage, he decided to trust his gut.
"Good. Now come closer. Your injuries are quite severe."
Bianca's soothing voice was like a gentle breeze on a scorching day. It felt refreshing and comforting—at least for a few moments. Once he remembered the situation, the pain and weakness of his body returned.
"Ack!"
Unable to stop a yelp, Elian began to drag himself toward Bianca. Compared to the tunnel, the distance was quite short. The cool floor—smoother than glass—felt better than the rough texture he had grown used to.
Bianca stood proudly, unmoving—like a living sculpture. Even her smallest gestures radiated majesty.
"You'd best get used to my face, Elian. I cannot have my servant distracted every time you lay eyes upon me."
"Ah, that might be a bit hard, Master. You're by far the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
At his comment, Bianca's face froze. The corners of her lips curled slightly into a faint smile.
"It seems you have a talent for flattery. Please do it in moderation."
Ho? She liked that? It seems my master enjoys praise.
As much as Elian wanted to keep admiring her, his parents had taught him it was impolite to stare. So he let his eyes wander. He took a second look at the frozen paradise surrounding him. Earlier, the drop in temperature was unpleasant—even painful.
I wonder who made this place?
Now? It felt cool. Calming. The pain of his injuries seemed to dull the moment he entered.
Elian looked at the surface beneath him and noticed it was frozen solid. The ice was so clear, the ground below was visible. That's when he saw it.
"W-What...?"
Under the pristine floor was a chaotic painting of brown and black. Elian knew this pattern well. It looked like dried, ancient blood. He turned his head back toward the hole he crawled out from—and saw the same stains decorating it.
The realization hit.
Someone had come before him. The same way. A bloody figure dragging itself from certain death.
He scanned the area for a door or exit, but found none. Suddenly, the entire passage and "paradise" took on a different implication.
A prison.
"Master, just how long..."
Before he could finish, Bianca replied coldly, without even looking at him.
"Come closer."
Bianca stood before what looked like a throne encased in ice. Reflections danced across the surface, vanishing as Elian approached.
"H-How...?"
The "throne" wasn't a throne at all. It was a large rock—upon which something rested.
A skeleton. Clothed in the exact same outfit Bianca now wore.
This was no prison.
It was a tomb.
Unnerved, Elian looked back at his master. But now, rather than admiration for her beauty, he felt awe for her will.
He imagined her—dragging herself through that same darkness, alone, with no one to comfort her. No one to save her.
She must have been scared. She must have cried. Yet she still persisted—even long after her death.
His throat tightened, burning with questions he didn't dare voice.
Who did this to you? Why did no one help? How long did you last? How are you still here?
Emotions flooded his mind—anger, bitterness, sorrow. He grew more furious about Bianca's fate than his own. He was a Defect. But his master? She was kind, beautiful, powerful. And yet they cast her aside.
THIS IS WRONG! HOW? WHY?
Even as his mind spun into chaos, Elian held his tongue. It wasn't his place to ask. Not yet.
The past was important—but the present even more. He was still on the edge of death. And if he couldn't live through today, nothing else would matter.
He forced himself to calm down and dragged himself toward the throne.
"Hmm. Your mental fortitude is impressive."
Somehow, the praise didn't feel good. He wanted to scream, to rage. But the world never cared what he wanted. He'd learned that lesson a long time ago.
When Elian reached the throne, Bianca snapped her fingers.
In an instant, the ice encasing her remains cracked and shattered. The skeleton, losing its support, collapsed and scattered.
"Behind that corpse is a magic bag. There should still be some health potions in it. Drink one. And pull out the black vial as well."
"Yes, Master."
Magic bags—treasures that defied physics. They only came into existence after the discovery of mana. Even the lowest magic bag looked like a small pouch but could store a large chest's worth of items. A common everyday tool for Breakers and the rich.
With utmost care, Elian turned over the remains and retrieved the magic bag. Inside, he found a high-end health potion.
What rank is this thing even? A? S? Even a low-ranked E potion costs a hundred Crowns!
He removed the cork and drank. Instantly, the pain began to fade, his strength returning.
Then—a sharp, searing pain shot through his thigh. As the rest of his wounds closed, this one did too. Flesh began to press against the foreign object embedded inside.
He winced, remembering one of Ms. Potts' lectures:
"Health potions act as antiseptics, anesthetics, and accelerants for tissue recovery. But you must remove any foreign objects first—or they'll get sealed into your body. And while potions can regrow limbs, it'll still cost you."
No more time to wait.
With renewed energy, Elian rolled to the side. He lifted his leg—and slammed it against the floor.
"ARGHHHH!!!"
The tip of the knife pushed deeper inside, letting the handle rise just enough to grab.
With a pain-filled scream, Elian seized the bloody handle and pulled. It rattled but didn't budge. Wounds tore open anew.
COME ON! LET GO ALREADY!
After several agonizing tries, Elian finally tore the salvaging knife free. He collapsed, gasping.
"As is your willingness to endure pain."
"Huff... thank you, Master…"
"Now that you're no longer in danger, it's time I bestow upon you a Talent. Take the black vial from my bag and drink it."
A Talent? If that were possible, I wouldn't have lived such a miserable life.
"Master… I can't. I'm a Defect. I..." Elian began.
"And you believed them? Carve this into your soul, Elian. Know who it is you've claimed as your master. Drink," Bianca commanded.
Elian looked at the ominous black vial.
Then, without hesitation, he pulled the cork.
And drank.