"Parx… Akh… Xyren… Voz…" A chant comes out of the man's mouth.
It calls forth something that, this time, can be seen not only by me but by everyone—a notification window materializing in our midst, filled with symbols and strange letters, nothing like what I've ever seen in my previous life.
At first, I thought it's their native language, something they've learned naturally as they grew up. But I'm wrong.
One of the elders, the one who hasn't kicked me, retrieves a thick, ancient book. He flips through the pages, glancing back at the notification window, but from the way his brow furrows deeper with each passing second, it's clear—whatever he's looking for, he isn't finding it.
After all, they aren't reading it… They're deciphering it.
Thus, for just a moment, an eerie silence fills the dome, broken only by the rustling of pages and the faint breathing of the other children around me.
"Very well…" The one who seems superior to the others lets out a sigh of resignation as he continues to stare at the magic before his eyes.
"At least we know for sure that his average base stats aren't as bad as we feared they would be... All thanks to the curse of the Nyxthorn tree, of course." The old man gestures toward several points in the status window, tracing them with a finger.
╔══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╗
║ ⌈ Status Window ⌋ ║
╠══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╣
║ ▶ Name: **Deon Ravenheart** ║
║ ▶ Race: **Human** ║
║ ▶ Level: **1 (EXP: 472 / 2,000)** ║
║ ▶ Class: **Unassigned** ║
║ ▶ Title: **[None]** ║
║ ▶ Energy Orientation: **[None]** ║
║ ▶ Destiny Bind: **[None]** ║
║ ║
║ ▶ HP: **1 / 112** ║
║ ▶ SP: **1 / 173** ║
║ ║
║ ▶ MP: **1 / 41** ║
║ ▶ EP: **1 / 75** ║
║ ║
║ ▶ Strength: **15** ║
║ ▶ Agility: **31** ║
║ ▶ Arcane: **11** ║
║ ▶ Essence: **9** ║
║ ▶ Sanity: **24** ║
║ ▶ Intelligence: **15** ║
╠══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╣
║ ⌈ Skill and Effect List ⌋ ║
╠══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╣
║ ▶ **[Soul Infection]** - Passive ║
║ - This existence's soul is in an unstable condition ║
║ due to infection from another soul (effects unregistered). ║
║ ║
║ ▶ **[The Root of Nyxthorn]** - Passive ║
║ - The Withering Blight has spread to this body ║
║ caused by the Nyxthorn root infection. ║
║ ║
║ ▶ **[The Nullbrand Hex]** - Passive ║
║ - This entity will lose 5% of its mana and eidolon every minute ║
║ and cannot regenerate its own mana and eidolon. ║
║ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ║
║ **[The Withering Blight]** ║
║ Status: Active ║
║ + Infection Progress: 87% ║
║ + Base stats amplification: 1.5 ║
║ + Level up stats amplification: 1.75 ║
║ + Time Remaining Before ║
║ Vessel Expiration: 3 years, 3 months, 14 days ║
║ ║
║ **[The Irreversible Holy Sacrament]** ║
║ Status: Permanent ║
║ + Commands in Queue: ║
║ - Obey orders from any Karthmere noble ║
║ - Do no harm to any Karthmere noble ║
║ - Fear any Karthmere noble ║
║ + Defiance Progress: 0% ║
║ ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╝
But for now, I still doubt which part they're actually trying to decipher from all these symbols and letters… I mean, even though this is my first time seeing such a scripture, I can read every part of it as if it were written in my mother tongue.
I know this has to be because of the private notification from earlier, but if they can only grasp fragments of it, why can I understand the whole thing so effortlessly?
"But three years… Do we really have that long, or am I just being naive?" someone in front of me suddenly complains, their voice sharp with frustration. "I swear… am I the only one who remembers how just yesterday, Valkenheim seized three of our ports and took control of the entire western region?"
Even the weight of his words makes the person beside him stiffen, hesitant to respond... Still, they cautiously ask, "Is everything alright, my lord?"
"Bah, forget it… Vekir!"
My eyes blink a few times as the old man's words instantly cause the status window floating before me to vanish into thin air.
"Now, rat, go and gather with the others."
Without a second thought, I obeyed the order, driven once again by a fear I hadn't expected to feel.
Barefoot, I follow the same steps as the others, moving toward a stage lit by torches on either side. A quick estimate tells me there are about a hundred children here. If each of us is accompanied by two elders, that means nearly three hundred people are gathered in this cold, damp dome—most likely a cave or the basement of a castle.
Boys and girls, all of them show no outward panic.
No sobs, no trembling… They stand still, gazes sweeping the room, pretending to be calm while quietly observing their surroundings, becoming a little more aware of the situation they're facing.
All of them, I believe, have lived past lives—ones far from ordinary… These are people who have walked the fine line between life and death, not just once but countless times.
Whether as a duty or simply for their own amusement, they have faced mortality head-on, both their own and that of others… I can't quite put it into words, but the moment I look at each of them... I just know. We are all the same—equally distorted.
~~~~~
"Rats, murderers, carrion crows… welcome, one and all, to the bodies we have bestowed upon you—a gift most undeserved, yet freely given. Show gratitude, for it is more than wretches such as you are owed!"
The voice echoes through the chamber, carrying an air of absolute authority. The elder on the stage spreads his arms as if addressing an audience meant to cheer, but all he gets are gritted teeth that he obviously deserves.
"And let not guilt nor dread weigh heavy upon thee, for we know, as do you, of the forbidden law and thus you must grasp why your wayward souls have been called forth, shackled now within these sinful vessels.
But fear not, for all this is wrought in the name of a greater purpose—the rightful fate of our noble sovereign, Veyzor Karthaine… For his triumph above all, so shall it be."
A heavy silence settles in after those words. Then, a scoff.
"So that's what this is all about, huh?"
Such a voice comes from one of the boys, a sharp edge of defiance in his tone. The elder's gaze flickers toward him, his lips curling ever so slightly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I've killed hundreds of your soldiers before I ran out of my own blood." The boy's voice is steady, unyielding. "And that's not even strange, considering we all call you shatterkins for a reason… But this? To be so desperate as to summon our souls using forbidden magic just to fight for your king? Do you morons really have no shame at all?"
"How dare you…"
Some of the children around me struggle to suppress grins at the exchange. It's as if they all share the same sentiment, as if every single one of them agrees with his words… And that realization unsettles me.
Because it only means that they already know of this kingdom, Karthmere, long before they had been summoned into these bodies.
They have history here, memories tied to this world and its conflicts. They're not confused, not grasping at scattered pieces of unfamiliar knowledge like I am.
These people have lived here before…
They've walked the lands, some fought in its wars, some perhaps not, but they all died knowing a thing or two about this world.
All of them… except me.
~~~~~
"I'd rather suffer and die all over again than fight for a kingdom as pathetic as yours," the boy says, defying the elder standing on the stage. His words carry a weight that hangs in the air, and as I glance around, I notice the others nodding in silent agreement, their expressions firm with the same unspoken resolve.
"Oh? Have I ever mentioned anything about your ability to resist orders?"
"Then hit me… Is it the Oathbrand Curse? The Crimson Marionette? Do you really think I'm not strong enough—or smart enough—to break either of those curses?"
Laughter erupts from the elders surrounding us, their amusement echoing through the chamber like a chorus of mockery. But the most condescending voice comes from the stage, where only one elder stands, watching us with quiet arrogance and expectation, as if he has been waiting—no, hoping—for someone to finally ask that question.
So then, in a low, commanding tone, he utters, "All of you… kneel."
Suddenly, a glowing rectangle flickers into existence at the bottom left of everyone's vision. The sight of it sends a familiar chill down my spine, rekindling the fear I've already felt multiple times since I first woke up in this place.
╔════════════════════════════ ══╗
║ ⌈ Warning ⌋ ║
╠════════════════════════════ ══╣
║ + New Active Command: ║
║ - Kneel down ║
║ + Defiance Progress: 1% ║
╚════════════════════════════ ══╝
And just like that, whatever force it carries sends us all crashing down to the floor.
"Wait… These symbols… Don't tell me… It can't be!"
The girl kneeling beside me gasps, her eyes widening in shock. Even though I doubt she can actually read the writing, the sheer recognition in her expression tells me otherwise. Whatever she sees—it's something she has encountered before, way back when she was still in her original body.
And she isn't alone.
Some of the children in the room wear the same look of disbelief, their gazes locked onto the glowing text as if staring at something they never expected to see again.
"This is the Irreversible Holy Sacrament… The Unbroken Devotion!"
"But that's impossible!"
"This magic... It's supposed to be sacred—a bond of loyalty, to the king and the gods! How dare you defile it for something this vile?!"
Amid the rising uproar, a single voice cuts through the chaos—a shout from the front, nearly drowned beneath the clamor of others refusing to be silenced. But I hear every word, clear and furious.
"Oh, come on, you hypocrites! A slave curse is still a damn slave curse! Your king uses this to keep you all in line, only to make sure no one ever dares to turn against him. Tell me I'm wrong—I dare you!"
And that's all it takes to set off a real commotion. Even though their bodies remain forced to kneel, unable to resist the command, their voices surge with even more unrestrained fury. Shouts, taunts, and insults clash in the air, a storm of outrage directed at the lone figure standing before them.
Questions hurl through the air one after another, opinions colliding and overlapping in the chaos—until one voice rises above the rest. It cuts through the noise, sharp and demanding, making everyone fall silent as they wait for the answer that will follow.
"We honor His Majesty so deeply that we willingly surrender our own free will to him—something you could never get in this wretched kingdom! Something your tainted hearts will never be able to understand!"
But hearing those words only makes the elder burst into laughter again. His amusement rings through the chamber before he finally responds, his tone dripping with condescension.
"You'll never realize just how misguided that way of thinking is," he scoffs. "Your minds have been shackled since birth, conditioned to serve without question. You were never anything more than slaves who believed they were free!"
The girl next to me asks yet another question while things are still quiet, her voice laced with confusion. "Wait… No, hold on a second. How do you people even know how to use this kind of magic in the first place?"
"And what of it? Do you truly believe there's anything special about the way your king uses it?" He lets the question hang for a moment before continuing, "As I've said, it's nothing more than another feeble obedience curse, no different from the rest. The only real difference? This one isn't cast by the master—but by what you were before, his kneeling, devoted servants. Indeed, your king is the wielder of the curse… But he's also the one bound by it."
Unfortunately, as much as I want to keep up with the flow of their conversation, I have to admit—everything starts slipping away from me. The more they talk, the more the words blur together, tangled in layers of magic and self-righteous nonsense.
And no matter how much I want to tune it out or complain about it, it's clear this discussion is far from over. Whether I can follow along or not doesn't seem to matter.
"We will resist. No matter what your king commands, you'll see for yourself—I won't bend. And even if everything you've said is true, then by tomorrow morning, the only thing left of me will be a cold, lifeless corpse… I promise you this—I'd rather die rotting on the ground than serve your cause!"
"Oh… Thanks for the hint," the elder sneers. "Then here's a new order for you—all of you, from this moment on, I command you to avoid your own death at all costs."
╔════════════════════════════ ══╗
║ ⌈ Warning ⌋ ║
╠════════════════════════════ ══╣
║ + New Passive Command Added: ║
║ - Avoid your own death at all costs ║
║ + Commands in Queue: ║
║ - Obey orders from any Karthmere noble ║
║ - Do no harm to any Karthmere noble ║
║ - Fear any Karthmere noble ║
║ - Avoid your own death at all costs ║
║ + Defiance Progress: 1% ║
╚════════════════════════════ ══╝
"I believe that all of you here are among the rare few in Sunderfall Plain who were born to kill," the old man declares.
"You are here because the only thing you're good at is taking lives—nothing more, nothing less. And so, I'll make this brief. The rest, you'll have to figure out on your own."
His gaze sweeps over the room, eyes sharp and calculating. "There are one hundred of you here. But in the end, we will only take seven. While you struggle to grow accustomed to your new bodies, while you claw your way through childhood, likely dying in the process, you will also be fighting each other to the death—every single day. For over—"
He stops. A brief hesitation, barely noticeable to anyone who isn't watching closely… His words falter, just for a fraction of a second, as if he almost says something he isn't supposed to.
But the subtle twitch of his mouth, the flicker of restraint in his expression—it's enough.
That old fart means to say three years.
"For a whole year—maybe less if you are reckless enough—you will remain in this underground place." The words, deliberately altered, carry a twisted sort of reverence, as if he's bestowing upon us some great honor instead of a death sentence.
"And the seven chosen ones will receive a gift—one that we swear will make you powerful enough to conquer the world. You will rise to the top of the food chain, standing beside us, and together, we shall be kings among kings. I assure you of that."
A slow, cruel smile creeps across his face.
"So eat. Devour each other. Carve through their flesh, sever limbs—do whatever it takes to claim that glory. We, along with the great Veyzor Karthaine, will be waiting for you up there."
Then, with a final, mocking lilt—
"Have fun, Plaguefeathers."
~~~~~