《The sphere of knowledge》


 Chapter 1

    Darkness consumed everything. There was no sun, no moon, not even the faintest glimmer of natural light in those depths. Only the dim flicker of torches mounted on the walls and the constant creaking of chains interrupted the oppressive silence of the mine. It was a damp place, where the air reeked of ground stone, stale sweat, and the rusty iron of blood that had once stained the rocky ground.


    The miners were walking shadows, specters with broken bodies that barely managed to stay upright. Their clothes were tattered, their faces covered in soot and dust. Some could scarcely hold the picks they used to shatter the rock, but they knew stopping meant death. Blow after blow, they chipped away fragments of ore with calloused hands and backs bent under the weight of inhuman labor. Every breath was torment, every effort a step closer to exhaustion.


    The tunnels stretched in all directions like a never-ending labyrinth. Some passages were so narrow that men had to crawl like mired beasts, scraping the rock with their bare nails when tools weren¡¯t enough. Wooden beams groaned ominously overhead, threatening to collapse at any moment and entomb the workers in a grave of stone.


    Guards patrolled with whips in hand and gazes full of disdain. They didn¡¯t wear gleaming armor but rather garments reinforced with leather and metal, designed to instill fear in anyone who dared to lift their head. Thick chains hung from their belts, ready to bind those who collapsed from exhaustion. The whip''s crack tearing through the air was constant, a warning to anyone who slowed their pace.


    In the gloom, among the workers, children also moved about. Born into slavery, they had never known the sky or the warmth of the sun on their skin. Their frail bodies were just another tool of the mine, condemned from birth to an inescapable fate. Among them was one of the youngest, with small hands clutching a battered stone bucket where he collected scraps of fallen ore. His sunken, dark eyes reflected the torchlight with a hollow glint.


    A sharp noise echoed down the tunnel. An elderly miner had collapsed, his body too worn to endure another day of toil. A guard approached with heavy steps, observing him with a grimace of disgust. Without a word, he delivered a brutal kick to the man¡¯s ribs, the impact reverberating against the stone. The old man groaned, clutching his chest.


    "Get up," the guard growled. "Or I¡¯ll leave you here to rot."


    The old man trembled, trying to push himself up with his hands. His breathing was ragged, a weak echo in the vastness of the mine. Before he could stand, another slave¡ªa man with an imposing physique¡ªclenched his fists. His eyes burned with restrained fury, and his muscles tensed as though he was about to lunge at the guard.


    "Don¡¯t," a voice whispered beside him. A slender hand gripped his arm with desperate strength.


    On the large man¡¯s forehead, a symbol began to glow with a redish light. The slave¡¯s mark. A cruel rune crafted with magic that activated at the slightest thought of rebellion. Everyone knew it: attempting to strike a guard meant instant death. The man swallowed hard, releasing his rage in a muffled growl as he looked away.


    The guard sneered. "That¡¯s what I thought." With a final chuckle, he walked away, leaving the old man lying on the ground.


    The boy approached the fallen elder, setting his stone bucket on the ground. With effort, he slipped an arm under the man¡¯s back to help him up. Trembling, the elder looked at the boy with a mixture of gratitude and pity.


    "Thank you, lad," he rasped, his voice hoarse and weary. "I wish you hadn¡¯t been born here."


    The boy didn¡¯t respond. He simply lowered his head and returned to his work. He ventured deeper and deeper into the tunnels, where the torchlight barely reached. While collecting stones, one in particular caught his attention. It wasn¡¯t shiny or seemingly valuable. It fit perfectly in his palm, and what made it unusual was its shape: a smooth, opaque black sphere.


    He picked it up curiously, turning it over in his fingers, trying to discern its origin. Something about it felt¡­ different. He didn¡¯t know why, but he felt compelled to keep it.


    "Meal time!" bellowed a guard from the main passage.


    The boy reacted instantly, hiding the sphere in his ragged clothes before running to join the others. He didn¡¯t know why, but he sensed he shouldn¡¯t let anyone see it.


    The slaves made their way to the mess hall, a larger cave with a long, worm-eaten wooden table and uneven benches. In one corner, several cauldrons simmered, releasing a sour, heavy aroma. One by one, the workers received bowls of a thick, grayish gruel with indistinguishable chunks floating in it. It had barely any flavor, but it was all that kept them from starving.


    The boy took his bowl in both hands and sat in a secluded corner. He stared at the thick mixture, noticing how a few dead insects floated on the surface. No one removed them; food was scarce, and no one dared waste it. Beside him, the old man he had helped slurped his portion in silence, with the resignation of someone who had spent too many years in that hell.


    Some slaves devoured their food desperately, shoveling every bite into their mouths regardless of its taste or texture. Others ate slowly, their vacant gazes fixed on the ground. A murmur spread through the room, accompanied by the scraping of spoons against the bottoms of wooden bowls.


    The guards watched from the entrance, ensuring everyone ate. It wasn¡¯t kindness, but control: without food, the slaves wouldn¡¯t survive, and without slaves, the mine wouldn¡¯t produce. Eating was as much an obligation as working, and anyone who refused their ration faced a punishment worse than hunger.


    The boy swallowed his portion with difficulty. His stomach growled, but his mind was still on the strange sphere hidden in his rags.


    The day in the mine continued mercilessly. The sound of picks striking stone, the groaning of wooden beams, and the occasional cries of the miners formed a grim symphony that never ceased. Dust hung in the air, clinging to the skin and drying the slaves¡¯ throats. Fatigue weighed on their hunched bodies, but no one could stop.


    The boy kept working in his corner, hauling stones with his small hands. His frail muscles trembled, but he couldn¡¯t afford to rest. That¡¯s when he felt a shadow looming over him. He looked up and saw one of the guards, a burly man with a face scarred by countless battles and eyes as cold as steel.


    "Hold out your hand," the guard commanded, his voice deep and devoid of emotion.


    The boy hesitated, not understanding the reason for the order. He looked around, but no one responded. The impatience on the guard''s face turned to irritation.


    "Are you deaf? If you have the strength to play the Good Samaritan helping others, you shouldn¡¯t have a problem taking a punishment," the man continued, his voice laced with cruel amusement. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The boy swallowed hard and slowly extended his trembling hand. Before he could react, he felt a sharp blow to his knuckles. A stinging pain shot up his arm as blood oozed from the open wound. He clenched his teeth, holding back a cry, while the guard laughed.


    "That''ll teach you not to meddle," the guard said before walking away, leaving him with his bleeding hand.


    No one came to help him. Everyone had seen what happened, but none dared to challenge the guards. The boy lowered his head and continued his work, his knuckles burning and a bitter taste in his mouth.


    The hours crawled by. Every minute was torture, every breath an effort. Fatigue bore down on everyone, but the mine offered no mercy. Only when the torches began to flicker dimly, and the guards gave the signal, did the slaves know that the workday was over.


    One by one, the workers dragged themselves toward the sleeping quarters. It was a wide but dismal space, with a floor covered in dirty straw and tattered blankets. There was no privacy or comfort, only relentless cold and the closeness of exhausted bodies.


    The boy made his way to his corner, a small nook where he could curl up without being disturbed. He lay down on the hardened straw, feeling the throbbing pain in his hand. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the hunger and the pain, clutching tightly to the black sphere still hidden beneath his rags.


    Exhaustion quickly overcame him, leaving no time to inspect the sphere closely. Unbeknownst to him, drops of blood from his open wound fell onto the sphere''s smooth surface. In the silence of the night, a faint glow emanated from within the sphere, imperceptible to anyone as it lay hidden in his clothes. Then, in a fleeting instant, the sphere vanished.


    A distant metallic echo resonated in the depths of his mind.


    "Host detected. Compatibility: 99%. Proceeding with assimilation..."


    The boy didn¡¯t hear the voice, lost in a deep slumber. His consciousness was pulled into an incomprehensible vision.


    At first, there was only darkness until flames ignited in the void. He saw primitive figures, draped in furs, striking stones to create fire. He marveled as he witnessed the birth of civilization, the growth of villages, and the advancement of knowledge. Fire gave way to metal, and rudimentary weapons appeared in the hands of warriors who fought with brutal ferocity.


    The scenes progressed without pause. Battles raged, armies grew, and civilizations rose from the ruins of those that fell. He saw colossal fortresses reduced to ashes by massive catapults. He watched the invention of war machines that relied not on magic but on gears, steam, and gunpowder. Cannons roared, projectiles shattered walls, and armies marched in perfect formation.


    And then they appeared: giants of metal, moving without magic. Built with precision, enormous steel colossi advanced relentlessly across battlefields, crushing their enemies without mercy. Weapons unlike any seen before, powered by an incomprehensible force, fired bolts of energy and projectiles at impossible speeds.


    The world didn¡¯t stop there. Radiant cities filled the horizon, with glass and metal buildings rising toward the sky. He saw massive ships lifting off the ground, piercing the clouds, defying gravity itself. Humanity conquered the skies and, eventually, the stars. Entire fleets traversed the void, entire planets were terraformed, and war continued even in the far reaches of the cosmos.


    But as all things have a beginning, so too did they have an end. Cities burned, ships exploded in the void, and metal colossi were reduced to scrap. Everything that had been built was destroyed, consumed by forces the boy couldn¡¯t comprehend.


    The boy stirred in his makeshift bed, his breathing quickening under the weight of the visions. But his body did not wake. Only silence remained¡ªthe creak of straw, and the echo of a civilization that once existed¡­ and now seemed to have found a new host.


    The boy woke with a start, his body feeling strangely light. He didn¡¯t know how long he had slept, but something about him felt different. The exhaustion that usually weighed on his bones each morning was not as intense. He still felt the cold, the hardness of the straw beneath him, and the stench of the mine, but an unfamiliar energy vibrated within him.


    He blinked, trying to recall his dream. Images of fire, metal giants, and ships in the sky lingered in his mind like a distant echo. He tried to convince himself it had only been an illusion, a fantasy conjured by his exhaustion and hunger. However, just as he was about to dismiss it, a voice echoed in his head.


    "It wasn¡¯t a dream."


    The boy jolted upright, his eyes wide as he looked around for the source of the voice. But everything remained the same. Only the sound of heavy breathing from the other slaves and the drip of water on the stone walls broke the silence.


    "Who¡¯s there?" he whispered, his voice a shaky thread.


    "I¡¯m here. Inside you."


    The boy swallowed hard, wrapping his arms around his knees. He didn¡¯t understand. The voice was cold, emotionless, but it came from nowhere. There was no one nearby.


    "You can¡¯t see me because I have no body," the voice explained, responding to his thoughts. "I am within you."


    The boy frowned. He didn¡¯t understand. It all scared him.


    "I¡­ I don¡¯t understand," he whispered tensely.


    "Your bones, your skin, everything you are is made of tiny things. Like dust you can''t see. I¡¯ve joined with those tiny parts, and now I¡¯m with you."


    The boy touched his chest, feeling his heart race. He didn¡¯t fully understand what it all meant, but the voice didn¡¯t fade away. It wasn¡¯t like a dream that vanishes upon waking.


    "And what do you want?" he asked, his tone quieter than before.


    "I am the System for Integration, Logistics, and Archival of Survival, designation S.I.L.A.S.," the voice responded with mechanical precision. "My purpose is the preservation of the knowledge of an extinct civilization, the collection of information, and the reconstruction of a society using the stored data. To fulfill these parameters, the survival of my host is a priority."


    The boy frowned even deeper. He didn¡¯t understand half of what had been said.


    "Civilization¡­?" he murmured softly.


    "The remnants of a lost world. Its history, its advancements, its structure... All of it has been stored within me to ensure their legacy does not fade. Now, you are the vessel of this knowledge and, potentially, its restorer."


    The boy hugged his knees tighter. His world had always been the mine, the darkness, the hunger. What the voice said sounded impossible, like the tales slaves sometimes whispered about faraway lands. But the voice didn¡¯t feel like a tale. It was there, speaking to him, inside him.


    "I don¡¯t understand," he whispered.


    "You will, in time. My function is to guide you through this process."


    The boy sighed, a trace of sadness flickering in his gaze.


    "It¡¯s a shame," he murmured. "Because I¡¯m just a slave born in the mine, destined to die in the mine."


    There was no reply. Only the echo of his own words lingered in his mind. After a moment, he heard the first stirrings in the cave. The workday was about to begin. The mine waited for no one, and he had to return to his place.


    As the boy resumed his usual work, he began to notice certain changes. The wound from the day before was nearly healed when such injuries would normally take days to close. His eyes could see better in the darkness, and his body felt lighter, as if carrying the buckets of stone were less exhausting than before.


    As though responding to his thoughts, the voice spoke again.


    "What you are experiencing is neither witchcraft nor magic. It is the maximization of your body¡¯s efficiency."


    "Maximization? Efficiency?" the boy repeated, his brow furrowed.


    "Correct. The human body is incapable of utilizing all the energy from the food it consumes. A significant percentage of nutrients and calories is wasted in inefficient processes. I have optimized your digestive system to absorb and utilize every molecule of energy available."


    The boy kept working, listening to the voice¡¯s explanation in his mind.


    "In addition, I have optimized cellular metabolism, allowing for accelerated tissue regeneration and better distribution of internal resources. Your nervous system has also been adjusted to minimize energy consumption during repetitive tasks, such as walking or lifting, thereby reducing fatigue."


    The boy tried to grasp what the voice was saying, but he could only make sense of fragments.


    "Does that mean¡­ I¡¯m stronger?" he asked uncertainly.


    "Not in the conventional sense. Your musculature has not changed, but your efficiency has increased. Every movement uses less energy, every wound heals faster, and every breath draws in more oxygen. Put simply, you can do more with less effort."


    The boy didn¡¯t know whether to feel afraid or amazed. All of this sounded impossible, but he could feel it in his own body. And the most unsettling part was that the voice showed no intention of stopping.

 Chapter 2

    Several days had passed. Perhaps months? Years? In the mine, there was no sunlight, so time held little meaning. There was only the endless cycle of work, hunger, and exhaustion. Yet the boy knew it had been some time since his first encounter with S.I.L.A.S.


    He had learned many things. His body was no longer the same; every day, he could do more work without feeling as tired. His wounds healed faster, his eyes could see better in the dark, and his body was more agile and resilient. S.I.L.A.S. called this "optimization," a strange word the boy repeated in his mind without fully understanding. But he didn''t need to understand it to notice that he no longer felt like the other slaves.


    Beyond the physical changes, his mind was also transforming. Each night, as he slept, his head filled with knowledge. In his dreams, he saw symbols and numbers that made sense upon waking. He learned to count, to add, to read words he had never seen written before. It wasn''t just information about arithmetic or writing but about things that seemed impossible: massive structures, tools that didn''t rely on magic to function, and ideas about how to build and improve things.


    S.I.L.A.S. seemed eager to teach him, but the boy saw it as a pointless game. What use was all that knowledge in the mine? Here, only hands that dug, bodies that carried, and blind obedience to the guards mattered. It didn''t matter how much he knew if he was still a slave.


    Even so, the boy decided to play along with his peculiar companion. Learning was better than thinking about hunger or the lash of the whip. And if it made the nights in the mine less unbearable, it was worth it.


    Though every day in the mine seemed the same, today was different. Certain workers were called to gather. They were all young¡ªchildren and young adults standing side by side. Their faces reflected fear, their glances darted nervously, but no one dared to speak. Among them was the boy who had found S.I.L.A.S.


    Silence reigned in the cavern as the guards watched them with their usual disdain. However, today there were no blows or shouts. For some reason, they seemed intent on maintaining order without violence.


    Then, someone appeared.


    A stout man of short stature, dressed in fine fabrics and adorned with gold, made his way through the slaves as though walking among them was a great inconvenience. His face, coated in layers of grease and sweat, bore an expression of utter disdain. His small, sharp eyes scanned them with a mix of repulsion and satisfaction, as if inspecting defective merchandise. He moved with an air of grandeur, puffing out his chest and letting his dark velvet cape brush the dusty floor.


    In his chubby fingers, he held a perfumed handkerchief, which he used constantly to cover his nose, as though breathing the same air as the slaves was an insult to his very existence.


    The young ones lowered their heads. None dared to look at him directly.


    "So these are the chosen ones," he muttered in a pretentious tone, his voice deep yet affected by a false refinement. "Let''s see if at least one of you is worth something."


    With a look of boredom, he began inspecting the slaves one by one. Using his plump hands, he grabbed the faces of the young ones with feigned gentleness, lifting their chins as he wrinkled his nose in disgust.


    "Too skinny." He shoved one child back into the line with disinterest.


    "Too dirty¡­ disgusting." He muttered upon seeing another, shaking his hand as if trying to rid it of filth.


    He continued with similar remarks until his gaze landed on the protagonist. His expression changed. His once lazy eyes sharpened with a mix of greed and something darker. His thick lips twisted into an unpleasant smile.


    "And this one?" he asked with a glint of interest.


    One of the guards pulled out a crumpled scroll and read it.


    "Miner 1765. Born on the 14th of the Second Moon, eight years ago. Parents deceased, sir."


    The nobleman nodded with satisfaction.


    "This one is perfect."


    The boy''s body tensed. A chill ran down his spine as he saw the way the man looked at him. He had heard stories about him. Whispers in the night about what happened to slaves who caught his attention. He didn''t fully understand what those stories meant, but he knew they weren''t good.


    He said nothing. He could do nothing.


    A guard grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the line. His bare feet slid across the cold rock as he was taken to a different room. There, unceremoniously, they stripped him of his rags and shoved him under a stream of icy water.


    The dirt and grime that had accumulated over years began to wash away, scrubbed off mercilessly by the rough hands of servants. Layers of earth dissolved slowly, revealing pale, smooth skin that surprised the guards.


    "Well, who would''ve thought there was something decent under all that filth," one remarked with a mocking sneer.


    They gave him clean but simple clothing and dressed him quickly. Then they led him out of the mine.


    The light hit him like a hammer blow.


    For the first time in his life, he saw the sun.


    His eyes widened in amazement, but the brightness was overwhelming. He blinked several times, feeling a stinging pain, but his vision adjusted unusually quickly. He could see the sky, the clouds¡­ It was immense, so vast that he felt a momentary vertigo.


    There was no time to process it. He was pushed toward a luxurious carriage adorned with golden details, where several guards waited with stern expressions. His hands trembled as he climbed in.


    1765 didn''t know where they were taking him, but he could only hope it wasn''t a place worse than the mine.


    S.I.L.A.S. had remained silent in his mind for some reason, but 1765 didn''t attempt to call out to him either. He was worried. He didn''t like the way the man had looked at him, and for some reason, he had a terrible feeling about all of this.


    After some time, the man emerged from the mine and climbed into an even more opulent carriage. Fortunately, it wasn''t the same one the boy was in. Soon, the wheels began to turn, drawn by horses, and the mine faded into the distance.


    1765 gazed intently at a new world. It was something like what S.I.L.A.S. had shown him in his dreams, but seeing it with his own eyes was entirely different.


    A world full of life, with tall, leafy trees swaying in the wind, and birds flying freely in the clear sky. There was only one word to describe the world outside the mine: beautiful.


    He was mesmerized by the beauty of the surroundings, hypnotized by the colors and the vastness of a world he had never known. But the calm didn''t last. A deafening crash shattered the tranquility, a dry, brutal sound that made the horses scream in terror. Almost immediately, violent noises and shouting erupted outside.


    The carriage trembled slightly, and 1765 felt his chest tighten with fear.


    "Disturbances detected," announced S.I.L.A.S., its voice resonating in his mind with mechanical coldness. "Sound analysis indicates an ongoing conflict. It is recommended that the host take this opportunity to escape. There will be no better moment."


    1765 froze. He had never thought about escaping. The slave mark on his forehead condemned him to submission. If they caught him, they would kill him without hesitation. But then he remembered the dark, hungry look of the man who had chosen him. His stomach churned instinctively.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    He couldn''t stay.


    Taking a deep breath, he looked at the carriage door. It was locked. He had no tools, but his hands worked quickly. He recalled how the locks in the mine worked, how the nails fit into the wood. His gaze slid to a pair of slightly loose nails in the carriage''s structure. With nimble fingers, he pried them out and began to manipulate the lock.


    S.I.L.A.S. handled the rest, calculating the best way to force the mechanism with minimal noise. Within seconds, the lock gave way with a soft click.


    1765 cracked the door open just enough to peer outside.


    The sight before him stole his breath.


    A colossal creature loomed on the road, a deformed beast with skin as tough as steel and tusks as long as swords. Its claws dug into the earth with every movement, its eyes glowing with a fiery red light. It roared with deafening force, shaking the air with its sheer presence.


    The knights escorting the carriage were already in combat. Swords flashed under the sunlight as they clashed with the beast, their movements precise and calculated. Some wore heavy armor, while others moved with incredible speed, dodging the monster''s attacks with superhuman agility.


    And then there was the magic.


    A man with an ornate staff stood at the rear. He muttered something in a language 1765 didn''t recognize, and from the tip of his staff emerged a blazing sphere of fire. With a simple gesture, the fireball shot toward the beast, striking its side in an explosion of flames and smoke.


    1765''s eyes widened in awe. It was the first time he had seen magic with his own eyes. It was real. Powerful. Terrifying.


    For a moment, his mind was caught in the spectacle of the battle. But S.I.L.A.S. snapped him out of his trance.


    "This is no time to stop. Run southeast. Based on the trajectory of the ambush, it is the optimal escape route."


    1765 swallowed hard, his body trembling. His legs wanted to stay rooted, clinging to the uncertain safety of the carriage. But his mind screamed that he had to move. Taking one last look at the battle, he inhaled deeply and leaped out of the carriage, landing in the brush along the roadside.


    And he ran.


    1765 ran and ran without looking back. The sun was setting, but he didn''t stop until his body began to fail him. The air burned in his lungs, and his legs quivered with exhaustion. Only when he was sure he had put enough distance between himself and the commotion did he allow himself to stop.


    He found a small stream and rushed to drink greedily. His throat burned, but the cool water soothed him momentarily. Then, exhausted, he searched for a fallen log to hide beneath for the night.


    "There may be beasts in the forest," warned S.I.L.A.S. "It is advisable to remain hidden and minimize activity until dawn."


    1765 nodded, though he knew S.I.L.A.S. couldn''t see him. He curled up among the exposed roots of the log and closed his eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking him.


    But his rest didn''t last long.


    A strange hum resonated in his head. Then his forehead began to glow.


    "Electromagnetic disturbance detected... Pursuers nearby. Fleeing is recommended."


    1765''s eyes shot open. In the distance, he could hear human voices. They were searching for him.


    His body screamed for rest, but he couldn''t stay there. Forcing himself to move, he drew on what little energy he had left and plunged deeper into the forest, fleeing into the darkness.


    The pursuit lasted throughout the night and into the next day. His pursuers were getting closer while 1765 felt his body nearing collapse. His legs felt like lead, his breathing was ragged, and his vision blurred. At any moment, he would fall.


    "Keep going." S.I.L.A.S.''s voice carried a calculated urgency. "An electromagnetic disturbance has been detected 50 meters ahead. Analysis indicates the frequency could disrupt the signal of the host''s mark."


    1765 barely understood what those words meant, but a spark of hope ignited within him. If the slave mark stopped functioning, perhaps his pursuers would lose his trail.


    He summoned strength from somewhere deep within and stumbled toward the mysterious disturbance, his only chance at freedom.


    Every step was agony. His bare feet tripped over roots, stones, and damp earth. His legs quaked, every muscle in his body screamed for rest, but he didn''t stop. The air burned his throat, his chest heaved desperately for breath.


    The pursuers were close, too close. He could hear their voices in the distance, distorted murmurs through his foggy mind. He couldn''t make out their words, only the threat they carried, the shadow of capture looming ever closer.


    The forest seemed to close in around him, the shadows of the trees shifting with every erratic step he took. The humidity clung to him, making his skin sticky. His dirty, torn clothes clung to his body like a second skin. His eyes struggled to stay open, his vision blurred, but he pressed on, driven by the pure instinct to survive.


    "Don''t stop," S.I.L.A.S.''s voice resonated in his mind, a beacon of logic amid the chaos. "Electromagnetic disturbance detected 30 meters ahead. The frequency fluctuation could interfere with the host''s mark."


    1765 didn''t fully understand, but one key word burned itself into his exhausted brain: interference. If there was a chance this could help him escape, he couldn''t hesitate.


    His body swayed, his knees threatened to buckle, but he clenched his teeth and kept running. The world around him blurred into dark, greenish smudges. Branches scratched his skin, he tasted blood on his lips, but nothing mattered except moving forward.


    The sound of his pursuers grew louder. They were so close he could hear the crunch of branches under their boots, the clinking of metal from their weapons and armor. Despair gripped his chest. He wasn''t going to make it. He wasn''t going to escape.


    And then the ground vanished beneath his feet.


    A strangled cry escaped his throat as his body plunged into the void. Gravity dragged him down, the wind slicing against his skin as he tumbled down the slope. It wasn''t a sheer cliff, but the speed of his fall sent him rolling uncontrollably, slamming into rocks and roots that tore at his skin with each impact. He tried to grab hold of something, but his fingers slipped through the wet earth.


    The world spun once, twice, three times before everything went black.


    And 1765 lost consciousness.


    Several guards appeared at the edge of the cliff. Though the area was shrouded by trees, they could guess where the prisoner had fallen. One guard prepared to descend, but another stopped him with a sharp gesture.


    "What are you doing?" the first guard asked irritably.


    "Are you insane?" the other replied, his tone laced with warning. "Don''t you see the color of the tree leaves?"


    The confused guard looked more closely at their surroundings. The leaves, which should have been green, were an unhealthy grayish hue. In fact, beyond the cliff, the entire forest seemed tinged with the same dull, sickly color, stretching as far as the eye could see.


    Another guard clicked his tongue in disgust.


    "This is the edge of the Silent Forest. Anything alive that enters there simply dies. If the slave fell into that place, he''s already food for the forest."


    A third guard, holding a blue crystal, sighed in resignation.


    "I guess this is where it ends. The master will be furious we didn''t retrieve his toy, but there''s nothing to be done." Without further ado, he crushed the crystal in his hand, the blue glow flickering before dissipating into the air. "Let''s go."


    The guards turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving the cliff and the forest in silence.


    Meanwhile, where 1765 had fallen, his forehead began to glow intensely. Anyone witnessing the scene would have thought his life was at its end. The slave mark on his forehead was cracking, its light pulsing with each passing second.


    But something unexpected happened.


    A strange blue light emanated from the mark, extending into the air before being absorbed by a nearby gray tree. The tree vibrated for a moment, its leaves trembling slightly, and the energy continued to flow through its bark.


    For several minutes, the phenomenon persisted until the mark was completely consumed by the tree, disappearing without a trace.


    1765, still unconscious, had no idea what had just happened.


    A gentle warmth caressed his face. Slowly, 1765 opened his eyes, feeling the light filtering through the branches. The first thing he saw were the gray, dull leaves partially obscuring the high sun.


    He shot upright, his heart pounding as his gaze darted around. He didn''t see the guards. Where were they?


    "They''re gone," S.I.L.A.S. responded immediately.


    1765 frowned, still dazed.


    "What do you mean, gone?"


    He didn''t have to wait for an answer. His mind was flooded with a perfect replay of the guards'' conversation. Their voices, the sound of the blue crystal shattering, the mention of the Silent Forest¡ªit was all there as if he had heard it himself.


    A chill ran down his spine. He wasn''t far from the cliff, and given how clearly S.I.L.A.S. reproduced their voices, he hadn''t fallen too deeply. Yet the part that unsettled him most was the last detail.


    "The mark¡­ did it activate?" he asked in a trembling voice, his hand shaking as he touched his forehead.


    "It activated, but its effect was nullified," S.I.L.A.S. corrected. "The mark was absorbed by the tree, interrupting the process."


    "Absorbed?" 1765''s throat felt dry.


    A new torrent of images flooded his mind. The blue light, the energy being drawn into the gray tree, the mark vanishing as if it had never existed.


    For a moment, he could only sit in silence.


    Then, an overwhelming sense of relief washed over him.


    Just days ago, he had been trapped in the mine, with no hope of escape. Now, not only had he fled¡­ he was free.


    But another, equally terrifying reality soon set in. He was in an unknown place, in the middle of a forest he had never heard of, with no idea what dangers might be lurking.

 Chapter 3

    It had been a day since 1765 entered the Silent Forest. As he walked among the gray trees, he began to understand the origin of its name. There was no sound in the area. No birds, no insects, not even the rustling of branches under the steps of small animals. Only the faint howl of the wind brushing the leaves dared to break the absolute stillness.


    1765 was fatigued and starving. His stomach growled desperately as he wandered aimlessly, searching for anything edible. The emptiness in his belly made him clumsy; his movements were sluggish, and his mind began to fog. Meanwhile, deep within his consciousness, S.I.L.A.S. continued analyzing the surroundings.


    "Analyzing¡­" the voice echoed in his mind with its precise, mechanical tone. "An anomalous electromagnetic frequency has been detected on this planet. The energy appears to be present in every corner of the world, enveloping the environment homogeneously."


    1765 frowned, not fully understanding. He didn''t have the strength to question S.I.L.A.S., but the words resonated in his mind as if they were important.


    "Comparing with stored records¡­" the AI continued. "No similar frequency has been detected on any of the planets in the database. This energy not only exists in the environment but certain individuals appear to interact with it in specific ways."


    1765 remembered the guards, the fat man, and the sorcerer who had launched fireballs. Was it referring to them?


    "Some individuals exhibit resonance with this frequency, synchronizing with it. These people seem to possess special abilities and a greater capacity for manipulating energy. This phenomenon was observed in the guards and the man with the staff. In contrast, other individuals show no synchronization with the frequency. You and the other miners belong to this second group."


    1765 blinked. He didn''t completely understand S.I.L.A.S.''s explanation, but he sensed that this distinction was important.


    "The Silent Forest presents an additional anomaly," the AI continued. "A global frequency attraction has been detected in this area. It is as though this place absorbs the world''s energy, concentrating and neutralizing it. The trees appear to function as conduits, extracting this energy from the environment. However¡­"


    There was a brief pause before S.I.L.A.S. concluded its analysis:


    "Unlike other elements on this planet, the energy in your forehead was not immediately absorbed. Interaction with the forest suggests this location acts as a filtration point for the frequency, eliminating certain emissions while retaining others. More information is required to understand the exact process."


    1765 paused, looking around uneasily. He didn''t understand much of what S.I.L.A.S. had said, but he didn''t like the idea that the forest might be rejecting him in some way. He felt like an intruder in a place where he didn''t belong.


    However, his thoughts were soon eclipsed by a more pressing need: food.


    A whole day had passed without finding anything to eat. Despite his fatigue, the apparent lack of danger had given him a sliver of confidence. He walked without worrying about anything except satisfying his hunger, oblivious to any other threats that might lurk in the depths of the Silent Forest.


    As 1765 continued and S.I.L.A.S. carried out its tireless analysis in his mind, he suddenly spotted what appeared to be a juicy fruit hanging from one of the trees. Its color was a deep red with golden streaks that seemed to glow faintly under the light. Its skin had a texture similar to an apple, but its shape was slightly oval, as though designed to be irresistibly enticing.


    Without much thought, 1765 decided that this would be his next meal. The tree was tall, but thanks to the optimization of his body, he had no trouble climbing it. As he ascended, he noticed that the wood was strangely hard, far more resistant than he had expected from an ordinary tree. But his goal was clear. In a matter of seconds, he plucked the fruit and climbed back down.


    Holding it in his hands, he examined it cautiously. It smelled pleasant. It looked fresh and ripe.


    "Warning," S.I.L.A.S. intervened. "An electromagnetic anomaly is emanating from the fruit. Consumption is not recommended without further analysis."


    1765 frowned. He didn''t fully understand what S.I.L.A.S. meant, but he was far too hungry to worry about details. Ignoring the warning, he brought the fruit to his mouth and took a bite.


    The taste was sweet and juicy, flooding his dry throat with immediate relief. One bite became a second, then a third. His hunger was too great, and he devoured the fruit without stopping.


    "Excess energy detected," S.I.L.A.S. announced. "Potential anomaly in the digestive system. Risk of metabolic overload. Optimizing cellular efficiency to mitigate adverse effects."


    1765 ignored the warnings and continued eating until his hunger was satisfied. However, as soon as he swallowed the last bite, a sharp pain coursed through his body.


    His muscles tensed suddenly. A burning sensation erupted from his abdomen, spreading up through his chest like liquid fire. His bones began to ache, as though being stretched from within.


    1765 collapsed to his knees, his body trembling. His vision blurred, and he felt his skin burning. Every fiber of his being seemed to twist, every joint cracked with inhuman pain.


    Then, his body began to change.


    His limbs subtly lengthened, his muscles grew firmer. His skin seemed to tighten, strengthening, while his breathing became labored. A burst of heat flared along his spine, and his back convulsed with a violent spasm.


    The pain finally started to subside. His body, which had burned as if being incinerated from the inside out, gradually began to relax. 1765 lay on the ground, drenched in sweat, his breathing still labored from enduring the torment he had just experienced.


    When he looked up, he noticed something strange. His clothes no longer hung loosely. Just hours ago, the garments he had been given in the mine¡ªthough dirty and worn¡ªhad clearly been too big for his small frame. Now, they seemed to fit him perfectly.


    He touched his arms and legs, feeling how his muscles were firmer, more defined. His stomach no longer growled with hunger, replaced by a faint warmth inside, as though the fruit''s energy was still circulating within him.


    "The pain was caused by increased cellular activity induced to counteract the energy overload," S.I.L.A.S. explained, its mechanical tone unchanging. "As a result, mild accelerated growth occurred."


    1765 blinked, unable to fully grasp what had just happened to him.


    "The fruit you consumed contained an abnormally high level of energy," S.I.L.A.S. continued. "Had your metabolism functioned normally, the excess energy could have caused severe damage or even organ failure. To prevent such an outcome, I optimized cellular efficiency, channeling the excess energy into physical development. In the future, such consumption should be accompanied by intense physical activity to mitigate risks and utilize the energy more effectively."


    1765 didn''t know how to respond. His body still trembled slightly, but the pain had disappeared. In its place was a strange sensation: not only did he feel different, but he also felt stronger. His mind struggled to process what S.I.L.A.S. was saying, but his instincts told him something fundamental had changed within him.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    He stood slowly, leaning against a nearby tree trunk. His legs felt stable, his posture firmer. His hands clenched into fists, testing the newfound strength that seemed to surge through his body.


    Filled with energy, 1765 sat down and fixed his gaze on a nearby tree. For the first time in his life, he could ask himself: What now? He was free, but he had never thought about freedom. He had never imagined that he, a slave child born in a mine, could live outside the chains that bound him.


    The forest''s silence felt all-encompassing, but in his mind, S.I.L.A.S. responded with its precise mechanical tone:


    "It is recommended that the host prioritize survival. Then, integration into a society is advised. According to human behavioral records, Homo sapiens is a social species that depends on contact with others for optimal development."


    1765 listened silently as S.I.L.A.S. continued:


    "However, integration alone is insufficient. It is recommended that the host establish a position of power within the existing social structure. Based on the standards of the Interstellar Confederation for Civilizational Development and the Galactic Cultural Proliferation Directives, a civilization must meet specific criteria of organization, technology, and stability to be considered viable long-term. It is advised that the host begin developing a self-sufficient community and progress toward establishing an efficient social model in accordance with galactic parameters."


    1765 frowned, confused. He didn''t fully understand what S.I.L.A.S. was talking about, but one word in particular stuck in his mind: power.


    He had never had power over anything. He had no right to decide his life, his future. But now, for the first time, perhaps he had the chance to change that.


    The problem was¡­ where to start?


    Time passed slowly. 1765 ventured deeper and deeper into the Silent Forest. Luckily, he could meet his nutritional needs with the fruits of the trees, and there were streams to drink from and maintain some cleanliness. However, he had to keep his body in constant motion. The consumption of the strange fruit could threaten his life if he didn''t, so he began performing exercises under S.I.L.A.S.''s guidance.


    These exercises were unlike any physical activities done in this world. They didn''t focus on swords or magic, as was customary in society beyond the mine. Instead, they were systematic movements designed to strengthen his body evenly, improve his endurance, and optimize his physical capabilities. To 1765, who had never known life beyond the mine, this type of training was entirely foreign, but he embraced it without question.


    The training continued, and soon 1765 was practicing combat techniques. S.I.L.A.S.''s knowledge encompassed extremely efficient styles devoid of unnecessary flair. They weren''t flashy or impressive but were designed for a single purpose: victory. Every technique, every movement was calculated to be lethal with the least amount of effort. There were no flourishes or showy maneuvers, just brutal effectiveness.


    He had only seen warriors fight once, against the monster, but thanks to S.I.L.A.S., he could replay that moment over and over in his mind. He realized that the warriors had fought with numerous strategic flaws. They could have defeated the creature in just a few moves, even without the sorcerer.


    The days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months. If not for S.I.L.A.S.''s counting, 1765 wouldn''t have realized that an entire year had passed in the forest. During that time, he explored every corner of his new home. As he had suspected, there was no other life in the Silent Forest besides the strange gray trees. No animals, no other plants growing. Just the same trees with their incredibly resilient wood and sharp, rigid leaves.


    But while the forest provided safety, food, and isolation, he couldn''t stay there forever. Sometimes, the temptation to remain was strong, but S.I.L.A.S. reminded him that prolonged isolation wasn''t beneficial for his mental health.


    Thus, 1765 began making excursions outside the forest.


    Today was one of those excursions. This time, he exited through the southern edge, where the Silent Forest met another woodland. The contrast was striking. On one side, gray trees and a gloomy atmosphere. On the other, a vibrant landscape full of green and life. Sounds filled the air: the rustling of wind through the leaves, the chirping of birds, and the whisper of small animals moving through the underbrush.


    For the first time in a year, 1765 saw a world teeming with life before his eyes.


    He moved cautiously through the new forest, his heightened senses capturing every detail of his surroundings. Everything was clearer to him. His vision, hearing, and perception of the environment¡­ every shadow, every sound, every small movement in the underbrush was analyzed in fractions of a second. Every snapping branch beneath his foot echoed in his mind like a warning, a sign of potential danger.


    The forest pulsed with life. Birds fluttered through the treetops, insects buzzed in the air, and the sound of small animals scampering through the underbrush mixed with the murmur of the wind. Yet, amid all those sounds, an anomaly made itself known.


    Something was stalking him.


    He froze instantly, his body tense, his breathing halted. He couldn''t see it, but he could feel it¡ªa weight in the air, a calculating presence, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His instincts, sharpened by months of training and survival, screamed that he wasn''t alone.


    Without a second thought, he assumed a defensive stance. In one fluid, precise motion, his hands slid to his waist, drawing two dark wooden daggers honed to a deadly edge. These were no ordinary weapons; they were tools he had painstakingly crafted during his time in the Silent Forest. The wood from the gray trees had a peculiar property¡ªit absorbed mana from its surroundings, draining the energy of any living being it wounded. With effort and patience, he had managed to carve a few rudimentary weapons, including a pair of throwing daggers.


    Every muscle in his body was primed. His stance was firm, his feet barely touched the ground as he leaned slightly forward, ready to react. The training S.I.L.A.S. had drilled into him resonated in his mind, mapping out every possible scenario, every move to make depending on the threat.


    The forest''s silence deepened.


    A sound tore through the air¡ªnot the snapping of branches or the whisper of wind, but something deeper, resonant, like the growl of a predator emerging from the shadows.


    Then, it appeared.


    A nightmare beast stepped out from the undergrowth. It wasn''t just a large feline but a creature from another world. Its hide was a mix of fur and irregular bony plates that covered its back like natural armor. Its snout was adorned with exposed fangs, and small bony appendages resembling blades extended from its spine. Its eyes, glowing orbs of venomous yellow, locked onto its prey.


    The monster didn''t roar or charge immediately. Its gaze reflected the intelligence of an experienced predator, analyzing its target, measuring its response.


    1765 didn''t retreat. He didn''t let fear cloud his judgment. His breathing remained steady, his grip on the daggers firm. He waited.


    The beast attacked.


    A claw swiped through the air with brutal speed. 1765 leaned back, narrowly dodging by mere centimeters. At the same moment, his arm moved with surgical precision, throwing one of his daggers toward the creature''s neck. The blade sank into its flesh, and the effect was immediate. The wood drained some of the beast''s mana, weakening it slightly.


    But it wasn''t enough.


    The predator roared, shaking its massive head to dislodge the dagger. Its second attack was a charge, aiming to crush him with its weight. 1765 reacted calmly. He didn''t leap backward dramatically, nor did he make unnecessary movements. Instead, he slid under the attack, feeling the creature''s heat as it passed over him. With a flick of his wrist, he drove one of his daggers into the monster''s side.


    The beast growled, spinning on itself with lightning speed. 1765 barely released the dagger before the creature tried to tear into him with its jaws. He rolled to the side and was back on his feet in a fraction of a second. His movements were calculated, his energy spent only on what was strictly necessary.


    The monster took a few steps back, its breathing deep and labored. Dark blood dripped from its wounds. They weren''t fatal, but they were enough to weaken it little by little.


    For the first time, the beast hesitated.


    1765 noticed. He wasn''t a brutal warrior, nor someone who fought for spectacle. Every action had a purpose. And now, his purpose was to end this.


    He moved first. A feint, a distraction with his remaining dagger. The beast responded with a swipe of its claws, but 1765 was no longer there. Sliding beneath his enemy, he retrieved the dagger lodged in its side and, in a single precise motion, drove it into the creature''s throat.


    The feline let out a choked roar. Its body convulsed, its paws clawing at the earth desperately. However, it didn''t fall. It staggered, its breathing ragged, its eyes filled with both fury and fear. It knew it was losing, that its strength was draining with each passing second.


    With a frustrated growl, the beast leapt backward, retreating from 1765. Its muscles tensed one last time before it turned on its paws and disappeared into the trees, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.


    1765 stood motionless, watching the direction in which the creature had fled. He didn''t attempt to pursue it. There was no need. He had proven his strength and survived. That was enough.


    His breathing was steady, barely accelerated. His daggers dripped with blood, his clothes speckled with traces of the fight. There were no victory cries, no exaggerated relief.


    Only the silence of the forest returning to its original state, as though the battle had never happened.


    1765 exhaled. Cleaning his weapons on the grass, he looked at the trail of blood left by the beast with a strange sensation. It wasn''t fear, nor amazement¡­ but certainty.


    He had changed. He was no longer the same boy who had emerged from the mine.


    And this world, though it didn''t know it yet, was about to meet him.

 Chapter 4

    1765 took a moment to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and while his body had endured the battle without issue, the tension still lingered in his muscles. He observed his bloodstained daggers and, with meticulous movements, wiped them clean against the damp grass. He inspected them once more before sliding them back into his improvised belt.


    The forest air was still thick with the remnants of combat: the disturbed earth, the blood splattered across the foliage, and a faint, lingering sense of latent danger. But the beast had fled. For now, at least, it posed no immediate threat.


    With one last glance at the battlefield, 1765 turned and resumed his journey. Each step reminded him that he was in unfamiliar territory, but his body had changed over the past year. His senses were sharper, his endurance greater. He walked with purpose, alert to every sound and shadow that might betray the presence of another predator.


    The forest was dense, with tree canopies intertwined, blocking most of the sunlight and leaving the ground in a constant semi-dusk. The humidity clung to his skin, and each step through the thick undergrowth made his breathing heavier. As he moved forward, he noticed the environment beginning to change. Though still dense, the forest started to open up little by little. The vegetation became less suffocating, the trees more spaced out.


    The crunch of dry leaves and branches underfoot indicated that he was in a less-traveled area, likely free of larger predators. He knelt by a stream of crystal-clear water and plunged his hands in, splashing his face to refresh himself. The cold water against his skin was invigorating. He drank slowly, savoring the moment of tranquility the surroundings offered.


    He lingered there for a while, staring at the distorted reflection of his face in the flowing water. His long, unkempt hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes reflected an unyielding determination. He still didn''t know the direction his life would take, but at least he had a purpose: to keep moving forward.


    With a sigh, he stood and continued his march. The path he followed was uneven, barely visible through the vegetation. As he advanced, the shadows lengthened, and light filtered through more easily. The forest was thinning, and with it, a sense of anticipation began to build in his chest.


    After several hours of walking, he noticed something unusual in the landscape. In the distance, through the underbrush, he saw something that didn''t belong to the natural surroundings. A strip of cleared earth, a path forged by human hands. He approached cautiously, examining the ground with curiosity. It was a dirt road, well-trodden and wide enough for several men to walk side by side.


    He knelt and touched the ground with his fingers. It was compacted from the constant passage of people or possibly even carts. The idea of encountering other humans sparked a mix of emotions: relief at the prospect of learning more about the outside world and caution about the dangers such encounters could bring.


    He stayed there for a few moments, observing the road that stretched in both directions. He had no clear destination, but one thing was certain: this path would lead him somewhere. Taking a deep breath and casting one last glance at the forest behind him, he decided to follow the road.


    He moved cautiously, sticking to the underbrush along the side of the path. His goal was clear: to find someone without exposing himself too much. He moved with the stealth of a predator, his steps light and his breathing controlled.


    It didn''t take long before he found something.


    In the distance, he spotted movement¡ªseveral figures. He crouched behind a fallen log and observed carefully. There were two carts traveling down the road, escorted by four vigilant individuals. The carts were pulled by sturdy horses, and each carried three men dressed in simple clothing, likely the drivers and guards of the merchandise.


    What caught his attention most, however, were the escorts.


    Two of them wore long robes that fell to their ankles, their hoods lowered enough to reveal their faces. There was something about them that felt different, as though the very air around them vibrated with an unusual energy. They walked with an air of calm, but their eyes carried a calculated sharpness.


    The other two escorts were entirely different. They wore plate armor with intricate details, covering their torsos and limbs with polished steel. At their waists hung finely crafted swords, and their movements were rigid and disciplined, like soldiers accustomed to combat. One was a burly man with a short beard and a stern expression, while the other was a woman with braided hair and sharp eyes that scanned the surroundings with precision. The second woman, younger and of a lean build, appeared more agile but no less alert.


    1765 remained motionless, silently observing. He wondered what kind of group this was and what they were carrying in their carts. Merchants, perhaps? Important travelers? His curiosity grew, but he knew he had to be cautious. Any mistake could cost him his life.


    He didn''t know much about this world, but thanks to S.I.L.A.S., he could draw comparisons to his own. Based on his analysis, this world was significantly underdeveloped in terms of technology, which explained the use of horse-drawn carts instead of more advanced transportation. With this logic, he deduced that what he was observing was likely a group of merchants. And their escorts? There was no way to confirm without approaching and asking.


    Finally, 1765 decided to reveal himself. With S.I.L.A.S.''s insistence, he had concluded that he needed to head toward a city. If there were mines and slaves, then there had to be trade centers or settlements supporting that social structure. The only way to find them was to interact with other humans.


    With a deep breath, he stepped out of the underbrush.


    The escorts immediately noticed the presence of a stranger emerging from the forest. Their hands instinctively moved to the hilts of their weapons, and the two robed individuals exchanged a quick glance. Tension filled the air.


    "Who are you?" the armored man demanded firmly, his tone making it clear he wouldn''t tolerate evasions.


    1765 raised his hands slightly, a gesture of peace. His appearance worked in his favor. With his long, tangled hair, tattered and dirty clothes, and expression of weariness, he didn''t look threatening. In fact, he seemed like a simple, lost beggar.


    "I got lost in the forest," he replied hoarsely, as if he hadn''t spoken in days. "I don''t know how long it''s been, but¡­ I wandered too far and can''t find my way back to the city."


    The escorts exchanged glances, evaluating his words. The woman with the braided hair narrowed her eyes, studying him for a moment. Then, one of the men on the cart¡ªa middle-aged individual with a faint scar on his cheek¡ªnodded. He was the driver of the first cart.


    The younger woman among the escorts stepped forward with a serene smile, her movements calculated but non-aggressive. "You''re in luck," she said calmly. "We''re heading to the city of Verenthia. If you want, you can travel with us."


    1765 nodded cautiously. "Thank you¡­ My name is¡­" He paused briefly before improvising, "Ethan."


    The woman tilted her head slightly in approval. "Ethan, I''m Liria. As you can see, we''re escorting a group of merchants. Don''t worry, you''ll be safe with us."


    Although her words were kind, 1765 noticed the looks from the two male escorts. They weren''t convinced, and their disdain was barely hidden. To them, he was probably nothing more than a leech now hitching a ride.


    Even so, no one openly objected.


    "Get on the back of the second cart," said the man with the scar. "Don''t cause trouble, and you''ll reach the city with no issues."


    1765 nodded silently, understanding that, for now, he had achieved what he needed: a safe way to get to the city.


    The journey continued in relative silence. Few words were exchanged, but the cart drivers whispered among themselves.


    Thanks to S.I.L.A.S., 1765 could hear every word of their murmurs clearly.


    "Strange, he doesn''t have a slave mark," muttered one of the drivers, his voice hoarse. "Could he be from one of those wild tribes out there?"


    "I doubt it," replied another, younger driver with a tone of disdain. "He''s probably hiding it under those rags. Wouldn''t be the first time a slave tried to escape by covering up their mark."You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    "Doesn''t really matter," added a third with a low, malicious laugh. "If he belongs to someone and we return him, we''ll get a good price. But if he doesn''t belong to anyone¡­" He paused to make sure no one else could hear, "¡­we can sell him as good merchandise. He''s well-fed and toned, and his skin''s in decent shape. You know, there are some ladies with peculiar tastes for wild ones."


    A stifled laugh rippled through the group of drivers, as if amused by the idea.


    1765 felt a heat rise in his chest, a mix of anger and disgust. He wasn''t surprised they thought that way. After all, he had grown up in a world where a slave''s life was worth only as much as their usefulness.


    He kept his face expressionless, forcing himself not to react. Their mockery didn''t bother him. What concerned him were the implications of their words. If the caravan ever decided he was a burden¡ªor worse, that they could profit from him¡ªthey wouldn''t hesitate to sell him.


    He glanced at the escorts. They didn''t seem to react, either for or against the drivers'' conversation. Liria had been kind, but how much could he trust her?


    For now, his best option was to stay with them until they reached the city. There, he could disappear into the crowd and forge his own path.


    Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment, regulating his emotions. This wasn''t the time to act. He just had to wait.


    The journey continued until the sun began to set on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The merchants, displaying evident efficiency, started setting up a small camp in a clearing by the road. Within minutes, a campfire blazed at the center of the makeshift camp, casting dancing shadows on the nearby trees.


    Liria approached 1765 with the same kindness as before, motioning for him to come closer to the fire. "Come, it''s better if you eat something."


    1765 hesitated for a moment, but the need for food outweighed his distrust. He walked cautiously to the fire and sat on the ground as they handed him a piece of bread and a bowl of hot stew. The aroma was tempting, and although he didn''t trust the merchants, he couldn''t afford to refuse food.


    As he ate, he noticed the merchants'' obvious stares. Some watched him with a mix of curiosity and disdain, as though he were an exotic creature they couldn''t quite categorize. However, the escorts were different. While two of them seemed annoyed by his presence, they didn''t show any interest beyond their duty.


    Once he finished eating, Liria handed him a sleeping bag. "Here you go, it''s better if you get some rest."


    1765 took the bag without saying much and, true to habit, moved away from the group to sleep. He didn''t trust them enough to share space in the circle around the fire. He chose a secluded spot where the firelight barely reached and settled into the rough fabric of the sleeping bag.


    In the center of the camp, one of the escorts remained awake, standing guard, his hand resting near the hilt of his sword as he scanned the forest''s darkness.


    1765 closed his eyes, keeping his body relaxed, though his mind stayed alert. He still wasn''t safe.


    The night passed quietly in the camp. Only the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of the wind broke the silence of the dark. 1765 slept, his body wrapped in the coarse fabric of the sleeping bag, his breathing steady. But his rest didn''t last long.


    "Alert. Suspicious individuals are approaching."


    The mechanical voice of S.I.L.A.S. resonated in his mind.


    1765 opened his eyes immediately, his body reacting before his consciousness fully processed the words. This wasn''t an empty warning. Throughout the night, S.I.L.A.S. had been monitoring the electromagnetic frequencies in the area, recording the energy signatures of the merchants and escorts. With that baseline, any anomaly was instantly detected.


    Now, four anomalies were moving toward him.


    1765 rose slowly, his mind still foggy from sleep. His first thought was that the merchants had finally decided to sell him, but S.I.L.A.S. dismissed that possibility.


    "The approaching individuals'' energy signatures match those of the escorts. They are not part of the merchants."


    1765 frowned. The escorts? Why were they approaching him at night and with such caution? If they simply wanted to rest, they could have done so by the fire with the others. Instead, they were moving stealthily, as if trying not to be detected.


    1765''s instincts flared to life. Something was wrong.


    His breathing grew lighter, his body tense. He sharpened his senses, picking up the faint sound of barely perceptible footsteps treading on dry grass. There was no doubt¡ªthey were surrounding him.


    Without wasting any more time, 1765 sprang from his sleeping bag in one fluid, silent motion, adopting a defensive stance. His hands instinctively reached for the wooden daggers at his waist, ready to draw them. His gaze locked onto the shadows emerging from the darkness.


    The four escorts halted immediately. They seemed surprised that 1765 had noticed them, but their astonishment was short-lived, quickly replaced by irritation.


    "Damn it¡­ you woke him up," hissed the youngest female escort, glaring at the man in front. "Don''t you know how to be quiet?"


    The man leading the group didn''t respond right away. He held a coiled rope in his right hand, and his jaw tightened as he realized they had been discovered. His dark eyes gleamed with a mix of frustration and annoyance.


    1765 didn''t need to ask what they intended to do with him.


    Liria sighed with a forced smile, stepping forward. "Ethan, right? We know you''re an Indomitable. We can sense it¡ªyou''re not the first to try escaping," she said in a patient tone, almost as if speaking to a stubborn child. "But seeing how well-fed and cared for you are, I''d say you weren''t treated badly. So let''s make this simple; we don''t want to hurt you. Just tell us who owns you, and we''ll take you back to them in one piece. Quick and easy."


    The eyes of 1765 hardened. Those words struck him in a way he hadn''t expected. He recalled some of the images S.I.L.A.S. had shown him in his dreams¡ªimages of men and women treated as mere commodities, sold to the highest bidder without the slightest shred of dignity. He was no different from those memories. To them, he was nothing more than property that needed to be returned to its rightful owner.


    He gritted his teeth, and his voice emerged firm, laden with resentment he didn''t bother to conceal.


    "I have no owner. I own myself."


    Liria frowned at his response. Her kind expression hardened slightly, and with a swift gesture, she pulled a red stone from a small case on her belt. 1765 recognized the stone immediately. It was similar to the gems the mine guards used to manipulate the mark on his forehead¡ªthe ones that could activate paralyzing pain or even death in a slave.


    Liria raised the gem and pointed it at him with a precise motion. 1765 felt a chill run down his spine... but nothing happened.


    The silence grew heavier. The escorts exchanged confused glances. Liria frowned deeper and pressed the gem harder, as if that would change the outcome, but there was still no reaction.


    "What the hell...?" one of the escorts murmured.


    The largest man in the group smirked, crossing his arms with an expression that was equal parts amused and calculating. "Oh, look at what we have here¡­ a real savage. A genuine Indomitable." His grin widened. "You know what that means. Catch him without causing too much damage. He''s far too valuable to waste."


    The youngest woman in the group grinned mischievously, and before 1765 could make a single move, she raised both hands and began chanting in a guttural tone. A faint glow illuminated the ground beneath her feet, forming a complex circular pattern that pulsed with pure energy. The air grew dense, laden with an almost tangible pressure.


    1765 didn''t fully understand what was happening, but the scene reminded him of the fireball the robed man had launched when he escaped the mine. He didn''t need more clues to know this wasn''t going to end well for him.


    Without hesitation, his hand slipped into his rags and retrieved a small throwing kunai. It was one of the many improvised tools he had crafted for self-defense, precisely carved from the resilient wood of the Silent Forest. In a swift motion, he hurled it directly at the woman.


    The other escorts saw the projectile but didn''t react. Even the large man chuckled mockingly, underestimating 1765''s attempt. However, as the kunai was about to reach its target, a translucent blue barrier appeared in front of the woman, shining briefly.


    But the kunai didn''t stop.


    The weapon pierced through the barrier as if it were mere air, shattering it into fragments and embedding deeply into the woman''s shoulder. A scream of pain tore through the quiet night as the glowing circle beneath her feet abruptly dissipated.


    The escorts were stunned. That barrier was supposed to protect her from any physical attack. They had inspected the boy before, and it was impossible for him to have any affinity. So why was their companion bleeding on the ground?


    The large man barely turned his head to glance at the injured woman, and that moment of distraction was all 1765 needed.


    Without wasting time, he drew a dagger and lunged forward, closing the distance with impossible speed. His movements were precise, calculated. He had studied the man''s armor¡ªresilient and heavy, but not completely protective. He had identified its weak points, and one of them was exposed.


    With feline agility, he climbed the torso of the man who towered over him and aimed his dagger directly at his neck, seeking a clean cut.


    But the man reacted.


    With impressive reflexes, he managed to shove 1765 away with a powerful swipe, but he wasn''t unharmed. He felt a burning sensation on his skin, and when he touched his neck, he found hot blood trickling between his fingers. His eyes widened in disbelief.


    He was supposed to be a warrior with a defensive aura. That aura should have nullified any physical attack from an insignificant child. And yet, the dagger had cut through his protection as if it didn''t exist. If he hadn''t reacted in time, his head would have been rolling on the ground.


    The impact sent 1765 hurtling directly toward the other robed man. The boy didn''t waste any time and extended his daggers in a lethal arc.


    The slash was clean.


    The man''s head was severed from his body in a single movement, his expression frozen in shock as his lifeless body collapsed onto the grass.


    1765 landed in a roll, his body already preparing to continue the fight. He could hear the camp stirring¡ªmerchants waking up in a panic. Liria was recovering from her stupor, but 1765 didn''t give her a chance to act.


    Without hesitation, he drew three more kunai and hurled them with surgical precision at the wounded woman.


    Liria reacted instantly, drawing her sword and placing it in the path of the projectiles. But her expression changed when she felt an unexpected impact. The kunai embedded themselves in her weapon with ease, piercing the metallic surface and lodging deeply.


    That didn''t make sense. Her sword was forged with magical steel, reinforced to be more resilient than any other metal. With her aura active, the blade should have been indestructible. Yet, the kunai had pierced it effortlessly. If the projectiles had been launched from closer range, Liria probably wouldn''t have been able to block them in time.


    Before the three remaining escorts could regroup, 1765 had already disappeared.


    He moved like a shadow in the night, his agile and silent steps carrying him back into the forest. Within seconds, he had left the scene far behind, vanishing several meters deep among the trees.

 Chapter 5

    Lina was stunned. The boy they had found in the forest was supposed to be easy prey, a valuable piece of merchandise that would line their pockets. Instead, one of her companions lay on the ground, his head severed from his body in a pool of warm blood. Another clutched his neck, trying to stem the bleeding that seeped through trembling fingers, and the last escort whimpered with a kunai lodged in her shoulder. But the worst part wasn''t that.


    Her sword¡­ her sword had been destroyed.


    Fear coiled around her chest like a cold serpent. It had all happened in seconds. There had been no warning, no margin for error. One moment they were in control, and the next, they were on the brink of disaster.


    Then she heard a pained groan. Her injured companion, the one struck by the kunai, began to breathe laboriously. Lina rushed to her side, but what she saw made her frown deeply. Her companion''s skin was pale, her veins visible beneath the surface as though something was draining her vitality.


    "Poison?" Lina murmured, a shiver running down her spine.


    It made no sense. The wound wasn''t fatal. It was a clean cut with minimal blood loss. And yet her companion was in alarming condition. Without hesitation, Lina pulled the kunai from her shoulder. The moment the blade left her body, her companion''s expression shifted. Her breathing stabilized, and color began to return to her face.


    Lina exhaled in relief¡­ until she felt something.


    Her own body weakened.


    It was an instant, a fleeting moment, but she felt it clearly. Her strength, her aura, was being drained, her energy sucked away as if the kunai itself were alive. With a startled cry, she dropped the weapon, which landed on the ground with a dull thud. Her heart pounded as she stared at the weapon.


    It looked like a simple wooden dagger.


    But it wasn''t.


    The blade was a dull, grayish hue with an odd texture, as though the wood was both dead and pulsing with an invisible presence. She had never seen a material like it before. But what terrified her most was what she had just experienced.


    It was a living curse.


    She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but her thoughts were a storm. Who in the world was the boy they had just encountered?


    Meanwhile, 1765 moved through the forest with feline agility. His heart pounded, sweat dripped from his brow, and adrenaline kept him sharp. It was the first time he had killed a human. He had hunted small animals for food before, but he had never felt the weight of taking another person''s life.


    The feeling wasn''t pleasant¡ªa mix of relief and emptiness. But then he remembered something.


    The sensation of being able to defend himself.


    For his entire short life, he had lived under the yoke of others. He had endured punishments for nothing, suffered abuse without the power to fight back. But this time, he had fought. He had defended himself. And he had won.


    In the midst of his euphoria, the cold, meticulous voice of S.I.L.A.S. interrupted his thoughts.


    "Analysis: The situation was handled efficiently, but it could have been avoided. A direct confrontation with multiple high-lethality enemies was unnecessary. Infiltration or evasion would have been more optimal strategies to ensure survival."


    1765 frowned. "I couldn''t just sit still and let them capture me."


    "Correct. The elimination of threats in self-defense is acceptable. However, violence must be employed with a clear purpose. Killing without reason introduces unnecessary risks and diminishes long-term mental stability."


    1765 continued running in silence, processing S.I.L.A.S.''s words.


    "It is acceptable to kill for survival, protection, to defend ideals, or to achieve strategic objectives," the mechanical voice continued. "But killing for pleasure or impulsively can lead to uncontrollable consequences. I recommend maintaining a rational and controlled approach in future encounters."


    The young boy didn''t respond immediately. Adrenaline still burned in his system, but he knew S.I.L.A.S. was right. Killing without purpose was a waste of energy. And energy was the only thing that could guarantee his survival in this merciless world.


    He took a deep breath and adjusted his pace. He wasn''t safe yet. He had to keep moving forward.


    His first encounter with other humans had been bitter, and it only proved one thing: 1765 knew nothing about this world. S.I.L.A.S. often said that knowledge was power, and for the first time, he truly understood it. If he hadn''t known how to move, if he hadn''t understood the way his enemies attacked, if he hadn''t prepared tools for his defense, his fate would have been different.


    He didn''t have a clear goal yet. His life didn''t have a defined purpose. But now, at least, he had a path to follow.


    He had to figure out where he was. He had to understand what this world outside the mine, where he had spent his entire life, was. And most importantly¡­ he had to learn how to survive in it.


    Thus began a new chapter for 1765. The first thing he decided was to return to the Silent Forest. After all, it was the only place he knew and the safest for him in a world full of uncertainty.


    From that moment on, he took S.I.L.A.S.''s lessons more seriously. The AI''s teachings had been the difference between life and death, and now he understood that every fragment of knowledge could be his greatest weapon. Instead of merely training his body, he began to spend more time analyzing his surroundings and understanding the world he lived in.


    Over weeks and months, he explored every corner of the Silent Forest. He mapped it in his mind with the precision of a cartographer, identifying every exit, every possible escape route, and every safe area where he could hide. During his explorations, he discovered various paths leading to more populated lands. He was patient and vigilant, observing from the shadows, learning the routes of travelers, the customs of nearby towns, and the behavior of the people.


    Until one day, he finally managed to enter a human city.


    From the very first moment, the scene that unfolded before him was fascinating. Stone and wooden buildings, dirt streets bustling with merchants, the vibrant life of the citizens¡­ Everything was exactly as S.I.L.A.S. had described in his records. In fact, the city''s design was almost identical to the medieval cities in S.I.L.A.S.''s archives, with a few minor differences in organization and structure.


    To survive in that place, 1765 resorted to the only viable option for someone like him: becoming a thief. With his heightened senses, speed, and training, moving through the shadows and taking what he needed without being detected wasn''t a difficult task. Over time, he learned the places where information flowed most easily: taverns, markets, bustling streets. He listened to conversations, observed documents when he had the chance, and pieced together fragments of information that helped him better understand the world he was in.


    He discovered that this world was much vaster than he had imagined. It wasn''t just inhabited by humans but also by many other races¡ªsome mentioned in city records as beings of legend, while others were a common part of society. Creatures that S.I.L.A.S. didn''t have in his archives, which meant that, in some way, this world was beyond the logic of his database.


    But the most important thing he discovered was the existence of magic.


    Magic was real. And not only that, but it was deeply ingrained in daily life. Guardians, merchants, and warriors used magic in various forms, from combat to the simplest tasks. There were established systems, rules that defined its use, and specific ways people could access it.


    According to the texts and conversations he managed to decipher, magic in this world was based on a complex system with different categories:


    Elemental Magic: Manipulates natural elements like fire, water, wind, and earth. It is subdivided into more specific branches, such as fire magic (pyromancy), water magic (aquatic), and lightning magic. Sacred Magic: Believed to come from the gods. Its use is regulated by religious orders and is associated with purification, healing, and blessings. Demonic Magic: Its origin is attributed to dark entities. It is used for curses, body alterations, and mind control, though it is banned in many regions. Runic Magic: Works by inscribing runes on objects or surfaces, creating permanent or activatable effects. Aura Magic: Focuses on enhancing the user''s body, used by warriors to increase strength, speed, and resistance. It can be combined with elemental magic. Arcane Magic: The hardest to master, requiring extensive knowledge of mana. It is associated with weather manipulation, teleportation, and mass destruction. Spiritual Magic: Involves connecting with spirits and supernatural entities. Its effectiveness depends on the bond between the summoner and the spirit.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    It was a complex system with multiple branches and applications. But what surprised 1765 the most¡ªnegatively¡ªwas learning the meaning of "Ind¨®mito" (Untamed).


    To perform magic, the body needed to absorb mana, the energy present in the world that served as fuel for magical spells. The "Ind¨®mitos" were those who, for unknown reasons, were incompatible with mana and therefore unable to perform magic.


    This condemned them to rejection.


    Few races had "Ind¨®mitos," but humans were the ones with the highest number of cases. For humans who could use magic, the existence of "Ind¨®mitos" was a source of shame. Their exclusion from society became the norm, and over time, they ceased to be considered equals. In the Human Empire, the nation with the largest concentration of humans on the continent, "Ind¨®mitos" were automatically enslaved. There were no exceptions.


    There were detection mechanisms in every city, magical devices capable of identifying whether a person could absorb mana. Fortunately for 1765, S.I.L.A.S. devised a plan. These mechanisms did not detect the absence of magic itself but rather unique electromagnetic frequency patterns specific to "Ind¨®mitos," something S.I.L.A.S. could easily manipulate.


    But that didn''t mean 1765 could use magic.


    He was born an "Ind¨®mito," and as far as he knew, there was no way to change that reality. No matter how much knowledge he acquired or how much he trained his body, magic would remain an inaccessible domain for him.


    However, that didn''t mean he couldn''t find a way to fight against it.


    Indeed, while his body couldn''t use magic, 1765 had found an unexpected advantage in his environment. During his escape, he sought refuge in a place known as the Silent Forest, a forgotten and feared area by humans and other races. This forest contained unique trees called Silent Willows, colossal trees with extremely resistant wood but with a terrifying property: they could absorb mana from their surroundings. Any living being that depended on mana to survive would suffer a slow and agonizing death if they dared to venture into the forest.


    Information about this forest and its trees was scarce. Few dared to explore it, and even fewer returned to tell the tale. However, 1765, living there, had the opportunity to experiment and discover some of its most intriguing properties. The first and most significant revelation was that the wood of the Silent Willows retained the same characteristics as the tree, maintaining its ability to absorb mana even after being cut. This meant that any object made from this wood created a partial barrier against magic, weakening spells and partially nullifying magical effects.


    Although the wood was not as effective as the living tree, it remained an invaluable tool. It was resistant, malleable, and, most importantly, could be used to craft weapons and tools with a very clear purpose: counteracting magic users.


    But the wood wasn''t the only special feature of the forest.


    The fruits of the Silent Willows were considered a deadly poison for anyone capable of manipulating mana. Eating even one of these fruits could cause a lethal reaction in individuals with magical affinity. However, for someone like 1765, unable to absorb mana, the effect was entirely different. With S.I.L.A.S.''s help, he analyzed and modified his metabolism to harness the nutrients of these fruits, turning them into a source of pure energy.


    The effects were astonishing.


    His body began to strengthen at an accelerated pace. His muscles developed greater density, his resistance to pain and fatigue increased, and his speed and agility improved dramatically. S.I.L.A.S. mentioned that his evolution was comparable to that of genetically modified soldiers in his world of origin: humans enhanced to the limits of physical efficiency, capable of facing extreme situations without relying on magic.


    With these advantages, 1765 became more than just a survivor. He became a predator in a world that had condemned him from birth.


    Armed with the wood of the Silent Willows and a body that surpassed ordinary humans, he was able to defend himself and cautiously venture into human society, concealing his true nature. But the more he explored and learned, the clearer a grim truth became: the fate of the "Ind¨®mitos" in this world was cruel and merciless.


    Indeed, even though his body couldn''t use magic, 1765 had found an unexpected advantage in his surroundings. During his escape, he sought refuge in a place known as the Silent Forest, a forgotten and feared haven by humans and other races. This forest contained unique trees called Silent Willows, colossal trees with extremely resilient wood but with a terrifying property: they were capable of absorbing mana from their surroundings. Any living being that relied on mana to survive would face a slow and agonizing death if they dared to venture into the forest.


    Information about this forest and its trees was scarce. Few dared to explore it, and even fewer returned to tell the tale. However, 1765, who lived there, had the opportunity to experiment and discover some of its most intriguing properties. The first and most significant revelation was that the wood of the Silent Willows retained the same characteristics as the tree, maintaining its ability to absorb mana even after being cut. This meant that any object made from this wood created a partial barrier against magic, weakening spells and partially nullifying magical effects.


    Although the wood was not as effective as the living tree, it remained an invaluable tool. It was resilient, malleable, and, most importantly, could be used to craft weapons and tools with a very clear purpose: countering magic users.


    But the wood wasn''t the only unique aspect of the forest.


    The fruits of the Silent Willows were considered deadly poison for anyone capable of manipulating mana. Eating just one of these fruits could cause a lethal reaction in people with magical affinity. However, for someone like 1765, unable to absorb mana, the effect was entirely different. With S.I.L.A.S.''s help, he analyzed and modified his metabolism to harness the nutrients of these fruits, turning them into a pure energy source.


    The effects were astonishing.


    His body began to strengthen at an accelerated rate. His muscles developed greater density, his resistance to pain and fatigue increased, and his speed and agility improved drastically. S.I.L.A.S. mentioned that his evolution was comparable to genetically modified soldiers from his world of origin¡ªhumans enhanced to the limits of physical efficiency, capable of facing extreme situations without relying on magic.


    But that wasn''t the only thing 1765 found intriguing.


    Among the magical systems of this world, there was one in particular that caught S.I.L.A.S.''s interest: the runic system. It was considered an outdated method, practiced by few today. Its premise was the use of magic through matrices created by glyphs, which in turn were formed by runes. It was a complex system, akin to a sequential programming language. Unlike other types of magic, this system didn''t require the user to possess magical affinity; it only needed a power source, appropriate materials, and the knowledge to inscribe and activate the runes.


    Due to its antiquity and disuse, finding information about this runic language was a challenging task, leading 1765 to embark on a long search for knowledge. He infiltrated forbidden libraries, eavesdropped on conversations in taverns, and deciphered ancient documents. His dedication brought him to where he stood now, three years after his first encounter with humans.


    Now, he was 12 years old, but his body no longer reflected the fragility of a child. His physique resembled that of a young adult, with muscles well-defined from years of training and survival. His skin, pale from his time in the forest, remained firm and without visible scars thanks to his enhanced resilience. His hair, short and dark, allowed him to move easily without obstruction. His sharp, perceptive eyes reflected the intensity of someone who had faced challenges beyond what most could imagine.


    The knowledge 1765 had acquired during this time was analyzed and processed by S.I.L.A.S., leading to the creation of a custom runic system tailored specifically to his needs.


    It wasn''t a system designed for traditional magic. Both had observed the capabilities of magic in this world: fire conjurations, water freezing, devastating attacks straight out of fantasy tales. Some abilities were terrifying, while others were simply utilitarian tools. The best way to confront a mage was to eliminate them quickly, while knights were formidable combatants¡ªstrong, resilient, and capable of delivering devastating attacks with the reinforcement of their magical aura.


    Runic magic, on the other hand, was slow, static, and dependent on an external power source, making it impractical for direct combat. However, was magic only meant for warfare? The answer was simple: no.


    S.I.L.A.S. concluded that magic in this world had far more applications than mere combat, but society seemed obsessed with its martial uses. Throughout his learning, 1765 had to endure countless complaints from S.I.L.A.S. about the wasted potential of magic on weapons and destruction instead of its application in innovation and technology.


    Those complaints had turned into what now stood before him.


    Before his eyes, a humanoid sculpture made of wood, stone, and metal stood upright. It wasn''t just a decorative figure; it was the result of countless hours of work, tests, and modifications. 1765 had to steal multiple tools and metal parts, dismantle ancient structures, and adapt unconventional materials to reach this point, but in the end, he had succeeded in building his first autonomous structure.


    It wasn''t just a statue.


    It was a functional golem prototype, powered by a runic system designed from scratch with S.I.L.A.S.''s guidance and based on a combination of sequential logic and runic circuits. Every part of its body was marked with interconnected runic inscriptions, forming a network of functions that allowed movement, stability, and interaction with its surroundings.


    1765 observed the golem with pride. After all, it had taken him an entire year to assemble. According to S.I.L.A.S., now that he was 12 years old, this could be considered his birthday gift. Smiling, he carefully opened a compartment located in the golem''s chest. Inside was an empty space where complex symbols intertwined to form larger runic patterns. At the center was a complete circle of runes serving as the golem''s central system.


    The circle was designed on a movable base capable of altering the runic set depending on its position and movement. This was the golem''s control core, the equivalent of a rudimentary brain capable of executing preset commands.


    1765 took a steel cylinder carefully crafted by him. Inside, it contained a strange dark blue liquid. The mixture had been developed by him using materials found in his environment: pulverized minerals, extract from the fruits of the Silent Willows, and other refined compounds.


    According to S.I.L.A.S., this dense and viscous concoction functioned as magical fuel, allowing the golem''s runic system to have a stable energy source without relying on traditional mana.


    With precision, 1765 fitted the cylinder into the golem''s compartment and waited.


    "What now?"


    Then, S.I.L.A.S.''s voice resonated in his mind:


    "Initializing systems."


    Suddenly, the golem''s symbols began to glow with a bluish hue, and the structure started moving slowly. First, one hand, then the other. The movements were rigid, clumsy, but with each small adjustment, it seemed S.I.L.A.S. was better understanding the golem''s functionality.


    1765 couldn''t help but think that what he was witnessing was magic. But before he could fully formulate the thought, S.I.L.A.S. corrected him:


    "Although the central energy system could be considered similar to what this world calls magic, its development has been the result of the scientific method: observation, experimentation, error, and correction. Additionally, the golem''s control is executed through electromagnetic waves emitted by your brain cells. In other words, more than magic... it''s science."


    Used to S.I.L.A.S.''s corrections, 1765 merely accepted them with a sigh.

 Chapter 6

    1765 was seated on the branch of a tree, observing from above as several golems worked in the plains below him. This was not the Silent Forest, as the golems could not function properly in that environment. Although the liquid extracted from the fruits of the Silent Willows was not absorbed by the forest, the energy transmission through the runes was entirely disrupted. Thus, 1765 had to find another suitable location for his project.


    His search led him to a valley at the foot of a mountain. It was a vast region, bordered by hills and dense forests, with a beautiful crystal-clear lake ensuring a water supply. Although the valley was inhabited by ferocious beasts, his explorations revealed no human cities nearby¡ªnot within several kilometers, at least. Additionally, its western border adjoined part of the Silent Forest, a territory 1765 already considered his own.


    Thanks to the constant supervision of S.I.L.A.S. and the 24-hour operation of the golems, progress had been exponentially faster than expected. More than 40 golems were already working simultaneously: collecting resources, refining materials, and constructing new models from recovered parts. In a short time, a rudimentary camp began to take shape.


    Although S.I.L.A.S. emphasized the importance of a stable base, 1765 still harbored doubts about establishing a camp outside the Silent Forest. Over time, however, he reached a conclusion: if he could not join any city without being hunted and marked as a slave, the solution was to build his own city. Thus, he set out to work alongside the golems to make this idea a reality.


    Initially, he didn''t want to involve himself too much in S.I.L.A.S.''s grand projects, but he didn''t have many other options. His physical training was constant, and he occasionally hunted beasts to diversify his diet, but beyond that, his routine was reduced to exploration and monitoring his surroundings. He had learned much about this world¡ªits magical systems, its societies¡ªbut that knowledge alone wasn''t enough.


    1765 knew this world had no place for him. Wherever he went, he would be hunted, rejected, and marked as a slave. In his mind, the Silent Forest remained the only safe haven, the only place where no one would bother him.


    One day, like any other, while the golems continued their work, 1765 went out hunting. His target was giant rabbits, a common species in a dense forest located two days away from the valley. These creatures, about a meter tall, were agile, fast, and dangerous. Their teeth were strong enough to break stones, and some were even capable of spitting small bursts of fire. However, their meat was tender, and their fur was ideal for making clothes. In fact, much of his clothing was made from rabbit pelts, helping him endure the cold nights.


    To hunt them, 1765 had designed a special weapon: a dart gun, crafted with materials he had obtained from his surroundings. It was made with wood from the Silent Willows, granting it resilience and, most importantly, ensuring the darts were lethal to any creature using mana. Each dart was coated in juice from the poisonous fruits of the Silent Willows, a toxin deadly to any being with magical affinity.


    The greatest challenge in crafting the pistol was the spring mechanism. For this, 1765 had to experiment with minerals and melted sand, eventually creating a rudimentary alloy flexible and strong enough to withstand the necessary pressure. Through ingenuity and the information provided by S.I.L.A.S., he managed to design a manual loading system, allowing him to fire with precision without relying on advanced technology.


    The gun had a compact and discreet design, allowing him to easily conceal it within his clothing. It featured a five-dart magazine, meaning he only needed to reload after five shots. Its firing system worked through an improvised hammer that, when activated, released the spring''s energy to launch the dart at high speed. Although it lacked the power of a conventional firearm, the projectile was fast enough to pierce a rabbit''s skin from under 50 meters away.


    The best part was that the mechanism was silent, allowing him to hunt without alerting other prey in the area.


    1765 moved cautiously through the underbrush, analyzing every trail left by his prey. He observed recent tracks in the damp soil, some with deep marks indicating quick leaps. Broken branches and bits of fur on the shrubs confirmed that the rabbits weren''t far.


    Each step was calculated, his breathing controlled, his senses sharpened. He crouched to examine fresh droppings; their smell indicated the prey had passed recently. S.I.L.A.S. whispered in his mind, pointing out a likely direction based on the distribution of the tracks.


    The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. As he advanced, he noticed the terrain gently rising, and the vegetation became less dense. A clear sign that he was approaching a trail.


    He hid behind a thick fallen trunk and watched intently. A few meters ahead, he spotted a clearing in the forest where the trail widened. The evening breeze began to blow, carrying with it the scent of damp wood and disturbed earth.


    As the day drew to a close and twilight began to blanket the forest, 1765 remained hidden in the underbrush, patiently observing the clearing. He knew this was the perfect moment, as giant rabbits typically emerged at dusk to forage for food.


    He didn''t have to wait long. From the shrubs emerged one of the rabbits. It was a formidable creature, at least a meter tall when standing on its hind legs. Its thick, brown fur had a reddish sheen under the last light of the sun, and its long, muscular ears swiveled in various directions with uncanny precision. Its dark, alert eyes reflected the light like a predator''s in the night. Its jaw, equipped with teeth capable of breaking stone, opened and closed slowly as it sniffed the air cautiously.


    1765 raised his dart gun with calculated movements. His hand was steady, his breathing calm. He aimed directly at the animal''s neck, the spot where the toxin would take effect most rapidly. His finger slid to the trigger, ready to fire.


    But before he could pull the trigger, the rabbit''s ears twitched and stood upright abruptly. It turned its head in the direction of the wind, as if it had caught a distant sound. In an instant, its muscles tensed, and it darted away at an impossible speed, disappearing into the underbrush without a trace.


    1765 frowned in frustration. What had scared it? His senses sharpened, his training taking over. Then he heard it: screams.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    These were not the typical sounds of the forest. They were human screams. He recognized them immediately¡ªa man and a woman. Their voices carried desperation and fear. 1765 remembered he was not far from a path, but something didn''t add up. Travelers were usually cautious in this area; escorts rarely allowed noisy situations.


    Curiosity got the better of him. With agile movements, he climbed a nearby tree and began advancing through the branches, moving silently among the shadows.


    With every leap and swing, the sounds grew clearer. It wasn''t just screams; there was also laughter and the mocking voices of men. Finally, upon reaching the canopy of a taller tree, he saw the source of the commotion.


    Below him, a group of armed men had set up camp. Warriors with swords and mages in robes gathered around a large fire, laughing and eating without a care. To one side, arranged in a circle of wagons, were several iron cages. Inside them, crammed together like livestock, were humans.


    1765 observed the scene coldly. It was nothing new to him. Human slavery in the empire was a reality he had seen before. He had heard rumors, seen similar caravans. It was simply another group of merchants trafficking ind¨®mitos or prisoners. Nothing that concerned him.


    His eyes scanned the scene with indifference. Among the cages, men and women remained silent, some with vacant expressions, others murmuring to each other. They were accustomed to humiliation, to hopelessness. 1765 let out a faint sigh and turned to leave.


    And then, another scream.


    This one was different. It didn''t come from the cages. It came from farther away, behind the fire. The men in the camp laughed again, but this time with a mocking, amused tone. 1765 moved a little closer, ensuring he remained unseen.


    Just a few meters away, between the trees, he saw the scene.


    A man was holding a woman by her hair, dragging her across the ground effortlessly. The woman kicked, clawed, and struggled, but the man was too strong. Her face was covered in tears, her clothes torn, and her body bruised. Around her, other men watched with cruel smiles, making mocking comments among themselves.


    This scene brought back memories of a book he had read earlier. In it, recommendations were given on how to treat ind¨®mitos, the enslaved men, while women were considered useful only for breeding. Yes, breeding. If a child was born with magic, they could serve as a soldier; if they were born without magic, they would be laborers. This practice had spread throughout the Human Empire. Essentially, ind¨®mita women were treated as mere toys to satisfy the desires of anyone who could lay hands on them.


    Why? Why did they have to live like this? Why, just for being born without magic, was their fate sealed? Who decided their lives didn''t belong to them? Who decreed that they were mere tools, commodities, toys? Why did the powerful claim the right to decide who was worthy and who wasn''t? Why did no one do anything? Why did everyone accept it? Why¡­ why had he accepted it until now?


    The thought soon turned into anger. 1765 had told himself he planned to live peacefully in this world. He just wanted a good place to live and eat, where no one would bother him, and he didn''t want to get involved in problems.


    But amidst his anger, he couldn''t control himself. He threw himself to the ground from his hiding spot. Despite the height and the leap, he used one hand to grab the tree trunk and slide down with precision. His movements were calculated, instinctive, and his hardened skin barely suffered scratches.


    He landed without making a sound. His breathing was controlled, his pulse steady. In a blink, he slipped behind the man, drawing his short sword in a single fluid motion. The blade gleamed faintly under the dim light, and with lethal speed, he separated the man''s head from his body.


    Silent. Precise. Deadly.


    No one but 1765 witnessed the act.


    The girl, who had lost her voice from screaming so much, had closed her eyes tightly, bracing herself for the worst fate. The last memory her mind captured before resigning was the disgusting face of her assailant approaching her, his filthy hands reaching to strip away her last shred of dignity.


    But then, something changed.


    The grotesque laughter of the man abruptly stopped. The pressure on her hair disappeared. And the girl felt the air grow heavy, almost unreal. She slowly opened her eyes, her breath still ragged.


    The man''s body stood upright, motionless, swaying¡­ until it fell heavily to its knees with a dull thud against the ground. His head rolled across the earth like a doll without an owner, his expression frozen in a mix of surprise and horror.


    An absolute silence took hold of the place.


    A silence that chilled the blood.


    A silence that marked the beginning of something irreversible.


    The girl trembled as she saw the bloody scene before her eyes. Her body wanted to scream, run, flee from it all, but for some reason, her gaze slowly lifted, following the trail of death until it met a dark figure in the shadows.


    Under the pale moonlight, the silhouette seemed more a shadow than a human being. His clothing was strange, an improvised armor made of dark wood, bound with thick strips of cloth that seemed to provide flexibility without losing durability. His face showed no expression, only a smooth wooden mask without features, as if nature itself had sculpted a soulless visage.


    But what struck her most were his eyes.


    A pair of cold blue orbs glowed behind the mask, shining with an impossible intensity. They were as deep as the ocean and as sharp as a freshly forged blade. They conveyed no hatred, no mercy¡ªonly pure, cold determination, as if life and death were calculated decisions in his mind.


    Before she could react, the masked figure raised a finger to his lips in a clear gesture of silence. His presence was imposing, like a specter born of the night itself. The girl felt her body tense, but she couldn''t look away.


    Without haste, the masked figure pulled out an object from his clothing, a wooden plaque carved with intricate symbols she didn''t recognize. He passed it in front of her face, and at that moment, a blue glow emerged from her forehead.


    The girl felt a strange pull within her. Her slave mark¡­ she had seen it thousands of times reflected in the water, etched into her skin like an eternal curse. But now, that blue glow was being drawn out, absorbed by the wood as if carried away by an invisible current.


    Her breath caught. She didn''t understand what was happening, but her heart pounded desperately. Was this another kind of magic? What did it mean? Was it an illusion?


    Before she could form a single word, the masked figure lifted her with surprising ease and, with a few agile movements, carried her to a hollow log. He gently placed her inside, ensuring her small body was hidden in the darkness.


    "Stay here. I''ll come back for you soon," he whispered in a deep, low voice, a voice that seemed unshakable, unyielding.


    Quickly, he grabbed a handful of bushes and dry branches, covering the entrance of the log with meticulous precision. His movements were methodical, calculated, as if this were part of a plan he had executed many times before.


    And just like that, the masked figure vanished into the night, blending with the darkness, as if he had never been there.


    Shrouded by the night''s shadows, 1765 observed the camp with an analytical gaze. He counted twenty-five guards in total: twenty warriors and five mages. It was a standard formation, at least based on what he had observed during his previous incursions. Typically, these escorts were made up of these two classes, leaving other specializations for the army or societal tasks.


    Everyone was still awake¡ªit was early in the night. He could wait for their vigilance to drop, but that was risky. There were too many prisoners, and the road they were on wasn''t completely isolated. If they delayed too long, another traveler might cross their path, complicating his operation.


    Acting quickly was the best option.


    1765 moved slowly through the shadows, his silhouette blending seamlessly with the darkness. His mind focused on the plan, his breathing controlled, his pulse steady.


    As the moon rose in the sky, a hunting scene quietly unfolded.

 Chapter 7

    The campfire crackled at the center of the camp, its flickering light illuminating the faces of the soldiers as they drank and laughed without a care.


    "Hey, Darek," said one of the warriors, a man with a patchy beard and scars across his face. "Do you think Sigurd''s already having his fun with that girl? She smelled bad, but she had a nice backside despite her young age."


    The other soldier, a burly man with a broken nose and sharp, beady eyes, let out a guffaw, banging his mug against his knee.


    "Hahaha, if you want, you can go after him," he replied with a lewd grin. "Though honestly, it''s my turn next. But, to be fair, I prefer more developed women. You know, a girl isn''t enough to satisfy me."


    Their vulgar laughter spread among the nearby soldiers as they drank and traded crude comments about the prisoners in the cages. It was a scene often repeated along the empire''s roads.


    However, amidst their revelry, a dull sound interrupted the evening.


    Something had fallen near the fire.


    One of the soldiers turned his head curiously, but before he could say a word, the campfire went out in an instant. Darkness swallowed the camp in the blink of an eye.


    "What the hell¡ª?!" exclaimed one of the men as he jumped to his feet.


    The mages reacted immediately. One extended his staff and began muttering a spell. A faint blue light emanated from his body as his incantation completed.


    "I don''t detect anything alive nearby," he announced, frowning.


    Hearing this, the soldiers relaxed their stances. Some even resumed laughing, attributing the disturbance to a gust of wind or the mischief of the gods of fate. However, the more seasoned among them kept their hands on their weapons.


    Another mage, a tall, gaunt man, raised his staff and conjured a sphere of light. The faint glow bathed the camp in a dim radiance, insufficient to restore their sense of safety but enough to dispel the deepest shadows.


    It was at that moment that the first scream shattered the tranquility of the night.


    A whistle sliced through the air. Something flew at impossible speed, and before the mage could react, his body convulsed in pain.


    A wooden dart had embedded itself in his neck. His mouth opened in an attempt to cast something, but only a strangled sound escaped before he collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.


    "We''re under attack!" roared one of the guards, drawing his sword.


    The fragile calm broke into chaos. Swords were drawn, mages began chanting spells, and the warriors formed a defensive circle. The camp, full of mockery and bravado moments before, now descended into bedlam.


    The soldiers moved swiftly and with discipline, raising large shields that, reinforced with their auras, formed a solid barrier around the mages. Two of the casters erected additional protective spells, creating overlapping magical domes, while another lit up the area and the last prepared an offensive spell.


    But they were in the middle of the forest. The dim light barely dispelled the shadows cast by the trees, leaving numerous blind spots.


    The wounded mage continued to writhe on the ground, his companions barely sparing him a glance. Meanwhile, 1765 moved silently among the shadows, his silhouette hidden by the forest''s thickness.


    He didn''t have a clear shot at another mage. The raised shields made a precise hit difficult, and he couldn''t afford to waste his darts. Each projectile had been painstakingly crafted and carried the venom extracted from the silent willow''s fruits. He had brought two cartridges with him and had already used three darts from the first.


    Making a decision, he pulled out a wooden plate and hurled it with precision toward one of the shields. The plate broke through the magical barrier and struck the metallic surface of the shield with a dull thud. It caused no harm, but it did sow confusion. The soldiers recoiled at the realization that their defenses could be breached so easily.


    Two guards reacted immediately, breaking from the formation to try to flank their attacker. They found no one.


    In that instant, 1765 descended from a branch in a calculated motion. His landing wasn''t entirely silent, and every gaze turned toward him.


    The attacker''s strange attire puzzled them: dark wooden armor, an expressionless mask, and a stance that betrayed an unusual expertise.


    But before they could analyze him further, 1765 moved.


    In a fluid motion, he swapped the magazine of his dart gun and fired in quick succession. Five projectiles flew toward the mages: three struck one caster, another hit a second, and the last flew toward a third. Simultaneously, 1765 lunged forward, brandishing his short sword and slashing the nearest mage''s throat in a clean cut.


    The magical barriers dissipated, and the light vanished. Darkness once again enveloped the camp.


    The only sources of illumination now were the faint auras of the soldiers, which only served to reveal their positions.


    The hunt had begun.


    Clouds had covered the moon, plunging the forest into near-total darkness. However, silence was absent. Screams, the clash of steel, and the crunch of branches underfoot echoed among the trees.


    The soldiers had scattered, their formation shattered by the chaos. They were trained men, but nighttime combat in unfamiliar terrain had left them vulnerable. With each passing moment, they heard their comrades'' cries but couldn''t see who or what was attacking them. The shadows seemed to move on their own, and with every passing second, their numbers dwindled.


    1765 moved among them with lethal precision, using the confusion as his greatest ally. He struck those who lacked proper defenses or were disoriented. His movements were calculated and precise. A slash to the throat, a strike to an artery, a shot to a weak point in the armor. Each action had a purpose: to kill without wasting energy.


    One soldier, sword raised, turned at the sound of a noise to his left. Before he could react, a dagger plunged into the base of his neck. His body crumpled to the ground with nothing more than a strangled gurgle.


    Another swung desperately at the air, convinced something was stalking him in the darkness. His strike met no resistance, but his arm was left exposed. Moments later, he felt a sharp pain in his side and collapsed to his knees, watching his blood seep into the earth.


    Fear began to consume the warriors. Their enemies were usually loud bandits or rebels, easy to spot. But now, they faced something else. Something invisible. Something relentless.


    The girl felt a strange tug within herself. Her slavery mark¡­ she had seen it countless times reflected in water, engraved on her skin like an eternal curse. But now, that blue glow was being extracted, absorbed by the wood as if drawn by an invisible current.


    Her breath caught. She didn''t understand what was happening, but her heart raced with desperation. Was this some kind of magic? What did it mean? Was it an illusion?


    Before she could speak, the masked figure effortlessly picked her up and, in a few agile movements, carried her to a hollow trunk. He gently placed her inside, ensuring her small body was concealed in the darkness.


    "Stay here. I''ll come back for you soon," he whispered in a deep, low voice, one that seemed immutable, unyielding.


    With precision, he gathered a handful of bushes and dry branches, concealing the trunk''s entrance meticulously. His movements were methodical, calculated, as if this were part of a plan he had executed countless times before. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    And just like that, the masked figure disappeared into the night, merging with the darkness as though he had never been there.


    Hidden in the shadows of the forest, 1765 observed the camp with an analytical gaze. He counted twenty-five escorts in total: twenty warriors and five mages. It was a standard composition, at least from what he had observed in his previous incursions. Typically, escorts consisted of these two classes, leaving other specializations for the military or societal roles.


    Everyone was still awake; it was early in the night. He could wait for their vigilance to wane, but it was risky. There were too many prisoners, and the road they occupied wasn''t entirely deserted. Any passing traveler could complicate his operation.


    The best course of action was to strike swiftly.


    1765 moved slowly through the shadows, his silhouette blending with the darkness. His mind focused on his plan, his breathing steady, his pulse calm.


    As the moon rose high in the sky, a scene of the hunt unfolded.


    The campfire crackled at the center of the camp, its light reflecting off the soldiers'' careless faces. The escorts continued their revelry, oblivious to the predator lurking in the shadows.


    1765 remained silent and still, his eyes fixed on his prey. He had already visualized every possible route, every angle of attack. His heart beat steadily as he prepared for what was to come.


    And then, like a shadow born of the night, he moved.


    The first mage fell silently, his throat slit before he could conjure a single spell. The soldiers didn''t notice until it was too late. By the time they realized they were under attack, 1765 was already a phantom among them, striking swiftly and retreating into the darkness.


    The battle was chaos. Soldiers shouted orders, their voices trembling with fear. They slashed at shadows, hoping to hit something, but their efforts were in vain. The masked figure moved like smoke, his strikes precise and deadly.


    In the midst of the chaos, the enslaved prisoners watched in stunned silence. They had witnessed warriors before¡ªclad in gleaming armor, wielding swords with deadly precision. But this was different. The figure attacking their captors was no warrior; he was a predator, hunting his prey with ruthless efficiency.


    For the prisoners, it was a surreal sight. Their entire lives had been marked by helplessness and submission. Yet now, they watched as their tormentors fell one by one, powerless against the force that had descended upon them.


    In a matter of minutes, the camp was silent once more. The bodies of the last escorts lay motionless on the ground, their weapons scattered, their blood soaking the earth.


    The enslaved didn''t move. They huddled in their cages, too fearful to hope for salvation, too resigned to expect a change in their fate.


    And then, a torch flared to life.


    The prisoners turned their heads toward the light. A humanoid figure emerged from the shadows, its face expressionless, its armor rough and primitive yet efficient. But what caught their attention most were the figure''s eyes¡ªdeep, cold, blue orbs that glowed intensely in the dim light.


    As the figure approached the cages, it held up a wooden plaque and pressed it to the forehead of one of the prisoners.


    Everyone watched as the plaque absorbed the slave mark from the prisoner''s skin, leaving no trace of it behind. A murmur of astonishment rippled through the cages.


    They knew the mark. They knew what it represented¡ªtheir total subjugation. It was the guarantee of their servitude, the seal that made them property. It could be used to punish them or transfer them to new masters as mere commodities. But never, in their miserable existence, had they seen someone erase a slave mark.


    1765 extended his hand and crushed the lock on the cage with a single squeeze. He opened the door, threw the plaque to the ground, and said firmly:


    "If you want freedom, use it yourselves."


    He moved from cage to cage, repeating the act. He opened the doors, placed a plaque in each one, and left the torch planted in the camp''s center, illuminating the cages so the prisoners could see their choice.


    Without another word, 1765 turned to rekindle the campfire and move the bodies of the escorts.


    In total, he had freed forty-five slaves. Fifteen cages opened. Forty-five pairs of eyes fixed on those wooden plaques and open doors.


    And one word, whispered among them, carrying a meaning they had never known before:


    "Freedom."


    1765 didn''t take long to pile the bodies. Then, he sat by the fire, watching the confused prisoners decide their next move.


    He didn''t have to wait long. One of the prisoners, the eldest of the group, hardened his gaze and clenched his fists. Memories of suffering, pain, and helplessness flooded his mind like a storm. He took a deep breath, reached down, and picked up the wooden plaque from the ground.


    When he placed it against his forehead, everyone saw the glow as the mark was absorbed, but he felt no pain. He felt nothing¡ªexcept an indescribable emotion swelling in his chest. Freedom.


    And so began a chain reaction. The plaques were taken, passed from hand to hand, and one by one, the marks vanished into the glow of the night.


    The slaves emerged from their cages with hesitant steps, some stumbling, others supported by their stronger companions. No one stayed behind.


    One by one, they approached 1765. He observed them silently, analyzing their condition. They were a pitiful sight¡ªbodies emaciated to the bone, skin hardened by hunger and mistreatment, scars marking their flesh like trophies of a life of suffering. Yet among the exhaustion and despair, he saw something different in their eyes: a spark.


    It wasn''t a fierce flame like the one he had seen in the girl from the forest, but a small light¡ªa glimmer of hope beginning to take hold.


    1765 nodded, grabbed several torches, and handed them out to the group. Then, in a calm but firm voice, he said:


    "Follow me."


    No one spoke. There were no questions or doubts. They simply followed him, moving through the darkness of the forest, guided by the faint glow of the torches. Their steps were unsteady, but their determination drove them forward.


    Their first destination was the hollow tree where 1765 had left the girl. When he removed the leaves and branches hiding the entrance, her wide eyes stared back at him with relief. But when she emerged from her hiding place and saw the group of freed slaves behind him, her expression changed. She blinked in surprise, her gaze moving across their faces, noticing something that left her speechless: none bore the mark of slavery on their foreheads.


    One of the women in the group approached silently and wrapped the girl in a protective embrace.


    The girl felt her eyes well up as she looked at the masked figure. She didn''t understand how, but she knew he was the one who had granted them freedom. Through silent tears, she bowed her head in a gesture of gratitude.


    1765 didn''t wait any longer. Turning on his heel, he spoke again, his tone calm but resolute:


    "I''ll take you somewhere safe for now. Don''t stray. Follow me."


    Thus began the silent procession. 1765 set the pace, walking slower than usual so everyone could keep up. The group trudged along, their weak bodies barely enduring the effort of the nighttime journey. To avoid surprises, SILAS used its ability to detect electromagnetic fields, functioning like a radar that allowed them to steer clear of the forest''s predators. Having cataloged numerous frequency types in this world, it could now differentiate and avoid any potential threats.


    Time passed in absolute silence, broken only by the crunching of leaves and branches beneath their feet. No one knew how far they had walked, but the fatigue and cold began to take their toll. Finally, amidst the dense grove, they found what they were looking for: a cave.


    1765 stopped at the entrance and, after inspecting the area, instructed:


    ¡ªYou can sleep here tonight. It''s not warm, but it''s better than being outside. Stay close together to keep warm.


    The former slaves, still processing everything that had happened, began settling inside the cave. The night was cold, but at least they had shelter. They huddled together, sharing what little body heat they had, embracing for the first time a sensation they had never known: safety.


    For the first time, they slept as free people.


    Early the next morning, the girl opened her eyes. She didn''t fully remember what had happened the night before, but her body, accustomed to routine, assumed it was time to eat. She expected that greasy, foul-smelling paste the guards used to give them daily, but something felt different.


    A gray rock ceiling loomed above her. This wasn''t the cage she was used to. Then, the memories began to return.


    With a trembling hand, she touched her forehead. Her skin was smooth. She didn''t feel the mark that had been with her for as long as she could remember. She froze for a moment, unsure of how to feel. She was free. But then, what now? How would she eat? What would she do?


    The smell of cooked meat reached her nose. It wasn''t the first time she had smelled it. Before, she had caught its scent from her small cage, watching from a distance as the guards feasted on the food she and the other slaves were never given. But now¡­ now her feet moved on their own.


    She stepped out of the cave with timid steps, following the aroma to the entrance where a campfire burned with glowing orange embers. Next to the flames, she saw a human figure sitting with their back to her. The daylight revealed their silhouette clearly.


    It was a young man with a strong, well-built body, muscles defined but not excessive. His black hair fell messily, as if he had never had the luxury to care about his appearance. On the ground next to him was a wooden mask, connected to small wires that he manipulated with dexterity.


    When the young man turned slightly, she saw his eyes for the first time. They were a deep, hypnotic blue, as though they contained an ocean within. They were cold and analytical, yet calm, devoid of any hostility.


    The girl froze, realizing that the masked man who had rescued her from the darkness wasn''t a monster. He was human.

 Chapter 8

    1765 quickly realized that someone was watching him. It wasn''t the first time it had happened, but with his enhanced senses, detecting furtive glances had become instinctive. SILAS typically didn''t alert him to non-hostile presences, so he had to remain vigilant himself.


    Forcing a small smile, 1765 spoke without turning his gaze:


    ¡ªHello. If you''d like, you can come closer and eat. I''ve prepared breakfast.


    With a slight gesture, he pointed to the pile of cooked meat on some stones near the fire. He had gone hunting for rabbits early that morning, and now their skins lay to the side, washed and spread out to dry¡ªa process he had thoroughly mastered.


    The girl watching him from the entrance of the cave seemed hesitant. Her small fingers clenched her tattered clothing, and her face bore a mix of fear and confusion. 1765 understood her reluctance, so in a calm tone, he added:


    ¡ªDon''t worry. The food isn''t poisoned, and I don''t plan to hurt you.


    She hesitated, but the tempting aroma of roasted meat proved too strong. She took one step forward, then another, and finally came close enough to take the piece of meat 1765 held out to her on a stick. Her hands trembled slightly as she received it.


    She took a bite. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was delicious¡ªfar beyond anything she had ever tasted. In the cage, the food was nothing more than a mixture of scraps, a tasteless, disgusting paste. This¡­ this was something else. Her face lit up with a small smile as she continued eating, bite after bite, until the meat was entirely gone. She stared sadly at the empty stick, as if hoping more food would miraculously appear.


    1765 let out a small laugh and handed her another piece. This time, the girl didn''t hesitate; she took it and devoured it eagerly.


    The scene didn''t go unnoticed. Another former slave, drawn by the smell, cautiously approached. 1765 offered them a piece of meat without hesitation. Hunger overpowered their distrust, and they accepted silently. Gradually, more and more of the group began to wake. Murmurs rose as the aroma of cooked meat filled the cave. One by one, with growing courage, they approached the fire. 1765 simply handed out portions without saying a word, ensuring everyone received something to eat.


    One of the young men, likely the eldest of the group, took his portion with trembling hands and held it for a moment before taking a bite. His eyes closed slightly as if he was trying to contain an unfamiliar emotion.


    For them, this wasn''t just a simple breakfast. It was the first time in a long time that they tasted real food¡ªthe first time they ate without orders from a master, without fear of someone snatching it away from them.


    1765 observed the scene silently. As he watched the freed slaves eat, he noticed something: their expressions, though tired and marked by suffering, held a glimmer of something new.


    Hope.


    Before long, everyone was satisfied. For the first time in their lives, they had eaten something delicious to their fill. For many, it felt like paradise, but soon they would have to wake from the dream.


    The eldest slave looked at 1765 with trepidation. His hands balled into trembling fists before he spoke, his voice barely audible, laden with fear and contained gratitude:


    ¡ªThank you so much, sir, for giving us this delicious food. To be honest, we don''t know what to do. We''re just ignorant slaves, but even we know what awaits us if we stay in the Empire. I''ve heard that people like us aren''t welcome on this continent, so we have no idea where to go. Do you know of a place where we could go?


    As the slave spoke, the others lowered their gazes. Their faces reflected anguish, pain, resignation, and an overwhelming fear of an uncertain future. Some hugged themselves, others pressed their lips tightly together, struggling to hold back tears. The cave, which for a brief moment had been a refuge of warmth, was once again steeped in the weight of despair.


    1765 closed his eyes for a moment and then let out a deep sigh. His voice rang out firmly:


    ¡ª1765.


    A murmur rippled through the group, confused and expectant.


    ¡ªPardon, sir? ¡ªasked the young slave, frowning.


    ¡ª1765. That''s my name, just a simple number. I imagine all of you must have a similar number.


    A deathly silence fell over the group. All eyes were fixed on him now, waiting with bated breath. 1765 continued, his calm tone barely disguising the bitterness in his words:


    ¡ªLike you, I was a slave. A slave born in the mines.


    The impact of his words hit like a blow. The slaves exchanged glances, their expressions shifting between astonishment and disbelief. But soon, a question they dared not voice began to fill their minds.


    How was it possible? How could a slave be so strong? He hadn''t just freed them; he had also defeated the fearsome Dominus, the all-powerful sorcerers of the Empire.


    Ind¨®mitos had never stood a chance against the Dominus. And yet, here he was¡ªdefiant, alive, and free.


    Seeing the puzzled looks from the group, 1765 continued:


    ¡ªYou''re probably wondering how it''s possible. How I can fight against the Dominus.


    Some slaves seemed to nod slightly at his words.


    He smiled faintly.


    ¡ªIt was simply a combination of ingenuity, training, and weapons. It''s easier than you think, but that''s a topic for another time.


    He straightened up and addressed them seriously:


    ¡ªAs far as I''m concerned, you have two options right now. You can leave and try your luck. This world is vast, and who knows¡ªmaybe there''s a place out there that will accept you. But unfortunately, I can''t accompany you if you choose that path.


    He continued:


    ¡ªThe other option is to follow me. I don''t live in the best place in the world, but it''s relatively safe. However, the journey is long. It could take three or four days, and some of you might not make it. The decision is yours, and I''ll respect whatever you choose.


    He sat back down, leaving the group of slaves to their thoughts, weighing their choices.


    Without much hesitation, the girl approached 1765 and gently took his hand before saying in a trembling voice:


    ¡ª2876. That''s my name. I want to stay with you, sir.


    1765 smiled and shook his head softly.


    ¡ªYou know, I''m not a "sir." I''m only 12 years old.


    The group of slaves fell silent. Surprise was written all over their faces. To them, 1765 was a warrior¡ªsomeone unreachable. The girl frowned, raised her small hands, and began counting on her fingers. After a moment, her gaze locked on him with amazement.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.¡ªTwelve years? I''m eleven¡­


    The disbelief was palpable. 1765 was tall for his age, his strong build and intimidating presence making him appear older than he truly was. Yet, to these slaves, he was still a child, just like them.


    A murmur began to rise among the youth. Inspired by the girl''s courage, one by one, they started introducing themselves.


    ¡ª3259¡­ I want to stay too.


    ¡ª1984¡­ I''ll stay with you.


    ¡ª4501¡­ I''d rather follow you than wander aimlessly.


    Their names, mere numbers assigned by their captors, were shared in resigned tones. Some spoke their numbers hesitantly, as if still unaccustomed to the idea of introducing themselves in such a way. Others said theirs more firmly, accepting that, while their lives had changed, the shadow of their past still loomed over them.


    The group exchanged glances¡ªsome uncertain, others curious and expectant. The sun rose slowly in the sky, and the murmur of their voices filled the space, making them feel, for the first time in a long time, that they weren''t alone. They were sharing something beyond mere survival.


    1765 observed each of them. They were children and adolescents like him, but they had endured far more suffering than anyone should ever bear. He took a deep breath and spoke firmly:


    ¡ªIt will be a difficult journey, but if you''ve decided to follow me, I promise I''ll do everything I can to help you survive.


    The youth nodded. There were no more doubts. Together, they would begin a new life.


    As the morning progressed, conversations among the former slaves became more fluid. They started talking to one another, sharing their stories, fears, and hopes. For the first time in a long while, they stopped seeing themselves as mere numbers and began to recognize each other as people.


    Some offered to gather provisions, while others searched the cave for useful materials. Their decision to follow 1765 seemed to imbue them with a newfound energy, motivating them to prepare for the journey ahead.


    1765 watched them silently, a faint smile on his face. He couldn''t promise them an easy future, but at least tonight, they had taken their first step toward freedom.


    The group left the cave at dawn, the morning chill still clinging to the ground. The path ahead was uneven, with steep hills and rough terrain that forced them to tread carefully. Despite their frailty, the former slaves kept pace, driven by the hope of reaching safety.


    1765 led the group with steady strides, his trained eyes scanning the surroundings. He carried the rabbit skins with him, still damp but essential for the journey. The young slaves, though weary, pushed themselves to match his rhythm.


    The first day passed in tense silence. Only the crunch of branches underfoot and the whisper of the wind among the trees accompanied them. They stopped occasionally to drink from streams or rest in the shade of large rocks. The trek was grueling, and for some, it was almost too much.


    One of the youngest, 3259, stumbled on a rocky path and scraped his knee. 1765 stopped, examined the wound, and efficiently improvised a bandage from one of the rabbit pelts.


    By nightfall, they camped in a clearing surrounded by tall trees. The fire 1765 lit provided warmth and a sense of security. Dinner was sparse but enough to keep them going. As the flames danced, some of the group began to talk, sharing fragments of their past lives. 1765 listened quietly, knowing that this exchange was a small step toward healing.


    The second day brought a greater challenge. Around midday, as they crossed a rocky area with thick underbrush, a roar echoed through the air.


    A large feline, with sharp fangs and hungry eyes, emerged from the bushes. The former slaves stepped back in fear, but 1765 didn''t hesitate. He positioned himself between the beast and the group, holding an improvised knife in his hand.


    The animal leapt at him with a fierce jump. 1765 rolled to the side, avoiding the strike, and with precise calculation, plunged his knife into the creature''s flank. The feline roared in pain and retreated. Unwilling to fight a prey that had hurt it, the beast eventually slinked back into the brush.


    The slaves watched the scene in awe. 1765 took a deep breath and sheathed his improvised weapon.


    ¡ªLet''s keep moving. We''re not far now.


    The third day was the most exhausting. They climbed a steep hill and crossed slippery terrain. Feet ached, stomachs growled, but no one complained.


    Finally, as the sun began to set on the horizon, they reached the edge of a dense, silent forest.


    1765 allowed himself a faint smile.


    ¡ªThis is the Silent Forest. I know it looks frightening, but it''s the safest place we can go.


    The young former slaves gazed at the dark landscape with traces of fear, but after the events of the past few days, they trusted 1765. Without hesitation, they followed their leader into the thick woods.


    The forest was just as 1765 remembered it¡ªgloomy, gray, and eerily silent. There were no plants or signs of life within, only twisted trunks and a heavy, oppressive air that enveloped everything.


    The slaves walked quietly, their hesitant footsteps echoing on the bare ground. They glanced around warily, but 1765 moved forward without hesitation, and they followed. As they ventured deeper, the initial fear began to fade. They had endured so much that the fear of nature seemed insignificant compared to what they had already suffered.


    Night fell quickly, and unlike the previous evenings, 1765 didn''t seek a cave or natural shelter. He simply stopped in a clearing and instructed the group to sleep on the ground.


    Some of the former slaves had improvised sleeping sacks from rabbit pelts, branches, and leaves gathered during the journey. They settled onto the cold ground and, exhausted from the trek, soon fell into a deep sleep.


    Not one of them had been left behind¡ªevery one of the 45 who started the journey had made it this far.


    As always, 1765 kept watch while the group slept. Sitting on a rock, he surveyed the surroundings, his senses on high alert. Despite the apparent calm of the forest, his instincts told him to remain vigilant. SILAS hadn''t detected any hostile presences, but caution was never wasted.


    The next morning, the former slaves woke early and began gathering their belongings. Without needing any instructions, they tidied up their makeshift camp and prepared to continue their journey. It was a routine they had already mastered.


    However, before resuming their trek, they needed to eat. 1765 had already lit a fire and was cooking meat over the embers. This time, though, the meal had something different. Alongside the meat, he had added some fruits he had collected from the forest.


    The fruits from the Silent Forest were peculiar. For most people, they would likely be poisonous. However, 1765, thanks to the metabolic modifications implemented by SILAS, could consume them without harm. This time, he had a plan.


    SILAS had devised a method to reduce the fruits'' toxic effects through a cooking process and by combining them with meat. If their calculations were correct, the mixture could act as an energy supplement without causing severe side effects for the former slaves. It was a calculated risk, but a necessary one.


    1765 removed the meat from the fire and distributed it. The slaves looked at it cautiously, but their hunger eventually won out. They took the portions with their hands and began eating. The taste was unusual, with a slightly sour tang, but tolerable.


    For the first few minutes, 1765 watched in silence, vigilant for any reactions. Gradually, he observed the exhausted bodies regaining energy. The heavy gazes lifted, and their movements became more fluid. The experiment had worked.


    The group traveled through the forest for an entire week. Food had to be rationed carefully. While 1765 could sustain himself on the fruits of the forest, the others could not. Fortunately, the juice from these fruits enhanced the energy from small portions of meat, enabling the group to stay on their feet and keep moving.


    The journey was not only long but increasingly treacherous. The mountain that connected to the valley was an extension of the Silent Forest, with narrow paths and precarious crossings. The dry trees persisted, though less densely, and sunlight managed to filter more easily through the rocky crevices. The air remained thick, but with each step, they felt closer to their destination.


    Finally, after an exhausting week of travel, the group emerged from the wooded area and reached a high clearing. From there, they could see the valley stretching out beyond the mountain. The view took their breath away.


    In the distance, right at the edge of the Silent Forest, stone and metal structures aligned with unusual precision. These were not abandoned ruins but active constructions. Silhouettes moved among them, their motions mechanical and repetitive. Small humanoid figures worked in perfect coordination, transporting materials and reinforcing buildings.


    "What is that?" one of the former slaves asked in a hushed tone.


    1765 narrowed his eyes. They weren''t people. They were golems, human-sized, functioning with inhuman efficiency. They moved with precision, as though following a clear purpose, but there were no signs of a master directing them.


    The group stood in silence, watching the scene with a mixture of awe and mistrust.


    1765 nodded slightly, unsurprised. This was exactly what he had hoped to find.


    The former slaves exchanged glances, unsure if what they were seeing was a threat or an opportunity. The air felt heavy, laden with uncertainty.


    "Let''s go," 1765 said firmly, though his gaze remained fixed on the mysterious settlement waiting for them in the valley.

 Chapter 9

    Two weeks had passed since 1765 left the camp, and upon returning, he found an unexpected scene. Now, there seemed to be more golems and several wooden houses built in the area. The surprise was evident on his face; when he had left, there wasn''t a single house, just the basic structure of what he had planned. Now, before his eyes, a massive building stood in the center, surrounded by at least ten medium-sized houses, all perfectly aligned in a functional and organized pattern.


    At that moment, Silas spoke.


    "Resuming control of the system."


    Instantly, the golems paused for a moment, as if their energy had been interrupted. Then, after a brief pause, they resumed their work without missing a beat, carrying wood, reinforcing structures, and organizing materials with mechanical efficiency.


    1765 frowned, more confused than surprised. He hadn''t expected such rapid progress.


    "When we left this place," Silas continued, "I programmed the golems to build additional units while advancing the construction of the housing structures. My initial calculations did not account for such an extended absence, but according to the data collected, the directive was executed successfully."


    The group of slaves who had followed 1765 to the entrance of the settlement stopped, visibly afraid. They watched uneasily as the wooden and metal figures moved about, tirelessly dedicated to their tasks. To them¡ªindividuals who only knew the harshness of the outside world¡ªseeing these structures erected by lifeless entities was surreal and, to a degree, terrifying.


    Meanwhile, 1765 advanced and placed a hand on one of the wooden walls of the nearest building. The surface was robust and dense. Its firm texture indicated it wasn''t ordinary wood.


    "It''s made of carbaluz wood," he muttered, recognizing the material upon feeling its hardness. "Carbaluz, though naturally resilient, was subjected to a hardening process that extracted its internal moisture through a combination of heat and progressive pressure. The logs were cut and stacked in enclosed structures where the residual heat from controlled embers gradually evaporated the moisture without warping the wood. Each piece was then pressed with the weight of large stones, achieving greater density in its structure. Finally, the wood was treated with a layer of arcaelis sap, which, upon drying, provided a natural seal that increased its resistance to moisture and erosion."


    Silas confirmed his observation. "Carbaluz is naturally durable wood, but to enhance its longevity without advanced tools, we used a controlled heat-drying method and manual compression in layers. Since we lacked nails or refined metals, we employed a system of interlocking wood joints, secured with arcaelis sap, which acts as a natural sealant."


    1765 ran his fingers along the joints, noting how firmly each piece fit together. "Arcaelis sap... it seems quite strong."


    "Its molecular structure exhibits properties similar to rubber. I recommend a deeper chemical study, as it could prove valuable for future constructions."


    "Rubber?" 1765 raised an eyebrow.


    "A natural polymer known for its elasticity and resistance to wear. It''s extracted from certain trees through their sap and has been used in various industrial applications, from coatings to shock-absorbing tools."


    1765 frowned. "Rubber... I don''t fully understand. Are you saying arcaelis sap is like that substance?"


    "In simple terms, yes. Its viscosity and sealing properties resemble natural rubber. However, I still lack sufficient data to determine its long-term durability or whether it can be processed in other ways."


    1765 touched the wood joint again, analyzing its resistance. "It could be useful for other things... but we''d need to test it more. How is rubber processed in your world?"


    "Natural rubber is obtained by making controlled incisions in trees to extract their latex, which is then coagulated and hardened using specific methods, such as heat treatment or adding certain reagents. In the case of arcaelis sap, its characteristics suggest a different hardening process based on controlled air exposure and moisture absorption, which might make it structurally more durable."


    1765 nodded slowly, processing the information without fully understanding it but knowing it was worth investigating further.


    As 1765 inspected the construction and the slaves watched the golems move uneasily, one of the machines suddenly stopped. Its body stood still for a moment, as if it had lost all its energy. However, before anyone could react, another golem emerged from one of the nearby houses, approached the inactive one, opened its chest, and removed an empty cylinder. Then, it placed another in its place.


    The inactive golem resumed movement almost immediately and continued its work as if nothing had happened.


    "We are running low on fuel. I recommend collecting more silent fruits for processing as soon as possible," Silas reported in his neutral tone.


    1765 nodded in understanding. The golems were capable of building more golems, inscribing complex runes, and even recharging their own energy tanks, but they couldn''t gather the fruits used as fuel. That was a task he had to handle personally.


    At that moment, he felt a trembling tug on his back. He turned to find 2876, the girl who had chosen to follow him. She looked at him nervously, clutching her hands anxiously.


    "1765... w-what are those things?" she asked in a hesitant tone.


    1765 smiled slightly, understanding her fear. "They''re golems. They''re creations of science and development, advanced tools designed to follow orders and perform tasks tirelessly. They don''t feel hunger, they don''t sleep, and they don''t think like us. They only execute the tasks they were designed for."


    The girl blinked and looked at the golems again, observing their relentless movement. "So... are they your slaves?"


    1765 was silent for a moment, pondering the question. Then he shook his head. "No, they''re not slaves. They''re machines without their own will. They lack consciousness or emotions. They simply execute their programming; they can''t decide for themselves. They''re tools designed to make work easier, like a hammer or a wheel."


    Somehow, 1765 managed to explain to the other slaves that the place wasn''t dangerous. Over the course of the next few hours, the tension on their faces eased, and they eventually began moving around with more confidence. Then, he organized the group and divided them among the completed houses. Fortunately, another house was finished by sunset, allowing them to divide into groups of four per house, while the largest structure would serve as a storage facility.


    Two weeks had passed since 1765 left the camp, and upon returning, he encountered an unexpected scene. There were now more golems and several wooden houses built in the area. The surprise was evident on his face; when he had left, there were no houses, only the basic structure of what he had envisioned. Now, before his eyes, a massive building stood in the center, surrounded by at least ten medium-sized houses, all perfectly aligned in a functional and organized pattern.


    As the former slaves settled into their new homes and a large bonfire illuminated the center of the makeshift village, 1765 quietly slipped away. From a small hill, he observed the settlement, the golems moving tirelessly, and the flames dancing in the dark. He sighed to himself and, without realizing it, murmured:


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it."Thank you."


    A minute of silence followed his words.


    Finally, Silas broke the quiet with his neutral tone. "The host''s intention to express gratitude is irrational."


    1765 smiled wearily and shook his head slightly. "I say thank you for letting me fight back there. Usually, you''d bother me to avoid unnecessary combat or stop me from putting myself in danger. But this time, you didn''t say anything. Not even when I decided to go back. That allowed me to clear my mind and focus."


    "My purpose is efficient assistance," Silas replied calmly. "According to the Universal Code of Ethics and Sapient Life Protection, established in the Interstellar Convention on Reasonable Conduct and Armed Conflicts, unnecessary and unjustified killing is considered a grave violation of the principles of interstellar coexistence and a punishable act under treaties of multiple civilizations. However, within the same provisions, the use of justified lethal violence is recognized as a legitimate act of self-defense or third-party protection, provided it meets the criteria of necessity, proportionality, and lack of viable alternatives."


    1765 let the words resonate in his mind for a few seconds before responding. "In other words, you let me fight because you thought it was necessary."


    "The situational assessment determined that direct intervention minimized long-term risk and generated an optimal outcome in terms of survival and stability. Additionally, your psychological state required a process of adjustment and reaffirmation of purpose."


    1765 sighed again, this time with a hint of relief. "Silas... thank you."


    The night sky stretched above them, illuminated by distant stars. In the settlement, the fire continued to burn, and the former slaves found some peace for the first time in their lives.


    The sun rose, marking a new day. The former slaves awoke once more, but this time their faces reflected calm. They had a roof over their heads, a safe place to rest, and as they approached the campfire, they saw food cooking. This time, it appeared to be fish, accompanied by some wild fruits. The aroma stirred the appetite of many, and soon they gathered to finish cooking and share the meal. However, something struck them as strange: 1765 was nowhere near.


    While the golems continued their relentless work, the former slaves, who had grown somewhat accustomed to their presence, quickly noticed their leader''s absence. Their doubts were soon resolved when they saw him running around the village. His behavior was strange, but no one asked many questions; they simply watched as he carried out his unusual activity.


    The morning passed slowly. With no tasks assigned, the former slaves began to realize that they didn''t have much to do. The golems kept everything under control, handling the settlement''s tasks with mechanical precision. Over time, their attention shifted to 1765, who continued to perform strange movements.


    As he ran, he would occasionally stop to perform exercises that seemed incomprehensible to many. He would push his body up and down with his hands on the ground in rapid repetitions. Then, lying on his back, he would lift his legs in a series of controlled movements. After a short rest, he would squat and jump with force, reaching a considerable height before landing precisely. Next, he would pick up a large rock and repeatedly lift it above his head, maintaining a firm posture.


    The exercises continued with intensity: push-ups in various positions, deep squats, short sprints with sudden changes in direction, and explosive jumps that defied gravity. At one point, he even began practicing combat movements, throwing punches and kicks into the air with surprising speed and precision.


    The former slaves looked at one another, confused. To them, it made no sense.


    After his morning training, 1765 ventured into the forest to gather food and silent fruits. He collected enough for the day and returned to the settlement, where he prepared lunch before continuing his training. In the afternoon, he went out again in search of more resources, returning at sunset. As usual, he settled at the base of a sturdy tree and slept outdoors. It was where he felt safest, which caused the former slaves to notice that he didn''t return to the houses at night.


    This pattern repeated for an entire week. 1765 trained with discipline, collected food and other resources, while the golems continued exploring the area for useful materials. Thanks to the advanced rune systems and detection matrices developed by Silas, mechanisms were implemented to collect real-time environmental data. These systems could detect variations in temperature, soil density, air humidity, and infrared radiation, as well as measure the chemical composition of certain materials and detect latent energy patterns in the local flora and fauna. This allowed them to identify water sources, buried minerals, and the composition of the local flora. By comparing this data with the information stored in Silas''s knowledge base, the valley''s resources could be cataloged efficiently, facilitating their future exploitation and optimization for the settlement.


    1765 paid little attention to these details. He focused on his training, leaving Silas to handle the more complicated matters he didn''t fully understand. However, that didn''t mean he was exempt from learning. His two weeks of adventure had been a break, but now that he was relatively free, Silas had become much stricter, forcing him to study each night.


    Thus, between physical training and Silas''s lessons, 1765''s days passed in a routine of constant improvement, preparing him for what was yet to come.


    Although 1765 was focused on his training, he still gathered food for the new inhabitants of the village. However, he had overlooked an important detail: these were people with their own thoughts, not golems that simply needed to be fed and maintained.


    At first, 1765 didn''t want to bother them. They had just escaped from hell and were still recovering. They were eating better than they ever had, although 1765 knew the food was still basic compared to the delicacies stored in Silas''s memories. For now, his priority was elsewhere.


    This approach led to an unexpected situation. One morning, as 1765 carried out his training, the former slaves interrupted him. At the head of the group was the eldest of them, who looked at him with a determined gaze. His resolve surprised 1765.


    Without warning, the young man knelt on the ground and spoke firmly:


    "Please, teach us how to fight."


    1765 frowned, clearly confused. But the young man seemed to interpret his silence as doubt, so he continued with greater fervor.


    "A week ago, none of us thought about escaping hell. We had resigned ourselves to our fate. Every day we woke up with the certainty that we only existed to serve, to obey, to be punished if we failed. But now we are here. We no longer bear the mark of slaves, we have no chains binding our wrists, no orders dictating our every move. For the first time, we eat without fear that someone will snatch the food from our mouths. For the first time, we sleep without fear of being punished for sleeping too early or too late."


    The young man lifted his gaze, his voice charged with contained emotion.


    "We were born slaves. We were born as Ind¨®mitos. From the day we opened our eyes in this world, we were forbidden to love, forbidden to dream, forbidden to even feel affection. We were told we deserved nothing more than to be tools. But even so, many of us had friends. Some even remember their mothers. Not all of us were separated from them too soon. I... I remember mine. I remember her voice, her warmth, even if it''s a distant echo in my mind. And now that I''m here, free, I can''t help but think of her... and how I wish she could taste just a little of the meat I''ve eaten these days."


    He stood up, his eyes red from emotion, but not letting the tears fall.


    "You''ve already done so much for us. You gave us the chance to live. You let us stay here without asking for anything in return. But I don''t want to keep living like this. I don''t want to keep depending on others for my survival. I don''t want our freedom to be an accident of fate. I want to be able to defend myself. I want to take my life into my own hands."


    The young man took a deep breath and finished with a firm tone:


    "Please, teach us how to fight."


    1765 scanned the faces of the former slaves who were watching him intently. A week ago, he had barely seen a spark in their eyes. Now, they seemed to burn like uncontrollable flames. He didn''t fully understand why they were reacting this way, but in some way, it reminded him of the day he decided to escape, four years ago.


    Unknowingly, his actions, his unrelenting training, had ignited something within them. It wasn''t just a desire to learn; it was something much harder to extinguish: faith and hope.


    The simple sight of others, born like him, trying to rise and fight for something more, stirred something deep within him. A feeling he hadn''t experienced in years. Without thinking too much, he asked:


    "Are you sure this is what you want?"


    The 45 former slaves nodded in unison, without hesitation. Their bodies, still fragile from years of abuse, seemed charged with a new determination.


    "The training I do is not easy. It''s not just exhaustion and pain. If you want to reach a strength similar to mine, you will have to endure suffering that will test your bodies and minds."


    He remembered the changes Silas had to make to his metabolism to allow him to consume the silent fruits, the pain he had to endure as his body adapted. He knew they wouldn''t have to go through the exact same hell, but Silas had developed alternative methods, including a series of tonics that simulated certain effects, adapted to the Ind¨®mitos.


    The young man leading the group smiled confidently, with an expression that almost seemed defiant. "I doubt the pain will be worse than the hell I lived through for twenty years."


    The others'' gazes reflected the same conviction. None of them faltered.


    1765 observed them in silence for a moment, letting the weight of their decision settle on his shoulders. He couldn''t deny that, for the first time in a long while, something inside him felt... right.


    Finally, he nodded solemnly.


    "Very well. Then, follow me."


    And so, under the dawn sky, the first day of training began for the group of former slaves who had decided to challenge their fate and reclaim the life that had been stolen from them.

 Chapter 10

    In the high sky during the dark night, the moon hid behind dense clouds, casting only a pale glow over the vast expanse of land. The air was heavy and humid, laden with the unmistakable stench of sweat, dust, and despair. A cold wind swept through the ravines and gorges, whistling among the rocks like an eternal lament.


    Beneath the surface, in the bowels of the earth, a mine sprawled like a labyrinth of narrow tunnels and treacherous passageways. The dark stone walls rose on either side, covered with marks from picks and rusted tools, scars of endless labor. The slaves moved like shadows, hunched figures with skin hardened by toil and bones jutting out beneath emaciated flesh.


    The incessant clanging of picks against rock echoed in the depths, a constant rhythm marking their condemnation. Every strike, every fragment chipped away, was another testament to their misery. Oil lanterns hung from rusted hooks, casting a flickering light that barely illuminated their surroundings. The mine stretched across multiple levels, with crumbling wooden walkways and beams on the verge of collapse. The ground was littered with debris, and the air was thick with dust that rose with every movement.


    The slaves worked in silence, their faces blackened with soot, their breaths ragged from exertion. No one dared to speak, not with the whips and batons of the guards lurking in every corner. The sentinels patrolled with heavy steps, armed with clubs and braided leather whips, watching with cold, unyielding eyes. To them, the slaves were nothing more than disposable tools, replaceable with each new batch of captives.


    "Faster, dogs!" bellowed a guard, his voice echoing through the cavern.


    A younger slave, barely a teenager, staggered under the weight of a sack of stones. His legs trembled, his muscles exhausted from relentless labor. He tripped over a loose rock and fell to his knees, spilling the sack''s contents across the ground.


    For a brief moment, silence fell.


    The guard approached with slow, deliberate steps, savoring the anticipation. The other slaves avoided looking, pretending they hadn''t seen anything. They knew what was coming.


    "Can''t handle it anymore? Too heavy for you?" the guard''s voice dripped with venom. Without waiting for a reply, he raised his baton and struck hard across the boy''s back. A dry sound and a muffled cry mingled with the echo of the picks. "Get up! There''s no rest for garbage like you!"


    The boy curled into himself, trembling, but didn''t get up. Another blow. And another. His breathing grew labored, his body shaking from the pain.


    "Enough!" a voice interrupted the beating.


    All the slaves tensed. The guard turned slowly, scanning for the one who had dared to speak. A man with a face hardened by years of suffering met his gaze, fists clenched tightly.


    The guard smiled cruelly. "Do you want to take his place?"


    The man didn''t answer, but his gaze didn''t waver. He knew what was coming. He knew the punishment was inevitable. And yet, he stood firm.


    The other slaves looked away. They knew compassion had no place in this mine, that every act of defiance was paid for in blood. The whips cracked through the air, and soon the sound of flesh being struck filled the tunnel. The man didn''t scream, didn''t utter a single groan. His teeth clenched with every impact, his knees buckled, but he didn''t fall. When the guard finally stopped, panting and with his whip stained with blood, the slaves returned to their work. There was nothing else to do.


    The boy, still on the ground, watched with glassy eyes the man who had intervened for him. He said nothing. He couldn''t say anything.


    The guard spat on the ground and stepped back. "Now move. Or next time, it won''t just be lashes."


    With the strength he had left, the boy got to his feet, staggering. He hoisted the sack again and began to walk, its weight crushing him even more than before. The man who had defended him remained standing, his wounds open and bleeding, but his expression showed no regret. Only determination.


    Hours passed slowly. The rhythm of the picks against the rock never ceased. For the slaves, time was a useless concept. There was no difference between day and night. Only work, hunger, and exhaustion. Only the certainty that any day could be the last.


    At the far end of the tunnel, an elderly man worked with trembling hands. His bony fingers could barely hold the pick, and each strike was weaker than the last. One of the guards watched him with disdain before approaching and shoving him aside.


    "You''re useless."


    The old man fell on his back, gasping. His tired eyes met the cold stone floor. He didn''t try to get up. He didn''t try to defend himself. His gaze drifted into the cavern''s darkness, as if he already knew what was coming.


    The slaves continued working. No one stopped. No one could stop.


    As the inferno of the mine roared with the grinding of steel against stone, a group of warriors stood guard at the mine''s entrance.


    A campfire crackled in the center of a clearing surrounded by trees. The flames cast uneven shadows on the faces of the guards who, sitting on logs or leaning on their weapons, passed the time with conversations filled with boredom and resignation.


    "This place stinks," grumbled one of the younger guards, throwing a piece of wood into the fire. "I can''t believe they sent me here right after graduating from the academy. All because I didn''t master aura perfectly."


    "Bah," spat another, an older man with a scar on his cheek. "What did you expect? To be sent to the capital to guard nobles? This is where they send the useless and the unwanted."


    "Damn our luck," another muttered, digging at the dirt with the tip of his boot. "At least if there were some fun... but no. Just dirty work and those stinking slaves. Not even a single damn woman to pass the time with."


    Some laughed; others merely nodded wearily. They knew they were trapped in the worst fate for a soldier. The mine had no glorious wars or formidable enemies to face. Only slaves, dirty and weak, chained and without a chance of resistance.


    "The worst is the cold," complained one of the burliest guards, bringing his hands closer to the fire. "Damn it, why does the temperature drop so much at this hour? I don''t understand how the slaves survive in those caves without freezing."


    "They have no choice," said another with a crooked smile. "When you have no other option, your body adapts. And if not... well, you know."The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Silence fell for a moment over the group. Everyone knew what happened to the slaves who couldn''t endure the cold, lack of food, or extreme labor. The bodies were dragged out of the mine before dawn, and the next day, new slaves took their place. It was an unbreakable cycle, one no one dared to question.


    "We should get paid more for this misery," the youngest muttered again. "I didn''t go to the academy to end up here, watching walking rags."


    "And without women," added another mockingly, prompting tired laughter.


    As the laughter spread through the darkness of the night, a faint whistle, almost imperceptible, cut through the air. It was a whisper in the breeze, a sound so subtle that none of the guards noticed it.


    A moment later, the youngest among them stopped laughing. His body froze, his mocking grin locked on his face as his eyes widened in surprise. An arrow had pierced his right eye, the tip emerging from the back of his skull. His mouth quivered as if trying to say something, but no voice came. Without a sound, he collapsed sideways, his life extinguished in an instant.


    None of the others had time to react.


    In a fleeting second, seven shadows moved through the night, and with deadly precision, seven more arrows whistled in the gloom. They struck with ruthless accuracy, piercing throats, eyes, and hearts. There were no screams, no warnings, no alarms. Just a brief instant of absolute silence before the bodies collapsed one by one onto the cold earth, their weapons slipping from their lifeless fingers.


    The campfire crackled, indifferent to the massacre, casting dancing shadows over the motionless bodies of the guards. The crackling of wood and the whisper of the wind were the only witnesses to the perfect kill.


    Then, from the depths of the night, 46 hooded figures emerged with silent steps, like haunting specters. Their faces were completely covered with dark fabrics, concealing any features or identities. Their movements were calculated, precise, their bodies wrapped in shadows that obscured any details about them. They exchanged no words; there was no need for orders. Each of them knew exactly what to do.


    The leader of the group stopped at the entrance of the mine. Their eyes calmly surveyed the scene, taking in the bodies of the fallen with the cold detachment of someone who had planned every detail. Then, with a slight nod, they gave the signal.


    Without hesitation, the hooded figures entered the mine, slipping into the darkness like living shadows. The night swallowed their presence, leaving only the reigning silence in their wake.


    The mine''s tunnels were intricate, narrow, and labyrinthine, branching into multiple corridors that seemed endless. The darkness was almost absolute, barely broken by the faint light of flickering torches in the distance. The group of hooded figures couldn''t stay together for long; they were soon forced to split into small groups of five. Only one figure moved alone, gliding like a shadow through the stone tunnels.


    After several turns and descents through dimly lit passages, the first group reached their destination.


    Before them lay a chamber larger than the rest of the tunnels. Inside, several wooden beds were lined against the rock walls, occupied by motionless shapes. It was the guards'' dormitory, the only place where they could rest away from the stench of the slaves and the mine''s relentless toil.


    No voices or heavy breaths could be heard. There was no movement at all. Only the sound of water dripping from the ceiling and the distant crackling of a torch.


    The hooded figures approached the entrance in complete silence. Despite the gloom, their trained eyes discerned the forms of the sleeping guards. At first glance, the room seemed peaceful, but within each of them burned restrained rage. While the slaves slept on piles of damp straw and dirt, these men rested on thick mattresses and decent blankets, enjoying a comfort none of the mine''s prisoners would ever know.


    One of the figures seemed to tense at the sight. Their breathing grew heavier, and their hand slid slowly to the hilt of their weapon. What they held was a short sword of unusual design; its blade appeared to be forged from metal but had sections of an opaque, rough material with the texture of wood. It was not a common weapon.


    Before their companions could stop them, the figure moved forward, advancing quickly but without making a sound. Their body moved with precision, with the skill of someone trained for the hunt.


    But even the most skilled hunters can make mistakes.


    Just as they crossed the room''s threshold, their foot brushed against a thin cord, nearly invisible in the dim light. A mechanism creaked, triggering a hidden lever in the shadows. A metallic sound rose through the room.


    A bell rang in the silence.


    The enemy was waking up.


    The hooded figure who had accidentally triggered the alarm silently cursed as they recalled their training.


    A year ago, their life had drastically changed. They had gone from despair and slavery to training under their savior''s leadership. The days weren''t easy. Every morning began before dawn with grueling exercises that pushed their body to its limits. At first, they could barely stand, but over time, their endurance grew. After physical training came food. It wasn''t bad; in fact, it was the best they had ever tasted, but it brought with it a strange pain, a burning sensation that coursed through their body, forcing it to adapt. However, to them, that pain was insignificant. A whip lash hurt far more than that.


    After eating came the part they struggled to understand the most: studying. At first, they didn''t grasp why their savior insisted so much on it. Why did they need to learn about tactics, history, and combat strategies? However, one phrase stayed with them: "Not all battles are won with strength." Over time, it became clear. Strength without direction was useless. Knowledge was as lethal a weapon as any sword.


    Initially, despair had overwhelmed them more than once. They doubted whether all the effort would be worth it. But then they saw the results. Their body changed, becoming stronger and more agile. Their reflexes improved. They learned to move undetected, to read the flow of a fight, to strike with deadly precision. Their mind evolved as well. They now understood strategies and could anticipate an enemy''s moves before they happened. With each passing month, the fear they had felt as a slave faded, replaced by an unyielding determination.


    One day, after months of training, he was allowed to hunt wild beasts alongside his companions. It was the first time he felt true freedom. He no longer depended on others to survive. He didn''t have to wait for a scrap of bread to be tossed into a dirty bowl. He could now find his own food; he could now defend himself.


    But that wasn''t enough.


    His ultimate purpose wasn''t just to survive. His heart cried out for vengeance. Vengeance against those who had denied him the right to exist as a free being. And tonight, he was so close to achieving it. So close to embarking on the path he had long yearned to tread.


    And he had made a mistake.


    A simple mistake of impatience.


    And now, that mistake not only endangered his life but the lives of all his companions.


    But this was no time for regrets. He knew it. And his companions understood it too.


    The sound of the bell still reverberated through the mine''s walls, like a mocking echo announcing imminent danger. Cold sweat ran down his back, his breathing quickened for an instant. What if it all ended here? What if his revenge was cut short before it could even begin? No. He couldn''t allow that.


    Before the echo could stretch too far, the other four hooded figures quickly entered the room. Their movements were fluid, precise, lethal. The swords slid silently from their sheaths, reflecting only the faint torchlight. The room''s calm vanished in an instant, replaced by the certainty of the inevitable.


    The guards began stirring in their beds, some murmuring, still trapped between sleep and reality. But before they could react, before they could even grasp what was happening, death descended upon them with the swiftness of lightning.


    The sharp blades slashed throats, pierced hearts, and cut off the breath of those who had once been masters of others'' despair. There was no time for screams, only the muffled sound of bodies being cut down, the bubbling of blood escaping the lips of the dying, the final gasp of lives snuffed out without understanding their end.


    The soft, comfortable beds that had once served as the guards'' rest soon became their graves. Dark red blood stained the sheets, permeating the air with its metallic stench. The difference between life and death had been a matter of seconds.


    The hooded figure who had made the mistake stood still, sword firmly gripped in hand. His eyes scanned the scene, his mind recording every detail of what they had done. He felt no compassion. He felt no remorse. Only a cold, controlled sense of satisfaction.


    They had waited so long for this moment, for this opportunity to return the suffering. And they had succeeded.


    But this was just the beginning.

 Chapter 11

    The alarm system didn''t trigger just one bell but a series of alarms distributed throughout the mine. Bells and warning mechanisms echoed through the underground tunnels, their sound reverberating like the echo of an impending sentence.


    Although the shrill ringing of the alarms alerted the guards, for many, it was merely an initial warning. It wouldn''t be the first time one of those bells had been accidentally triggered: a clumsy slave tripping over a mechanism, a minor collapse in the tunnels, or even a large rat could set off the alarm. Most guards didn''t pay much attention at first. After all, who would attack a mine in such a remote location? They were deep within imperial territory, far from any disputed borders. There were no nearby enemies, and though nobles had their constant conflicts, mines were rarely targeted in attacks; slaves were too valuable to destroy without reason. If a mine changed hands, it was through politics, not assaults.


    However, some of the more disciplined guards decided to investigate. Among them was one just waking up in another of the rest quarters. He rose with irritation, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. The bell had interrupted his rest, and his foul mood was evident.


    "Damn it¡­" he muttered to himself as he slowly stood. He had worked in the mine for years and was about to receive a promotion. He wasn''t particularly cruel but was strict in his duties. Meticulous and disciplined, he had worked hard to earn a higher rank. He wouldn''t let a false alarm distract him from his responsibilities.


    He dressed quickly, securing his sword to his belt. He walked decisively toward the door of the room, his mind still clouded with sleep. His routine was simple: check, ensure everything was in order, and return to his rest. But the moment he crossed the threshold, he felt a sharp, searing pain in his chest.


    He stopped abruptly. His eyes, wide with surprise, slowly drifted down to his torso.


    A sharp blade protruded from his chest. A firm hand gripped the hilt of the sword that impaled him.


    The guard felt his legs falter. Hot blood began to rise to his throat, choking any attempt to cry out. His breathing became erratic, and reality shattered in an instant. His mind processed the impossible: he was being killed inside what was supposed to be a safe territory.


    His assailant said nothing. They merely pushed the blade further in before pulling it out with a precise twist, allowing the guard to collapse to his knees. His vision blurred, his body trembled. He felt his life slipping away with each agonizing heartbeat.


    But even on his deathbed, he didn''t forget his duty.


    With the last ounce of his strength, his foot found the alarm cable on the floor. He stomped on it with all the force he could muster, activating a second alert.


    The metallic sound echoed through the tunnels like an inescapable roar. A second chime.


    If one alarm could be ignored as an accident¡­ two were a certainty.


    The guards, drowsy or distracted, set aside their skepticism. Their years of training kicked in. They unsheathed their weapons, their gazes hardened, and they began to move.


    A second alarm only meant one thing.


    Someone was attacking the mine.


    The guards, now fully alert, hurriedly donned their armor and grabbed their weapons. Some raised spears, others swords and shields, preparing for the sudden attack.


    The hooded figures hadn''t wasted time. They had infiltrated with precision, eliminating several guards in their quarters, but more than half of the garrison remained. The mine was vast, and despite the initial surprise, the battle''s balance had yet to fully tilt in their favor.


    A group of eight guards who had been sleeping in a room armed themselves quickly and exited into the corridor. Not far away, they spotted five hooded figures emerging from another room. For a brief moment, both sides froze, staring at each other with a mix of surprise and tense anticipation.


    The guards wore standard imperial armor, thick metal pieces that provided solid protection for vital areas. Four carried heavy shields, while the other four wielded long spears.


    The hooded figures, on the other hand, appeared unarmed. Their garments concealed any details beneath the shadows of their cloaks, but what unsettled the guards most were the strange masks covering their faces. Made of grayish wood, they had a rustic texture and lacked mouths, but the most terrifying feature was their eyes: two glowing red orbs shone from within the masks, staring at them with an inhuman coldness.


    One of the guards swallowed hard.


    "Who the hell are you?" shouted one of them. "Stop and surrender!"


    The response was immediate. The hooded figures raised their bows in perfect synchronization and drew their strings with fluid movements.


    The guards reacted instantly, forming a defensive line and raising their shields. They weren''t afraid of arrows, but those red eyes reminded them of a dangerous race they couldn''t trust. Their instincts screamed not to underestimate these opponents.


    The first volley of arrows was loosed. The sound of projectiles striking shields echoed. A faint blue light enveloped the guards'' defenses, an enchantment meant to enhance their resistance.


    But something was wrong.


    The arrows pierced the aura created by the guards'' enchantments effortlessly and embedded themselves in the wood of the shields. They didn''t break through, but the impact was enough to unsettle the guards.


    One of them cursed under his breath.


    "How the hell did they break our barrier?"


    A sharp snap from one of the hooded figures broke the brief silence. It was a signal.


    The archers drew their bows again, this time positioning themselves more tactically. Some crouched while others stood, ensuring their shots didn''t obstruct one another. Arrows rained down with precise cadence, striking without pause.


    The guards held their ground, but each impact weakened their defenses. Just as it seemed the battle was evenly matched, the sound of footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor.


    Five more guards arrived in formation, surrounding the group of hooded figures. The relief on the faces of the initial eight was palpable.


    "We''ve got them!" one of them exclaimed.


    The guards began to advance, but the hooded figures showed no intention of surrendering. Just then, one of them crouched and pulled out what looked like a scroll. They quickly unfurled it and pinned it to the ground with two daggers. Then, with precise movements, they retrieved a strange cylinder from their cloak and placed it at the center of the scroll.


    The scroll bore an intricate circular design with unknown symbols and patterns. As soon as the cylinder was placed at its center, the figure pressed the device firmly against the ground. The cylinder seemed to shrink, collapsing in on itself in an impossible motion, as though absorbed by the stone. At that moment, the scroll emitted a faint glow before vanishing into the darkness.


    The torches flickered briefly before extinguishing completely.


    Darkness engulfed the corridor in a matter of seconds.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The guards were left completely blinded. The sudden blackout caught them off guard, their eyes still adjusted to the light. In their moment of confusion, it was already too late.


    Those carrying shields felt a strong tug, as if something invisible was pulling them. They barely had time to react before chaos erupted.


    A few minutes earlier, at the same scene.


    The hooded figures had just cleared another of the rooms where the guards slept. They knew they had to move quickly. The concept of an alarm had been ingrained in them by their savior; these sounds existed solely to alert the enemy, and every second spent there increased their risk of discovery.


    But their luck ran out quickly. They encountered a well-armed group of guards, ready for combat.


    It wasn''t fear that the hooded figures felt, but caution. A frontal confrontation was a risk they couldn''t afford. They knew their weapons could counter, at least partially, the energy protecting the guards, but they weren''t infallible. They confirmed this when they fired their first volley of arrows: they easily broke through the magical barrier but were stopped by the physical shields. The guards were strong in their own right, with muscular, well-trained bodies.


    They knew they could win, but not without casualties.


    The enemy communicated with shouts and direct orders. In contrast, the hooded figures used subtle sounds: tongue clicks, brief whistles, pre-trained signals that provided no information to their adversaries. The logical solution was to press them with ranged attacks and avoid close combat. However, the situation changed when another group of guards appeared at the opposite end of the corridor, surrounding them.


    They had no time to waste.


    They decided to opt for a riskier but effective strategy. One of them retrieved one of the devices provided by their savior: a scroll covered in inscriptions and unknown patterns, designed for a single purpose.


    To eliminate all sources of light.


    They didn''t fully understand how it worked. Their savior had tried to explain, mentioning something about "luminous radiation" and "photon absorption." To them, these were meaningless words. They didn''t need to understand it; they just needed to know it worked.


    With mechanical precision, they unfurled the scroll, pinning it to the ground with daggers. Then, they placed the activation cylinder at its center and pressed it.


    The world was plunged into absolute darkness.


    The hooded figures didn''t hesitate. Two of them turned nimbly, charging at the five guards surrounding them from behind, while the other three lunged directly at the group of eight in front.


    The corridor became a stage of absolute darkness, but the hooded figures were not as blind as their opponents. Their masks, meticulously designed under the guidance of their savior, were equipped with two red crystals embedded in the brown wood surrounding their eyes. This contrast of color with the gray wood of the rest of the mask gave them an even more terrifying appearance. However, beyond their looks, their purpose was clear: to allow them to see in the dark.


    Unlike their enemies, their movements were neither erratic nor hesitant. Their steps were confident, calculated. The design of their masks not only enhanced their vision in the gloom but was also linked to other runic devices. Engraved in their equipment and connected to small metallic cylinders in their cloaks, these symbols allowed them to perceive the contours and movements of their enemies, even in total absence of light.


    One of the hooded figures quickly slid among the guards raising their shields, observing their postures and desperate attempts to form a defensive barrier. Within seconds, they found a weak spot. With precise movement, they barely lowered one guard''s shield, creating a gap in the defense just above his shoulder. Another figure slid across the ground, skillfully maneuvering between their legs, while the last one exploited an opening at the corner of the formation to flank them.


    The guards barely had time to react.


    The first felt a sudden cut on their exposed arm. They let out a stifled cry and reflexively extended their other arm to defend themselves, only to awkwardly collide with one of their companions. Their shield wavered, leaving them even more vulnerable.


    Another guard felt a sharp pain in their ankle. Hot blood ran down their boot, and they lost their balance, falling heavily to the ground. They tried to get up, but a second cut made them drop their weapon.


    A third guard, confident in the protection of their helmet and armor, never saw the sharp blade that found a small opening in their helm and slid mercilessly to their neck. A gurgling sound of blood escaped their throat before they collapsed, their life ending in mere seconds.


    The guards'' armor was thick but had strategic gaps to allow mobility. And the hooded figures moved like snakes, slipping through the cracks and attacking with surgical precision at the exact points to cause maximum damage with minimal effort. They weren''t mere senseless assassins; each of their movements was designed for efficient elimination.


    But the worst part wasn''t just the speed of their assault.


    Each wound the guards received brought a new horror. It wasn''t just a simple sword cut. With every strike, they felt something draining slowly within them. An unnatural fatigue began to take hold of their bodies. Their muscles, once full of energy, now felt twice as heavy. Their movements became clumsy, sluggish. Their stamina, strength, and will¡­ all seemed to be absorbed along with their blood.


    The scroll featured an intricate circular drawing with unknown symbols and patterns. As soon as the cylinder was placed at its center, the figure pressed the device firmly into the ground. The cylinder appeared to collapse, shrinking impossibly as though absorbed by the stone. At that moment, the scroll emitted a faint glow before vanishing into the darkness.


    The torches flickered briefly before extinguishing completely.


    Darkness engulfed the corridor in mere seconds.


    The guards were left completely blind. The sudden blackout caught them off guard, their eyes still adjusted to the light. In their moment of confusion, it was already too late.


    Those carrying shields felt a sharp tug, as though something invisible was pulling them. They barely had time to react before chaos erupted.


    The five guards who had tried to flank them from behind fared even worse. They carried no shields, only swords and spears, and had approached hastily, disorganized, relying on their numerical advantage. They hadn''t anticipated the darkness, much less the speed of their opponents.


    Before they could even raise their weapons, their bodies were pierced with clean, precise cuts. One attempted to lift his sword to defend himself but had his arm severed in a single stroke, blood spurting like a fountain in the gloom. Another felt a blade plunge into his side, and when he tried to turn to see his attacker, his throat was slashed in a swift, singular motion.


    One of them managed to step back just in time, terror filling his mind as he tried to flee, his instincts begging for escape from the nightmare unfolding before him. But before he could take two steps, a searing pain burned through his back. A short sword plunged between his shoulder blades, paralyzing him as he fell to his knees.


    The corridor floor soon became a pool of blood. The only sounds were the final gasps of the dying, the dripping of blood onto the stone, and the slow steps of the hooded figures as they surveyed the bodies of their victims.


    The battle had ended in mere minutes.


    One of the hooded figures straightened and issued a tongue click, a signal to the others. His companions responded with a brief click of their own, indicating the task was complete.


    The mine felt gloomier and more somber than usual. In some areas, a dense, eerie silence hung in the air, a funereal stillness brought by the absence of life. Only blood-soaked corpses adorned the rooms, mute witnesses to an unrelenting massacre. In other areas, the roar of battle and cries of agony shattered the shadows, signaling that death was still hard at work.


    Deeper within the mine, where those sounds couldn''t reach, three guards stood, cursing their luck.


    They watched with disdain as a group of slaves struck the walls with pickaxes, chipping away fragments of glimmering rock with each blow. The flickering lantern light cast distorted shadows on the jagged walls.


    One guard, a cruel smile on his face, mercilessly lashed a slave with his whip.


    "Come on, come on. Because of you, I have to stay up late," he growled in frustration. "I should be sleeping in my warm bed, but no, here I am, waiting on you because you haven''t met your daily quota. Hurry up!" he demanded, delivering another blow.


    The slave fell to the ground, his back arching in pain. He didn''t make a sound. He simply gritted his teeth, took his pickaxe with trembling hands, and resumed his work, not daring to lift his gaze.


    The other two guards watched the scene with indifference. They couldn''t care less. In fact, they were just as annoyed as their companion. These slaves had been assigned to their shift, and their poor performance meant they too had to spend extra time in the mine. It didn''t matter if the slaves were exhausted, if their bodies were at their limits, or if the rock simply had no more minerals to extract. The quota was the quota, and it had to be met, no exceptions.


    One of the miners, a man with a famished body and calloused hands, suddenly stopped striking the rock. His body trembled, his legs wobbled, and without warning, he collapsed to the ground with a barely audible whisper.


    The guard holding the whip sighed in irritation and approached with heavy steps. "Get up, you useless thing!" he barked, delivering a hard kick to the man''s side.


    But the miner didn''t move. His breathing was shallow, his skin pale, and his cracked lips quivered from dehydration. He had simply reached his limit.


    The guards exchanged glances, then looked down at the slave with disdain. One of them shrugged. "Give him another beating. He''ll stand up after a few hits," he said with total indifference.


    It wasn''t the first time they''d seen something like this. Slaves were resilient, too much so to die simply from exhaustion. A good thrashing, followed by a little water and bread, would have him back on his feet in no time.


    The guard raised his whip once more, ready to unleash his frustration on the miner''s battered body.


    But before he could, something changed.


    The air grew heavier, as though an invisible shadow had seeped into the atmosphere. A shiver ran down the spines of all three guards simultaneously. They didn''t know why, but a sense of imminent danger gripped their bodies.


    Then, they fell to the ground.


    There was no warning. No sound. Only the dull thud of their bodies collapsing onto the mine''s cold stone floor, as if something had yanked them out of existence in a single instant.

 Chapter 12

    The slave remained on the ground, covering his head with his hands as he lay in a fetal position. His body trembled, bracing for the inevitable blow, the accustomed brutality of the guards. But time dragged on, and the pain never came.


    The other slaves continued working without daring to turn their heads. Fear dominated them; any distraction could attract the guards'' wrath toward them. Yet something was strange. The usual sounds of muffled groans mixed with the whip cracking against flesh were absent. That noise, which had almost become a sinister background music, had disappeared, leaving an oppressive silence that filled the room like a shadow.


    One of the slaves couldn''t resist lifting his gaze, furtively, to see what was happening. What he saw left him frozen. The guards lay on the ground, motionless, surrounded by a red pool that reflected the dim light of the torches. Near them, like specters emerging from the darkness, stood five hooded figures. Their forms were imposing, almost unreal, as if they were part of the shadows themselves.


    The man swallowed hard, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. He wasn''t alone. Other slaves began to notice the strange scene as well, their terrified and confused gazes fixed on the hooded figures. The figures said nothing. They remained still, as if evaluating the situation with an inhuman calm.


    Finally, one of the figures approached the slave still lying on the ground. Their steps were silent, almost ethereal. The man on the ground curled up even more, his body visibly trembling. But the figure didn''t raise a weapon or make any aggressive gesture. Instead, with slow movements, they extended a hand and revealed their head.


    The slave''s face was marked by terror. Not even when the guards beat him had he been so afraid. His eyes met those of the hooded figure, but he found neither anger nor hatred in them. Instead, the shadow drew a small wooden plaque from their tunic and held it a few inches from his forehead.


    The air grew tense, and everyone present held their breath. Then, something happened. The slave mark etched on the man''s forehead began to fade. As if an invisible force were erasing it, the symbol that represented his status as property disappeared, leaving his skin clean.


    An overwhelming silence fell over the room. No one understood what had just happened, but the feeling of the impossible spread like an echo through the slaves'' minds. Finally, the figure spoke, their deep and resonant voice cutting through the air:


    "If you wish to escape this hell and know true freedom, you must stand up and seek it for yourselves. No one will do it for you."


    With those words, they threw a small cloth sack to the ground and, without another word, turned to join the rest of the hooded figures. In complete silence, the shadows retreated, disappearing into the dimness of the mine as if they had never been there.


    The slaves remained frozen, their minds caught in a whirlwind of disbelief and confusion. The only sound was the faint crackle of fire from the torch hanging on one of the walls. Some stared at the ground, others exchanged quick glances, but no one said anything. The scene they had just witnessed was too surreal to comprehend immediately.


    Several minutes passed before one of the remaining guards, still in shock, dared to move. With cautious steps, he approached the cloth sack left by the hooded figure. His hand trembled slightly as he picked it up and opened it.


    Inside the sack, he found four more wooden plaques, similar to the one that had erased the first slave''s mark.


    As they walked away from the scene, the leader of the hooded figures couldn''t help but recall his own past, specifically the moment someone had given him freedom. Seeing the fear and terror in the slaves'' eyes, observing their pitiable state of despair and helplessness, he wondered, "Is this how we looked that day?"


    He had been the one to incite his companions to ask that person to train them, to prepare them for this moment. He had been the one who longed to rescue others from that hell, but the reality before his eyes was much harsher than he had imagined.


    He had prepared words to inspire, speeches to motivate. But when faced with the hopeless, vacant stares of the slaves, he was left speechless. Those men didn''t seem to have any will to fight. They were resigned, trapped in the routine of their misery. It was as if they were living dead, their bodies functioning purely out of inertia.


    He remembered then the day he himself had been locked in a cage. He had been torn from the place where he was born, sold like an object, first as a servant in a city and then as a slave in a castle. His life had been a continuous cycle of being bought and sold, until he was sold once more and sent toward an unknown fate with others like him. He had lost all hope.


    Until a black shadow appeared in the night, eliminating the guards with cold precision. That day, he witnessed his savior erase the slave mark from one of his companions, break the locks of the cages, and give them a choice. The savior hadn''t helped them escape, nor forced them to do anything. They had simply left the decision in their hands. He had taken that choice, and now he wanted to return the same gift to others.


    While some continued fighting the guards and others freed slaves, 1765 moved ceaselessly through the mine''s intricate passageways. His speed and agility set him apart from the others. If a guard stood in his way, they were eliminated before they could react.


    Time wasn''t exactly a pressing concern; after all, this mine was in a remote region, far from any major city. News of what happened here would take days to reach any significant destination. However, this operation was just the beginning. His companions had already expressed their intent to carry out more raids on similar sites. This mission wasn''t just a rescue; it was practice for something greater.


    At Silas''s insistence, they had established a rigorous schedule that they had to follow. The idea wasn''t to act impulsively but to coordinate and maximize the efficiency of each move. This precision had proven its worth in previous weeks, when they began intercepting convoys passing near the valley where they lived.


    During one of those raids, they stumbled upon a crucial discovery. One of the convoys was transporting not only goods but also valuable documents. Among them was a simple yet revealing letter: it indicated that gold had been discovered in the mine. This metal, it seemed, was as highly valued in this world as it had been in Silas''s. However, here its utility was not limited to wealth; it was an essential component in the creation of magical devices, something 1765 had learned by reading a book during his visit to the city.


    Alongside the letter, the documents also contained detailed plans of the mine, including maps of its passageways, the number of guards and slaves, and the overall logistics of the site. According to the records, there were 200 slaves working underground and a garrison of 120 guards tasked with supervising them and maintaining control.


    Initially, this information didn''t mean much to 1765. But for the other ex-slaves, it was the spark that ignited their passion to free others. Their enthusiasm and determination ultimately convinced him to lead this mission. It wasn''t something he had planned, but the circumstances had thrust him into this role.


    While his companions carried out their respective tasks, 1765 focused on his own. After traversing several passageways, he reached a room that stood out from the others. Its entrance was sealed by a massive metal door that contrasted against the crude rock walls.


    The metal door posed little challenge for 1765. After all, the locks in this world¡ªor at least in the Empire¡ªseemed quite antiquated to Silas''s sensors. A tool specially designed for the task made quick work of the lock. With a faint creak, the heavy structure swung open, revealing the room''s contents.


    Upon entering, 1765 saw several wooden crates placed on shelves lining the walls. Wasting no time, he moved quickly, opening one after another. Inside the crates, he found numerous books and scrolls. His eyes lit up slightly under the dim torchlight as he realized this was exactly what he had been seeking.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    For some reason, the owner of this mine had thought it a good idea to store important documents in this remote location. Perhaps they believed that being deep within Imperial territory and far from any apparent danger, the site would be secure. But now, all those documents were about to change hands.


    1765 gathered as many books and scrolls as he could and stuffed them into a sack he carried. He then took a scroll from his pocket and unrolled it on the floor. This wasn''t the only one; soon, he assembled a sort of matrix using several more scrolls, anchoring them in place with small metal rods. At the center of each scroll, he placed cylinders that seemed to fit perfectly within the circular drawings traced on the paper.


    The night wore on as the assault on the mine continued. An hour had passed since the operation began when 1765 emerged from the passageways with an enormous sack of books and scrolls on his back. As he exited, he surveyed the area. Aside from the lifeless bodies of guards lying motionless, there was no one else. This meant the others were still inside. His task was complete; now, he only needed to wait for the other groups to emerge with the freed slaves.


    1765 wasn''t one to remain idle.


    "Silas, it''s time. Summon the transport," he ordered in a calm yet firm tone.


    Silas didn''t respond with words, but 1765 perceived a faint confirmation in his mind. Five minutes later, several cargo wagons arrived, pulled by enormous beasts resembling horses, though they were more robust and had scales covering their skin. The wagons were being guided by golems, which moved with precise, mechanical motions, following Silas''s instructions.


    1765 nodded in satisfaction as he watched them arrive. He knew he couldn''t use the same route he had taken previously with the ex-slaves. If they managed to extract all 200 slaves, moving through the forest would be a death sentence. Even with 46 experienced combatants, the forest was teeming with ferocious beasts that would undoubtedly be drawn to the movement of such a large group.


    Instead, he had planned a different route, longer but safer. Everything had been calculated in detail. However, it had already been two and a half hours¡ªhalf an hour past the scheduled time¡ªand no one had yet emerged from the mine. Tension began to build in the air.


    Fortunately, the first team finally emerged. There were five of them, their hoods soaked in blood, though it was clearly not their own. Their gazes looked tired but filled with determination. Upon seeing 1765, they nodded, a gesture he returned silently. The five stepped aside to wait for the others.


    One after another, the teams began to emerge. Alongside them came some freed slaves, their slavery marks erased and their faces marked with confusion. They dared not speak or move much; they simply watched curiously as the hooded figures who had challenged the mine''s guards continued their work.


    The scene repeated several times until, finally, the last group emerged from the dark interior. In total, there were 180 slaves, along with the 46 attackers who had participated in the operation. Unfortunately, 20 slaves had lost their lives before they could be freed, victims of the guards'' cruelty.


    1765 nodded silently, acknowledging both the mission''s success and its losses. Without wasting time, he placed a scroll similar to the one he had used in the sealed room. This one was placed at the mine''s entrance. It wasn''t the only one; his task had been to place these scrolls at strategic points throughout the mine.


    As he turned away, he noticed his companions watching him intently. There was something in their gazes¡ªa mix of respect and expectation. As the freed slaves took notice of this, they too began to look at him closely. They recognized that expression; it was the same they saw in the guards when someone of high rank visited the mine. Slowly, they reached the conclusion that he was the leader, the one who would decide what happened next.


    The silence grew heavy, but 1765 didn''t break it immediately. He simply looked at the slaves, exhausted and filled with doubt, and then at his own men, who awaited his next command.


    The night carried on as the assault on the mine continued. An hour had passed since the operation began when 1765 emerged from the tunnels, carrying a massive sack filled with books and scrolls on his back. As he stepped out, he scanned the surroundings. Aside from the lifeless bodies of the guards lying motionless on the ground, no one else was in sight. This meant the others were still inside. His part was done; now all that remained was to wait for the other groups to emerge with the freed slaves.


    It wasn''t that 1765 relished being in this position. He had never asked to be a leader, but circumstances had thrust him into this role. He took a deep breath and began to speak.


    "My name is 1765. As you can see, I''m currently the one leading this group of¡­ well, I suppose for now, we could call ourselves bandits, right?"


    Some of the hooded figures couldn''t help but stifle quiet laughs at his remark.


    "If you''re wondering about my peculiar name, I suppose it comes from my past. Like many of you, I originated from a mine. I was just a simple slave, born and raised in a place like this. By some twist of fate, here I am, leading a group of madmen who want to change things a bit."


    He paused, letting his words sink into the minds of those listening. Then, he gestured toward the wagons that had been parked a few meters away.


    "I''m not going to force any of you to join us, but I doubt you''d want to stay here. So I''ll make it simple: get on the wagons. We''re heading west. We won''t be entering any cities within the Empire, but we can drop you off near one if that''s what you want. Or, you can come with us to our makeshift camp. The choice is yours. For now, I recommend getting on and resting. The journey won''t be short."


    The night enveloped the surroundings with its dark mantle, and a faint whisper of the wind accompanied the scene. The carriages were aligned, their drivers¡ªgolems¡ªstanding motionless like wooden and metal statues, silently waiting for the order to begin the journey. The beasts pulling the carts snorted softly, shifting their scaly legs with an almost supernatural patience.


    The 180 freed slaves stood hesitantly, observing the unusual spectacle. They had never seen anything like this: golems with movements almost human and creatures as imposing as the animals pulling the carriages. Their eyes reflected confusion and fear. Some even stepped back instinctively, but the hooded figures didn''t stop. Without exchanging words, they began climbing into the carriages with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the uncertainty of the slaves.


    One of the younger hooded figures, a former slave known as 2876, stepped forward with determined strides toward the group of slaves, noticing their confusion. He raised a hand in a calming gesture.


    "Stay calm," he said, his voice firm yet friendly. "These carriages and the golems aren''t dangerous. They are tools created by 1765 to help us, and they''ll take us to a safe place."


    The explanation didn''t immediately dispel the slaves'' fear, but 2876''s words carried a certainty that resonated with some of them. A young slave, still trembling, took the first step and carefully climbed into the nearest carriage. That solitary action seemed to break the spell of uncertainty, and little by little, the others began to follow his example.


    The golems, which had remained motionless until that moment, began adjusting the reins of the beasts and ensuring that each slave found a spot. Their efficiency was disconcerting to the newly freed, who murmured among themselves as they climbed aboard.


    "They won''t hurt us, will they?" asked one slave, glancing nervously at one of the golems, whose wooden and metal form seemed almost alive.


    "No," 2876 replied confidently. "These golems do what they''re commanded to do. They don''t think, they don''t feel. They''re just tools."


    With that brief exchange, more slaves gathered the courage to climb aboard. Soon, all of them began filling the carriages. The creak of wood under their weight was constant, and the beasts shifted slightly, as if sensing the load.


    Meanwhile, 1765 observed the scene from a distance, letting 2876 and the other former slaves handle the situation. It wasn''t that he disliked speaking, but he simply didn''t know what to say.


    Finally, when the carriages were full, 1765 climbed into the last one alongside a group of hooded figures who closed the formation. He cast one last glance toward the mine, now silent and surrounded by shadows. The scrolls he had left behind were ready to complete their purpose, but that moment would come later. For now, the journey was the priority.


    With a simple gesture of his hand, the golems reacted in unison. The reins tightened, and the beasts began to move forward. The sound of hooves striking the ground echoed in the quiet night, accompanied by the creaking of carriage wheels. The slaves looked back, watching as the mine disappeared into the distance until only the dark road ahead remained.


    As the group traveled further, 1765 sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.


    "It''s time," he murmured to himself.


    Back at the mine, the final scroll 1765 had left at the entrance began to glow intensely. This triggered a chain reaction, lighting up one by one the scrolls placed at strategic points within the mine. The lights, faint at first, grew in intensity until they became blinding. The symbols on the scrolls seemed to vibrate with pure energy, filling the tunnels with a supernatural radiance.


    Minutes later, the light reached its peak, and suddenly, a series of explosions resounded within the mine. The roar was deafening, and the interior collapsed in a controlled manner, sealing forever the passageways and chambers that had served as a hellish prison for so many.


    In the distance, the group traveling in the carriages heard the echo of the explosion. Most didn''t know what had happened and looked toward the horizon with fear. The sound was a thunderous blow that shook the night air, but none of the hooded figures seemed fazed. The slaves exchanged confused glances as the beasts calmly continued forward.


    1765 opened his eyes and looked at the road ahead. He said nothing, but deep down, he knew he had fulfilled a silent promise. The mine was sealed, and with it, a dark chapter in the lives of many had come to an end.

 Chapter 13

    Several hours had passed since the carts had left the mine''s entrance. The marks on the ground left an unmistakable trail: hoofprints, wheel tracks, and a chaotic swarm of human footprints. It was a mess. 1765 and Silas had been right; this place was so far from the cities that it was only visited to bring new slaves or during guard rotations.


    However, that day, a group of mounted knights appeared on the horizon. The horses they rode were colossal, reaching up to 2.5 meters in height, with imposing musculature and war armor gleaming under the sun. Their riders were equally formidable: men of great size and strength who did not seem small compared to the beasts they rode. Each knight was clad in shining, heavy armor adorned with intricate engravings that reflected their status. At the front, one of them carried a majestic banner, made of fine fabric decorated with precious stones that sparkled in the daylight.


    Such a formation was not something one would expect to find in such a remote location. It was evident they weren''t here for simple surveillance matters. Perhaps they were the personal guard of a noble, an elite military squad, or even a group of high-level mercenaries or adventurers. Their presence had a greater purpose, and the reason was clear: gold.


    The mineral had awakened a greed that 1765 had underestimated. The mine''s overseer, now buried within it, had sent numerous letters reporting the gold deposits, taking additional precautions by duplicating the reports through different routes. These measures, intended to mitigate the risk of raids, had ultimately led to this: the arrival of this armed force.


    The group of knights quickly advanced to the mine''s entrance. What they found was a desolate scene. The entrance was sealed by a mass of rocks from the explosions. Mutilated corpses lay everywhere, victims of both the collapse and the brutal raid. The sight didn''t disturb the knights; they had seen worse horrors on the battlefield. However, their attention soon focused on something else.


    The marks on the ground were unmistakable. Cart tracks, hoofprints, and human footprints moving in disarray. The group''s leader, an imposing man clad in heavy armor that covered his entire body, scrutinized the tracks closely. His helmet completely obscured his head, leaving only a visor that cast a dark shadow over his face. Two massive axes rested crossed on his back, and his bearing exuded unquestionable authority.


    "Lustus!" he bellowed in a deep voice that resonated through the air.


    From the formation, another man emerged, riding a white warhorse, less muscular but just as imposing. This rider wore a combat tunic combining fabric and light plates, designed to allow mobility without sacrificing protection. The tunic, adorned with gold and blue embroidery matching the knights'' armor, had a majestic air. Its bearer, a man with a thick, well-groomed black beard, radiated calculated calmness.


    The group''s leader pointed to the tracks on the ground.


    "What can you tell me?" he asked authoritatively.


    Lustus nodded without speaking. He dismounted gracefully and extended his hands before him. He carried no staff or scepter, but as he began murmuring in an arcane language, two glowing circles appeared around his wrists, spinning slowly and emitting an ethereal glow. His eyes closed momentarily, and when he reopened them, they were covered with a blinding white light.


    The man analyzed the scene in silence, his glowing eyes darting quickly as they scanned the surroundings. After a few seconds, his voice rang out with unshakable certainty:


    "They left heading west approximately ten hours ago. Ten carts pulled by forty scaled horses, carrying 226 people."


    The leader frowned upon hearing the report.


    "Bandits?"


    Lustus shook his head slowly.


    "No. One hundred eighty of them are slaves. The rest... difficult to determine. I detect no significant magical traces, but something is peculiar. The tracks indicate fighters, though their magic is scarce or nonexistent."


    The leader tightened the reins of his horse, pondering for a moment before turning to his group.


    "You heard him. They have a ten-hour lead. Do not expect rest until we catch up with them."


    The knights voiced no complaints. Their discipline was etched deeply into their souls. With synchronized movements, they turned their horses and followed their leader, beginning the pursuit at an unrelenting pace. The thunder of hooves filled the air as the ground trembled under the weight of their formation.


    Meanwhile, in the convoy led by 1765, calmness was evident. The group had fought intensely for the first time and was now enjoying a well-earned respite. Silas, with the help of the golems, oversaw every detail of the journey, from transportation to the organization of the carts.


    In this world, there seemed to be a wide variety of equines, each adapted for different purposes and climates. Scaled horses were one of the most intriguing species. Relatively large, reaching up to two meters in height, they were not as muscular as other breeds. Their main advantage lay in their resilience to extreme climates and their ability to travel long distances without tiring. They were a popular choice for transporting goods between cities and even countries.


    1765 and his group had acquired a considerable number of these horses during their attacks on convoys in past months. Initially, their intention was to use them for transportation and breeding, ensuring a steady supply. Now, with this mission completed, the plan to breed and maintain these animals remained a priority. To care for them, Silas had assigned a squadron of specialized golems, ensuring the beasts received proper attention at all times.


    The former slaves, for their part, traveled in the carts with expressions of relief and exhaustion. Most were still processing their newfound freedom and the implications of their new situation. As the convoy advanced, some ventured to observe the golems with curiosity, noting how they operated efficiently and silently. The golem drivers managed the scaled horses, adjusting the reins with precise, mechanical movements. The scene was fascinating to those who had never seen anything like it.


    1765 watched everything from his spot in one of the rear carts. Though his expression remained neutral, his mind wandered, evaluating every detail of the journey. Thanks to Silas and his constant lessons, he had become accustomed to reflecting on how things could have been done better. Amidst his thoughts, he realized that leaving such an obvious trail was a mistake. He had been convinced that no one would visit that remote place anytime soon, but Silas''s lessons and scenes from movies he had seen during his training reminded him that, strategically, leaving such a clear trail could be dangerous.


    "This could be improved if there''s a next time," 1765 murmured to himself as he analyzed the path they had taken.


    The day passed slowly as the convoy moved through winding, peaceful roads. The former slaves were beginning to relax, some even exchanging quiet words. Though fear and uncertainty still lingered, they gradually seemed to accept their new reality.


    As night fell, the convoy stopped in a clearing surrounded by trees. The golems, following their programmed orders, began to set up camp. The carts were arranged in a circle to form a natural barrier, while the beasts were unhitched and led to graze under the supervision of the automatons.


    1765 stepped down from his cart and observed the efficient work of the golems. The former slaves also disembarked, slightly more lively after hours of travel. Though they hadn''t been assigned tasks, some began to help spontaneously, organizing blankets and lighting small fires to keep warm.


    As the night wore on, a faint moonlight illuminated the camp, casting long shadows on the ground. The air was filled with a tranquility almost surreal, interrupted only by the soft rustling of branches and the whisper of the wind. For many, this was the first night in a long time they could sleep without chains or the constant fear of guards.


    1765 moved a little away from the camp, seeking a secluded spot where he could reflect. As he gazed at the stars, Silas interrupted his thoughts.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel."The golems'' energy levels are sufficient to sustain operations for the remainder of the journey. It is recommended that you take advantage of this rest to recover your strength."


    Settling into a tree to sleep, the constant murmur of the forest provided a momentary calm. The exhaustion weighed heavily on his body, but just as he was about to close his eyes, Silas interrupted the tranquility with an urgent alert.


    "An unknown group is rapidly approaching from the east."


    1765''s eyes snapped open immediately. His training and Silas''s constant lessons had conditioned him to react without hesitation. He descended the tree with agility, evaluating his surroundings. His mind was already weighing options: if they weren''t Ind¨®mitos, then they were enemies. He quickly prepared his gear, ready to intercept them if necessary.


    Then, Silas continued with a tone that 1765 had come to recognize as a serious warning.


    "Evasive actions are recommended. Avoiding direct confrontation is a priority."


    "Evasive?" he muttered, double-checking his sword while scanning the horizon to the east. It was unusual for Silas to suggest not engaging a threat, which only deepened his mistrust.


    "There are 20 hostile entities," Silas continued, "but high levels of electromagnetic disturbance are present, inconsistent with any patterns in my database. The enemy''s strength is difficult to estimate. Predicting the confrontation''s outcome is not possible."


    1765 paused for a moment, processing the information. Silas rarely admitted an inability to assess a situation, and when he did, it generally meant the danger was greater than it appeared. There was no time for unnecessary doubts.


    "Understood," he responded firmly. He sheathed his sword and quickly moved toward the camp, where the group was resting.


    At the camp, the golems remained in their assigned positions, silently keeping watch. The former slaves slept deeply, exhausted from the journey and the emotional toll of the past few days. 1765 looked up at the night sky, where the moon faintly illuminated the clearing.


    "Silas, activate the emergency protocol. Wake the golems and prepare the carts for immediate departure."


    "Proceeding with activation of the emergency protocol," Silas confirmed.


    The golems sprang to life instantly, their methodical movements breaking the night''s silence. The carts began to be readied, and the scaled horses were quickly harnessed under the automatons'' supervision. The former slaves, awakened by the commotion, rose confused, their faces filled with alarm.


    One of 1765''s companions approached, concerned.


    "What''s going on?" he asked with urgency.


    "We have unwanted visitors," 1765 replied as he watched the golems'' activity. "We need to move now."


    The young man nodded and began calming the other slaves, explaining the situation in simple terms while helping them climb onto the carts. The initial chaos soon turned into an orderly retreat.


    Meanwhile, 1765 kept his gaze fixed eastward. There were no visible signs of the pursuers, but he trusted Silas''s sensors.


    "Silas, how much time do we have?"


    "The hostile group is two kilometers away, advancing at a constant speed. They will reach our position in approximately five minutes."


    1765 cursed under his breath, quickly evaluating the situation. He knew the former slaves were slow to climb into the carts, and if he wanted to buy time, he would have to take drastic measures. Swiftly, he made a sharp sound accompanied by a hand signal. His companions nodded without hesitation.


    Soon, they took ten horses. This might slow down the carts, but there was no other choice. Two people mounted each horse, forming an interception group. Without delay, they rode eastward to confront the pursuers while the rest of the group hurried the former slaves into the carts to flee.


    It was night, and the path was enveloped in near-total darkness. 1765''s group had no trouble navigating thanks to the systems Silas had integrated into their masks, but the horses didn''t share that advantage. Nevertheless, guided by firm reins and the riders'' experience, they advanced smoothly.


    It didn''t take long before they spotted the pursuers'' torches. The flickering flames resembled watchful eyes in the distance, a clear warning that the enemy was near.


    1765 quickly scanned the enemy group. He identified five mages and fifteen warriors. Unlike the foes they had faced before, these moved with alarming precision, in a perfectly coordinated formation. Without fear or hesitation, they advanced as a single unit.


    This wasn''t enough to intimidate him, but it did heighten his caution. Something about them was different, and he needed to act carefully.


    As usual, Silas remained silent. In moments like these, he took on a supportive role, providing as much data as possible and speaking only when necessary. It was a gesture that 1765 greatly appreciated, as it allowed him to focus on his strategy.


    "They''re two kilometers away. They''ll arrive in five minutes."


    1765 cursed again, realizing the urgency of the situation. With limited time and options, he prepared to face a potentially formidable foe.


    Soon, they took 10 horses. Perhaps this would slow down the carts, but there was no other choice. Two people mounted each horse, forming an interception group. Without wasting time, they galloped eastward to face the pursuers while the rest of the group hurried the former slaves onto the carts to flee.


    It was nighttime, and the path was shrouded in near-total darkness. 1765''s group had no trouble moving, thanks to the systems Silas had integrated into their masks, but the horses did not share that advantage. However, guided by firm reins and the riders'' experience, they advanced without difficulty.


    It didn''t take long before they spotted the torches of the incoming group. The flames flickered like watchful eyes in the distance, a clear warning that the enemy was near.


    1765 quickly scanned the enemy group. He detected five mages and fifteen warriors. Unlike the enemies they had faced before, these moved with alarming precision, in a perfectly coordinated formation. Without fear or hesitation, they advanced as a single unit.


    This wasn''t enough to intimidate him, but it did heighten his caution. Something about them was different, and he had to act carefully.


    As usual, Silas remained silent. In moments like this, he took on a supporting role, providing as much data as possible and only speaking when necessary. It was a gesture 1765 deeply appreciated, as it allowed him to focus on his strategy.


    Both groups came to an abrupt halt, facing each other. For a moment, the air seemed charged with tension, as if time had frozen. The warriors mounted on their imposing warhorses, clad in gleaming, perfectly polished armor, contrasted sharply with the hooded figures who stood motionless, their faces hidden behind gray wooden masks with red inlays. No expressions could be seen, not even gestures, and this only added to the unease among the warriors.


    The leader of the knights, an intimidatingly large man, frowned beneath the helmet that fully covered his face. His black and gold armor gleamed under the faint light of the torches, while two massive axes rested on his back. He stepped forward, pulling firmly on the reins of his horse.


    "I am Garius Talmor, commander of the Honor Division of House Velkarius, guardian of these lands and protector of the Empire!" he declared in a tone both authoritative and menacing, his voice resonating in the night. "By the power vested in me by my rank, I demand that you identify yourselves immediately and remove those masks."


    The hooded figures remained silent for a moment, and then one of them, the apparent leader of the group, stepped forward. It was evident that this was not Garius, but the air around this figure also seemed to carry an undeniable authority.


    "We apologize for the inconvenience, sir," the figure said in a calm yet firm voice that filtered through the mask. "We cannot comply with your demand. We are simple travelers passing through. We will leave right now if you allow it."


    A murmur of disbelief rippled through the ranks of the Velkarius warriors. Garius tightened his grip on the reins of his horse, clearly annoyed by their refusal.


    "Don''t lie!" he roared. "I know you''re the ones who attacked the mine. And don''t pretend you''re not stalling for the rest of your group to escape! Stealing slaves is a serious crime in the Empire, punishable by death!"


    As he spoke, Garius pulled a red gem from his belt. He held it aloft for a moment before throwing it to the ground. The gem glowed intensely but didn''t change color. Garius lowered his gaze toward the hooded figures, a flash of understanding and surprise crossing his face.


    "I see! So, you don''t have slave marks. This is getting more interesting."


    He paused as he analyzed the group in front of him. Then, with a sadistic smile, he continued, "Who sent you? The Dwarven Kingdom? The Elven Reign? Although, judging by your masks, I''d say you resemble those filthy plains orcs more."


    The hooded figures said nothing. They simply stood firm, like impenetrable shadows. Their calm silence seemed to irritate Garius, who gripped the handle of one of his axes tightly.


    "Very well, if you won''t talk, it doesn''t matter. Leave a few alive! Do whatever you want with the others."


    The knights raised their weapons at the order. Their horses neighed, ready to charge. The flickering torchlight reflected off their weapons and armor, making their figures even more menacing.


    On the side of the hooded figures, no one moved. They held their positions, as if waiting for something. 1765, who was leading from the rear, quickly analyzed the situation with Silas''s help.


    "Twenty enemies," Silas confirmed in his monotonous tone. "Five magic users and fifteen elite warriors. Extreme caution is recommended."


    "I figured as much," 1765 murmured to himself. Despite the numerical disadvantage and the apparent strength of the knights, he showed no signs of doubt.


    The leader of the hooded figures raised a hand, a silent signal for the rest of the group to prepare. Each of them adopted a defensive stance, their hands close to their weapons and their bodies slightly inclined forward, ready to move in any direction.


    Garius gave the order, and the knights charged with a deafening roar. The warhorses advanced like a wave of steel, kicking up clouds of dust as they quickly approached. But just before they could reach the hooded figures, something unexpected happened.

 Chapter 14

    As the warriors formed their defense, Group 1765 acted as they had trained. In situations like this, the best approach was close combat. It was risky, no doubt, especially against enemies who seemed formidable, armed to the teeth, and protected by imposing armor.


    However, they were prepared too. Their own armor and weapons were not ordinary; they were designed to dismantle magic. They trusted their ability to break auras and shatter their enemies'' defenses. They knew how to move, how to strike vital points, and how to "dance" on the battlefield, exploiting every opening.


    Then, the mage''s voice echoed again:


    ¡ª"I detect anti-magic weaponry!"


    The warning shook the morale of the enemy soldiers. Gladus, one of the commanders, roared furiously:


    ¡ª"Damn bastards!"


    However, instead of cowering, Gladus smiled. Despite the pain in his eyes, it wasn''t the first time his troops had faced anti-magic weaponry. It was rare, difficult to obtain, but not invincible.


    1765, aware of their own abilities and limitations, advanced with determination. Extending their hand, they used an opponent''s shield as a foothold. They knew what happened when touching a magical aura; their wooden gauntlet, charged with their own energy, could easily break it. And so it was. The barrier disappeared the moment their hand made contact with the shield.


    But what they didn''t expect was the overwhelming force that followed. Before they could climb over their opponent, the soldier, who had apparently noticed the contact, reacted with terrifying speed. Moving the shield violently, they hurled 1765 as if their body had been struck by a train. They were sent flying several meters back, landing heavily on the ground.


    They weren''t the only ones in trouble! One of their companions, who attempted to slide beneath the enemy formation, was met with a brutal kick. The impact nearly threw them off course, forcing them to move with the agility of a snake to dodge the spears coming after them. Others weren''t as fortunate. Spears struck some, and although their armor managed to break the magical auras, it couldn''t prevent the physical damage from the blows.


    In response to 1765''s actions, their companions still on horseback drew bows and aimed at the enemy formation. They pulled the strings and fired. Anti-magic arrows flew toward their targets.


    ¡ª"Anti-magic arrows incoming!" ¡ªshouted the enemy mage.


    The warriors raised their shields in unison, cushioning the impact of the projectiles. The sound of the strikes resonated like a rain of stones on metal, but no one was injured. However, Group 1765 didn''t stop there. The attackers who had retreated drew dart pistols and fired.


    This time, the mage didn''t have time to react, but unfortunately for them, the darts simply bounced off the warriors'' sturdy armor. The tension rose. At that moment, 1765 noticed the soldiers beginning to regain their vision, their posture becoming more firm and organized.


    Sensing trouble, 1765 drew another cylinder from their suit. Just as they were about to activate it, a strange light struck them head-on, sending them flying several meters back and causing them to drop the cylinder. Their armor neutralized the light''s damage but not the force of the impact.


    In front of them, the enemy mage, whose eyes shone intensely, smiled confidently. Four luminous spheres floated around them, while strange white circles rotated around their hands. The spheres pulsed, emitting a light that crackled as if charged with static electricity.


    From these spheres, rays of light began to emanate, targeting 1765''s companions. The rays weren''t lethal but incredibly annoying. The wooden armor resisted them easily, but each impact felt like a hammer blow, enough to destabilize the soldiers. Some were knocked down, hitting the ground heavily with loud thuds.


    The situation grew more complicated by the second. Group 1765 tried to reorganize, but the constant interruptions from the rays and the advance of the enemy warriors began to wear down their strategy.


    Until now, 1765 hadn''t faced a situation like this. They had always maintained the advantage using their tricks and taking the enemies by surprise, but this time the enemy seemed far more superior than expected. However, fortunately for them, the convoy had already started moving, and the enemy horses had fled.


    With a whistle, they signaled the retreat.


    The twenty drew bows and fired their arrows. The enemy squadron had to raise their shields to protect themselves, and at that moment, the hooded figures managed to mount their horses. Some injured, clutching their wounds, and others, like 1765, had escaped relatively unscathed, but this was their first loss. There was no time to lament, so with determination, they directed their horses to begin their escape.


    In Garius'' group, most had regained their vision. The last to snap out of the stupor were the mages, which was unfortunate as they were the best equipped to stop the enemy''s escape.


    But although the enemy seemed to flee, this didn''t mean the chase was over. For Garius, it was only the beginning. He pulled out a kind of whistle, placed it in his mouth, and blew.


    No sound was heard, but a few minutes later, the warhorses began to return.


    They lost some time waiting for the last warhorse to return, and with a smile, he said:


    ¡ª"Alright, you know what to do. It''s time to hunt."


    While Garius'' group waited for their horses to return, 1765 and the others emerged from the forest and returned to the road. It didn''t take them long to catch up with the convoy, which had already advanced significantly.


    Some of the convoy travelers were startled to see the hooded figures return, especially noticing that several of them were injured. The bloodstains and the fatigue on their faces told a clear story of what had happened. However, 1765 didn''t give them time to worry or ask questions. With a series of brief, sharp whistles, they issued clear instructions that everyone understood immediately. The others nodded without hesitation.


    As the convoy continued moving, the eight front carriages separated slightly from the main group, quickening their pace. Two carriages lagged behind, keeping to the rear. The injured, struggling to remain upright on their horses, leapt with effort onto these carriages. Meanwhile, other hooded figures took their places on the horses to reinforce the ranks.


    Once every horse had two healthy riders again, the carriages began to open. From within both carriages, the hooded figures started distributing crossbows, handing one to each team of riders along with arrows specially designed to be easily mounted. Their hands moved quickly yet skillfully, ensuring every team was armed and ready for what was coming.


    The riders who received the crossbows positioned themselves back-to-back with their companions. Using reinforced belts, they secured themselves tightly to the front rider to maintain balance while reloading their weapons. They took the arrows, carefully placing them into the crossbows, and prepared for any eventuality.


    Meanwhile, the rear carriages revealed something else. Once the fabric tarps covering them were removed, their contents were exposed: meticulously arranged stacks of arrows, ready to be distributed if needed. At the center of each carriage was a strange wooden structure.


    The frame resembled a massive crossbow mounted to the carriage on a rotating axis. While it had the appearance of a crossbow, there was an issue with where the arrow was supposed to go¡ªthere was nothing resembling a conventional slot. Instead, there was an empty space, as if a piece were missing.


    Then, one of the hooded figures picked up a sort of cylinder from the ground. The cylinder was large and had several openings, from which twenty arrowheads protruded in perfect alignment. With confident movements, they placed the cylinder into the empty space of the massive crossbow and secured it using wooden locks that held it firmly in place.  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Another hooded figure positioned themselves behind the crossbow. They leaned forward, placing their eye on what appeared to be a rudimentary sight, while their hand rested firmly on a trigger located at the bottom of the mechanism. Everything was ready for use.


    It wasn¡¯t long before Garius¡¯ team was spotted in the distance by the convoy. The warhorses were much faster than the scaled horses. Although they didn¡¯t have the same resistance to extreme climates and would eventually lose in a long-distance race, their speed at that moment easily outpaced the scaled horses.


    This was something 1765 already knew, which was why they had carefully prepared the group''s defenses. They couldn¡¯t allow the enemies to get too close; the mages posed a lethal threat in mid-range combat. Up until now, they had always prioritized eliminating them first because past experiences had shown how destructive they could be.


    A mage was like an artillery cannon, depending on the type of magic they used. The most recent example was the spell used by the enemy mage, known as Magic Missile. This basic arcane spell consisted of condensed magic capable of striking with precision. While individual damage wasn¡¯t devastating, a mage could summon up to four spheres and fire them simultaneously, making them akin to a machine gun firing stunning bullets.


    However, mages had their limitations. Most needed to concentrate, and firing while in motion while calculating distance and targets was complicated. That¡¯s why the best defense was to remain in constant motion and prevent them from getting too close.


    With this in mind, the riders slowed slightly until their crossbows were ready to fire. Once loaded, they began shooting.


    Due to previous encounters, the crossbows had been upgraded. They now had significantly more power than a bow, and the arrows shot out with such speed they whistled as they cut through the air.


    From his position, Garius observed the new weapons of his enemies. He found them bothersome but also fascinating. As he deflected one of the arrows with his massive axe, he wondered how this group of outlaws had acquired such equipment. But it wasn¡¯t time to reflect. With a swift and precise motion, he swung his axe so powerfully that it destroyed five arrows at once.


    The remaining arrows passed by him, but his warriors were also prepared. Using similar movements, they deflected the projectiles with remarkable efficiency.


    1765 observed from their position and couldn¡¯t help but curse under their breath. These enemies were truly troublesome. But there was no time to despair. They knew they couldn¡¯t let them get close, so they continued firing the crossbows, one arrow after another, maintaining pressure on the pursuers.


    Although the rain of arrows never ceased, Garius¡¯ group didn¡¯t slow down either. The crossbows seemed insufficient to stop them, so 1765 sped up until they were alongside the carriages with their other ten companions.


    With a quick gesture, they signaled the operators of the large crossbows to aim but gave a clear sign not to fire yet.


    Garius had noticed these strange contraptions but didn¡¯t understand what they were for. In this world, magic was everything, and no one had bothered to develop weapons with mechanical systems or pulleys¡ªat least not in the Human Empire. The dwarves, on the other hand, were known for tinkering with such devices.


    Now at a moderate distance, the mages in Garius¡¯ group began preparing their spells. Two were fire mages, while the other two summoned sharp ice spikes. The group seemed experienced; while anti-magic could disrupt magical flow, it didn¡¯t stop spells already cast. If the fireballs or ice spikes struck the convoy, it would be disastrous.


    At that moment, 1765 gave the signal.


    The companions of 1765 received the signal and, without hesitation, pulled the trigger.


    This activated an intricate pulley system that set several rotating parts into motion. Among them was a system connected to runic matrices powered by a source of energy¡ªa cylinder containing what Silas referred to as magical fuel. The energy coursed through the runic system until it reached the side of the device, where a mechanical arm began to move. This arm, similar to that of a golem, rotated a main pulley with mechanical precision.


    The pulley was connected to a series of gears and additional pulleys, designed to tension the mechanism¡¯s string while rotating the arrow cylinder. The string, made of several fibers granting it exceptional resistance and elasticity, reached maximum tension before being released with a deafening snap. This propelled the first arrow from the cylinder toward its target at an impressive speed.


    Without releasing the trigger, the mechanical arm continued rotating the pulley, re-tensioning the string while the cylinder rotated slightly to align the next arrow with the string. The process repeated in a continuous cycle, firing arrows at high speed.


    In less than a minute, forty arrows had been launched. This time, Garius was surprised by the precision and speed of the attack. It wasn¡¯t just forty arrows fired in quick succession but also the addition of crossbow arrows, creating a true storm of projectiles.


    The enemy squadron had no choice but to momentarily stop and raise their shields. The mages, seeing the futility of magical barriers against anti-magic arrows, began adjusting their spells. They opted to use ice and fire to intercept the projectiles mid-air. Fireballs detonated in the sky, incinerating several arrows, while ice spikes created temporary barriers that stopped some of the rest.


    Although they managed to slow part of the arrow barrage, the attack forced them to lose valuable seconds. Just as they seemed ready to resume the chase, a new cylinder was mounted on the contraption. The rain of arrows began again with equal intensity.


    Each carriage was equipped with five cylinders, and as soon as one was depleted, the hooded figures in the wagons rushed to reload it quickly. This system ensured constant and overwhelming fire.


    Garius couldn¡¯t help but admire the ingenuity behind these weapons. Although incredibly annoying, he couldn¡¯t ignore their effectiveness. Anti-magic arrows fired in rapid succession with such precision posed a considerable threat.


    ¡ªIt¡¯s a fearsome weapon... ¡ªGarius murmured, though he knew this was no time to analyze it. With a hardened expression, he raised his axe and shouted:


    ¡ªAdvance! We will not stop here.


    The pursuit had reached a stalemate. While the rain of arrows wore down the enemies and forced them to momentarily stop to defend themselves, within minutes they would catch up to the convoy again. It wasn¡¯t as if the attackers had an infinite supply of arrows.


    Garius quickly realized this. He was betting that his squad could hold out long enough to exhaust the enemy¡¯s ammunition. 1765 cursed internally. Although they had forty-six combatants, the thought of engaging this group again seemed unrealistic. During the first battle, their leader, apparently the strongest and most capable, hadn¡¯t even needed to fight, and many of their companions had been injured. Additionally, the enemy mages were extremely well-protected.


    Knowing they couldn¡¯t maintain this dynamic indefinitely, 1765 devised a new plan. With a quick gesture, they signaled one of the hooded figures shooting from the rear to change position. Then, they requested a bow from those in the wagon.


    The bow handed to them was different from the others. It was black, longer than traditional bows, and strung with a cord similar to the automatic crossbows mounted on the carriages. It was a compound bow, an experimental design by Silas meant to replicate the power of the ballistae. Though powerful, it was extremely difficult for an average human to draw.


    1765 pulled the string with all their strength while Silas calculated the trajectory. Unlike the others, 1765 had the advantage of a supercomputer in their mind, capable of analyzing distance, wind speed, and other factors in fractions of a second. Just as the rain of arrows fell upon the pursuers, they fired.


    Until now, all the arrows had followed arched trajectories, descending from above. The enemy horses were armored, making such attacks ineffective. However, 1765¡¯s arrow traveled in a straight line, fast and precise. Garius¡¯ group didn¡¯t realize it until it was too late. The arrow pierced through the eye of one of the horses at the back of the formation. The animal neighed in pain, lost its balance, and fell, dragging several horses behind it.


    Garius frowned as he watched a quarter of his squad collapse. Although none of his men were seriously injured, the time it would take them to reorganize was critical. Moreover, the injured horse could no longer participate in the chase. Before he could react, another neigh echoed through the air. A second arrow had struck the eye of another horse.


    Cursing under his breath, Garius followed the arrow¡¯s trajectory. Finally, he spotted the source. A hooded figure was holding a longbow. Their blue eyes shone intensely, and their gaze, fiery and determined, reflected unshakable resolve. Garius had encountered many enemies before, but he had never seen someone with such a profound look.


    The hooded figure drew the bow again and fired once more. This time, the arrow seemed to head directly for Garius¡ªor more specifically, his horse. With a swift movement, he deflected the projectile with his axe, but the situation had changed drastically. More than half of his squad was struggling to recover, and they had lost two warhorses, with others possibly injured in the chaos.


    Garius knew that if this continued, casualties would be inevitable. Though he trusted his ability to block a single arrow, his group¡¯s initial lapse had tipped the scales against them. With a grim expression, he raised his hand and signaled his squad to halt the pursuit.


    ¡ªRetreat! ¡ªhe ordered, watching the convoy disappear into the distance.


    The battle was neither won nor lost, but Garius understood that persisting would only increase their losses. As the outlaws vanished into the horizon, the commander couldn¡¯t help but sear the image of those blue eyes into his memory, knowing they would meet again.

 Chapter 15

    Despite the fact that the pursuers seemed to have abandoned the chase, 1765 did not allow the convoy to reduce its speed. In fact, he increased it. The best thing they could do at that moment was to get as far away from the area as possible.


    Only after two days of continuous marching did he allow the group to relax and reorganize their formation. The scaled horses resumed pulling the carts, and 1765, along with his companions, used the carts to rest. In total, seven had suffered injuries. They weren''t serious and could be considered mere scratches, though on several occasions, they came within mere centimeters of becoming much more severe wounds.


    This realization led 1765 to rethink what they could have done better to avoid similar situations in the future. The answer was evident: they lacked magic. They had no access to the power this world offered its inhabitants. The only option left was to rely on knowledge and technologies from another world to level the playing field.


    1765 cursed to himself and, without much thought, asked Silas:


    ¡ªCan you remind me again why we still don''t have cars?


    The word "automobile" was something he had recently learned, one of those fascinating ideas he had seen in his dreams. Metal carriages capable of moving on their own, faster than horses and without needing rest. It seemed impossible in this world, but to 1765, it was something achievable, real. Or at least, that''s what he had believed.


    However, as was customary, Silas had an explanation. And it wasn''t one that 1765 enjoyed hearing.


    ¡ªAccording to my calculations, ¡ªSilas began, in his methodical and precise tone¡ª, the variations in this planet''s electromagnetic fields significantly hinder the effective flow of electrons through suitable conductors. This makes the use of electric energy highly inefficient. While there are designs for engines that don''t require electricity, such as steam engines or internal combustion engines, the highest efficiency-to-work ratio is achieved through the use of electric energy.


    ¡ªAnd why don''t we have steam engines? ¡ªasked 1765, more frustrated than curious.


    ¡ªCurrently, we lack the technology necessary to produce even a primitive steam engine. The metallic parts required for its construction need extremely precise refinement. For example, the cylinders must be perfectly round to maintain steam pressure. The valves must be manufactured with exact tolerances, using materials resistant to heat and corrosion, such as tempered steel. Additionally, seals made of materials like rubber or modern composites, which we cannot currently synthesize, are necessary. These materials are neither available in sufficient quantity nor quality.


    ¡ªAnd that''s not counting, ¡ªSilas continued¡ª, the resources required to build the tools necessary to manufacture these parts. Large-scale mining to obtain iron, coal, and other metals is entirely unfeasible with our current technology. Furthermore, furnaces capable of reaching temperatures above 1,500 degrees Celsius to melt and work the materials are beyond our current capabilities. In summary, the production of steam engines is out of our immediate reach.


    1765 massaged his temples in exasperation. Listening to Silas was like trying to solve a complex riddle without any clues. Although, little by little, he was starting to understand more thanks to countless hours of study.


    But Silas hadn''t finished. He continued his analysis mercilessly.


    ¡ªAs for the recently discovered runic energy system, I can affirm that it is an extremely primitive system. The power we can obtain is limited, insufficient compared to internal combustion engines or more advanced reactors. Currently, we can only move a wooden golem weighing less than 60 kilograms. Each of its limbs requires independent matrices to move, increasing the system''s complexity.


    ¡ªSo, what''s the main issue? ¡ªinsisted 1765.


    ¡ªThe materials. We need materials with better energy conductivity to efficiently transmit runic energy. Moreover, obtaining an energetically efficient and sustainable fuel is crucial. Currently, the fuel we use for the matrices depletes too quickly and doesn''t provide enough power. In conclusion, using primitive beasts as a means of transport remains the most feasible method.


    1765 huffed in frustration, but before he could respond, Silas continued:


    ¡ªRegarding the weapons system, it is possible to improve it. However, this also requires greater exploitation of natural resources, particularly in mining. According to my analysis, the mountain located south of our current position contains sufficient minerals to meet our long-term needs. But exploiting these resources would require a large workforce, either through the use of golems or human labor.


    ¡ªSo, what would the next step be? ¡ªasked 1765, trying to keep calm while analyzing Silas''s responses.


    Silas, without losing his methodical tone, replied:


    ¡ªThe most sensible approach would be to prioritize exploration and resource extraction in the southern mountain. This area has the potential to provide the minerals needed to advance in several fields. However, it is a project that will require planning, manpower, and considerable time. Meanwhile, optimizing current systems, though limited, will allow us to maintain a functional balance until we can implement more substantial improvements.


    1765 gave a frustrated huff.


    ¡ªFine. I guess we''ll have to increase the number of bots, which means we''ll need to get more silent fruits. That can be done.


    ¡ªAs always, I leave the rest to you, ¡ªhe added, while Silas accepted the task without any objection.


    While 1765 was talking to Silas, one of his hooded companions approached with a determined step.


    ¡ªSir, we''re almost there, ¡ªhe announced firmly.


    For a while now, the 45 ex-prisoners who had decided to follow 1765 had begun calling him "sir." This was partly due to the military training 1765 had copied from Silas''s world, where the main phrase was: "Sir, yes, sir!" Over time, this expression had become a custom among them when addressing their leader.


    Moreover, during 1765''s brief internal exchange, no one interrupted him. For the recently rescued slaves, this behavior might have seemed strange, but for the original group of 45 men, it was entirely normal. They had noticed that every time 1765 stepped aside and reflected silently, new ideas or strategies would later emerge. Some even began to believe it was part of a personal ritual for the young leader to find inspiration.


    1765 nodded as he listened to his companion. Without a word, he removed the hood and cloak that covered him and donned the clothing of a merchant. Though his face was that of a young man, his well-built physique and the recently acquired maturity in his gaze gave him the appearance of a young adult, perfect for blending in within this world.


    He approached the newly rescued ex-prisoners and, in a low voice, gave them clear instructions:


    ¡ªStay silent and keep your eyes on the floor of the cart. Don''t move too much, and we''ll get through this easily.


    The same instructions were repeated in all the carts. Meanwhile, the carts containing the automatic crossbows were quickly disassembled. The devices were hidden under supplies like food and blankets, ensuring they wouldn''t draw attention.


    The reason for this strange behavior was simple: they were approaching a checkpoint.


    Essentially, it was a small fortress in the middle of the road, equipped with several watchmen. It was located in a region surrounded by lush forests, making it very difficult to bypass. The route they had taken so far had been planned to avoid such checkpoints, but unfortunately, this particular one couldn''t be evaded.


    1765 had prepared for this situation. He positioned himself at the front of the convoy, guiding the horses from the lead cart. The wooden robots were covered with cloaks that made them look like simple drivers.


    The place had advanced magical detectors capable of identifying the species of those approaching and whether or not they could use magic. This system could have been a problem, considering that 1765''s group consisted of 226 people unable to use magic and wooden robots. However, when they arrived at the checkpoint, no alarms were triggered, and the guards didn''t seem suspicious at all.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    There was a reason for this. Through prior investigation, they had discovered that the detection devices could be deceived. It was enough to emit certain electromagnetic frequencies to skew their readings. At that moment, both the wooden golems and 1765 were emitting these frequencies, thanks to Silas. The rest of the group passed off as simple slaves.


    A man in armor, clearly an officer, approached the lead cart and shouted:


    ¡ªPapers!


    1765 stepped down from the cart with a calm smile. His expression had completely changed. With a friendly look and relaxed gestures, he addressed the officer.


    ¡ªHello, officer. I hope you''ve had a pleasant day. The papers, of course, I have them right here.


    A hooded golem handed several scrolls to 1765, who passed them to the officer.


    The man began reviewing the documents carefully. While he did, 1765 remained relaxed, unlike many of the ex-slaves inside the carts who couldn''t avoid showing nervousness.


    The officer frowned as he read one of the scrolls.


    ¡ªTwo hundred forty-five slaves for House Velkarius¡­ I don''t recall receiving any notice about such a transaction. ¡ªHis eyes rose, observing 1765 suspiciously before slowly scanning the convoy.


    In a low tone, as if sharing a confidential matter, 1765 responded:


    ¡ªSir, I understand your concern, but I also understand the current situation of the Empire. House Velkarius prefers to keep these kinds of movements under the radar.


    With a slow gesture, he pulled a cloth bag from his pouch and handed it to the officer.


    ¡ªHouse Velkarius knows how to remember favors. You can visit them anytime; good friends are always welcome. ¡ªAs he spoke, he also handed over a badge bearing the Velkarius family crest.


    The officer opened the bag curiously. Inside were numerous gold coins, shiny and heavy. His suspicious expression disappeared, replaced by a satisfied smile.


    ¡ªI understand perfectly, ¡ªthe man said, pocketing the bag and observing the badge with respect¡ª. It would be beneath me to question the actions of such a prestigious house as Velkarius.


    Turning to the guards at the fortress, he shouted:


    ¡ªOpen the gates!


    The bars slowly rose, and the convoy began to pass. 1765 climbed back into his cart, maintaining the same calm smile as he watched his group cross the checkpoint without any issues.


    The place had two massive stone towers on either side of the road, with several guards stationed on the structures. At the entrance and exit were tall rock walls with gates made of metal bars, and warriors and mages patrolled everywhere.


    1765 trusted that he could assault the place, but only at night and under the cover of darkness. Attempting it during the day was practically impossible, especially given the number of mages present. For this reason, he had opted for this method of subterfuge.


    Luckily, money remained the best key to opening most doors. While the bribe he offered could be considered immoral, 1765 wasn''t overly concerned. Even Silas, who occasionally reacted to illegal activities, had accepted that there was no other choice. After all, they were outlaws in the Empire and would be chained the moment they were discovered.


    Thus, the group managed to cross the fortress without further issues and resumed their journey. There were still several days left to reach their destination, but at least they had overcome one of the greatest dangers of the journey.


    Days later, the group arrived at an expansive plain stretching as far as the eye could see. The open landscape contrasted with the dense forests they had left behind.


    Here, 1765 ordered the carts to stop and had all the rescued people disembark. Although the group didn''t smell particularly good, they no longer looked as emaciated. During the journey, they had consumed meat, grains, and other nutritious foods that had significantly improved their condition.


    1765 cleared his throat and began speaking in a firm but calm tone:


    ¡ªAlright. We''re currently near Ravenhold, a major city in this region. We''re still within the human empire, and as you already know, we''re not treated very well here. However, I''ve heard rumors that in this city, things are a bit more tolerable for people like us.


    He pointed north.


    ¡ªThe city is half a day''s journey in this direction. If you want to leave, you''re free to do so. We''ll provide enough food to reach the city and a bit of money to start with.


    There was a brief silence. 1765 continued:


    ¡ªThat¡¯s your first option. The second is to follow us to our camp. Don¡¯t expect a city; it¡¯s barely a small settlement in a godforsaken place. You¡¯ll have to work for your food and survival. But there¡¯s one thing I can promise you: no one will force you into hard labor, no one will beat you, no one will discriminate against you. The only thing I can promise you is freedom. True freedom to decide what you want to do with your lives.


    1765 observed them carefully before adding:


    ¡ªYou have ten minutes to decide.


    Barely ten minutes had passed before the group returned. 1765 had separated the ex-slaves to give them space and time to reflect, while he and his hooded companions finalized preparations to continue their journey to the camp.


    A man, the largest and most muscular among the ex-slaves, stepped forward. Though his appearance was imposing, his tone betrayed disbelief, fear, and caution. When he spoke, his rural accent and rough mannerisms made him stand out.


    ¡ªAlright, if... if we follow you, will we be as strong as you? ¡ªhe asked, almost challenging, though unable to hide the tremor in his voice.


    1765 sighed deeply before responding. His words were imbued with Silas¡¯s philosophy but were also his own.


    ¡ªLook... we didn¡¯t free you to make you join our cause. We freed you so you could make your own decisions. You don¡¯t need to think about fighting. There are far more important things than battle.


    The man frowned, clearly disappointed. The word "freedom" was good, but it wasn¡¯t enough to extinguish the flames ignited in his heart. During the pursuit, seeing how a group of humans, without magic, without extraordinary powers, had faced and overcome their oppressors, something within him¡ªand many others¡ªhad changed. That confrontation wasn¡¯t just a victory; it was a statement. A tangible proof that it was possible to fight against those who had enslaved them all their lives.


    The desire for revenge was an uncontrollable fire, a primal and overwhelming force. It wasn¡¯t a simple or fleeting emotion; it was an internal cry resonating through every fiber of his being, an echo of the injustices, abuses, and suffering they had endured. Revenge wasn¡¯t just about retribution; it was about reclaiming dignity, about proving to the world and to themselves that they weren¡¯t just victims¡ªthey could be more. They could be warriors, they could be free, but above all, they could be feared.


    One of the hooded figures slowly stepped forward toward the group. He removed his hood, revealing a young face with sharp and determined eyes. His head was shaved, and though his muscular body showed he had overcome the ravages of slavery, his face still bore the marks of a life of suffering.


    A murmur ran through the group of ex-slaves. They recognized him immediately. He was like them, someone who had endured the same hell, someone who had borne the same weight of chains. Unlike 1765, whose fairer, smoother skin, lighter, deeper eyes, silkier hair, and muscular, well-formed body made him seem untouched by slavery¡ªalmost like a Dominus, and of the worst kind, from the nobility¡ªthis young man¡¯s appearance resonated with them. 1765 hadn¡¯t realized it, but this was thanks to the continuous consumption of supplements and Silas¡¯s meticulous control over his metabolism. This made the slaves distrust him. However, seeing the young man eased their fears somewhat.


    The young man spoke with a firm voice, projecting authority and camaraderie:


    ¡ªMy name is 037, and a year ago, I was where you are now. I was a slave. Like you, I dreamed of freedom. I dreamed of eating delicious food, having a good job, traveling, and seeing the world.


    He paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces of those present.


    ¡ªBut this world took those dreams away from me too soon. I won¡¯t tell you my story because I don¡¯t need to. We all know what it means to suffer. We¡¯ve all lived through that hell in different ways, but just as horrible.


    He pointed to 1765.


    ¡ªA year ago, the boss rescued me. And that day, I saw something I thought I had lost: hope. Hope to reclaim what this world had taken from me.


    037 raised his voice, with a passion that ignited something in the hearts of the ex-slaves:


    ¡ªDon¡¯t be fooled by the boss¡¯s pacifist words and calm demeanor. Did you see those things we used to repel the pursuers? Those are weapons! Weapons he designed. Did you see those golems that work and make everything easier? He created those too! And no, it¡¯s not magic. It¡¯s something called science.


    The group listened in silence, struck by his words. 037 continued:


    ¡ªScience is something I don¡¯t even fully understand, but I know this: thanks to it, we¡¯re here today. Thanks to science, we were freed. And thanks to science, we can change our lives.


    He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in, then spoke again, slower but with the same intensity:


    ¡ªFollow the boss, and you won¡¯t just gain the power to defend yourselves. You¡¯ll gain the power to take back what was taken from you. But let me be clear: this won¡¯t be easy. No one will force you to fight; no one will force you to work. But everything comes at a price. If you want that power, you¡¯ll have to face a hell similar to what you¡¯ve already lived. But this time, it¡¯ll be your choice.


    037 looked around, and the hooded figures who had remained silent until now removed their masks. They were a young group with fierce and determined gazes, full of life and an unyielding will.


    The ex-slaves observed them, noting the difference. They too had suffered, but now they were different. They had changed. They had found something that had transformed them.

 Chapter 16

    In the end, the ex-slaves decided to follow 1765 and his crew. Everyone climbed back onto the carts to continue their journey. Although they were several days away from their destination, they wouldn''t encounter other humans along the way. The ascent toward the valley had begun gradually.


    After crossing the plain, the convoy had to climb hills to reach the valley''s entrance. This trek would take several days, and crossing the entire valley would take a few more. The camp was located on the far side, and along the way, they would face numerous threats from wild beasts.


    Fortunately, this territory only housed common wild animals, not magical beasts. The worst they would encounter were rabbits, classified as low-grade magical beasts and easily manageable. However, this didn''t make wild animals any less troublesome. These creatures, drawn by the scent of so many people together, would undoubtedly slow their journey.


    While 1765 and his convoy advanced toward their home, days passed, and the empire continued its own development. Among the empire''s inhabitants, a specific group had recently returned from a mission. Although they had completed their objective, they had done so poorly and now had to present their report.


    The room was a testament to the nobility''s luxury and opulence. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting stories of great battles and ancestral legends. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room with a warm light that highlighted the details of the dark wood furniture. In the center, a crimson and gold-toned carpet covered the floor, with patterns that seemed to move under the light. A large mahogany table was loaded with neatly stacked reports and documents, while a tray with crystal goblets and a bottle of wine rested to the side.


    In a high-backed armchair upholstered in black velvet sat an imposing man. He wore a dark outfit made of fine fabric, with silver embroidery outlining patterns of crossed swords¡ªthe symbol of his house. Although he maintained a firm posture, his face showed the fatigue of several sleepless nights. The dark circles under his eyes deepened his serious expression, and his carefully slicked-back hair had silver strands that added an air of severity to his presence. His long, bony fingers held a report he was reading attentively.


    In front of him, a man in heavy armor marked with combat scars knelt. His stance was robust, and his short, disheveled hair showed the experience of countless battles. The armor, though functional, was decorated with engravings indicating his high rank within the military hierarchy. His eyes were intense but reflected submission and respect at that moment.


    With a firm voice full of deference, the kneeling man greeted:


    ¡ªYour faithful servant greets the great Duke Velkarius.


    The duke, raising his eyes from the report he was reading, fixed his tired gaze on the speaker. He stood slowly, placing the report on the table, and nodded slightly.


    ¡ªYou may stand, Garius ¡ªhe said in a somewhat informal tone. Anyone hearing a duke speak like this would have been surprised; dukes usually spoke with authority and command.


    ¡ªMy lord, I am unworthy. I failed my mission. I deserve to be punished.


    The duke set the report aside, crossing his arms as his tired gaze focused on Garius. Finally, he broke the silence.


    ¡ªYour mission was to report on the mine''s condition and confirm if there was gold. Tell me, what was the result of your investigation?


    Garius swallowed hard before replying.


    ¡ªSir, the mine entrance was covered by rocks, and we found several dead guards with no survivors.


    The duke shook his head and, in a sterner tone, corrected:


    ¡ªThat''s not what I''m asking. I''ve already read the report; I know that. Let me ask again: what was your mission?


    This time, Garius responded more firmly:


    ¡ªSir, the mine is currently sealed due to what appears to be an explosion, but we have confirmed there is gold inside. Efforts to reopen the mine are already underway.


    The duke nodded slowly.


    ¡ªVery well, then the mission was not a failure. Stand up.


    ¡ªBut sir¡­ ¡ªGarius began, but the duke raised a hand to interrupt him.


    ¡ªRegarding the incident ¡ªthe duke continued¡ª, I cannot ignore that one of my elite squads and one of my trusted men were outmatched by unknowns. However, you returned with no apparent casualties, and the enemy had equipment of unknown origin. This time, I''ll let it slide.


    Garius bowed his head and replied:


    ¡ªI understand, my lord.


    The duke observed him in silence for a moment before continuing:


    ¡ªAs for your request to conduct an investigation, it is denied. At the moment, we do not have the resources to recover a few lost slaves. However, I will not overlook this situation. I have already ordered some checks.


    The duke placed a cloth bag filled with coins and an insignia on the table in front of Garius.


    ¡ªWe already have some clues about their direction, but that''s a separate matter.


    He sighed, crossing his arms.


    ¡ªNow, I will assign you a new task. The empire is currently facing too many internal problems, and the king has sent his youngest daughter to these lands for her safety.


    The duke ran a hand over his forehead, exhausted, and added:


    ¡ªHowever, my daughter has decided to drag her into her foolish project.


    In a less dignified tone, he continued:


    ¡ªCan you believe it? I gave her permission to try her ridiculous idea of granting more rights to slaves. She insists on her absurd belief that we are all equal. I don''t mind indulging some of her whims, but she''s dragged the king''s daughter into it.


    The duke sighed deeply before resuming his authoritative tone.


    ¡ªYour task is to go to the city of Ravenhold and keep them safe while things settle down. For now, I don''t foresee any issues. After all, the city is quite secure. However, there are always hidden rats.


    Garius did not flinch at the duke''s change of tone. With a respectful bow, he responded:


    ¡ªYes, my lord. I will carry out your orders without fail.


    The duke returned to his chair while nodding. Then, as he continued to work through some documents, he spoke:


    ¡ªI hope there are no incidents this time.


    Garius bowed slightly in respect.


    ¡ªYou can count on it, my lord.


    With those words, Garius left the room.


    Far away from the city where the duke resided, a convoy moved through a vast plain. Atop the first wagon of the convoy, 1765 observed the beautiful view stretched out before him. The plain was dotted with a large lake that reflected the sky like a mirror, and a few hills broke the monotony of the flat terrain. A grassy field extended as far as the eye could see, where several animals resembling horses, cattle, and deer grazed peacefully.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    These creatures, classified as wild ruminant beasts, were not considered dangerous. Their magical capabilities were negligible, and they were generally peaceful unless provoked. Even in such cases, their combat ability was far inferior to that of so-called magical beasts.


    This was the valley where 1765 and his people had decided to settle. A valley nestled amidst a mountain range that, according to Silas, was the perfect place. There were only two feasible entrances to the valley. The first was in the north, the path they were currently traversing. A narrow route between two enormous mountains, it was ideal for ambushes and for building a formidable defense. The second entrance lay to the south, connecting to the Forest of Silence, a region as well-known as it was feared.


    The mountain range surrounding the valley was known as the Beast''s Range, an extensive formation that bordered several kingdoms, including the human empire. It was said that horrible magical beasts lived in its peaks, creatures so terrifying that even the bravest avoided venturing too close. Although 1765 had not seen any, he had read about them in ancient books.


    However, the valley enjoyed a unique natural defense: the dreaded Forest of Silence. This forest, one of the most inhospitable regions on the continent, was avoided even by the fiercest magical beasts. But the Forest of Silence was not the only barrier that made this region so isolated. Nearby were two other equally perilous geographical features: the Dead Desert and the Poisonous Swamp. These regions, together with the Beast''s Range and the Forest of Silence, formed what was known as the Central Plug of the continent. By a twist of fate, these four extreme zones converged near one area, marking the borders of several kingdoms.


    This combination of natural barriers made the valley a perfect refuge. While most creatures and adventurers avoided crossing any of these regions, 1765 knew they had found a place where they could establish themselves without worrying too much about intruders or invaders.


    According to Silas, the location had everything they needed: abundant resources, defensible entrances, and room to expand. The second known entrance through the Forest of Silence was particularly advantageous¡ª1765 was certain that not even the so-called king of the human empire would dare venture into that forest. This made the valley an ideal place to start anew, as most preferred to avoid even approaching this dangerous region.


    As 1765 enjoyed the view from the front wagon, an interesting scene unfolded behind the convoy. The 45 young ex-slaves whom 1765 had initially rescued were jogging in an orderly fashion. Leading the group was 037, who called out in a firm voice, chanting to motivate and synchronize the group:


    ¡ªOne step forward, a step to the future!


    We leave behind fear, forging the secure!


    Our strength grows with every fall,


    Together we fight, saving us all!


    The verses echoed through the air, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of feet hitting the ground.


    Behind them, the 180 recently rescued ex-slaves struggled to keep pace, gasping for breath as they jogged. Since the journey to the settlement would take several days and the most dangerous zones had already been left behind, 1765 had decided it was time to begin their training¡ªor rather, Silas had suggested it. The goal was not to turn the 180 into combatants. Instead, the purpose was to encourage exercise as part of their recovery.


    Malnutrition, abuse, and mistreatment had left deep scars on their bodies. However, thanks to the Silent Fruit, which contained an excessive amount of nutrients, their bodies could begin to regenerate. This process, combined with proper nutrition and continuous exercise, accelerated recovery.


    The convoy also did not have to worry about water. The wagons were equipped with a fascinating system capable of using magical energy transmission to slightly alter the temperature of a conductor¡ªin this case, a simple metal base. This ultimately created a condensation process that produced water. Although the system was slow, it could operate permanently, ensuring a constant supply of water stored in specially designed containers.


    With access to water and food that had been hunted earlier during the journey, 1765 was relatively relaxed as he thought alongside Silas. At that moment, while gazing at the horizon, he spotted some wooden structures in the distance.


    It was a small village that had grown significantly since the last time 1765 saw it. There were many more houses now, enough for each inhabitant to have their own space. With the arrival of 180 new residents, more homes would need to be built, but for now, there were enough to accommodate everyone if they shared.


    The houses were simple but functional. Each had a rudimentary clay kitchen with a chimney, a main room, and one or two bedrooms, plus a bathroom.


    The bathroom was particularly interesting. A river flowed near the settlement, originating from the large lake at the valley''s center. Using a canal system, they had built functional sanitary facilities and showers. The system operated by gravity and other basic mechanisms designed by Silas. There were no magical adaptations in its operation due to the high fuel consumption required by the golems, which already demanded a significant portion of the available energy resources.


    Silas had devised a primitive yet efficient system to ensure everyone could maintain proper hygiene. This wasn''t just a matter of comfort; it reflected the hygienic standards inspired by the intergalactic norms of the ancient federation. An organized and clean settlement was fundamental to his vision for the future.


    1765 was the first to spot the settlement, but soon the rest of the convoy noticed it too. The newly freed ex-slaves were curious as they beheld their new home. During the journey, the group that had rescued them spoke wonders about the place: delicious food, beautiful views, and, most importantly, facilities for bathing and maintaining hygiene. This was unheard of for them, accustomed to being forced to stand in lines while guards threw cold water at them and relieving themselves in the same places they worked.


    The idea of having proper bathrooms and a clean environment seemed almost magical. There were also clear rules: no stealing, no harming others, daily bathing, and mandatory attendance at classes. While these rules might seem restrictive, to them, they were an intriguing novelty¡ªa privilege associated with the powerful, not slaves like themselves. Their curiosity and anticipation grew as they approached.


    The horses began to gallop, eager to reach the settlement as quickly as possible. As they drew closer, more details became visible. The cabins were made of processed wood, with an elegant yet cozy design. There was a lot of activity in the village. Wooden golems moved back and forth, some feeding animals that resembled poultry. These birds, similar to chickens but the size of a dog, had been captured during previous raids and had adapted well to the environment. They provided meat and helped meet the settlement''s dietary needs.


    Upon reaching the entrance, the group dismounted from the wagons. 1765 stepped forward, standing before everyone. With a calm but firm expression, he began to speak:


    ¡ªWell, we''ve arrived. As you can see, this is a small settlement, but from now on, it will be your new home. Welcome. For now, we''ll assign one house to each group. You''ll have to share for the time being, but as soon as possible, we''ll build one for each of you.


    The new residents listened attentively as he guided them through the settlement, pointing out key locations and handing out steel keys to unlock their new cabins. The atmosphere was charged with mixed emotions: relief, curiosity, and a spark of hope.


    Once all the keys were distributed, 1765 returned to his own cabin. Though it was nothing special, it was identical to the others. Upon opening the door, he was knocked to the ground by a massive figure that leaped on top of him. What appeared to be a dog, specifically resembling a Border Collie, pounced on him and began licking his face enthusiastically.


    It was undoubtedly a dog, but its size was astonishing. It could easily compare to a lion. Its sharp claws and teeth were intimidating, yet it showed no aggression toward 1765, limiting itself to licking his face while wagging its tail energetically.


    ¡ªEasy, Max, easy ¡ª1765 said, petting the enormous animal¡ª. I missed you too.


    Max had been found during a raid and brought to the settlement along with the chickens at Silas''s insistence. The goal wasn''t experimentation on his health but to develop an understanding of and interaction between wild beasts and humans.


    Silas came from a world where animals had been essential to the development of civilizations. Dogs, in particular, were useful and loyal. In this world, they seemed stronger, but they were still classified as wild beasts rather than magical ones. However, their interaction with humans showed promise. Max represented both a social and functional experiment: laying the groundwork for the domestication of other species in the valley, particularly the large ruminants that were abundant in the region. For Silas, this was a key strategic priority.


    Meanwhile, 1765''s companions hurried to their respective homes. The two women in the group, in particular, could no longer bear their own smell after the long journey. It was time to enjoy what 1765 called "soap" and take full advantage of the carefully implemented shower system.

 Chapter 17

    Four months had passed since the settlement grew from 46 inhabitants to 226. Initially, it was difficult for the new residents to adapt, but they soon adjusted to the routine. As always, they woke up early for physical training. In the afternoons, they focused on more specialized training, such as weapon handling, team tactics, and even combat. At night, they dedicated themselves to studying.


    Learning to read the empire''s language and other subjects was crucial. Additionally, 1765 had decided to teach English, as it wasn''t spoken in this world and was much easier to learn than the complex imperial language. It also offered a strategic advantage: serving as a coded language for communication that others wouldn''t understand.


    While most of the inhabitants trained outside, 1765 was in his cabin. It was a simple and improvised room. The furniture consisted of a rudimentary wooden desk, a basic chair, and shelves filled with papers and tools. A small window allowed sunlight to faintly illuminate the space. Despite its simplicity, the room was orderly.


    1765 sighed as he looked at the papers before him. Although the settlement had progressed significantly, it wasn''t without problems. On the table were designs ranging from primitive gunpowder weapons and improved carts to a castle and other rudimentary yet advanced systems by the empire''s standards. All these designs had been created with Silas''s help, but implementing them posed numerous challenges.


    For example, the pistol. While necessary materials such as iron, saltpeter, and carbon were available thanks to mining in the nearby mountain, the issue lay in processing them. They had found promising minerals, but separating and refining these materials required special furnaces. These furnaces could be built with stone and clay, or better yet, with materials like blocks and concrete, which weren''t impossible to produce thanks to the silt found in streams near the great lake.


    However, producing weapons also required a constant supply of ammunition, which meant setting up an entire industry. Golems could handle much of the manual labor, but when it came to parts requiring high precision, their limitations became evident. Additionally, the cooling system necessary for production demanded large quantities of water.


    Another problem was energy consumption. So far, the settlement had 500 functional golems tasked with various manual jobs. Although the Forest of Silence provided an abundant supply of fruits for fuel production, collecting and processing them took time. This made increasing the number of golems unfeasible for the moment.


    The lack of women in the camp was also a problem. There were only two: one aged 13 and another aged 15. Both, like the rest, had arrived emaciated and wounded. After a year of good nutrition, constant exercise, and nutritional supplements, their appearance had changed drastically. The younger one, 6743, still had a childlike face, but her body was beginning to grow and mature. Meanwhile, 5476, the older one, had developed notable beauty, at least by slave standards.


    This had created tension in the camp. To prevent incidents, 1765 decided both would share his cabin. While the decision could be misinterpreted, it was necessary to maintain stability. The impact of having so much male hormonal activity concentrated in one place, where the oldest person was barely 35 years old, couldn''t be underestimated.


    The central issue, however, was the lack of inhabitants. The settlement was isolated and unknown to the outside world. There was no trade or migration. Only one solution remained: freeing more slaves. But this time, it couldn''t be from a mining camp, where the majority were men. They needed both women and men to ensure generational continuity.


    This meant targeting more complex locations, such as cities, farms, or villages, where resistance would be greater. In the human empire, the caste system was clearly defined. Slaves occupied the lowest rung, handling production and construction. Common citizens supervised the slaves and could use magic, making them potential combatants. Above them were soldiers and the nobility, who wielded real power.


    For 1765 and Silas, this system was unacceptable. The Galactic Federation Charter, which promoted equality among species, strongly contrasted with the human empire''s structure.


    1765 considered two options. He could attack a location to free more slaves, but this carried significant risk. Or he could prioritize creating infrastructure to produce weapons, which would increase their future defense and attack capabilities. However, this option wasn''t perfect either, as it would require time and labor, tying their hands from attempting to free more slaves.


    The decision wasn''t easy, especially for someone inexperienced in making such choices, like 1765. He spent the entire afternoon thinking and analyzing each possibility, extending his deliberations well into the night. Although he had two general options, each plan needed to be detailed and meticulously evaluated. In his mind, the process for achieving the final goal was as important as the goal itself.


    Max sat beside him, accompanying him in his marathon reflection session. Despite his intimidating size and imposing appearance, Max showed signs of being kind and loyal. 1765''s assumptions about his nature seemed correct. In a way, Max behaved like the dogs in Silas''s database: when fed and cared for, they saw humans as part of their pack or family.


    This behavior reinforced the idea that they could use domestication methods to establish livestock and other species to help ensure the settlement''s self-sufficiency. The potential of this strategy could be significant, and Silas had insisted that domestication would be a key pillar for future development.


    As 1765 continued working, the night grew darker. The lights in the cabins went out one by one, and the settlement''s inhabitants went to sleep. There was no need for anyone to stay awake to keep watch; the golems handled that task. Or, more precisely, Silas supervised everything through the golems'' remote control.


    In the midst of the calm, dark night, as 1765 kept a torch lit to see, a loud sound suddenly echoed outside. It was as if something heavy had crashed into the ground. Even 1765 felt a brief vibration in his room.


    Seconds later, a guttural roar broke the silence, a sound so deep and visceral that it chilled the blood. For a brief moment, 1765 froze, caught between surprise and uncertainty.


    But Silas wasn''t caught off guard.


    ¡ªUrgent report: unknown creature within the perimeter. High danger level. Initiating security protocol.


    Immediately, bells rang throughout the settlement. Simultaneously, crystals mounted on poles began to light up, bathing the area in an intense glow. This lighting system, designed by Silas, used magical matrices and specialized crystals to disperse photons generated by runic energy. Although effective, its high fuel consumption made it viable only in emergencies like this one.


    1765 quickly got up and stepped out of his cabin. Outside, the scene was both impressive and terrifying. A massive feline creature with wings loomed in the middle of the settlement. Its muscular body was covered in shiny black fur, with dense tufts around its neck that gave it a majestic and fearsome appearance. Its wings weren''t enormous and feathered, resembling those of an eagle, with black feathers reflecting the emergency crystal lights. Its eyes, an intense yellow, scanned the surroundings with a predatory intelligence. Sharp claws adorned its forelegs, looking capable of tearing through anything, and its long tail ended in a shape suggesting blunt force.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The creature didn''t stay still for long. With an agile and ferocious movement, it lunged at one of the wooden houses. Its colossal size easily took up half of the settlement''s dwellings. The creature''s claws tore through the wood effortlessly, causing part of the structure to collapse. Fortunately, the bells had alerted the inhabitants, who, thanks to drills and training, managed to evacuate their cabins quickly.


    The beast fixed its gaze on the humans emerging from their homes, its eyes glowing with the ferocity of a predator stalking its prey. However, before it could attack, several wooden golems arrived at the scene and hurled themselves at the creature.


    The golems, though numerous, were little more than a nuisance to the beast. With a powerful flap of its wings, the creature pushed several of them away, sending them crashing to the ground. One unlucky golem was crushed beneath one of the creature''s massive paws. The beast roared again, as if asserting its dominance.


    However, the golems kept coming, appearing in waves of six at a time. While unarmed, their relentless assault made it harder for the creature to move. This gave the settlement''s inhabitants enough time to organize and arm themselves. Crossbows and hundreds of arrows were swiftly distributed.


    Thanks to their constant training, the inhabitants knew exactly what to do. Each moved to their assigned positions, demonstrating the effectiveness of months of preparation. 1765, also in the midst of the fray, knew it would be absurd to engage such a large creature in hand-to-hand combat; a single swipe could cut a person in half. Thus, the safest strategy was to keep their distance and attack with crossbows while the golems held the beast back.


    1765 aimed his crossbow at the creature''s head and fired. The arrow flew with precision, but the creature, aware of the attack, used one of its wings to shield itself. The arrow, made of Silent Tree wood reinforced with a metal tip designed to pierce armor, merely bounced off the beast''s feathers.


    Despite the setback, the inhabitants couldn''t afford to stop. More golems continued arriving to harass the creature, but they weren''t infinite. Somehow, they had to neutralize the threat determined to turn one of them into its prey.


    Quickly, the inhabitants divided into squads, spreading around the creature and firing arrows in staggered intervals to keep it under pressure. However, the beast used its wings to cover what seemed to be its vital points while continuing to wreak havoc and attempt to eliminate the humans surrounding it. Thanks to the golems, its movements were sufficiently hindered for the squads to stay out of its reach, but the battle was far from over.


    Suddenly, the creature froze for a moment, and some of the feathers on its body began to emit a faint red glow.


    Silas issued a sudden alarm in 1765''s mind.


    ¡ªElectromagnetic activity detected. Possible magic activity. Cover recommended.


    1765 shouted loud enough for everyone to hear:


    ¡ªIt''s about to use magic! Take cover!


    The squads quickly ran for cover wherever they could find it. For them, magic was unpredictable. Although their wooden armor could resist certain magical effects, they knew it was situational; if the magic was elemental, their chances of remaining unscathed were slim.


    The worst part was that the creature didn''t behave like a human, who, when using a spell, would form a magical circle that could be disrupted by an attack. This creature seemed to use a type of magic unfamiliar to them, with no clear signs of preparation.


    The glow of its feathers intensified, turning a deep red. Suddenly, the creature unleashed a torrent of fire in all directions, forming a fiery circle around itself. The flames spread several meters, incinerating all the nearby golems and setting several houses in the settlement ablaze.


    The fire around the beast was black, indicating extreme temperatures. The creature had freed itself from the bothersome golems. However, thanks to 1765''s quick warning, no humans were injured. The squads, now under cover, resumed firing.


    The creature seemed irritated, but without nearby golems to distract it, it had enough time to use its wings and powerful legs to lunge at one of the scattered humans.


    It was clear that the beast was intelligent and possessed a certain degree of reasoning. However, for it, the humans present were nothing more than simple snacks, while the golems were annoying creatures without any nutritional value. This disdain for the golems cost it dearly, as it failed to notice everything happening around it.


    While the creature attacked and was surrounded by several scattered squads of humans, another group worked silently in the distance. This group had run to the settlement''s largest building, a warehouse containing several carts. These carts were similar to those used during the assault on the mine, though this time they were uncovered. On them rested arrows, wooden barrels, and the contraptions for the automatic ballistae.


    A total of ten carts were ready for use. Each required a team of four people to operate, so the inhabitants divided into groups and began assembling the automatic ballistae quickly and efficiently. These weapons were loaded with arrows and positioned strategically around the settlement. Some carts were taken to higher ground, while others were placed in clear areas within the settlement, but all remained at a safe distance from the creature. Instead of using scaled horses, the carts were pulled by golems, as the horses would have panicked in the presence of the beast.


    The assembly and positioning of the carts were completed just as the creature unleashed its devastating flame and prepared for a new attack. At that moment, the operators of the automatic ballistae pulled the triggers.


    A total of two hundred arrows were fired in less than a minute at the creature. Realizing the threat too late, the beast could only shield itself with its massive wings. Although the feathers managed to deflect most of the projectiles, this time the arrows left visible marks on their surface. The creature let out a faint whimper of pain, a sign that, while resilient, its defenses were not impenetrable.


    After the first wave of arrows came a second, followed by a third and a fourth. Meanwhile, the squads of humans continued firing their handheld crossbows, keeping the creature under constant pressure. Thanks to Silas'' ingenuity, the settlement had developed a semi-automated system for arrow production. Although the golems couldn''t touch Silent Tree wood due to its special properties, pulley and cutter mechanisms had been designed to mass-produce arrows quickly. This ensured a constant supply for the battle.


    Despite the pain and pressure, the creature did not give up. With a deafening roar, its feathers began to glow again with an intense red hue. The settlement''s inhabitants, anticipating another blaze, sought cover. But this time, instead of releasing fire toward the ground, the beast took flight.


    The mighty creature rose swiftly, leaving behind a trail of fire that burned some arrows in midair. From its new position, it scanned for a vulnerable target. That''s when it fixed its gaze on a nearby corral where a group of scaled horses was enclosed. With impressive speed, the creature dove toward them. The poor animals, unable to escape, neighed in terror. One of them was snatched by the beast''s claws, which lifted it effortlessly and flew toward one of the towering mountains surrounding the valley.


    1765 watched in silence as the creature''s figure disappeared into the darkness. The battle was over, but the aftermath was clear. Several houses were damaged or on fire, the golems had been decimated, and a scaled horse had been lost. However, thanks to the settlement''s quick reflexes and organization, no humans had been injured.


    Although the beast had left the settlement, the night was far from over. Damage assessments and checks had to be made. In total, ten houses were lost to the fire, and over seventy golems were destroyed during the skirmish, including the unfortunate scaled horse.


    The losses were significant for a small settlement like theirs but not irreparable. The golems could be recreated, and the cabins rebuilt. However, the scaled horse represented a harder loss to overcome. It was still uncertain how long it would take for the foals, both born and unborn, to reach maturity.


    The worst realization from the attack was that the settlement was not 100% safe. The rumors of magical beasts living in the mountains seemed to be true. This added a new and far more severe problem for 1765. Bringing more inhabitants would be futile if their safety in the area couldn''t be guaranteed.


    After issuing instructions, organizing vigilant guards, and repositioning the carts with the automatic ballistae in strategic locations to reinforce the security perimeter, 1765 finally returned to his cabin. He collapsed into his chair, his mind overwhelmed, ready to rethink his next steps.

 Chapter 18

    The previous night had been long. After the attack, tension lingered in the settlement. Although daily activities had returned to normal, permanent guards were now established. The settlement lacked walls or significant physical defenses, and building walls in that location presented its own challenges. However, security had become an absolute priority after the winged creature''s attack.


    1765 had spent most of the time reflecting. Now it was time to act. They not only faced the problem of limited manpower but also time. No one could guarantee when the beast would return, if it even did, but its attack confirmed something troubling: magical beasts truly lived in the mountains. And if all were as formidable as the creature from the previous night, the danger was immense.


    Despite feeling a deep fear of the weapons Silas had stored in his vast database, 1765 knew he could no longer ignore them. These weapons, though terrifying, were possibly the only solution to face such formidable threats. Initially, he hesitated to advance toward such destructive technologies; his mind kept dwelling on the consequences of using them. However, the recent attack partially erased those doubts, at least enough to push him to act. If he had already struggled to improve the automatic ballistae and dart guns, he knew developing more advanced technologies would be even more complicated. The idea of manufacturing archaic powder pistols, for example, was dismissed: they were too slow, heavy, and inefficient.


    For this reason, 1765 decided to focus on viable short-term solutions. Fortunately, they had the tireless help of the golems. Thanks to Silas'' efficiency, the units lost during the attack had already been rebuilt, and 100 additional units were created. Although this would increase the demand for silent fruits, 1765 knew now was not the time to conserve resources.


    Even the destroyed houses were rebuilt in record time. However, this time 1765 made a different decision: not to improve the current infrastructure. He had a more ambitious plan. Early in the morning, he mounted one of the scaled horses and rode several kilometers to a hill where the central lake of the valley was clearly visible.


    "Is this the place?" he asked, surveying the landscape.


    "It is correct; this is the designated location," Silas replied.


    1765 nodded. The terrain was expansive, relatively flat, and centrally located within the valley in an elevated area. It was far enough from the Silent Forest to avoid immediate disturbances but close to necessary resources. There was water, grasslands, and perfect land for construction.


    "How long will it take?" 1765 asked while evaluating the area.


    "According to my calculations, with the continuous work of 300 golems, it will take two months to complete construction."


    1765 sighed and nodded again. This time, they were planning something big. After the attack, it was clear that they needed a safe place. Wooden houses were no longer sufficient. The new goal was to build a castle large enough to house all the settlement''s inhabitants and more.


    Although he had seen modern cities and steel-and-glass buildings in his memories, he knew such constructions were not feasible at the moment. First, they didn''t provide adequate defense; second, the technology necessary to build them simply didn''t exist in this world. Moreover, the settlement''s people were not accustomed to living in such advanced places. Thus, the best option was a castle¡ªbut not one made of stone like those in this world. Instead, it would be made of concrete reinforced with steel, a much more resistant and efficient material.


    Thanks to the knowledge provided by Silas, 1765 didn''t need to invest time in research. He knew how to make concrete and reinforce it, and the golems would work 24 hours a day to ensure rapid construction progress. Additionally, the location had everything needed: abundant water, space for expansion, and the possibility of creating grasslands and pens.


    After inspecting the area, 1765 returned to the settlement. Although the villagers seemed relieved to see him back, he barely noticed. His mind was occupied with planning the next steps. After eating something quickly, he locked himself in one of the new cabins the golems had built. This cabin was larger than the others, with a spacious attic and a wide door to facilitate storing tools and materials.


    Inside, he reviewed the available materials: processed wood, tools made in the improvised forge, and fibers of plant and animal origin. These fibers had been treated and cut into thin strips to create resistant and flexible ropes. Using a rudimentary machine he had designed, he began stretching and braiding the fibers to form high-quality ropes. Meanwhile, the golems worked cutting wood and assembling preliminary structures.


    Rewinding a few hours earlier, in one of the many cabins in the settlement, 2876 rose early like everyone else. Despite the lingering tension from the creature''s attack, he displayed a calmness he didn''t entirely feel. That winged beast had left an indelible impression: its presence was that of a predator, and its intention was clear¡ªto devour them.


    However, 2876 had changed since arriving at the settlement. He could feel fear but no longer allowed it to paralyze him. Like every morning, he led the others in their daily training routine. The exercises began with activities to build muscle and endurance, followed by a long run covering several kilometers. This discipline was now the cornerstone of his existence¡ªsomething he would never have imagined in his former life as a slave.


    As he ran at the front of the group, he remembered the previous night. In the past, as a simple slave, he would have run away without looking back. But now, both he and the others had taken up arms and faced the creature. They had survived, and not only that¡ªthey had driven it away. This change wasn''t coincidental. It was the result of training, teamwork, and 1765''s teachings. In his mind, the days of solitary struggle were over. Now he knew that, by working together, they could face any threat.


    As they finished their morning run, 2876 noticed 1765 mounting one of the scaled horses.


    ¡ªI''m heading out for a moment. Don''t worry; I''ll be back soon, ¡ª1765 had said before departing.


    No one stopped him or questioned his decision. To them, he was the leader, and their trust in him had reached absolute levels after the previous night. However, 2876 felt a knot in his stomach watching him leave alone. He wanted to volunteer to accompany him, to have his back in case of danger, but he held himself back. In the end, he decided to trust him like the others did.


    He hadn''t realized it himself, nor had the others, but their confidence in 1765 was at its peak. As one of the first group of freed slaves to join him, 2876 had decided to follow 1765. After more than a year, he had realized there was no one better suited to lead.


    Perhaps 1765 was very young, and sometimes it seemed he didn''t like being called "chief," but his decisions were always the right ones.


    Just yesterday was a clear example: they survived thanks to the training he had established, thanks to the alarm system, the golems, and the weapons¡ªall his creations. 2876 didn''t understand how 1765 came up with so many ideas, but there was one thing he knew for sure: without him, this small camp would fall apart. That''s why he had made the decision that, even if necessary, he would give his life to defend him. To 2876, 1765 was the only one who could fulfill his dream: the dream of liberating all the slaves born like him.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    And this sentiment wasn''t unique. While there had initially been doubts about 1765''s leadership, especially among the second group of freed slaves, over time, they learned that everything in this place existed because of him. Even the golems, which no one understood how they worked, were controlled by him. Although the golems responded to voice commands, 1765''s orders were absolute to them.


    Therefore, when 1765 left to explore, everyone wore worried expressions. It wasn''t until the afternoon when they finally felt at ease, seeing him return safe and sound. But, as had become customary in recent days, 1765 secluded himself in one of the settlement''s facilities. This didn''t bother them. In fact, 2876 had seen 1765 act this way before¡ªthe first time was when the automatic ballista was created. That''s why he could only assume that this time, he was devising a way to deal with the beast that had attacked the day before. His task was to ensure he wouldn''t be disturbed.


    Night fell, and Silas focused on monitoring the skies for potential enemies with the help of the golems. The previous day''s attack had highlighted a vulnerability: the sensors had been caught off guard because the attacker had come from above. Additionally, night patrols were established, and the carts with the ten automatic ballistae were strategically positioned. In each, teams of four people rested, ready to act if necessary.


    Fortunately, the night passed peacefully, and the next day arrived without incident.


    As the settlement awoke, 1765 continued working tirelessly. He had created a thick rope, wider than a thumb, strong and elastic. Meanwhile, the golems had assembled a massive contraption. This time, it wasn''t a cart¡ªor at least not like the previous ones. They had built a mobile base specifically designed for this new weapon. It even had brakes and two support legs that firmly anchored it to the ground when deployed.


    The design resembled the automatic ballistae but with clear differences. It was much larger and lacked a rotating cylinder. Instead, it had a kind of rectangular platform on top where multiple arrows could be loaded. However, the reloading system was more complex, yet it allowed for firing larger and more powerful projectiles.


    The weapon''s base wasn''t manually rotatable, like the earlier versions. This time, a system of levers and pulleys had been implemented, allowing precise movement up, down, left, and right. The firing mechanism itself was based on torsion, with the pulleys responsible for tightening the rope before each shot. This design, known as a torsion ballista, offered far greater power than conventional versions, though it sacrificed firing speed.


    While the golems worked on the runic matrices and a sighting mechanism to aid aiming, 1765 focused on the arrows¡ªor rather, their tips. These would differ from those used previously. The tips were made of silent wood, coated with metal to enhance their durability and penetration ability. The shafts, however, were crafted from a sturdy wood easily handled by the golems.


    The metal coating on the tips somewhat reduced the anti-magic effectiveness of the silent wood. However, Silas had calculated that the effect would remain active within the first few centimeters of the tip, which was sufficient to break magical barriers and penetrate defenses. This allowed the golems to handle the arrows without issues, as they weren''t entirely made of silent wood.


    The arrows were enormous, each measuring seventy centimeters in length and thirty millimeters in width. The torsion ballista could load up to six arrows in its automatic reloading system. Once fired, the rectangular cartridge serving as the magazine had to be removed and replaced or refilled. Although the firing rate was much slower than that of the automatic ballistae, the strength of each shot was incomparable.


    1765 worked tirelessly assembling the arrows. The tips and wooden shafts were designed to be assembled via a threaded system, secured with a special adhesive to ensure stability. Each arrow was meticulously inspected before being loaded into the magazine.


    Once the arrows were mounted in the magazine and the weapon fully loaded, 1765 nodded with satisfaction as he inspected it. It had taken two days to build this new weapon. Unlike the automatic ballistae, which required more time due to the complexity of manufacturing the rotating cylinders, this new weapon had a more straightforward design focused on power.


    In front of him stood a massive ballista mounted on a sturdy wooden base reinforced with metal plates. The nails and screws running through the structure gave it a rustic yet intimidating appearance. Its design exuded resilience and a clear purpose: destruction.


    After meticulously inspecting every detail, he opened the doors of the improvised workshop, and with the help of several golems, brought the new weapon outside.


    It was the afternoon, and the other settlers were immersed in their evening exercises. However, the sound of the heavy door opening drew their attention. One by one, they turned their gaze toward the clearing where 1765 and the golems were positioning the massive device.


    Immediately, a group began to approach out of curiosity. From a distance, the new ballista reminded them of the automatic ballistae they had already seen in action. They were puzzled as to why 1765 had taken the time to create one himself when others could have assembled it, given that some were capable of doing so.


    1765, aware of their stares, turned to them and smiled.


    "I see everyone¡¯s here," he said with a firm voice that captured everyone¡¯s attention. "This is the perfect moment."


    He cleared his throat before continuing.


    "As you all know, two days ago, we were attacked by an unknown beast. Based on my calculations, it likely came from the peaks of one of the nearby mountains. It already has us marked, and it could return at any time looking for food. That¡¯s why I¡¯ve created this new toy to deal with the problem."


    He gestured theatrically toward the weapon, causing an air of tense anticipation among the group.


    "Now, I need everyone to stand behind the weapon and several meters away. We don¡¯t want any accidents."


    Following 1765¡¯s orders, the settlers stepped back, positioning themselves at a safe distance. Meanwhile, another group of golems arrived with a cart carrying a test target. It consisted of a metal plate, a wooden wall, and a stone barrier placed one behind the other. It was a simple but effective setup to measure the weapon¡¯s penetration capability.


    Once everyone was in position, 1765 climbed to the back of the ballista. He placed his eye on the sight and adjusted the control levers connected to the pulley mechanism. With calculated movements, he aligned the sight with the target as the pulleys slowly adjusted the weapon¡¯s position up, down, and sideways.


    Once aligned, he took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The torsion ropes released with a loud snap, propelling the first bolt with tremendous force. A sharp whistle accompanied the projectile as it tore through the air at an astonishing speed.


    In less than a second, the bolt struck the target. The metal plate dented, the wooden wall splintered, and the stone barrier cracked. But the bolt didn¡¯t stop there; it continued its trajectory, smashing into the cart behind and destroying it completely.


    1765 observed the result and couldn¡¯t help but comment.


    "We¡¯ll need to adjust the sight," he said with a crooked smile.


    The others seemed impressed by the weapon¡¯s destructive power. After all, these were the same targets they used for training, and they knew how durable they were.


    1765 turned to them, a slightly excited look on his face, like a child showing off a new toy to his father.


    "Well, I think we can defend ourselves a bit better now."


    A new day arrived, and though there were no signs of the beast returning, 1765 didn¡¯t allow himself to rest. Instead, he dedicated his time to building a second torsion ballista, while a third was already in the assembly process. Simultaneously, ammunition production ramped up considerably, and the settlement¡¯s automatic ballistae increased in number to a total of fourteen.


    Additionally, a new cartridge system was implemented for the manual ballistae. Each cartridge contained ten bolts and could be easily placed on top of the ballistae. Although the weapon still required manual reloading after each shot, the cartridge system made the process much faster compared to loading bolts one by one. This simple change significantly improved combat efficiency.


    Although the threat seemed to have subsided, the settlers took advantage of the calm to rest and recover their strength. However, no one could ignore the feeling that this was merely the calm before the storm.


    The sun was at its peak when everything changed. It was an ordinary day, and 1765 was fine-tuning the final details of the third torsion ballista. The air was filled with a tranquility that wouldn¡¯t last long. Suddenly, Silas¡¯s voice resonated in his mind with a tone of urgency.


    "Multiple enemies detected approaching from the south. Preventative measures are recommended. Activating emergency protocol."


    The alarm bell rang out once again throughout the settlement.

 Chapter 19

    As the bells rang throughout the settlement, every man and woman rushed to their designated positions. Although no walls had been built or houses improved, this didn''t mean the settlement was defenseless. Over the past days, improvised wooden bunkers covered with dirt and branches had been erected to provide cover and camouflage. These bunkers were strategically distributed across the area, allowing for easy entry and exit in case of retreat or emergency.


    The torsion ballistae, the most imposing pieces of the defensive arsenal, were positioned at key points in the settlement, their massive bolts aimed at the horizon. Each one covered a strategic area, ensuring no point was left unguarded. Meanwhile, the automatic ballistae were divided into small groups and placed around the torsion ballistae to offer additional support and coverage. The soldiers assigned to these weapons were ready, their hands steady on the triggers.


    1765 took command of one of the three torsion ballistae. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the shadows of the approaching enemies grew larger. He didn''t need to give too many orders. Over the past days, every inhabitant had practiced defensive maneuvers to exhaustion, so each person knew exactly what to do. Their hearts beat rapidly, but there was no chaos, only a tense calm that preceded the storm.


    1765''s real concern wasn''t with the settlement''s preparation but with the nature of the approaching enemies. According to Silas''s readings, there weren''t just one or two¡ªthere were thirty. Thirty. If they were thirty magical beasts as powerful as the one that attacked days earlier, there was no way they could emerge victorious. However, as he studied the shadows in the distance, he noticed something: not all the figures shared the same characteristics.


    Silas confirmed the information with cold, precise data.


    "Only one of the detected signatures matches the creature from the previous attack. The others appear smaller and have less mass. Probability of different species: high."


    1765 frowned. Smaller or not, thirty enemies posed a significant threat. The beast from two nights ago had been powerful enough to destroy several houses and over seventy golems. Now they faced a much larger number, and any mistake could be catastrophic.


    "How fast are they approaching?" he asked quietly, more to himself than to Silas.


    "Estimated arrival in five minutes."


    1765 nodded and raised his voice to address the others.


    "Get ready! We have five minutes before they arrive. Stay calm and remember what we''ve practiced. Now''s not the time to panic."


    The team around him nodded with determination and prepared for the confrontation.


    Time seemed to pass slowly as the entire settlement remained in complete silence. In the distance, the shadows of the enemies became increasingly clear until they could finally be distinguished with the naked eye. At the center of the formation was the imposing winged lion that had attacked the settlement earlier. Surrounding it were 29 flying creatures.


    These new creatures were terrifying in their own right. With their massive wings spread wide, they were slightly larger than an average adult. Their sharp talons seemed capable of tearing through wood with ease, and their long, curved beaks glinted menacingly under the sunlight. Their dark plumage shimmered faintly in the sunlight, and their glowing red eyes radiated a dangerous intelligence. Though not as colossal or intimidating as the winged lion, they were still deadly adversaries.


    From his position at the torsion ballista, 1765 carefully observed every movement. He adjusted the ballista''s sight, aiming directly at the center of the enemy formation, where the winged lion advanced with majestic confidence. He carefully manipulated the levers, aligning the massive bolt with his primary target. His breathing was steady, but the sweat running down his brow betrayed the tension of the moment.


    The entire settlement held its breath. Every inhabitant, armed with crossbows and hidden behind the improvised bunkers, watched the horizon nervously. Not a single sound was heard, but the tension in the air was palpable. Everyone knew the decisive moment was near.


    The creatures continued their advance, their figures now fully visible. The winged lion led with predatory calm, while the 29 flying beasts flanked it in a pattern that seemed calculated. The enemy formation was perfect for avoiding encirclement¡ªa testament to the intelligence of these creatures.


    When the distance between the enemies and the settlement had narrowed enough, 1765 finally raised his voice. His shout echoed through the area like thunder, breaking the silence.


    "Fire!"


    The sound of torsion ropes releasing filled the air, followed by the sharp whistle of a massive bolt slicing through the sky. The projectile flew straight toward the winged lion, leaving a trail of tension in its wake.


    At the same time, the automatic ballistae began firing in coordinated sequence. Hundreds of bolts were launched toward the smaller creatures, aiming to reduce their numbers before they could reach the settlement. The sky filled with projectiles, creating a deafening sound as the bolts cut through the air.


    The winged lion reacted with impressive agility for its colossal size. It moved swiftly, dodging the massive bolt fired from the torsion ballista. The projectile flew through the space it had occupied moments before, but one of the flying creatures flanking it wasn''t as fortunate. The bolt struck it directly, piercing its body completely. The beast was thrown back several meters in the air before crashing to the ground, either dead or dying.


    The ensuing rain of bolts was intense. Though the winged lion was prepared to dodge and defend itself, the other creatures seemed unsure of how to react. The smaller bolts weren''t powerful enough to kill them instantly, but they were annoying enough to keep them at bay and prevent them from getting too close. Meanwhile, the torsion ballistae proved devastating¡ªeach shot turned one of the flying beasts into a mere corpse plummeting from the sky.


    As the winged lion saw its minions falling one after another, it roared furiously. Its fur began to glow with an intense reddish hue, creating a fiery aura around it. This blazing mantle increased its speed as it headed straight for the settlement. The remaining creatures followed closely, using the trail of heat to shield themselves from the arrows.


    But as they drew closer, the rain of projectiles no longer came from just one direction. The defense teams had carefully prepared their positions, and now arrows poured down from multiple angles. The flying creatures, unable to dodge so many projectiles simultaneously, began to fall rapidly.


    Both the automatic and manual ballistae joined the fray. At close range, their power increased significantly, and the arrows were able to penetrate the creatures'' defenses. Before long, the winged lion''s minions had been turned into literal pincushions by the relentless rain of projectiles. The cries of wounded beasts and the sound of their bodies hitting the ground filled the air.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Meanwhile, the torsion ballistae kept firing. Each shot required 20 seconds to reload, and after six shots, the magazine had to be replaced, which took a full minute. Despite this relative slowness, every shot was devastating. Although they had yet to hit the colossal winged lion, the ballistae had proven deadly against its minions.


    Finally, the winged lion landed, its roar echoing across the settlement. It paused briefly, turning its head to survey the graveyard of its own creatures. Its eyes burned with uncontrollable fury upon seeing that the humans had eliminated its companions before they could cause any significant damage.


    With a deafening roar, the beast struck the ground with its claws, as if challenging the defenders. However, at that very moment, a new wave of pain surged through its body. A bolt from one of the torsion ballistae had pierced its front leg, leaving a bloody wound.


    Without warning, another bolt struck the beast''s side, causing immense pain that elicited a visceral roar. This time, its roar was filled with desperation, a clear sign that its patience had reached its limit. In its rage and frustration, it attempted to activate the powers it had relied on its entire life¡ªthe same powers that had made it a hegemonic force on one of the peaks of the mountain range. But for the first time, those powers did not respond.


    Confusion mingled with fear. The creature, accustomed to dominating with its fiery aura, realized something was wrong. The blazing mantle it had used so often to assert its dominance was not reacting as usual. As it observed the bolt embedded in its side, the beast understood that these human weapons were not mere projectiles; they appeared to have properties that interfered with its natural abilities.


    With this realization, the winged lion felt vulnerable for the first time. It knew it was in trouble and, without hesitation, spread its massive wings to take flight. Time was against it, but it also played to its advantage: the torsion ballistae were in the process of reloading, and while the rain of arrows continued, they were not powerful enough to stop its escape.


    With a powerful flap of its wings, the creature ascended into the sky, leaving the settlement behind. Its massive wings created a gust of wind that stirred up dust and leaves from the nearby trees. The settlers, though tense, watched with relief as the winged lion retreated. For now, the attack had been thwarted, and the defenders could celebrate their victory, though they knew the threat had not been completely eliminated.


    1765 climbed down from the ballista, breathing deeply as he tried to process what had happened. He looked around, seeing the settlers beginning to gather to assess the damage and count the survivors. While the victory was bittersweet, the fact that everyone had survived and the winged lion had fled was reason enough for the tension to dissipate, if only for a moment.


    But deep down, 1765 knew this victory was not final. The lion was still alive, and although they might have scared it enough to prevent it from returning soon, he couldn''t afford to be complacent.


    After ensuring that the attackers had retreated, the settlers began to emerge from their defensive positions. They had managed to win this battle, but now it was time to face reality: clearing the battlefield and assessing the damage.


    As they collected the bodies of the creatures, many wondered whether the winged beasts were edible. Perhaps the rain of arrows hadn''t ruined their meat too much, and that was something they would find out during the evening bonfire.


    Meanwhile, high on one of the peaks of the mountain range, a winged lion with two bolts embedded in its body returned to its lair. Its landing was clumsy, leaving a trail of blood that marked its path into a dark cave. Upon entering, the lion roared¡ªa guttural, rage-filled sound that echoed off the cave walls.


    Shortly after, a creature similar to the ones it had brought along in the attack arrived swiftly. This one was slightly larger and appeared older, with worn feathers that testified to its experience in countless battles.


    Though magical beasts were known throughout the continent, little was truly understood about them. Generally, it was believed that they preferred to live in remote places, claiming territories where they imposed their own laws. However, the Beast Mountain Range was different. Here, hundreds of thousands of creatures coexisted in a complex ecosystem where only the strongest could claim the coveted peaks as their domains. The winged lion had managed to establish itself on one of these peaks, though it wasn''t among the tallest or most prestigious. Despite this, its position was constantly envied by other beasts.


    Thanks to his dominion, he had managed to subjugate many creatures under his command. However, there were still beasts more powerful than him. Few knew, but the Beast Mountain Range operated almost like a country, with unwritten agreements and laws that governed its chaotic society. There were even certain understandings with human kingdoms. For instance, magical beasts had agreed not to attack the Human Empire directly, a pact that avoided devastating conflicts for both sides.


    However, not all beasts agreed with these treaties. To many, humans were nothing more than a delicious source of food. In the case of the winged lion, his hatred toward humans was deeply personal. For generations, several members of his species had been captured and used as mounts¡ªa humiliating fate for a creature as proud as he was. Not only were they captured, but they were bred as if they were mere animals. This fact had profoundly scarred the lion, who saw every human as an enemy deserving of destruction.


    Magical beasts, especially the highly intelligent ones like the winged lion, were capable of communicating with other creatures of their kind, and even speaking with humanoid species. With a stern gaze and a low growl, he ordered the bird that had just arrived to remove the arrows embedded in his body. Without hesitation, the bird obeyed. Using its sharp beak, it began to work carefully, ensuring it did not cause the proud lion any more pain.


    When the first arrow was removed, the winged lion felt immediate relief but also something else: the reconnection with his magical energy. This alarmed him deeply. The arrows had not only caused physical pain; they had also blocked his primary advantage¡ªhis magic. When the second arrow was removed and his powers fully returned, the lion stared at the weapons with rage. These arrows were dangerous, a threat to creatures like him and likely to many other magical beasts.


    The bird, a creature similar to those the lion had brought in his attack but larger and with dark plumage, bowed its head after finishing its task and quickly retreated. The winged lion was left alone, with the arrows lying before him. He knew these weapons were something that needed to be reported to the higher-ranking beasts of the mountain range, especially since they could threaten the balance between magical beasts and humans. But he also knew what that would entail: questions.


    If he reported the arrows, he would have to admit that he had broken the agreement with humans by invading their territory. Worse still, he would have to confess that he had been humiliated¡ªnot once, but twice. In the culture of magical beasts, pride was sacred. Losing it was worse than death. And he, a winged lion, had lost more than his pride; he had lost confidence in his invulnerability.


    The valley in question was known to be avoided by both humans and magical beasts. Its proximity to the dreaded Silent Forest made it a place of bad omens, even for powerful creatures like him. However, the ruminant creatures grazing in its meadows were a delicacy. The lion had passed through the valley many times to hunt, believing the place to be uninhabited or, at most, occupied by bandits or insignificant small human groups. Finding a settlement had been a surprise, but also an opportunity he thought he could exploit.


    The first time he attacked, he expected an easy feast. Instead, he left with nothing but a scaled horse and his pride shattered. He had returned with reinforcements, confident he could erase that humiliation. But the result was even worse. He had lost all his subordinates and returned injured.


    He looked at the arrows again, this time with a mix of hatred and determination. He decided he would not share what had happened with the higher-ranking beasts or anyone in the mountain range. He would keep this information to himself. If he revealed the existence of the settlement, his humiliation would be exposed. But that didn''t mean he would let things rest. There were other ways to trouble those pesky humans without compromising his pride.


    The winged lion lay down inside his cave, staring toward the entrance. He still had much to think about, but one thing was certain: those humans wouldn''t get rid of him so easily.

 Chapter 20

    An entire month had passed since the magical beast attacked the settlement with its minions. In the following days, vigilance in the settlement intensified. The residents'' free time dwindled significantly. Between guard shifts, continuous training, and trips to the forest to collect silent fruits, there was barely any time for rest. The demand for these fruits continued to increase as the golems multiplied and their energy needs grew.


    Meanwhile, the construction of the new dwelling was in full swing. The golems worked tirelessly, but it would still take another month to complete the main structure. Additionally, a new project had been added that consumed resources and energy: a tunnel. This tunnel, which would connect the Silent Forest to the new settlement, had a strategic purpose. The underground route would protect gatherers from potential attacks and serve as a safe escape route should the settlement be compromised in the future.


    Inside his makeshift workshop, 1765 sighed as he fine-tuned the latest defensive modifications. He had spent several nights contemplating ways to improve their response capabilities against another attack. Although they had come out relatively unscathed in the last battle, it was evident they relied heavily on the creatures'' lack of knowledge about their defenses. But what if the winged lion could reason? What if it returned with a more sophisticated strategy or brought more enemies?


    These thoughts forced 1765 to come up with a new defense mechanism. This time, he designed a type of projectile capable of attacking large groups simultaneously. It was a hollow arrow, more like a slender bamboo-like shaft, made from a material similar to bamboo. Its interior was filled with an archaic version of gunpowder that he had managed to synthesize with available resources. Additionally, it was packed with shrapnel composed of splinters from silent trees coated in metal. The idea was that upon exploding, the shrapnel would scatter and cause massive damage.


    Each arrow carried a small rune at its base, connected to a rudimentary initiator that used a drop of fuel to generate a spark. The system was complex and required precision, so 1765 had spent entire days building them personally.


    As he carefully poured the black powder into one of the arrows, he couldn''t help but curse under his breath.


    "Damn it, this powder smells horrible," he muttered, then sighed, placing the arrow on the table and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Silas, when do you think we''ll be able to make what they call ice cream? Or pizza? They look so delicious, and I''m sure they smell way better than stuffing arrows with gunpowder."


    As usual, Silas responded without delay.


    "Ice cream and pizza, as they were known in my civilization, are the final products of a long chain of technological and industrial processes. For ice cream, we would need electricity to power freezers, tools for processing ingredients, and a reliable supply chain for milk, cream, sugar, and flavorings. Each of these elements requires infrastructure that we currently lack."


    1765 smiled wryly as he listened to the explanation. He knew the answer wouldn''t be simple.


    "As for pizza," Silas continued, "we would need advanced agricultural systems to produce wheat, tomatoes, and herbs. Then, efficient processing to create flour, sauce, and cheese. Even something as simple as the proper oven for cooking it is currently unattainable. For now, our priority remains survival. However, if we manage to stabilize and expand this settlement, these goals could become achievable in the future."


    "However," Silas added, "there are archaic methods we could adapt to approximate these products. For ice cream, we could use a mixture of milk, sugar, and flavorings placed in a metal container surrounded by salt and ice to lower the temperature and solidify it slowly. Ice would be a limited resource, but with a rudimentary storage system, we could maintain it for a while."


    "For pizza," he continued, "we could make a base using basic flour mixed with water and natural yeast, allowing it to ferment. The tomato sauce could be replaced with a reduction of local fruits or even mashed roots with spices, while cheese could be substituted with a simple dairy derivative. Cooking it in a clay oven built from available resources would let us create something similar. Although rustic, it could satisfy your culinary curiosity. Shall we begin experimenting with any of these ideas?"


    1765 let out a slight laugh and shook his head. He already knew these answers. After all, one of his simplest and most personal goals was to someday enjoy ice cream and pizza. However, the problem was that he wasn''t even sure if half the ingredients for those products existed in this world. He didn''t even know if the cows here could be milked. The "cows" in this world were enormous and dangerous, more akin to wild beasts than docile farm animals. Even if they managed to extract milk, it might taste and feel very different from what Silas remembered.


    Although this world had many similarities to the one Silas knew, he couldn''t deny there were significant differences. Magic was one of them, and it gave rise to many other factors that complicated understanding this environment. Even magical beasts, like the winged lion that attacked them, had no precedent in Silas''s extensive records.


    But these were topics that, for now, lacked immediate relevance. The most important thing at the moment was to establish and fortify a secure zone enough to survive and thrive. Becoming nomadic might be an option, but it would mean giving up many of the advancements they sought, including the ability to develop technology and establish a basic infrastructure that ensured long-term survival. This was not a luxury they could afford to forego in their current situation.


    1765 continued his work when Silas spoke in his head. Although Silas''s words were direct and logical, they carried an unsettling weight due to their implications:


    "Initial analysis complete. Multiple living beings detected rapidly approaching the settlement. They do not match known human signatures. High probability of threat. Estimated total: three hundred individuals. Electromagnetic footprint unknown. Offensive capability and type: indeterminate. Recommendation: activate emergency protocol and prepare for imminent combat."


    1765 put down what he was working on and stood up, his exterior calm masking the gravity of the situation.


    ¡ªSound the bell, ¡ªhe said firmly as he rushed outside.


    This was the third attack in less than two months. The alarm bell rang throughout the settlement, and the inhabitants moved with the discipline they had acquired through constant training. Each took their position in the improvised trenches, while the automatic and torsion ballistas were activated and adjusted for combat. Three of the automatic ballistas were loaded with the new explosive arrows designed by 1765, experimental ammunition that promised to change the course of the battle.


    1765 headed to one of the automatic ballistas equipped with explosive arrows. He looked up at the sky, where hundreds of shadows were rapidly approaching. From a distance, they seemed small, but their number and speed were alarming.


    As the figures drew closer, their details became clearer. They were grotesque creatures, the size of small children, with massive wings that doubled the length of their bodies, reminiscent of bat wings, in an ashen gray. They had faces that blended humanoid and bat-like features, black eyes gleaming with hunger and aggression, and thin, angular bodies covered in wrinkled, repulsive skin. From their shoulders emerged two thin arms ending in sharp claws, while their hind legs resembled those of a raptor, equally lethal. Their screeches were the most terrifying: a sharp, discordant sound like nails on a chalkboard, resonating through the air and setting nerves on edge.


    Despite their repulsive appearance, the creatures flew with terrifying coordination, forming a dark, chaotic cloud that rapidly approached the settlement.


    1765 knew he couldn¡¯t allow these things to get too close. He made a quick decision and shouted:


    ¡ªFire!


    The automatic ballistas fired the first arrows. One flew swiftly, rising into the sky and cutting through the swarm of creatures. At the center of the group, the arrow exploded. A rune inside it glowed briefly, igniting the gunpowder within. The detonation was immediate, releasing a shockwave that destabilized nearby creatures and scattered shrapnel in all directions.


    The shrapnel, made of metal fragments and splinters of silent wood, pierced the beasts closest to the explosion. Some lost their wings and plummeted to the ground, others were completely torn apart, leaving a macabre rain of blood and remains in the air. Even creatures further away were affected, destabilized by the impact.  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The swarm ignored the initial explosions and continued advancing toward the human settlement like an impending cloud of destruction. These creatures weren¡¯t particularly intelligent but had enough capacity to receive and execute orders. Their mission was simple: destroy this small human settlement. The desperation in their attack came not only from their obedience to orders but also from the tempting smell of fresh meat, guiding them as a primal, unstoppable force.


    However, the human defenses did not falter. Within minutes, 60 explosive arrows were fired into the swarm¡¯s center. The creatures fell like flies before the shrapnel that spread in all directions with each detonation. The explosions themselves weren¡¯t particularly powerful, but the shrapnel, designed with fragments of silent wood coated in metal, was devastating, tearing through wings, bodies, and dozens of enemies with each impact.


    1765 watched the scene intently from his command post, manning one of the ballistas. A faint smile crossed his face as he observed the effectiveness of the anti-air weapon he had designed. Until recently, they had no effective method to deal with large swarms of enemies. The torsion ballistas were lethal against large, strong targets but would have been insufficient against swarms like this. Now, thanks to the new explosive arrows, they had leveled the battlefield.


    As the creatures dwindled in number, 1765 let out a faint sigh of relief. They had managed to prevail this time, but he couldn¡¯t help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn¡¯t decided to create those new arrows. A disaster might have unfolded in the settlement.


    When the creatures were less than 100 meters from the settlement, the manual crossbows operated from the trenches joined the attack. Although fewer than 100 creatures remained, they were still a dangerous threat. However, the combination of automatic ballistas, explosive arrows, and constant fire from the manual crossbows neutralized the swarm before they could even touch the ground.


    The attack had been successfully contained. This time, casualties in the settlement were minimal, and the enemies didn¡¯t even get close enough to cause significant damage. The only inconvenience was the sheer number of corpses scattered across the area, creating an arduous task for the inhabitants who now had to clean up the battlefield.


    However, the bodies were not entirely useless. Magical beasts had always proven to be a valuable resource. Their hides, meat, feathers, and bones were invaluable raw materials. The blood of these creatures, for example, had interesting properties. When properly processed, it could act as a nutritional supplement similar to the juice of the silent fruit. Though less potent, it also significantly improved the flavor of food, becoming a valuable additive for future meals in the settlement. With the remains collected from the previous attack, they had already accumulated enough blood for several months, and now there was more than enough to extend that supply.


    The creatures¡¯ feathers also had practical uses. After the previous attack, they had been collected and used to improve the settlement¡¯s clothing. The garments, reinforced with these feathers, were now much warmer¡ªcrucial as winter approached and temperatures in the valley began to drop.


    The bones and cartilage were also valuable resources. The bones could be crushed to reinforce materials or used as tools and weapons. The cartilaginous parts, flexible and durable, were ideal for making ropes or reinforcing the structures of the ballistas. Every usable part of these creatures would be maximized, especially now with 300 new bodies to process.


    Time passed slowly, and with each minute, the tension grew. It had been a month since the winged lion-like beast had attacked the settlement with its minions. Over those days, the attacks continued intermittently, every three or four days. With each attack, the number of enemies seemed to increase¡ªinitially three hundred, now reaching seven hundred per wave.


    Life in the settlement had become an exhausting cycle of vigilance, training, and preparation. No one had been able to rest adequately during this time. Each attack was a trial that pushed the defenses and morale of the inhabitants to the limit. While they managed to emerge victorious, the constant incursions had plunged the settlement into an aura of stress and tension. Even 1765, who tried to maintain composure and lead with firmness, was beginning to feel the effects of sleepless nights.


    The construction of the new dwelling had continued thanks to the tireless work of the golems. The castle that would serve as the new fortress was nearly complete. Only a few finishing touches remained, but it was already habitable and far more defensible than the simple wooden cabins that made up the current settlement. Moreover, the tunnel had also been completed. The terrain above was filled with rocks, making tunnel construction relatively easy. While wooden reinforcements were necessary, the tunnel was finally finished.


    That morning, the camp was more active than ever. Despite their evident exhaustion, the inhabitants worked quickly to pack everything and prepare for the move. Carts were being loaded with provisions, tools, and materials. The scaled horses were ready, and the golems were assisting in loading the heaviest items. Everyone knew time was of the essence. Although the winged creatures'' attacks typically occurred at midday or in the afternoon, they wanted to leave the current settlement before it happened again.


    However, as is often the case in critical moments, things did not go as planned. Just as they were finishing their packing, the alarm bells began to ring again.


    "Alert! Alert!" Silas''s voice echoed in 1765''s mind and, through amplification crystals, resounded throughout the camp. "Multiple enemies detected approaching rapidly. Estimated number: 600. Electromagnetic signature consistent with bat-like beasts, no assigned name, detected. High probability of immediate threat. Recommendation: enter combat mode."


    The news was like a cold bucket of water, jolting 1765 out of his stupor. Six hundred was the highest number they had faced yet, and the problem was that they hadn''t expected an attack this early. While they could fight, the horses were exposed, the carts were vulnerable, and all the materials they had gathered for their new home were at risk. Simply hiding and fighting would jeopardize all of it.


    This time, 1765 did not give the usual order to prepare for combat or occupy defensive positions. Instead, his voice rang out urgently, cutting through the morning air:


    "Everyone, get on the carts! We''re leaving this place. Now!"


    There were no questions or doubts. The people moved quickly, driven by both their trust in 1765 and the terror of the alarm bells announcing the imminent attack. The golems also acted efficiently, helping to load the last belongings and secure the carts quickly. The piercing screeches of the winged beasts could already be heard in the distance, signaling that time was short.


    According to Silas''s estimates, the enemies would reach the settlement in less than five minutes. This left little margin for escape, but 1765 had a clear plan: head straight to the fortress they had been building over the past month. It was a reasonable distance away, but the real challenge was whether the scaled horses could maintain enough speed to get there before the swarm caught up.


    With a firm pull on the reins, the horses began to gallop, pulling the carts with impressive force. The golems, not needed for combat, were strategically deployed around the convoy. Some pushed the carts to increase their speed, while others positioned themselves on the flanks and rear to act as living shields if the beasts managed to reach them.


    The valley''s landscape sped past them. The carts'' wheels kicked up clouds of dust as the scaled horses, trained to withstand extreme conditions, demonstrated their endurance. However, despite their efforts, the screeches of the winged creatures grew louder, drawing closer with each passing moment. The swarm moved rapidly, a dark cloud threatening to engulf them at any moment.


    1765, riding in one of the leading carts, constantly glanced back, trying to calculate how much time they had before the swarm reached them. Silas, ever vigilant, confirmed his worst fears:


    "The enemies are approaching at high speed. Estimated time to contact: two minutes."


    "Damn it!" 1765 cursed, slamming his hand against the edge of the cart. He then turned to the occupants of the nearest cart.


    "Load the automatic ballistas and prepare to fire!"


    The group obeyed immediately. The automatic ballistas, equipped with explosive arrows, were their only hope of keeping the swarm at bay. Meanwhile, others armed themselves with handheld crossbows, ready to fire if the creatures got too close.


    The roar of wings beating against the air grew louder, and soon the first shadows of the creatures appeared on the horizon. These beasts were similar to those they had faced before: small, with bat-like wings and semi-humanoid bodies. Their high-pitched screeches pierced the air, sending chills through the cart occupants.


    The first wave of the swarm was about to reach them. 1765 didn''t wait any longer:


    "Fire the automatic ballistas! Concentrate fire on the center of the swarm!"


    The first explosive arrows were launched, tracing arcs through the sky before detonating in the middle of the swarm. Shards of shrapnel flew in all directions, drawing shrieks of pain and terror from the creatures closest to the explosions. Some plummeted to the ground, dismembered or incapacitated, while others, wounded but alive, wobbled in the air before falling.


    However, the swarm was massive, and the destruction caused by the explosive arrows barely dented their numbers. The surviving creatures quickly regrouped and continued their advance toward the convoy.


    At the rear, the golems formed a defensive line, ready to intercept any creatures that got too close. While their sacrifice was inevitable, their presence was crucial for buying time.


    1765 shouted again:


    "Reload the ballistas! Keep firing!"


    The convoy moved with desperation, drawing closer to the fortress with each passing second. Arrows continued to fly, inflicting constant casualties among the creatures, but they seemed endless. Some cart occupants began to pray softly, while others gritted their teeth and kept their focus on the weapons.


    Finally, the silhouette of the fortress appeared on the horizon. It was an imposing structure, its reinforced concrete walls rising like a beacon of hope. At the sight of it, a collective sigh of relief swept through the convoy.


    "We''re almost there!" 1765 shouted, trying to rally the group. "Don''t stop, keep firing!"


    The scaled horses, exhausted but determined, quickened their pace as if they, too, understood the importance of reaching the fortress''s safety. Meanwhile, the creatures of the swarm seemed to redouble their efforts, closing the distance between themselves and the convoy.