The words hit Lucas like a jolt of lightning.
How could something so powerful exist without any side effects? It didn't make sense. Everything in life had a cost—whether it was a kind gesture or the healing power of a miracle drug.
He was stuck. Only someone reckless or incredibly brave could drink something like that without hesitation. Lucas wasn't either of those things. Which made the decision much harder.
Reinfrey narrowed her eyes. Her voice was flat, cold.
"You don't have a choice. Either you drink it, or we'll make you."
Lucas clicked his tongue silently.
She's not wrong, he admitted to himself. In my situation, I don't really have the luxury to say no.
He'd woken up in a place he didn't recognize, surrounded by strangers, with no memory of who he was. It was the first time he'd ever faced something like this—at least, he thought it was. The only plan he had was to go along with the people around him until he figured out more about his past… and maybe, who he truly was.
He looked down at the bottle in his hand and tightened his grip. It was cool and smooth to the touch, beautifully crafted. The design was too detailed, too precise—clearly made by a master craftsman. Inside, the crimson liquid barely moved, almost as if it were thicker than normal. It shimmered under the light, calm and still.
It reminded him of mercury—a word that drifted up from somewhere deep in his hazy mind, though he didn't know what it meant.
Someone important must be backing me, he thought. Otherwise, there's no way they'd waste something this valuable on me. Maybe… I'm more important than I realize.
With that thought, he uncorked the bottle and brought it to his lips.
There was no scent. No taste either. Just the smooth feeling of liquid passing down his throat, followed by a cold chill that spread quickly through his chest and into his stomach. The cold kept spreading—deeper, like it was wrapping around his bones.
Then something changed.
The pain in his body began to fade. Fast. First it dulled, then it vanished altogether. A warmth started to rise beneath the cold, steady and quiet, like a fire being lit from inside.
Lucas stared at his hand and slowly made a fist. It moved easily—no pain, no stiffness. He swung his legs off the bed and placed his feet on the cold stone floor. The feeling was strange. It was like he hadn't stood in years… and also like he'd done it just yesterday.
When he tried to stand, his legs shook. He nearly fell, but a nearby doctor caught him and helped him steady himself. Lucas brushed off the help and stood tall on his own. This time, he felt solid. Strong. Alive.
His body was in top shape. Stronger than it had any right to be. It felt like a miracle.
But Reinfrey's words echoed in his mind again, dousing his excitement.
I can't afford to waste time anymore, he thought. The longer I take, the worse things will get for me. I need to move forward, no matter what's waiting for me.
At the moment, Lucas was dressed in plain cotton pants and a loose shirt, the edges of his bandages faintly showing beneath his sleeves. Reinfrey glanced at him, then turned to one of the mercenaries nearby.
"Get him some spare armor," she ordered.
Within minutes, Lucas was fitted with a set of light armor—similar to what the rest of the mercenary squad wore. It wasn't bulky, just enough to offer some protection while allowing easy movement. His gear consisted mostly of medicine prepared by the doctor in advance and supplies to keep his wounds from getting infected.
A male nurse had also been assigned to travel with them, which meant Lucas wouldn't need to treat the injuries himself. Now that he could move on his own, he was expected to carry some of his belongings, though the nurse carried most of the heavier load.
There was no delay after he'd taken the elixir. As soon as he was ready, the group set off.
The moment they stepped out of the tent, Lucas noticed the mercenaries around the camp turning to look at him. Their stares made him uneasy at first, but he quickly realized that their attention wasn't out of curiosity—it was fear. Not of him, but of Reinfrey, who walked ahead with a calm but commanding air.
In total, there were about a dozen mercenaries in Reinfrey's squad, not counting Lucas or the nurse. Most of them carried only their weapons and wore light armor. They traveled light—ready for quick movement or a sudden fight.
As they approached the edge of the camp, a wooden gate stood ahead, guarded by several soldiers. Reinfrey pulled a folded letter from inside her armor and raised it for them to see. The wax seal on the envelope bore the insignia of a Captain. The guards, recognizing its authority, opened the gate without a word.
The group passed through the opening and began their journey into the forest beyond.
As Lucas stepped past the gate, he felt something strange.
A pull—subtle, yet unmistakable—in a certain direction deep within the forest. It wasn't threatening. If anything, it felt… familiar. Like something lost calling out to be found. The feeling stirred something inside him. A quiet sadness, as though a piece of him was out there, waiting.
But the emotion quickly turned into caution.
I don't know where I am. I don't even know who I am. Whatever this feeling is… I can't follow it blindly.
Past the gate, the mercenaries quickly shifted into a loose formation with Lucas in the center. He wasn't sure if they were trying to protect him or just keep an eye on him, but he knew one thing—he needed to stay alert.
The trail they followed was narrow, hemmed in by tall trees whose thick roots curled across the ground like sleeping serpents. The canopy above filtered the early morning light, making the path dim but not dark. The forest was still waking up. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and the air smelled of damp earth and moss.
Thankfully, the path was dry and solid, making travel easier despite the terrain.
As Lucas took in his surroundings, the nurse beside him finally spoke.
"I'm guessing you don't remember who I am," the man said with a small smile. "It would be kind of awkward to travel together without even knowing each other's names."
Lucas looked at him properly for the first time. The nurse was around the same height as him, maybe a little leaner, with unremarkable features—brown hair, calm eyes, and a quiet, approachable energy. He carried most of Lucas's luggage on his back without a hint of complaint.
Lucas felt a pang of guilt at that.
He's carrying more than I am… and I'm the one who's supposed to be recovering.
But still, he appreciated the man's presence—someone calm, someone normal in the middle of everything strange.
Lucas turned to the man beside him and gave a small nod. The nurse smiled warmly.
"I'm Seth," he said. "A nurse by trade. I've been working with the Marrowyn Mercenary Corps for… what, three? Maybe four years now. You might not remember me, but I've got a good feeling we'll get along just fine."
Lucas tilted his head, slightly curious. "How are you so sure?"
Seth chuckled. "It's actually kind of funny. Ever since you joined the corps, you'd get injured almost every other week. At some point, it became routine. I used to worry more when you didn't show up to get patched up."
Lucas blinked, surprised. That small bit of history—simple as it was—felt important. Every detail mattered when you didn't know who you were.
"If that's the case," Lucas said carefully, "would you… mind telling me more about myself?"
Seth's expression softened, and he gave Lucas a light pat on the shoulder.
"I don't mind at all," he replied. "But take it slow. Trying to cram too much in at once might just leave you overwhelmed."
Lucas gave a thoughtful nod. Seth let out a quiet sigh before continuing.
"If I remember right, you joined the corps two years ago. Back then, you were this scrawny, hot-headed kid—always picking fights, always charging ahead. It made you a bit hard to approach at first." He smiled as if remembering something specific. "But you were tough. Stubborn too. Eventually, you started holding your own. Got sent out on real assignments, battlefield work and all."
Seth went on to share a few scattered memories—how Lucas had struggled to adapt to mercenary life, how he'd been picked on by older members, and how hard it had been for him to earn any respect. It wasn't a flattering story, but it felt real.
And for Lucas, that was enough.
From what he could gather, Seth didn't know everything—like why Lucas had joined the mercenary corps or what his long-term goals had been—but he clearly knew him well. Close enough to have seen the rough days. Close enough to speak with quiet honesty.
Lucas found himself relieved. For now, Seth was the only real connection he had to his past—and someone who seemed more than willing to help him piece things together. He made a mental note to ask Seth more about the corps when they had time.
As their conversation continued, the trail around them started to widen slightly. Birds chirped from high in the trees, and the crunch of boots on dried leaves mixed with the occasional creak of their armor. The squad stayed in formation, steadily making their way deeper into the forest.
Eventually, Seth shifted topics.
"We're currently near the border of the Auralian Empire," he said. "That's why we were stationed at the camp. It's preparation for what they call the Annual Culling."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "The what?"
Seth nodded. "Every year, the magical energy in the land—mana, basically—builds up unnaturally. It causes the beasts in these forests to breed faster, grow stronger, and get a lot more aggressive. Once the pressure builds up, they leave their territories and start charging toward the Empire's lands, mostly in search of food."
Lucas glanced toward the trees. The forest seemed calm now, but the idea of it teeming with frenzied creatures not long from now was hard to imagine.
"And that's where the mercenaries come in?" he asked.
"Exactly," Seth said. "The military hires groups like ours to push them back, keep the Empire's borders secure. It happens around the same time every year, and… well, it's not exactly a small-scale job. These forests stretch all the way to Kaelthor—the neighboring kingdom. That's a lot of ground to cover."
It was a lot to take in, but Lucas found himself listening closely. The pieces were slowly coming together. He might not know who he was yet, but the world around him was beginning to take shape.
And with Seth walking beside him, talking with ease, it didn't feel quite so overwhelming.
The rest of the mercenaries were either scanning their surroundings with quiet vigilance or occasionally chatting in hushed tones—until Lieutenant Reinfrey snapped them back to order with a sharp word or cold glance. Despite the intermittent conversation, the group moved efficiently, covering a fair distance by the time the sun began to dip toward midday.
When it was finally time for lunch, the squad paused briefly. The meal was simple: strips of beef jerky passed around without ceremony. Lucas took his share and chewed slowly. The smoky, salty flavor coated his tongue with a strange sense of familiarity. Something about it stirred a nostalgic feeling—like he'd eaten it many times before, maybe even grown up on it. The tough, chewy texture made his jaw work harder than expected, but he didn't complain.
After a short break, the journey resumed. The sun now hung directly overhead, casting golden rays through gaps in the forest canopy. Despite the heat, the dense trees kept the path comfortably cool, the shadows stretching gently across the trail.
To his surprise, Lucas managed to keep pace with the others. Even with his injuries still healing, he didn't feel sluggish or weak. A quiet sense of gratitude settled in his chest—he had worried the night before about slowing the group down. Still, this resilience didn't come without weight.
Someone like me doesn't train their body this hard for something casual, he thought. All these scars… They don't speak of some simple dream or shallow goal. There must be a deeper reason—something more than just vengeance or duty.
Seth had shared pieces of his past, but they weren't enough. Lucas still had no clue why he'd chosen the life of a mercenary. Why not something safer? Something stable?
The answers remained just out of reach.
As the hours passed, the forest began to shift again. The light dimmed gradually as the sun sank behind the tall trees, casting long shadows across the underbrush. Twilight approached.
Eventually, they arrived at a clearing just large enough to set up camp. With crisp orders from Lieutenant Reinfrey, the mercenaries got to work, moving like a well-oiled machine. Tents were pitched, fires were sparked, and preparations for dinner began. Lucas, still considered unfit for duty, was told to rest.
He returned to his assigned tent but couldn't help peeking out through the flap. Just outside the camp perimeter stood Lieutenant Reinfrey, facing north. One hand rested on the hilt of her sword, her posture unmoving. Her armor gleamed faintly in the firelight, casting sharp reflections against the encroaching dusk. Her bronze hair was tied tightly, tucked beneath her helm for battle readiness. The resolute focus in her eyes gave her an almost statuesque presence—like a sentinel forged from steel and purpose.
A large, burly mercenary approached and stood beside her. His voice was low but audible.
"We should've crossed into the grinch's territory by now. Still no sign of them anywhere near camp."
Reinfrey didn't answer immediately. She kept her gaze fixed toward the treeline, thoughtful. After a pause, she finally spoke.
"We move at first light. This kind of silence… it's never a good sign."