"Hahaha… what? You must be joking, right? This… this can't be real…" Soren laughed, but it was hollow—an act of desperation more than amusement.
He had tried so hard to stay calm, to look composed, but now his patience, his courage—everything—was beginning to crack.
"No… no, no, no—this can't be right! There has to be another way!" His voice rose, panic and disbelief mixing in every word. "Please… tell me this is all a joke. Please, I'm begging you…"
Tears streamed down his cheeks, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. "Please say I don't have to lose my legs… please…" he screamed, the sound raw with despair.
"There is… a way," Alfred said slowly, his voice heavy with hesitation. "But it is far more improbable than the solution I offered."
He sighed, eyes downcast.
"You would need to find a Soul Binder who has advanced from being a Flesh Shaper. Such a person could, in theory, help regrow your legs—even if you've lacked them since childhood. But… there is no one like that in this kingdom. The advancement rituals required for such a depth are extraordinarily complex and rare. So, for now… this remains the only viable solution."
Soren looked down, his hands tightening around the file in his lap.
"So… it means that even if I get my legs amputated… there's still hope?"
Alfred gave a faint nod.
"There is," he said softly. "But it is distant."
Soren drew in a breath, then asked quietly, "And in the meantime… what will I do?"
"Hm… we'll use a sealed artifact in place of your legs," Alfred said. "They'll allow you to walk—and even run—just like before. Your parents can afford them, though, as with all artifacts, there will be drawbacks. Every artifact carries a negative effect, but it should be manageable."
He gave a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"How about this? Come shopping with me tomorrow. I'm attending a medical artifact auction. You can choose one for yourself."
He leaned back slightly, studying Soren's reaction.
"Then, if you agree, we can schedule the surgery in the coming days. You'll likely be able to walk again within ten days after the procedure."
Soren, still hugging his teddy bear, said quietly, "Ahm… I'll go with you. Sorry for my impolite behavior and poor etiquette earlier."
Alfred smiled warmly. "You're just like my older son. He's about your age—sixteen, I believe. This kind of reaction isn't bad at all. If I had told him his legs were going to be amputated, he'd probably burn me first and then faint."
He let out a soft chuckle, then gently patted Soren's head.
Soren felt a gentle warmth under his touch—the man who had just ruthlessly told him about his condition now seemed like a kind father, someone who saw Soren as similar to his own son. Soren felt a bit more at ease, though a quiet sadness lingered in his chest. He was relieved, but the reality of what was going to happen still weighed heavily on him. It wasn't like he could change anything.
That night, Soren went into that special place. Feeling his legs again was a wonderful experience. He walked to the giant table and sat on the chair, reading some books. But as he was in the middle of reading, he became emotional—the book was about the time when his mother, back when he was still Soren, was battling cancer. He remembered her words, how she used to say, "It doesn't hurt," even though it clearly did. After crying and weeping for some time, he wandered around the place and eventually returned to the real world. Lying on his bed, he thought to himself, Why don't I name that place?
"What about Ukiyo Fortress?" he whispered. "Ukiyo… it means living in the moment, detached from the bothers of life."
------------------------
Soren was sitting in his wheelchair, dressed in a double-breasted tailcoat, a blouse, pantaloons, a pocket watch, and a hood that partially covered his face.
"I'm still wondering why I trusted you so easily," Soren said to Alfred, who was dressed in a similar manner but carried a more mature and composed presence.
"Ah, and I'm still wondering where the boy went—the one who spoke so eloquently that even the noblest of men would be ashamed," Alfred said, pushing the wheelchair as they moved away from the carriage toward the building in front of them.
"My reason for being paranoid is because you kidnapped me in the middle of the night," Soren said, frowning. "Thankfully, you had the decency to let me dress up before tossing me into a carriage and dragging me all the way here. I mean, I wanted to come—but seriously, is this how normal people do things? It looks like we're part of some shady business."
"Uhh… actually, we are doing something illegal," Alfred replied casually.
Soren whipped his head around, wide-eyed. "WHAT?! Aren't you a government-assigned vieler? Like, a literal lawman? How can you break the law?! We're gonna get caught and—guess what—they always abandon the disabled first! I don't want to ruin my already tragic reputation!"
Alfred chuckled. "Look, I could've taken you to get standard prosthetics, but they're not great. You'd still need crutches. Government-issued sealed artifacts are only for registered government vielers—which you're not—and even then, they give out the basic models. I talked to your maid; you've got enough savings to afford a top-tier sealed artifact. One that might even grant you extra abilities."
"You asked my maid about my bank account? You shady old man!" Soren gasped dramatically. "Even if you leave me here, no one's gonna believe you! I'll cry, say you kidnapped me, and that you're trying to sell me!"
Alfred rolled his eyes and reached over to pull Soren's ear.
"OW! That hurts, old man!" Soren yelped.
"Little brat," Alfred muttered, now pinching his cheek. "At first I thought you were a quiet, elegant noble boy. Turns out you're just a nosy little gremlin."
"Shame on you! Bullying a disabled kid like me. SHAME!" Soren said loudly, crossing his arms in exaggerated protest.
By now, they were approaching the entrance of the auction building.