"Yes, I'm here!" Neryon shouted, forcing the sound from his throat like a flare into the unknown.
Suddenly—
BOOM!
A violent crack tore through the air. Neryon flinched, eyes squeezing shut just in time to avoid the flying splinters as the door burst inward with brutal force. Shards of wood clattered across the floor.
Then came footsteps. Measured. Heavy.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
He opened his eyes.
And froze.
A towering figure stepped through the ruined threshold—a monster carved from flesh and rage. Bronze skin stretched over a broad, muscular frame that radiated brute power. Two thick horns spiraled back from his skull, and a tarnished iron ring hung from his nose like a hunter's brand. His face, like stone left to weather and crack, bore no softness. Only strength. Only threat.
A Minotaur…?
His armor was dark leather—worn, stained, reinforced in places with mismatched metal. It clung to him like a second skin, revealing slabs of muscle beneath and years of violence etched into every scar and dent.
Cold sweat slid down Neryon's temple.
His limbs didn't budge.
Still paralyzed. Still trapped in this new flesh.
Still helpless.
'Heh. Of course. Why wouldn't a monster crash in the moment I try to survive? Used all my luck getting here… figures.'
Despite the rising terror, a small, shaky smile tugged at his lips. Not from hope. Not from foolish optimism.
From calculation.
He studied the Minotaur's face—every twitch, every breath.
Then, a soft laugh escaped him. Light. Unthreatening. Almost relieved.
A lie.
He wanted to provoke a reaction. See how this creature responded to weakness… to humanity.
The scowl that followed told him everything—irritation, pride, and a temper waiting to snap.
'So… prideful. A smile threatens him? Is it dominance? Insecurity?'
"What are you laughing at, you son of a bit—"
The beast stopped mid-curse, eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring.
"You… You're a human?!" he snarled, a twisted grin spreading across his thick lips. Teeth bared. Eyes gleaming.
And in that grin, Neryon saw it.
Greed.
Not salvation. Not mercy.
Just Greed.
A cold weight pressed into his chest.
'No… no way. Is this world… really like that?'
The Minotaur answered the unspoken horror with words like chains.
"I'll make a fortune selling a human like you. Especially one with a face like that. Women will fight to see you—let alone own you."
Neryon's smile vanished. His blood turned to ice, but in his mind—
Fire.
'Unbelievable. Rescued just to be auctioned off? Is this some kind of sick, cosmic joke?'
His gaze dropped to the weapon at the Minotaur's side—a sword, broad and chipped, but deadly.
Then back to the beast.
But still, he couldn't move. His body refused.
No miracle healed him during the transfer.
But he still had his mind.
And he still had his sharpest blade—observation.
Since the moment slavery was mentioned, he hadn't blinked. He forced tears to well at the corners of his eyes—preparing for the performance. His ability to cry on command had always been useful.
Now, it was survival.
"Aren't you… worried?" he said, voice steady, carefully pitched. "Powerful humans might come looking for me. If you sell me, someone might trace it back."
A twitch.
Subtle.
The Minotaur's lip curved slightly.
And Neryon saw it.
'There it is. A crack. Let's see how deep it runs.'
"You damn human!" the Minotaur roared, lunging forward and grabbing a fistful of Neryon's hair. Pain lanced across his scalp as his head was yanked back.
As the beast snarled above him, the upper strap of the Minotaur's armor slipped—revealing something beneath.
A tattoo.
Neryon's eyes locked onto it.
Etched into the bronze skin was a skull cloaked in black flame. Fire flickered inside its hollow eye sockets. But it wasn't ink—it pulsed faintly, alive somehow. Arcane lines extended from the skull like veins, fading beneath skin and armor. Ancient symbols circled it—some nearly erased—and the surrounding flesh bore scorch-like scars.
A shiver crawled through Neryon's spine.
Not fear of the Minotaur's strength.
Something deeper.
Something wrong.
The closer the beast came, the heavier it felt—as though an invisible weight pressed on his soul. His chest tightened, his breath stuttered, his thoughts… flickered.
It wasn't the design.
It was the presence.
Like something beyond reality was looking back at him through that mark.
Watching.
'What is that?'
He had no answer.
Only certainty.
It did not want to be seen.
Another yank tore at his scalp.
"You think I fear your kind?" the Minotaur barked. "Slave markets don't leak. Yeah, humans are smart, even strong—but they're not the top race on the Elderas Plains. And don't you ever insult the Minotaur race!"
'Elderas Plains. So that's what this land is called… and humans aren't weak, but we're not the apex. That matters.'
He steadied his voice.
"But look at me. I'll draw attention. What if a noble human sees me—someone unstable, vengeful? What if they tear the place apart just to make a point?"
His body remained still.
His mind, sharp.
'Watch closely, Neryon. Measure how deep the fear goes.'
The Minotaur laughed. Harsh. Loud.
"Ka-ka-ka-ka! You think you matter that much, human? No noble would risk war with the Dark Fortress for a paralyzed pretty boy with no Will Source. You're nothing. Already trash."
But Neryon caught it.
A flicker. A doubt.
He was weighing the risk.
'He's not fearless. He's greedy. That fear… that's my leverage.'
'Will Source…?' Another term. Another mystery. He stored it away, along with Elderas, auctions, nobility, and ranks.
'This world is built on systems—power, status, class. Slavery implies hierarchy. Nobles imply politics. And the Dark Fortress… sounds like a power far above both.'
His gaze flicked again to the Minotaur's sword.
'Step one: survive.'
A faint sniff. His voice dropped.
"So this is how it ends?" he whispered, letting it crack. "Sold before I can even cure my legs… before I fulfill my father's wish… before I lift the family sword."
A tear escaped. Just one.
But it gleamed.
And it worked.
The Minotaur's eyes shifted.
He stilled.
"You—did you say family sword?" His voice sharpened. "Where?! What's it made of? Silver? Black steel?!"
He grabbed Neryon's shoulders and shook him hard before tossing him into a chair. His eyes scanned the room—
—lingered briefly on Angelina's corpse.
Then passed over her without pause.
Neryon watched.
Amused.
'So novels really weren't exaggerating… people like this do exist.'
The Minotaur returned, fuming.
"You lied! There's no sword!"
Neryon's expression changed in a heartbeat—from stoic to frightened.
"No! I swear—on the honor of my human bloodline," he said, voice trembling. "My father left it for me… hoping I'd recover and carry our legacy."
The Minotaur froze.
A lie like that… if it was false, it could destroy a Will Source forever. Even a Minotaur knew that.
He didn't know if this human had one.
But the fear in Neryon's eyes?
He believed it.
"You're not lying?"
"No, bull sir. If you let me go, I'll show you. Deal?"
The Minotaur's eye twitched.
"I'm a Minotaur, you wretched runt! Not a bull!" he spat.
But greed had already dulled his edge.
'Hehe… humans are clever. But desperation? That makes them stupid.'
His grin widened.
"When I get that sword, I'll sell you at auction. Some noble lady will love owning you—even if you can't walk."
But he didn't notice.
The stillness.
The stare.
The gleam in the boy's eye.
He didn't notice that the fragile 'doll' in front of him...
...was watching like a predator watches prey.
Marked for slaughter.