A transport wagon. Part carrier, part weapons hauler—waited beyond the thinning edge of the forest, sitting still against the open plains.
Alric noticed it before anyone spoke.
He noticed everything now.
The blade at his neck hadn't moved.
Neither had the chains biting into his wrists behind his back.
"Where…" His voice came out drier than he expected. "Where are you taking me?"
"The Kingdom of Ginos," the captain said.
No hesitation. No explanation.
A kingdom.
So it was true.
"…A kingdom?" Alric repeated, quieter this time.
"Yep that's right!"
The voice came from his side—too light for the situation.
A brown-haired knight stepped closer, smiling as if they weren't dragging a bound man across unfamiliar land. He gave Alric a firm pat on the back, the
kind meant to reassure.
It didn't.
"Don't worry about it," the knight said. "We'll figure out soon enough if you're a real human."
A pause.
Then a grin.
"But I think you are."
Alric forced something close to a nod. "...Thank you."
The words felt misplaced.
"Hey! Deus!" someone shouted. "Front! Lead the transport!"
The knight, Deus. Sighed through his smile. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."
He lingered for half a second longer than necessary, looking at Alric—
Then turned and walked ahead.
Alric watched him go.
Kind.
Or pretending to be.
The others said nothing.
Only movement. Only control.
His gaze shifted back to the wagon.
No—
Not a wagon.
It looked wrong the longer he stared.
The wheels weren't carved wood. They were smoother. Darker. Too clean.
The body wasn't timber either. It caught the light like metal—Copper, maybe—but shaped too precisely.
And there were no horses.
No reins.
Nothing pulling it.
"…What is that?" Alric asked before he could stop himself.
The captain glanced at him.
Then he looked away.
Silence followed.
A woman—Syria—offered a small, strained gesture, as if smoothing over something fragile. "Sorry. He doesn't like answering questions. Not from… new people."
New people.
Not prisoners.
Not yet.
"Our seer calls it a Rustback," she continued. "Says it's… ahead of us. We just use it."
Alric stared at it.
A machine that moved without life.
Something about that sat wrong in his chest.
"…I see."
He didn't.
"Syria," the man holding the blade muttered, "names."
He shifted slightly, just enough for the edge to press—not cut, but remind.
"Pierce," he said. "That's mine."
Up close, the scar across his face
looked less like a wound…
and more like something that had split him once.
"And the captain—"
"Don't."
The word came out flat.
Syria exhaled softly. "Just call him 'Captain.'"
...
"…Actually," the captain added, his voice quieter now, "don't call me anything."
No one laughed.
Pierce's grip didn't loosen. "Yours?" he asked.
Alric hesitated.
For a moment, he considered saying nothing.
"…Alric," he said finally. "Alric Beaumont."
The name felt heavier here.
Like it didn't belong to him anymore.
The machine let out a low, rumbling growl.
Not alive—
But not silent either.
The Rustback shuddered, then began to move.
Forward.
Toward the Kingdom of Ginos.
And whatever waited inside it.
The journey was said to take nine hours.
Alric didn't ask.
He sat rigid, wrists bound behind him, the faint pressure of steel still resting against his neck—a reminder more than a threat now.
The silence inside the Rustback was suffocating.
Even the engine—low, constant, unnatural—felt distant beneath it.
Something cried out far beyond the plains.
Not once.
Not twice.
But enough that Alric stopped counting.
No one reacted.
That was worse.
His thoughts spiraled, questions stacking over each other faster than he could hold them—
Until Syria spoke.
"So, Alric…" Her voice was quieter than before, careful. "You've got questions, don't you?"
He hesitated.
"…Yes—"
"You speak when permitted."
The captain didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
Alric felt it immediately—the weight of it, heavier than the chains.
"Syria," the captain continued, "put him to sleep."
A pause.
A small one.
"…Understood."
Syria exhaled.
At first, it seemed like nothing—
Then something sweet, almost metallic, slipped into the air.
Alric tried to turn away, but the chains held him in place.
His vision warped.
Colors stretched, bled into each other—
The last thing he saw was the ceiling of the Rustback twisting into something unrecognizable.
Then—
Nothing.
———————————————–——
"…You're merciless."
Syria's voice returned first.
Muted. Distant.
The captain's reply came just as cold.
"You're reckless."
A beat.
"He speaks like us. Looks like us. Knows fragments of the old world." A shift of fabric—arms crossing. "That doesn't make him human."
Silence.
Then—
"Pierce. Keep the blade closer."
—————————————————
Time dissolved.
When Alric woke, it wasn't sudden.
It dragged him back.
The Rustback had stopped.
Rough hands grabbed him, forcing him upright.
"Wake up," Pierce muttered. "You're moving."
Light stabbed into his vision.
Not white—
Orange
.
Wrong.
He stumbled forward, barely catching himself as he was pushed out.
Air hit him first.
Then scale.
Alric looked up—
And forgot how to breathe.
The city stretched impossibly high, structures rising like carved mountains within towering walls. The streets below were too wide, too clean. And above—
Things moved.
Not birds.
Not anything he understood.
They glided.
Metal and shadow crossing the sky.
His chest tightened.
Too fast.
Too much.
"W-What…" His voice cracked. "What is this place—?"
No one answered.
The world tilted.
His vision narrowed, the edges darkening as his breath came in sharp, uneven bursts.
He tried to steady himself.
Failed.
Everything collapsed inward.
—
"He passed out again."
Pierce glanced up at the towering structures, his expression tightening slightly.
"…Can't blame him."
A pause.
"…Still can't get used to it myself."
—
Alric's eyes snapped open.
A small room.
Tight. Bare.
He was bound to a wooden chair, wrists locked behind him, chest restrained just enough to keep him still.
He tested the chains.
They didn't move.
The door creaked open.
Pierce entered first. Syria followed.
Then—
Someone else.
A woman with deep violet hair stepped inside, her gaze already fixed on him.
"Hello, Alric Beaumont," she said calmly. "My name is Eva."
She placed a small cube on the table in front of him.
It clicked.
Shifted.
Unfolded.
"This is a simple test," Eva continued, "to determine whether you are human."
Alric swallowed, then nodded.
Compliance came easier than resistance now.
"Though," she added, almost as an afterthought, "it will hurt."
A pause.
"…How much—"
The cube collapsed inward.
It reshaped—fluid, unnatural. Into a small sphere no larger than an eye.
Then it moved.
Too fast.
Alric flinched.
Too late.
It forced its way into his left nostril.
Pain didn't come immediately.
That was worse.
It searched.
A cold, invasive presence crawling upward.
Then—
Something pulled.
Inside him.
His breath hitched.
His chest tightened as if something had taken hold of his heart and tested its weight.
"Ah—"
It twisted.
Not physically—
But wrongly.
Like something learning how he worked.
"AGH—!"
His body jerked against the restraints.
"MAKE IT STOP—!"
His vision fractured, the room folding in on itself.
***
"Forgive me, I really don't know…"
The coroner of Monico scratched the back of his head, frowning.
"So Father Barantes just… disappeared?"
His eyes drifted to the jagged hole torn through the church wall.
Not broken.
Opened.
"Alric Beaumont," one of the men said quickly. "He went to confess last night… To Father Barantes."
He shifted nervously.
Too nervously.
The coroner exhaled. "And you didn't think to mention that earlier?"
"I—I did, I just—"
He stopped.
His gaze moved past the coroner.
"Oh."
A beat.
"…There he is."
The coroner turned.
Footsteps approached.
Steady.
Unhurried.
"Hey," Alric said, lifting a hand in greeting.
He was smiling.
Wide.
Easy.
Unbothered.
"What's going on?"
Silence followed.
Brief.
Almost nothing.
But something in it lingered.
The coroner studied him.
"…You said you went to confession last night," he said.
Alric nodded.
"Yeah."
No hesitation.
No thought.
Just—
"Yeah."
The coroner's brow furrowed slightly.
"…With Father Barantes?"
Another smile.
Unchanged.
"Of course."
Too smooth.
Behind him, one of the men shifted.
"…You look well," the coroner added slowly.
Another pause.
This one longer.
Alric tilted his head—just slightly.
"As I should be."
The answer came a second too late.
And somehow—
Too perfect.