The figure who had just thundered past Narchis must have been a knight.

  He had only caught a glimpse of the man’s back—bathed in a faint, radiant glow—before the knight galloped forward with an unstoppable momentum.

  With a sweep of a sword as wide as a door, the knight cleaved through not one but two of the monstrous creatures in a single, fluid motion. The same beasts that regular soldiers struggled to subdue had been slain in an instant.

  To Narchis, the knight appeared like a beacon of hope, a dawn piercing the chaos of the battlefield.

  He couldn’t tell what he felt in that moment. His vision went black—and then there was nothing.

  Time passed. How much, he wasn’t sure.

  When awareness slowly returned, the first thing Narchis did was let out a bitter laugh.

  “I didn’t know my daydreaming skills were that good. That felt way too real…”

  He kept his eyes shut, unwilling to face what he feared was the truth. Because despite wanting to believe it was all a dream, the lingering pain in his body told him otherwise.

  But then came a voice beside him—soft, feminine, and laced with an unfamiliar cadence.

  It wasn’t any language he knew, but he could sense the presence of others nearby.

  With a resigned sigh, Narchis opened his eyes—and as expected, the world around him was not familiar.

  He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it had been dismantled and reassembled wrong.

  “That must’ve been from when I got thrown around earlier… I wonder what happened to the person who pulled me back,” he murmured, forcing a smile.

  The first soldier who had saved him was dead. He never saw the second one’s face clearly—only the back. The faces of the fallen, however, burned vividly in his memory.

  He had never witnessed anything so brutal in all his peaceful life.

  Looking around, he realized he was inside a large, reinforced tent. There was only one bed—his.

  The bedding was crude, a worn blanket filled with something cotton-like beneath it.

  Outside the tent, sudden footsteps and voices rose in a clamor.

  A moment later, a tall, sharp-featured young man strode inside.

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  Behind him followed a stern-looking middle-aged man with meticulously trimmed brown hair and beard. His hawk-like eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence.

  The last to enter was a woman clad in oversized armor that concealed her figure. Though not conventionally beautiful, her face radiated strength and stubborn resolve.

  The trio surrounded him, speaking in urgent tones, gesturing and discussing in that strange language.

  Helpless, Narchis pointed to his ear, then shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  His words caused a moment of stunned silence. All three of them locked eyes with him, staring intently.

  Were they… going to kill him?

  Fear twisted in Narchis’s gut.

  No matter how tough you think you are, death is never easy to face. He’d always considered himself brave—until today.

  The strangers began arguing, their voices rising. Narchis wanted to run—but his body wouldn’t cooperate. And even if he could move, where would he even go?

  Eventually, the young man retrieved a small, ornate scroll.

  He unrolled it and held it toward Narchis. The surface was covered in symbols—some like ancient pictographs, others more like intricate artwork.

  From the way the man winced, Narchis could tell this scroll was valuable.

  The young man mumbled something under his breath, then pressed the parchment to Narchis’s forehead.

  Too fast. Narchis had no chance to dodge.

  The scroll emitted a soft, white glow, warm and gentle. A strange sensation filled Narchis’s mind—as though knowledge was being poured into it.

  New words. New meanings. A new language.

  “You. Who are you?” the young man suddenly snapped, anger flashing in his eyes. “You just cost me a precious Scroll of Wisdom. If you can’t prove your worth, I, Kaeladi, will not forgive you.”

  “I’m… Wait—what? I can understand you now?”

  Narchis blinked. Not only could he understand them—he was speaking their language.

  This world had magic. Real magic.

  He quickly tried out his original speech, and it still worked too. Somehow, both languages now coexisted in his mind.

  “Please, forgive his tone,” said the woman. “My name is Kaen, Vice-Commander of the Third Legion of Rymasse. This fellow here is Kaeladi, currently acting as our Legion Commander. And the bearded one is our strategist, Sokka.”

  “We serve under the Rusyara Empire. Tell me, are you a mage?”

  Kaen looked at him earnestly.

  “We saw you cast what appeared to be nature magic on the battlefield.”

  Narchis bowed his head.

  So those roots… they really were his doing.

  They had rescued him not out of kindness—but because they’d seen evidence of magic.

  Which made sense. At first, they had treated him like a threat. Those arrows they shot weren’t blanks—if luck hadn’t been on his side, he would’ve died within minutes of arriving here.

  “You’re safe now in the Third Legion,” Kaen said gently. “We ask that you use your magic to help us defend against the rampaging Orc invading Rymasse. You appear to be a half-elf, yes? There are many half-elves within the Rusyara Empire.”

  Kaen was clearly trying to win him over.

  “Hah! I’ve said it from the start—he’s just a magic apprentice at best,” Kaeladi scoffed. “Barely worth my scroll. Probably wandered in here by accident.”

  “Shut your mouth, Kaeladi,” Kaen said sharply. “You may be acting commander now, but you’re still only acting. I know what I’m doing. And don’t forget—not everyone in this legion supports you. We need every scrap of strength we can find.”

  Kaeladi let out a frustrated breath, punched the air, then turned and stormed out of the tent.

  Kaen turned back to Narchis with a calmer tone. “You must be exhausted. Rest. I’ll have food and water sent in shortly. We’ll speak more once you’ve recovered.”

  Sokka, who had remained silent the entire time, simply nodded and followed Kaen out of the tent.

  Narchis could see a silhouette stationed just outside the entrance.

  A guard.

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