RAGNA POV...
I let the words slip from my mouth slowly—deliberately, almost cruelly slow—my voice cold and flat, the kind of tone that didn’t just carry sound but weight, as if each syllable were a stone dropping into a grave. Even to my own ears, I sounded like I was delivering a verdict no one could appeal.
"Eh? For crying out loud, is there still half a month more? These past few days have been the most nerve-shredding, soul-quaking days of my entire miserable life! I can’t even endure one more sunrise in this cursed wasteland!"
The freckled boy nearly scread himself hoarse, fingers tangled violently in his hair as if he wanted to rip the frustration straight out of his skull. I could see the tremble in his shoulders. And honestly? I understood it. Back in my village, life had been dangerous—yes—but it had been a familiar kind of danger.
You knew who your enemies were. You knew which shadows hid teeth. Here? Here I felt like even the sand wanted to swallow whole. In my village, I never once feared relieving myself behind a bush. In this desert, I half-expected to be devoured mid-breath—either by so grotesque stray beast or worse, those devilish, man-eating zombie bees that haunted my imagination and refused to die.
Then, just as despair began to thicken the air inside the carriage like suffocating smoke, a rhythmic chi of a bell rang out—clear, tallic, almost cheerful in a way that felt offensively inappropriate. One by one, the carriage doors creaked open, and there stood Reiner and Berthold.
Both of them wore light chest plate armor that caught the dying sunlight in faint golden glints. Berthold held two short swords—only a few inches long, but sharp enough to end a life in a blink.
"Hey, everyone! Break ti is here!" Reiner announced, grinning so wide it looked stitched onto his face. "If you need to stretch your legs, feel free to step outside. If not, staying inside might reduce casualties. It’s quite dangerous out there..."
He said it casually—far too casually. That grin of his stretched from ear to ear in a way that made my skin crawl. I swear, if frustration had fists of its own, it would’ve punched him square in that smug face. So of the demon children visibly stiffened. They hated that smile. They thought he was mocking them.
Strangely enough, they preferred .
At least, that’s what I gathered from the way they glanced at . My expression rarely shifted. I didn’t smile. I didn’t frown. I simply existed with the sa unchanging, stone-like face. It was easier that way. Safer.
The carriage filled with restless muttering—curses whispered under breath, nervous shuffling. A few boys, their faces flushed red from bottled-up humiliation, locked eyes with one another as if silently daring each other. Then they stepped out.
I watched them for a mont, then shrugged. Their opinions ant nothing to . Their resentnt? Their fear? Their silent accusations? None of it concerned .
I grabbed my silver daggers from my side, their cool weight grounding . "Let’s go."
As vice-captain of the demon children, I was expected to protect them. Or at least, that was the title they gave . Deep down, I sotis wondered if the position had only been handed to because of that whip-wielding black steel knight—the one who had killed my father. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was convenience.
All I could truly do was remain vigilant—and if things spiraled beyond control, call for that black steel knight like a desperate child calling for a storm to fight on his behalf.
"I... I won’t go down this ti!" the freckled boy suddenly blurted, his voice cracking with a stubborn kind of terror.
The last incident still haunted him. I could see it in his eyes.
"Okay," I replied simply, nodding once before stepping out.
The mont my boots touched the golden sand, I felt the softness shift beneath . I stretched instinctively, rolling my shoulders, flexing my fingers around the hilts of my daggers. The desert greeted us with a breathtaking sight—fluorescent hues stretching endlessly beneath a bleeding sunset. The horizon burned in orange and crimson, waves of sand glistening as if dusted with powdered gold.
If not for the constant threat of death lurking behind every dune, I might have called it beautiful without irony.
"How beautiful..." Berthold murmured, staring at the setting sun as if he had forgotten the world’s cruelty for a fleeting second.
"Beautiful," I echoed, my eyes scanning the distance, "but also dangerous."
Beauty ant nothing if it could kill you.
"With danger everywhere—sickness, famine, war—yet the world still manages to create scenes like this," I continued, my voice quieter now. "We might eventually grow used to this place as a threat to our lives. But to the black steel knight... this is probably nothing."
Berthold glanced at . "Are you saying that with enough strength, you can gain both freedom and safety?"
"Exactly."
I gestured subtly toward the others. "Look at them. Survival has already drained from their faces. Even with the black steel knight nearby, they’re terrified. Because in the end, their lives aren’t truly in their own hands."
Reiner’s grin faded slightly.
"Even if we survive this desert," I went on, my tone colder than the wind creeping across the dunes, "and reach wherever they’re taking us, do you honestly think our fate will improve? We weren’t brought here by choice. They took us. They tore us from our hos. They turned our lives into a living hell."
Reiner’s smile disappeared for a heartbeat—just one. Then it returned, stretched and artificial.
"It’s ti," I said, twirling my daggers lightly until they felt like extensions of my arms. "We begin patrol. Keep an eye on the others."
As I walked ahead, I sensed Reiner studying . I had changed—that much was obvious. I spoke more now. Observed more. Calculated more.
The only thing that hadn’t changed was my expression. My voice.
Even in a desert where death prowled freely, I never outwardly panicked.
But that didn’t an I didn’t feel it.
Reiner probably thought I was doing it on purpose—masking my fear the way he masked his with that grotesque smile. Perhaps he was right.
Strength.
That word echoed quietly inside like a distant drum.
I closed my eyes.
Slowly, carefully, I extended my perception outward, spreading it like an invisible net across the desert.
At my command, the world shifted.
Within my mind, a three-dinsional image began to form—an ocean-blue projection of the surrounding landscape. Dunes rose and dipped in luminous gradients. The carriage glowed faintly at the center. Around it, small dark phantom figures flickered into existence.
The cursed children.
Each one represented as a shadowed mannequin within the glowing terrain.
I could see them moving. Fidgeting. Wandering. Breathing.
This was the result of countless hours refining my perception and ntal fortitude. The mana cost was negligible now—a steady stream that replenished almost as fast as I used it. I could maintain this state without strain.
Within the glowing map of my mind, every motion registered.
No imdiate threats.
No hidden beasts.
No swarms of monstrous insects ready to descend.
For now.
I kept my eyes closed a second longer, standing still amidst the vast desert as the wind brushed against my face.
Strength.
If I had enough of it—true strength—then perhaps one day I wouldn’t need to rely on the black steel knight. Perhaps I wouldn’t need to fear sunsets, or deserts, or unseen monsters waiting for the right mont to tear us apart.
Perhaps one day, when I spoke, my voice wouldn’t sound like a death sentence.
But until then—
I would sharpen my daggers.
And I would watch.
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