Where was he?
Bill slowly opened his eyes and sat up on what felt like rough stone. Around him, there was nothing but rock—above his head, to the sides… He seemed to be in a narrow cave.
He no longer felt pain. On the contrary, his body was perfectly fine. Even his cloth armor remained intact.
That's when he heard it.
A sharp crack echoed in the darkness, like bones splintering. Instinctively, he reached for his sword—but it was gone.
"Right… it was destroyed in the battle," he muttered to himself.
He fixed his gaze ahead, where the shadows swallowed the cave. There were no lamps, no torches. No visible light source. And yet… he could see.
The cracking sound returned, this time closer.
Bill tensed immediately. A wave of cold crept from the darkness, like an invisible claw brushing against his chest. He swallowed hard.
"S… Svend?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
The sound stopped instantly, as if silenced by his words. But then it came again, louder. No longer a mere cracking—it was clear now, repulsive… like bones breaking and being chewed.
Then came the smell.
A rotting stench, like that of a decaying corpse, filled the air. Bile rose in his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes. He remembered the scene with the giant. Quickly, he covered his mouth to keep from vomiting.
His mind screamed at him not to move. To stay still. Whatever was lurking in that darkness… could not be good.
But something stronger than fear was pushing him forward.
And his feet, trembling, began to move.
He stepped into the blackness, with the stench thickening and the cracking growing sharper with every step.
He didn't know what awaited him ahead. But the curiosity gnawed at his insides.
And then he saw it.
An orange light, like a spectral glow, now surrounded him. And thanks to it, he could make out the source of the noise: a small back, covered by a school uniform shirt he'd recognize anywhere… and hair as black as night.
He knew instantly. He knew who it was. And probably also… what he was doing.
"S… Lucas?" he stammered, cold sweat dripping down his face.
His voice cut through the silence like a knife. The cracking stopped.
Lucas remained still. The only sound was Bill's own heartbeat, pounding like war drums inside the cave.
He wanted to run to him. Hug him. Get him out of there.
But that… wasn't Lucas.
The boy slowly turned around. And the moment Bill saw his face, he knew.
Where his golden irises should have been, there were only two pits of darkness. A darkness so deep, it froze his blood.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Bloody fingers hung from his lips, dripping down to stain his neck. In one hand, he held a mutilated arm—fingerless.
And behind him…
Something—or someone—was emerging from the shadows. Bill couldn't bear to look for more than a second. Nausea took over, and he had to turn away. He vomited onto the stone.
He didn't understand. He didn't know why Lucas was doing that.
It's just a dream… It has to be a damn dream.
"You caused this," Lucas said in a hollow voice.
"I had no other choice," he repeated.
After those words, Bill felt his body drifting, floating backward, returning to where he had first awakened.
And as he did, he heard it once more:
"This is the result of your failure, brother."
Those final words struck him like a dagger, filled with bitter sorrow.
He opened his eyes.
What he had just witnessed felt so real, it took him several seconds to understand it had all been a nightmare.
Or at least… that's what he wanted to believe.
But then he noticed—he was being dragged.
Small creatures, about Lucas's size, were pulling him by the feet. They wore black armor, had grayish skin, long pointed ears. Hairless. They looked like goblins.
He turned his neck. Svend was also being dragged, unconscious, by two of them.
He tried to move, but a wave of pain shot through his body. One of his arms hung overhead, shoulder dislocated. His right hand's knuckles were torn. His ankle… probably twisted or sprained.
There was no way he could stand. Let alone fight four goblins and carry Svend.
For now, the only thing he could do… was watch.
They were dragged over earth and grass. From time to time, Bill's head hit a rock or root, and the pain left his muscles stiff. But he endured. Silent. Alert.
Nearly an hour passed before they arrived at what seemed like an underground cave.
It was wide. Screams echoed from within.
As they drew closer, more goblins emerged from the trees, dragging bodies along with them.
If there had ever been even the slightest chance of escape, it was now gone. Not unless he could recover.
Out of the corner of his eye, he also saw the knight whose face he had disfigured.
They went deeper into the cave. The screams became deafening.
And then he saw it.
With half-lidded eyes, Bill caught a glimpse of something that stole every ounce of strength—and hope—from him.
Thousands of goblins.
An entire hive.
The shouting, the jeering… it came from them.
And in that instant, he regretted deeply not having tried to escape earlier.
He had to do something. He had to move, to run. But how far could his battered body go before they caught him and tore him apart?
If they're going to eat me, let them eat me another day. Not today.
The goblins kept dragging him forward, now surrounded by thousands, all staring at him like a feast on legs.
They threw him into a small cell where other bodies lay—some dismembered, others wounded or unconscious, just like him.
Svend was there too, pretending to be unconscious, his eyes trembling as if in silent prayer.
But they were gone now. No danger… for the moment.
Bill struggled to sit up, his body shaking and aching all over.
Then, a yellow window appeared in front of him:
[Will of the Sword: A skill granted to royal knights. No matter the circumstances, this ability conjures a blade in accordance with the warrior's will. (Active use)][Warning! Mana required to activate]
A faint smile flickered on his face, and he whispered:
—How convenient…
But then his expression tensed.
—What… is mana?