“The greatest adversary one must battle throughout life is none other than ennui (boredom).”
— Carl Leitz (Palmarian Calendar, 1432–1460)
A body rising and falling in rhythm with the heartbeat, as if adrift in deep water. A serene sensation enveloped me entirely, almost as though peace itself reigned over my existence. Is this what death feels like? Death, as eternal rest, might bring supreme joy to those forged in the fires of harsh destiny. Yet I opened my eyes—human nature is unsatisfied with beauty of a single bliss.
In the darkness, a pale, indistinct silhouette wavered before my eyes. It was the only visible object amidst the cold and viscous shadows. Strangely, upon recognizing that faint white form, I felt an acute sense of solitude—a loneliness I had never experienced when truly alone. Frantically, yet it seemed inevitable.
“Ahhhhh…”
A groan of incomprehensible meaning echoed, and the blurry figure extended what appeared to be an arm. As it drew closer, I noticed its form—a naked body with skin as pale as snow. It was calling me. Without resistance, I allowed myself to sink into the white figure. The smooth and tender touch of its skin, the warmth of its body, and the sound of its heartbeat brought me peace. Yes, as long as I could hear this pulse, it would protect me. Feeling reassured, I closed my eyes. This was a peace entirely distinct from the rest death promised. However, it did not last.
“Is this the child? The one who shows no sign of awakening?”
A deep, resonant voice shattered the brief peace. It was a voice thick and oppressive, vibrating the cold air. The speaker was a middle-aged man exuding malice and murderous intent, his very presence making the surrounding atmosphere tremble. Even with my eyes closed, I could sense the overwhelming force emanating from him—like the aura of a god or a titan, his presence filled the space.
“Yes, great Dirole, High Priest of Baphomet! This is the ‘Third Flame Sword.’”
“Hmm. A Principality embracing the child, is it? This scene reminds me of an old Madonna statue. Tell me, Bezawez, do you think angels possess maternal instincts?”
The voice, as vile and sinister as it was commanding, contrasted starkly with the nearly imperceptible presence of Bezawez, who replied quickly and concisely.
“I cannot say.”
“No, they do. Because humans do. And angels, after all, are merely the vilest of creatures born from our minds. In the end, those entranced by such a form are unworthy of receiving the wisdom of the Great One.”
As he spoke, he stepped closer.
“Do you understand what I mean?”
The body holding me trembled faintly, as if in fear. Was it dread toward him? Suddenly, with a loud thud, the one holding me was hurled backward. Startled, I opened my eyes to see a woman with snowy wings sprawled naked on the cold stone floor.
“A revolting wench. Nothing but a vessel for incubating the egg of an angel! Free, you were merely a tool of the divine, but now, bound as you are, you’ve become a whore tainted by the lusts of men. Truly, angels are nothing but detestable filth.”
His cruel words echoed as he reached out toward my face. The scent of roses, sharp and intoxicating, wafted from the black gloves he wore. Despite their luxurious fragrance, the gloves were rugged in texture as they traced across my face. After a moment, he burst into laughter.
“Hahaha! Yes, this one seems genuine. This prana—this life force—is easily tenfold that of an ordinary human child! At this age, to possess such vitality is extraordinary. Even the Taoist practitioners of the East would lack such prana. And yet, why has this one not awakened?”
“That… we are unsure. The cause remains unknown, but my guess is that the child may be rejecting the awakening voluntarily.”
Bezawez spoke hesitantly, as if burdened by the dialogue with Dirole, High Priest of Baphomet.
“Rejecting it? Why would this child deny their sacred bloodline and choose to live as something insignificant?”
“Well…”
“Then let it be so. A bit of stress might be necessary. Life is a battle; the world, a battlefield. It’s never too early to instill that lesson.”
With Dirole’s merciless voice as the final note, my consciousness faded into darkness once more.
Palmarian Year 1548, April 11
“Gasp!”
I instinctively bolted upright from where I was lying. The cold air wrapped itself around me, sending a chill through my body. Although my eyes were wide open, it felt as if I hadn’t fully woken from a dream; my vision was still engulfed in utter darkness, devoid of even the faintest glimmer of light.
“That dream again?”
Muttering to myself, I reached out to touch my body, seeking reassurance. The thick, insulating fabric of the sleeping bag felt unnervingly cold against my fingers. Was it because I had slept in such a cold place? The numb extremities of my body seemed almost alien, as if they weren’t my own. Clenching my teeth, I hugged myself tightly for warmth.
“Why am I suddenly having these dreams again?”
I spoke softly, but the empty echo of the cave was the only response.
“Well, dreams are dreams, after all.”
Grumbling to myself, I lifted the edge of my sleeping bag to check my crotch. Strangely enough, dreams like these often led to wet dream. Was it really that odd, though? A young, healthy man living in an isolated mountain village, devoid of women, dreaming of one undressing? The resulting aftermath was almost inevitable.
“Phew, nothing this time. Thank goodness.”
Relieved, I exhaled deeply after confirming I hadn’t embarrassed myself.
“What kind of life am I living?”
This place was the Velkyssus Mountain Range, a border region situated between three nations: the Kingdom of Lionia, my homeland; the Tai Yan Empire, the dominant force in the east; and the self-proclaimed ruler of the western world, the Holy Palmar Empire. Including the uninhabitable wasteland known as the Broken Land, it could even be called the intersection of four powers—a strategically vital location.
However, calling it “strategically vital” seemed ironic given its dire circumstances. Typically, a border region of this magnitude would boast imposing fortresses, massive armies, and countless support facilities to accommodate soldiers. But the towering peaks and jagged ridges of the Velkyssus Mountains made such infrastructure impossible. Managing a large army here was neither cost-effective nor practical, so guerrilla units like ours, the Velkyssus Rangers, were established instead. This arrangement had existed for over 500 years, making the history of the Velkyssus Rangers almost synonymous with that of the Kingdom of Lionia.
“But look at us now.”
I mumbled as I folded up my sleeping bag. Despite being hailed as the “Guardians of Lionia” in the villages below, we were, at best, glorified civil servants. The title might have sounded grand, but in reality, we were little more than soldiers—perhaps even less in some ways, aside from earning a slightly higher salary.
“Is it raining?”
After packing my sleeping bag onto my backpack, I listened closely. When I had first woken up, I hadn’t noticed it, but now I could hear the faint sound of the rain outside the cave. The sound was so soft it was likely just a drizzle. Years of living in these mountains had honed my ability to distinguish rain types, even from barely audible sounds. Some might find this impressive, but such skills came at the cost of sacrificing my youth. Now, here I was, worrying about nocturnal emissions instead of having a girlfriend. Damn it.
“Alright, Bugs, wake up!”
I nudged Bugs, who was still asleep beside me. He mumbled incoherently in protest and rolled over. His ability to roll around while inside a sleeping bag was both annoying and impressive.
“Bugs!”
“Ugh, Kairas! Don’t wake me up—I was just about to have a good dream…”
Still muttering, Bugs rolled further, only to bump his head against the cave wall. What a sight—so much for being one of the “Guardians of Lionia.” Despite the damp cave, he slept like a rock.
“We’re on a mission. What kind of Ranger wakes up late? You looking to get scolded?”
“Ah… ouch…”
Rubbing his head, Bugs grumbled. Currently, we were on a mission, so camping in this cave was our only option. Of course, rolling around recklessly in such a place had obvious consequences.
“You alright?”
I checked on him. Despite the loud thud from hitting the wall, Bugs got up as if nothing had happened.
“Geez, waking me up like this… so rude.”
“For the record, I didn’t make you hit your head.”
Even though I clarified, Bugs didn’t believe me. Considering my usual antics, I supposed this wasn’t surprising.
“You’re the embodiment of evil—the Demon King of the Ruby Gem.”
“What’s with that tone?”
I raised an eyebrow, and Bugs started grumbling again as he crawled out of his sleeping bag.
“Where’s Hagen? Damn, it’s cold.”
“Probably out scouting. He was the last to keep watch, wasn’t he?”
As I adjusted my boots, Bugs began packing his sleeping bag while mumbling to himself.
“Man, I was just about to have fun with the beauty in my dream. Oh, crap! I had a wet dream, didn’t I?”
“…”
Wordlessly, I picked up a handful of gravel and threw it at him. Startled, Bugs clenched his fists and seemed ready to lunge at me when footsteps echoed from outside.
“Oh, come on. Not again. Can’t you two behave? We’re not teenagers, you know. Adults shouldn’t be fighting all the time.”
“Hagen!”
Shielding my eyes, I turned to see Hagen entering the cave. He had pulled back the camouflage tarp, letting in light that temporarily blinded me. Luckily, the overcast weather and drizzle softened the glare.
“Fighting over me again? Please, take turns.”
“What… are you talking about?”
“Come on, I can’t say that out loud,” Hagen replied with a mischievous grin.
I stared at him blankly before picking up a fist-sized rock.
“The drizzle’s light. No more snowstorms.”
Hagen cut me off, suddenly serious. Leaning against the cave entrance, he brushed back his damp blonde hair, spraying water everywhere. Judging by how soaked he was, he must have been out in the rain for a while.
“Finally, spring is here.”
