Chapter 2: The Survivor Is Always Guilty
Lucien Veyr did not struggle as iron cuffs locked around his wrists.
He stood still, shoulders relaxed, eyes lowered just enough to appear compliant. The metal was cold, etched with faint runes meant to suppress mana output. Crude work, but effective against most mages.
Against him, they were unnecessary.
Lucien chose not to say that.
The mountain pass smelled of smoke, blood, and scorched stone. Bodies lay everywhere—cultists in black robes, guards in shattered armor, civilians crushed beneath broken wagons. The wind carried ash through the air in slow, drifting spirals.
The soldiers moved carefully now.
No shouting.
No bravado.
They circled Lucien like men approaching a wild animal that hadn't decided whether it was dangerous yet.
The captain who had ordered Lucien bound stepped closer.
He was older than most soldiers present, with iron-gray hair pulled back in a short tie and a scar that cut through one eyebrow. His armor bore the sigil of the Border Defense Corps, dulled by years of use rather than neglect.
Captain Roderick Vane.
Lucien memorized the name from the way others addressed him.
"You said your name is Lucien Veyr," Roderick said.
"Yes."
"You were hired as a guard."
"Yes."
"And you're the only one left alive."
Lucien didn't answer.
Roderick exhaled slowly. "You understand how this looks."
Lucien nodded. "I do."
That honesty made several soldiers uneasy.
Roderick gestured to the carnage around them. "Cultists, necromancy, a reversed large-scale ritual that should have annihilated everything in a hundred-meter radius."
His gaze sharpened. "And you're standing here without a scratch."
Lucien raised his bound hands slightly. "Luck."
A murmur rippled through the soldiers.
One of them scoffed. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking," Lucien replied calmly.
Roderick stared at him for a long moment.
"Search him," he ordered.
Two soldiers stepped forward. They patted Lucien down, checking his coat, boots, and belt. They found his short sword—plain, chipped, unremarkable—and a small pouch of coin.
"No artifacts," one of them reported.
"No visible mana residue either," another added, confused.
Roderick frowned.
That bothered him more than it reassured him.
"Take him," Roderick said. "We'll question him properly at Fort Blackridge."
Lucien felt a faint tightening in his chest.
Blackridge was not a courthouse.
It was a holding fort.
People sent there were rarely cleared quickly.
But he nodded anyway.
"As you wish."
The prison carriage was reinforced iron and wood, its interior divided by bars into three compartments.
Lucien sat alone in the central cell, wrists bound in front of him, ankles free but watched. Across from him sat two other prisoners—men captured earlier in the day for smuggling illegal spell components.
They stared at Lucien in silence.
After several minutes, one of them swallowed.
"…You really killed all those cultists?" the man asked.
Lucien leaned his head back against the carriage wall. "No."
"But you're the only one alive."
Lucien closed his eyes. "Yes."
The other prisoner shifted away from him instinctively.
The carriage lurched forward.
Outside, soldiers marched alongside on horseback, weapons ready.
Lucien listened to the rhythm of hooves and wheels, his mind calm despite the circumstances.
This was bad.
Not immediately lethal.
But bad.
If he was interrogated by mages…
If the church became involved…
If someone decided he was too dangerous to keep alive…
Lucien exhaled slowly.
I should have left earlier, he thought.
Luck pulsed faintly in response.
Not reassurance.
Warning.
They didn't make it halfway to Blackridge.
The attack came without warning.
The ground trembled violently, nearly flipping the carriage onto its side. Horses screamed as dark spikes of stone erupted from beneath the road, impaling two mounts instantly.
Shouts erupted.
"AMBUSH—!"
Lucien's eyes snapped open.
He felt it immediately—monsters, not cultists. Wild mana, feral and hungry, flooding the area in chaotic waves.
The suppression cuffs around his wrists vibrated faintly.
Outside, something roared.
The carriage door was ripped clean off its hinges as a massive claw slammed into it, sending metal flying.
Lucien shielded his face instinctively.
Dust filled the air.
When it cleared, a creature loomed before them.
It stood nearly three meters tall, its body a twisted fusion of muscle and bone, patches of chitinous armor protruding from gray flesh. Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow, and corrupted mana leaked from its mouth in thick, smoky strands.
A Feral Abomination.
High-tier monster.
Way too strong for an escort unit.
The soldiers outside were already dying.
Lucien swore softly.
The two prisoners screamed.
The abomination reached in, claws tearing through bars like paper.
Lucien acted.
Not fully.
Never fully.
He twisted his wrists just enough for the cuffs to shift and slammed them into the creature's arm, releasing a focused burst of wind mana at point-blank range.
The attack wasn't strong.
But the angle was perfect.
The abomination lost balance and crashed sideways into the carriage frame, roaring in pain.
Lucien grabbed the nearest prisoner by the collar and shoved him out.
"Run," he ordered.
The man didn't hesitate.
The second prisoner tried to follow—and was crushed instantly as another monster burst from the ground.
Lucien stepped out of the carriage.
The battlefield was chaos.
At least four abominations had surfaced, tearing through the soldiers. Blood soaked the dirt. Magic flared wildly as desperate spells were cast and failed.
Captain Roderick fought near the center, blade glowing with earth mana as he deflected a strike that should have crushed him.
Lucien saw it instantly.
Roderick was good.
But he was going to die.
Lucien clenched his jaw.
Damn it.
He moved.
To any observer, it would look like desperation.
To reality, it was precision.
Lucien hurled a fallen spear—not with strength, but timing. The weapon struck a loose mana node in one abomination's neck. The creature convulsed violently as its own corrupted mana backfired, exploding outward and tearing it apart.
Another abomination charged Lucien.
It slipped.
On blood.
Its momentum carried it straight into the path of a collapsing cliff face loosened by the earlier tremor.
Crushed.
Luck twisted again.
Violently.
Too violently.
The remaining monsters roared in confusion.
Roderick stared at Lucien, realization dawning too late.
"You—"
A fifth presence emerged.
The ground split open.
Something bigger crawled out.
Lucien's breath caught.
That's… not supposed to be here.
This wasn't a feral monster.
It was controlled.
A Summoned Aberration.
Someone had planned this.
Roderick shouted orders, but it was pointless.
The creature raised one massive limb—
—and then froze.
Lucien didn't know why at first.
Then he felt it.
A shift.
Not luck.
Something else.
The aberration screamed as its summoning circle destabilized, lines collapsing in on themselves.
A fatal error.
The creature imploded in a violent backlash that obliterated everything within ten meters.
Lucien was thrown backward, slamming into the dirt.
Silence followed.
Slowly, Lucien pushed himself up.
His cuffs had shattered.
The suppression runes were gone.
He looked around.
The road was gone.
The soldiers were dead.
Captain Roderick lay against a rock, bleeding heavily but alive.
Lucien walked over and knelt beside him.
Roderick looked up weakly, eyes unfocused.
"You…" he rasped. "You didn't do this… did you?"
Lucien met his gaze.
"…I survived," he said.
Roderick laughed weakly, then coughed blood.
"…Figures."
Lucien stood.
More soldiers would come.
Investigators.
Mages.
The church.
This was no longer something he could explain his way out of.
Lucien turned away from the wreckage and stepped into the forest bordering the road.
He did not look back.
By morning, the story would spread.
A prisoner convoy destroyed.
Elite soldiers slaughtered.
A lone survivor vanished into the wilderness.
Lucien Veyr was no longer a suspect.
He was a fugitive.
And the adventure had truly begun.