Heavy, long breaths drew from Ozias’s mouth. Sweat glistened on his forehead from the rising sun slowly appearing from the window. Each drop of sweat on his head fell from the gentle force of gravity, seeping into the pillow around his head. It was the same for his small, injured body. Every set number of seconds, he twitched, sweat falling onto the pelts of fur around him each time he did.

The wound had not healed; in fact, the opposite had occurred. Over the night, the wound worsened to a near intolerable degree. Every second that passed, a fierce battle went on inside his body. One which could result in his death at any given moment. Would he so gladly take the healing from an honored one. However, the chances of it were slim to none. The countess herself had seen his death bringing wounds in the flesh yet did nothing except use Ozias like a chew toy. Because of this, his state worsened through the night before he eventually passed out. Now, he slept in the hopes of healing.

During this time, small rumbles shook the room lightly. Ripples formed on a vase next to Ozias, creating multiple constantly enlarging rings that, like ice skaters, skated on the top of the vase to the outer ends. They seemed to move precisely every second, as though one large figure were trudging through the manor. Ozias did not notice it though, his exhausted body more occupied with the desperate battle inwards. Moments later, the rumbles ceased before the door to the master bedroom creaked open. Multiple men, downed in armor made from exceptional steel, stomped toward the young Ozias. Their steps shook the ground while their sheathed swords shone in a glossy hue as they were unsheathed. Three men in the front of the group did not unsheathe their swords; rather, they used their metal-covered hands to grasp onto Ozias. They slammed them down on him, shaking him into reality. His golden orange eyes shot open, red veins popping around his irises while they scanned around the room. His eyes locked onto the men in armor, realizing the situation.

“Who are you all!? To walk into the bedroom of the countess is blas-”

The three of them picked Ozias up before shoving him onto the ground. Another man used a rope to tie Ozias's feet and hands together.

“I am the servant in this manor; who are you-”

One man's hand covered Ozias’s mouth, causing muffled screams to escape from his mouth as they restrained him.

Inside the crevices of their helmets, nothing could be seen. Only a limitless void that would entrap anyone who gazed into it. And Ozias dared to glare at them while they tied him. The result was a powerful kick to his abdomen.

“MMH!!”

A heavy groan muffled by their hands narrowly escaped as pain coursed through his body. nearly immediately causing him to pass out.

Ozias was too weak to defend himself. Not to mention the disastrous wound on his chest inhibiting his abilities. Although, even at peak health, he would fall to the sheer number of men here. They also had swords and armor to protect them.

But there was a defining line. Based on the actions and the number of them, it was clear they did not have the weird energy his father and the trainer had.

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The armored men carried Ozias from the rope, putting him in an embarrassing position staring at the floor.

Ozias knew he stood a chance if they did not possess it. In this world, a blessed one would consider people like Ozias as ants, something that could be killed with a single step. Going against a blessed one was suicide; all one could do was follow what they said, like a slave.

That irked Ozias. His father had possessed it, so why did he not? When they were still living peacefully, his father had only explained it partially. He would always say, “It is not time yet,” as though he were counting down to a golden minute. Yet they would train all the same with his weird abilities. Every single time he used it, Ozias would at once be defeated. It felt like he was a completely different man. And for Ozias, it was nearly impossible to predict when he would use it. There were no signs; for one moment, he was a regular man, yet the next, he was a divine beast that would rampage.

Considering his abilities and the fact that Ozias was his son, Ozias should have possessed it as well. Though, considering the circumstances now, it was clear that he did not have it. All Ozias could do now was chuckle and laugh as all those near used him as a punching bag to satisfy their hate.

Through the pattern-filled hallways out to the front of the manor. The golden orange sun shone down on all of them. Every step they took outside caused even more sweat to pour from his head, falling onto the cobbled floor before evaporating.

Outside, the countess stood with multiple servants around her. Just as yesterday, she had a servant hold an umbrella that shielded her against the harsh rays.

“Dear Ozias. Our time together was short yet wonderful. You have been a grand servant that has fulfilled their duty.”

Her dark black eyes gazed at Ozias with a hint of love. Chills rolled down Ozias’s back along with trails of sweat. On one hand, he was glad to finally be tossed away. He would no longer have to serve anyone here; he could finally die. Thoughts of seeing his father in the afterlife, wherever he may be, filled the young boy’s mind.

“And because of that, you will be sent to the lower territory to work for your freedom!”

Ozias’s orange-tinted eyes widened in shock as he looked back at the countess.

“How noble!”

“Such kindheartedness for such a lowly servant!”

“He should be grateful to live; he was nothing more than a slave!”

No... In Ozias’s mind, he was ready for death, but the countess’s words made him realize he could not be allowed to die, even now. Yesterday, the short shot of adrenaline kept him alive, but the dose had far long worn off; now only the pain and misery of life remained, scattered through his being.

He should be grateful to live? They were the ones who needed to be grateful. If it were not for these cursed gods, blessing him with misfortune at every turn, they would be killed and wrung dry of all their blood. But he was far too weak to even move currently. He was a hateful boy with no power to act, making him nothing more than a pawn others used.

“I hope we see each other again someday soon, Ozias.”

She smiled as the guards began dragging Ozias to a carriage meant especially for him. It was a caged carriage drawn by two horses, nearly identical to the one the boy came in on yesterday.

For months, this was the only place he had known apart from his home, now far away from here.

The guards threw Ozias into the open cage and then slammed it closed as a man guiding the two horses snapped a whip, forcing them to move. Ozias maneuvered his body to look back on them all, to see their smug faces one last time. And to remember it, for if he ever got the ability to fight, they would be some of the first he’d kill.

The horses slowly left the manor as it became a blur in the nature next to him. Ozias knew his life would now be much harder than it was before. Now, he would need to struggle to survive, even more than before.