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6 The Weight of the Past

"Are you absolutely certain about this?" Urgut asked with a mixture of skepticism and warning. "For a mercenary, your profile is your selling card. With the fierce competition in the market, if you’re stingy with the details, clients won’t even bother reading your profile. Your file will end up straight in the trash."

Lena, now standing by the door with her arms crossed, chimed in. "That’s true. At the very least, you should list one or two abilities that gather attention. Clients need to know who they’re hiring. Trust is essential in this line of work."

And to let both allies and enemies grasp a certain understanding of me? Never.

I met their concern with steady resolve. "I appreciate the advice, truly. But I’ll have to decline. My profile already includes my combat rank and the basic details a stranger needs to know. That’s enough. In time, my record will speak for itself. My accomplishments will build my reputation. Clients won’t know exactly what they’re buying—only that I’m highly efficient. That’s all anyone needs to know."

Urgut leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. "Ahhh, stubborn as his master," he muttered. "Fine, have it your way. But don’t come crying to me if this backfires. Lena, issue his authentication and give him the bracelet. The boy’s made his choice."

Lena hesitated, her gaze lingering on me, searching for cracks in my conviction. Finding none, she nodded and left to prepare the necessary items. The room fell into a brief silence, broken only by the faint creak of the chair as Urgut leaned forward again.

"Listen, kid," he said, his tone carrying a rare hint of warmth. "With your age and without a background, without your master's name, without a single ability listed there... life won't be easy for you. You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But make sure that those guts don’t spill out on some battlefield before you’ve even tasted what life has to offer."

I smirked, rising to my feet. "Oh, Mr. Urgut, you don't have to worry. I've tasted life. The bitter taste of betrayal, the salty taste of my own blood, the spicy sensation of not being able to move, I've tasted life. It had such a strong aroma that I almost died from excitement."

That's right, I know what it has to offer, I've got a pretty rich experience with it.

"Life is full of trials, boy. You're not the only one having a taste of that. Pain, betrayal, loss—many endure these things. But that doesn’t mean life is devoid of its blessings. You’ve met your master, haven’t you? I can see the respect you hold for him. Being adopted by him, that has to be a blessing, right? And to feel the bitterness of betrayal, you must have first savored the sweetness of friendship. Don’t let the darkness drown you. You have to always remember, amidst the hardships, life has also given you its gifts. Those blessings matter. Hold onto them."

His words cut through the haze of my thoughts, raw and unguarded. I sank back into the sofa, my shoulders slumping under the weight of his wisdom. My gaze drifted, unfocused, as memories surged forth unbidden. He wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t deny it. Before the storms of suffering tore through my life, there had been calm, moments of happiness, and a time when I had everything my heart could wish for.

The realization stung as much as it soothed. I had tasted joy before the bitterness set in. So how could I lie to myself and dismiss those moments as if they never existed? They were real. They mattered.

I straightened up, drawing in a deep breath. "Forgive me, Mr. Urgut. I’ve spoken poorly."

Urgut’s gaze softened, his imposing demeanor giving way to something almost paternal. “There’s nothing to forgive, boy,” he said with a resonant yet gentle tone. “Sometimes, we all need a reminder of what we’ve gained, not just of what we’ve lost. Especially us, mancers. The shards we bond with have a tendency to fight for control in ways we don’t always notice. Manipulating our emotions is one of their most insidious tactics. It’s why we must stay vigilant.”

"???" This was the first I’d heard of such a thing. “They can manipulate our emotions?” I asked, leaning forward.

Urgut nodded with a serious expression. “Oh, yes. And the stronger the shard, the more cunning it becomes. It’s not just a battle of strength; it’s a battle of will.”

“But isn’t that tied to corruption?” I pressed, trying to piece together the fragments of knowledge I’d gleaned over the years. “Shouldn’t the shard’s influence depend on the level of corruption?”

“Corruption is a deeper invasion,” Urgut explained. “It’s what happens when the shard begins to seep into your mind—twisting your thoughts, compromising your judgment. But before it reaches that stage, it plays with your emotions. Mancers feel everything more intensely than regular humans because of our heightened senses, our bond with the shards, and the world around us. That’s both our strength and our curse. Surely, your master must have told you this?”

I shook my head, feeling a sting of disappointment. “He didn’t. Not once.”

Urgut chuckled, though it lacked humor. “Perhaps he doesn’t know. Maybe that’s why he’s chosen to hide himself away for so long. But unfortunately for him, the world won’t let him stay hidden forever.”

. . .

I sat by the fountain in the market square, the soothing sound of trickling water mingling with the hum of bustling activity. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, blending with the sharp tang of spices and the faint metallic aroma of machinery.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

In my hand, I held a piece of warm bread, its soft texture betraying the simple life that surrounded me. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to take comfort in it. The weight of Urgut’s words clung to me like a leech, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

Could my shard truly be manipulating me? This thought coiled in my gut like a serpent. I’d felt empty before my second bonding. But now, at this moment was this emptiness truly mine, or had it been twisted, or amplified by the shard’s subtle influence?

I felt as though I were drowning in an ocean I couldn’t see, struggling to understand whether the waters were of my making or another’s.

Am I stupid?

I tore off a small piece of bread, placing it in my mouth more out of obligation than hunger. The warmth of it did little to thaw the cold that had settled deep in my chest. My gaze wandered over the square, taking in the teeming life around me.

A young couple strolled past, their fingers entwined like ivy, sharing a single pie between them. They couldn’t have been much older than me. Their clothes were modest—the kind worn by laborers or shopkeepers—yet their smiles were unguarded, their laughter genuine. They looked happy.

Happy. I stared after them, the word echoing in my mind like a distant chime.

They had so little, yet they seemed to possess something I couldn’t grasp. I watched them until they disappeared into the crowd, my chest tightening with a strange mix of envy and confusion.

Another bite of bread, and I forced myself to shift my attention.

Merchants lined the edges of the square, their voices rising above the din. Some sat cross-legged on worn carpets, their goods spread before them in neat rows: ripe fruits, spare parts, and handmade trinkets that glittered under the sun.

Others worked from proper stalls, their shelves lined with neatly organized wares, shaded from the sun by vibrant cloth canopies. Despite the stark differences in their stations, a shared energy bound them. They greeted customers with the same warmth, the same easy smiles. Even those with little more than a threadbare canopy seemed… content.

My grip on the bread tightened unconsciously, the soft crust compressing beneath my fingers. A sharp pang of frustration clawed at my insides. How? How could they smile? How could they laugh and find joy in this broken world?

A world riddled with danger; the constant threat of nature, beasts, and our own. A world where entire cities lay in ruins, where countless lives had been lost to the wild. A world where people like me carried shards that threatened to twist and consume them.

Yet, here they were, smiling, laughing, living as though none of it could touch them.

I tilted my head back, letting my gaze drift toward the endless blue expanse of the sky. Its vastness offered no answers, only its indifferent silence. I took another bite of bread, forcing myself to chew slowly, deliberately.

I was tired. Tired from trying to understand.

Around me, life went on. Whatever clarity or peace these people had discovered remained a mystery to me, a situation I couldn’t comprehend. And yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I kept watching, searching their faces for some hidden truth, some flicker of understanding, hoping to grasp what gave them the power to smile in a world where they could lose everything in seconds.

Why are all of you happy? How can you? What’s the joy in working from dawn to dusk? And for what? You can all die in a single day, or worse. You can survive but lose everything you have, everything you’ve built.

Anger and confusion wrestled for control as I glared at the bustling market square. Laughter rang out from a nearby stall as a merchant haggled playfully with a customer. A group of children chased each other, their carefree squeals filling the air.

How can they? How can anyone...

'Is it so hard to understand your own race?' Eno’s husky voice resonated in my mind, cutting through my thoughts. His tone was as sharp and mocking as ever.

Hm. You’re awake? Why are you still here? I asked, weary of his sudden presence.

'Because unlike you, brat, I lack a body to walk around with. If I have to remind you that I’m bound to you, then maybe your memory is as frail as an old man’s. Senile already, are we?' His words dripped with derision.

If you came to recover, then shut up and sleep already. I shot back.

'You don’t get to talk to me like that,' Eno’s indignation thundered in my mind.

I exhaled, the tension between us simmering. Say, after so much time spent in that purgatory, how are you still able to smile? How could your peers still laugh under so much pain?

'Hm? Why were you able to resist the corruption of your spirit when you were on the brink of death?' Eno countered. His question wasn’t biting or mocking this time. It was piercing, raw. 'What gave you the strength to crawl out of that place, even when you believed you had nothing to live for? What made you survive when you wished to die?'

I paused, his words striking deeper than I wanted to accept. I don’t know. I didn’t think back then. Even if I tried, I couldn’t. The voices in that place—they drowned out my own.

'And yet you opened a gate and set them free,' Eno said, his voice tinged with frustration.

I just acted. I don’t know if it was instinct or something else. Faced with death, even when I tried to embrace it, there was a part of me that refused. It felt like… I couldn’t betray myself.

'Exactly' Eno interjected, almost triumphant. 'Because if you had, there would be no reconciliation with that part of yourself. I did what you didn’t. I broke myself, and that’s why I started to hate myself for it, that's why I was trapped in purgatory. You saw it with your own eyes. When you opened that gate, those cursed spirits—black as tar—escaped. But I couldn’t.'

So why can you laugh and smile? Why find joy in tormenting others?

'BECAUSE IT’S ALL I HAVE LEFT!' Eno roared, the force of his voice rattling in my mind. 'Spirits can’t die; we can only transform. In an eternity of suffering, you cling to whatever scraps you can find. Tormenting someone is… it’s a distraction, a way to ease the unbearable weight. If we don’t, that weight crushes us. It forces us to degrade, to become something even lower than we are now. Who the hell wants that?'

No one, I admitted. No one would want that.

'I cling to you because you gave me hope—a foolish hope, maybe, but hope nonetheless. Yet you are now sliding toward degradation. If you break your vow to me, brat, if you really want to fall, then I swear I’ll drag you down with me. I’ll make you a mindless, shattered thing that can’t even think to mourn itself.' His fury burned like a wildfire, but beneath it, I caught a flicker of desperation.

Is it that frustrating to place your fate in someone else? I asked, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite my condition.

'Brat, don’t mock me. You have no idea what I can do to you.'

I know, I know. So, even a fiend like you dreams of a better existence, huh?

There was silence, thick and heavy, before Eno spoke again. His voice, quieter now, carried a weight I hadn’t heard before. 'We all do, brat. Even the damned. Even me.'