"Aw! Aw! Aw!"

"Roar! Roar! Roar!"

"Gi—Givvveee haaahhh!"

The noise was unbearable.

Even as I silently cursed the racket, it did nothing to dampen the cacophony surrounding me. Leaning against the corner of the cage, close to its door, my gaze swept over the chaotic scene before me.

The oil lamps swayed, their dim light casting flickering shadows. Various cries and roars filled the air, creating a deafening din. Every cage housing a living being was occupied by prisoners who clawed at the iron bars, howling wildly. Those capable of speech shouted words in incomprehensible tongues, their hands desperately reaching out through the gaps.

This was always the loudest time of the day—the hours when the oil lamps were lit.

Whether it was truly night or not, I couldn’t say. It was just… easier to assume so. In this disorderly warehouse, there was no light at all outside this specific period. Determining day from night was impossible; I had to rely on my internal clock to estimate the passage of time.

Leaning against the cage’s edge, I observed the chaotic scene once more. Even my fellow prisoners were gripping the bars and screaming at the top of their lungs. It seemed that unless the crew acknowledged their cries, no food would be distributed.

Although, to call that stuff "food" was an insult to the very concept.

My peripheral vision flicked over my cellmates before trailing to the wall I was leaning against. There, etched clearly into the surface, were two distinct tally marks.

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The second day.

It had only been two days since I was captured and thrown aboard this ship. My hands and feet remained bound with coarse ropes, and my cage was situated in the farthest, most isolated corner of the warehouse. For someone like me, who knew next to nothing about the current situation, this was the worst-case scenario.

And yet, despite everything, my thoughts never ceased.

Carefully studying the warehouse had been my daily routine over these two days. I watched those unfamiliar creatures brawling and roaring at each other from their cages. I observed the ragged, peculiar-looking individuals with strange ears whispering among themselves as they glanced in my direction. Above all, I scrutinized the fellow prisoners in my own cage.

In short, I was beginning to piece things together.

This place was undoubtedly "that side," beyond the fog.

In other words—the Dark Land.

As much as I hated to admit it, the inability to communicate with anyone here—or perhaps the fact that some of them didn’t even qualify as "people"—made it painfully clear: this was not the world I once inhabited.

I had once doubted whether the Dark Land truly existed beyond the mist. But after spending two days here, there was no denying it anymore.

I had drifted into the Dark Land.

And judging by what I’ve seen, this land was nothing like the barren wasteland described in the Heavenly Teachings’ Oracles. This ship alone, with its sheer size and structure, was far beyond what an uncivilized, primitive land could produce. In other words… the beings here possessed technology.

I couldn’t help but wonder: if I had become a hero, what kind of foes would I be up against? But such thoughts were pointless. Every time my eyes fell on the dull, lifeless mark on the back of my hand, I was reminded of the harsh truth—I was no longer a hero.

No allies.

No power.

—You must die here.

That voice echoed in my mind, and I clicked my tongue in frustration, lowering my head.

I refused to stop thinking—not even for a moment.