Jago Sevatarion's Strange Encounter

At five in the morning, a cold wind blew outside the Quintus III mine in Nostramo, and the sky was dark and gloomy, but it was not all dark. Soft light sources flickered around the mine.

Although it was the early hours of the morning, the mine gates were already open. Many shadowy figures flickered in the light; they were all workers from the third mine, and although they were walking in the cold wind, they did not feel cold.

They were all wearing thick cotton-padded coats and boots. The mine had been very thoughtful, not only providing overcoats but also earmuffs, so no one felt cold.

Those who are so thin that they feel cold even when wearing cotton clothes will not be selected as miners; they will have other jobs.

There weren't many people talking in the crowd; most were eating their first meal, which they had just received from the distribution window. The breakfast provided by the Third Mine was plentiful, with four different flavors of nutritious porridge, a synthetic nutrition bar, and some fruit from Macragge.

The workers cherished the food. At first, many even chose to go hungry or eat only half, saving the rest to take home to their families. But they soon realized there was no need to do that.

The miners' families were also assigned jobs— Nostramo was in dire need of rebuilding, and every position required manpower, with meals provided for each job.

Among the people eating was a boy. He was taller than most, but he ate slowly, even taking his time.

He chewed each mouthful of porridge more than a dozen times before swallowing. It took him more than ten minutes to finish the bowl of "Margots" flavored nutritious porridge at the perfect temperature, and a look of satisfaction appeared on his face.

Then, he casually took out the nutrition bar that had been distributed from his pocket, carefully peeled off its outer packaging, and took a bite as if it were a precious treasure.

Very good.

Jago Sevatarion smiled contentedly—today's nutrition bar was sweet, and he liked sweet things; he had liked it ever since he tasted it and learned that it was called "sweet."

In his view, this feeling was second only to the one he had experienced when he witnessed gangsters and nobles die tragically in the streets. He had only experienced the latter once, but the former, if he was lucky, he could experience almost every day.

One of the three meals a day will always include a sweet-tasting nutrition bar.

He ate the nutrition bar very slowly, even slower than when he ate nutrition porridge—it took him several minutes to eat half of it, then he held it in his mouth, grinding it with his teeth, carefully avoiding letting his saliva touch its surface, and occasionally licking it with the tip of his tongue to savor the taste.

The mine was filled with the aroma of food. Jago Sevatarion took a deep breath and felt a sense of satisfaction once again.

This sense of satisfaction lasted until he lowered his gaze to the ground.

In that instant, without any warning, his whole body stiffened, the nutrition bar in his mouth was immediately crushed, his muscles tensed up, and a chill ran up from the soles of his feet, tearing apart the body heat protected by his cotton coat.

A bone-chilling cold assaulted the fifteen-year-old boy, causing his legs to buckle and him to kneel on the ground.

A scene flashed before his eyes: a group of people, barely clothed, standing in the freezing wind, surrounded by dark green tents. They were frozen stiff, on the verge of death. Every single one of them had empty eyes, and every single one of them was staring at him.

They opened their mouths, which were black and toothless, with gums that were a decaying gray. They silently uttered words that Jago Sevatarion could not hear at all.

He almost froze to death.

He trembled, hoping the hallucination would pass quickly. This wasn't the first time he'd seen these dead people; he knew exactly how to deal with them—just wait, just wait.

They're dead, and they can't hurt me.

Young Jago Sevatarion whispered these words to himself, daring not to make a move. As time passed, everything indeed returned to normal very quickly, just as he had wished.

The illusion vanished, and his lost body temperature returned in the next instant. Jago Sevatarion opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by some older workers. A man reached out and pulled him up from the ground.

"Be careful," he whispered. "It's a miracle you didn't get caught for lying about your age, Sevatar. If this bizarre illness of yours flares up a few more times, we can't help you. They are all good people, but they take the rules very seriously, you understand?"

"Thank you, Joseph, I know." Sevatar grinned, revealing a pale smile.

"Yes, I really did see a ghost," he thought. "And more than once."

But it's not that I want to see them.

--

The work continued for some time.

Sevatar didn't hate work; in fact, he enjoyed spending time underground with a group of older men, swinging pickaxes and hammering rocks—he was always very focused when he did it, and that focus made him forget many things.

For example, his innate, peculiar talent, or the fact that he was always taller, stronger, and faster than others. Forgetting is precious, and even temporary forgetting is still forgetting.

However, working hours are never long, which means he will inevitably have to think about these things.

Five hours passed in the blink of an eye. They went down into the mine at six in the morning and left the mine at eleven in the morning. After disinfecting, washing, and changing clothes—the three things written in the onboarding instructions— Sevatar went to the food distribution window again.

The joy he felt upon seeing that Grox Steak were available for lunch today overshadowed the discomfort he had experienced from the nightmare in the early hours of the morning.

The No. 3 mine was newly built, and the canteen was not even open yet. Therefore, most miners usually ate in temporary tents on their shifts, but there were a few exceptions, such as Sevatar.

He preferred to find a quiet corner to eat his food alone. He ate his Grox Steak and drank a slightly sweet, very refreshing beverage, feeling extremely happy.

Then, that chill returned, like a strange and cruel joke, as if someone was deliberately tormenting him and making him suffer.

This time, he didn't even look at the ground.

The dead returned, and in the darkness, the corpses swayed as they rose, howling as they reached out and grabbed him. No matter how much he struggled, it was to no avail, yet they did not harm him, only wailing and crying incessantly, the sounds of which were utterly terrifying.

Sevatar forced himself to close his eyes and ignore them.

He began to pray, even plead—"Eternal night above, I hope that when I wake up I will see that the delicious food on my plate has not been spilled on the floor, I hope that I have not knocked over my drink, I hope that when I wake up I can continue eating."

I hope--

He suddenly opened his eyes and sat up, looking completely bewildered.

Where am I?

"Jago Sevatarion." A deep, hissing voice came from behind him. "Fifteen years old, Quintus, orphan. Interesting, did you choose your own name?"

Sevatar quickly turned his head and saw a giant with pale skin, a handsome face, and black eyes.

He was so tall that Sevatar felt a kind of fear almost instinctively—though the feeling was fleeting, the young Jago Sevatarion knew very well that his senses were usually infallible.

Moreover, this giant's eyes were completely black.

He was from Nostramo.

"Who are you?" Sevatar jumped off the bed and asked warily. He was unarmed and kept backing away, momentarily forgetting to even observe where he was.

The giant simply stared at him calmly, watching him retreat little by little until he braced his back against the corner of the room.

"I asked the question first," the giant said. "So you should answer me first, shouldn't you, Jago Sevatarion?"

"I chose my own name," Sevatar replied loudly, tilting her head back.

"But that's none of your business! Listen, I'm a worker at Quintus Third Mine, so whoever you are, you'd better send me back. The guards will soon discover I'm missing, and then the Emperor's Eighth Legion will be looking for you!"

The giant chuckled softly, "So, the Emperor's Eighth Legion, you must have read that booklet called <Common Sense>, which means you can read."

"What does it matter to you whether I can read or not?!" Sevatar shouted—he didn't know where he was, but he wanted to get as much attention as possible.

He would win if even a single guard noticed the unusual noises.

He had seen the guards fire their guns before; those guns were far more powerful than the gang's weapons. A single shot could easily pierce metal, and this man was merely exceptionally tall; he couldn't possibly withstand the power of a gun.

"Oh, it's really nothing."

The giant said thoughtfully, "But your literacy will save me some trouble. That's good, Jago Sevatarion; at least it proves you're eager to learn. Now, it's my turn to answer your question. I am Karyl Lohars, an instructor in the Eighth Legion of the Emperor, as you've mentioned."

". What?"

"I am an instructor from the Eighth Legion."

The giant with the tongue-twisting name calmly repeated.

"If you don't understand what this term means, you should have been taught how to mine properly by a projection machine in the mine, right? That machine was your instructor, and I was the instructor for the Eighth Legion."

Jago Sevatarion looked at him with confusion, as if he did not understand his authentic Quintus- accented Nostraman.

"Of course, I don't teach them how to mine," the giant chuckled. "We have another duty. So, do you have any more questions, Jago Sevatarion?"

"You, you—" the young boy stammered. "—What evidence do you have?"

Karyl smiled, turned around, pushed open a door, and beckoned to Jago Sevatarion: "Come here, I'll show you the evidence."

After he finished speaking, he walked out of the room. Sevatar stood there for several minutes, his mouth dry, before he came to his senses. He tiptoed to the door and cautiously peeked outside—and that one glance was enough to shock him.

The outside wasn't what he expected—streets or buildings—but a vast space so expansive that he couldn't fully observe it. Black, white, and gray were the dominant colors; it was empty, even excessively so.

A thought that shouldn't have crossed Sevatar's mind—the cemetery.

Only a cemetery could be so empty, so quiet, so so somber.

"This is the Midnight Blade, or, as you call it, the future headquarters of the Eighth Legion on Nostramo," the giant said, standing beside him. "Of course, as you can see, we haven't fully partitioned and decorated this place yet. So, come with me, Jago Sevatarion."

He turned and left, as if he wasn't worried at all that Sevatar would run away—the boy stood there stunned for a few seconds, then involuntarily took a step and followed him.

The giant named Karyl Lohars didn't walk fast; in fact, he slowed his pace to accommodate him. Sevatar followed behind him, and they walked down a long, dark corridor until they reached a large door.

It has an iron-gray exterior, which looks dull, and has a sharply shaped emblem on it.

"Where are you taking me?" Sevatar asked, still wary, but not as wary as before.

He was a child who grew up in the slums, and he was born with the ability to read people and distinguish between different kinds of people. He was smarter than most people; he could tell who had ill intentions and who was cruel and insane.

He survived in the slums successfully using this method of judging people, and one could even say he did quite well. Therefore, he was very confident in his judgment at this moment—he believed that this giant named Karyl Lohars was indeed, as he said, an instructor of the "Eighth Legion of the Emperor".

At least, that's what I believe so far.

Moreover, he seemed to have no better choice than to follow him.

The giant lowered his head and said gently, "I'll take you for a checkup, Jago Sevatarion."

"An inspection?" Sevatar frowned. "Don't tell me you have that kind of hobby."

Karyl couldn't help but laugh—even if he was just a child, he was a Nostramo who had survived in the slums, and his maturity could not be judged solely by his age.

"I certainly don't have that kind of interest, but you definitely need a checkup."

"Why?"

"Because of those Ghost," Karyl replied softly, raising his head.

Sevatar's pupils contracted sharply.

"You've seen them, haven't you?" He casually raised his hand and placed it on a spot next to the door, which immediately slid open slowly.

Behind the door lay deep darkness, which was now slowly brightening. Jago Sevatarion, without time to observe what lay inside, stretched out his arm and barely managed to grab Karyl's sleeve.

"You—" he exclaimed, tilting his head back excitedly. "How did you know?"

"Oh, child." Karyl lowered her head again, looking at him calmly. "I know a great deal."

He stepped into the darkness.

I've finally finished writing it. This chapter is 4k words. I'll continue writing after I wake up from my nap.

By the way, the emblem for Midnight Blade has been designed, and I'll post it in the book club later. The character art is almost finished, and the one in armor will be completed around the 10th of next month.