Kyle made his way to the river as the chief had said. He had planned on bathing regardless, but he appreciated the concern. So many things had raced through his mind since that boar hunt.
Was there someone else near the grounds? Or was it just me?
But then where did the barrier come from?
His mind raced continuously throughout his walk to the river. When he arrived, he made sure he was at the right spot—a makeshift bath spring. Water was redirected from the river into a small pit-like area, big enough to resemble the hot springs found in the mountains.
He bathed himself thoroughly, watching as the water turned red.
The blood was a deep red despite being slightly dry, as if it had regained its vigour once more. But that wasn't possible. It was dead. Kyle finished scrubbing all the blood off his body, then drained the water into the ground and allowed more river water to fill in.
He grabbed some stones he had set in a fire with some homemade tongs—fresh, thick branches that wouldn't catch fire—and dropped them into the water to warm it up.
He sat down and looked up, a contemplative look on his face.
"They're starting to be afraid. Was it the blood or... something else?" he mumbled to himself.
Kyle was quiet, but that never meant he was blind. He had seen the looks he would get from time to time. Aside from envy and playful jealousy, some people were becoming wary of him—as if he couldn't be trusted.
At first, it had just been a feeling. Maybe the men were actually jealous that he had outperformed them. But the incident today made it clear. Kyle hadn't wanted to accept it. How could he? It was such a stupid and absurd conclusion—yet it wasn't entirely out of consideration.
That barrier was definitely made of mana. But it makes no sense, he thought, staring at the setting sun.
Willow's Rest is a deadzone. The only people who can use mana are nobles—or anyone related to them. It isn't because of blood relation but a device that creates a vacuum of mana around the person. If a deadzone is a bubble where mana doesn't exist in the world, then that device is a bubble that brings mana into a deadzone.
Standing from the water, Kyle sighed with a heavy heart. He knew that his current assumption was close to the truth, if not the truth itself.
"They think I'm now related to a noble in some way. It's the only way they can explain the inhuman nature of a child being stronger and more capable than an adult. Heh, and they hate those fucking nobles, so of course they're wary of me now."
He walked back home, clean and refreshed—physically at least. Without a word, he simply went to bed. He was too exhausted from the day and would worry about food in the morning.
---
In his sleep, Kyle became restless.
Everything was red.
Too hot—no, too quiet.
He opened his eyes, but nothing changed. There was no light, only colour. The world bled around him.
He stood in the centre of a fire, yet there was no heat—only pressure, like the weight of a scream that couldn't escape his chest. The ground pulsed underfoot, soft and beating, like a heart made of ash.
He turned—was that his own face staring back from the flames?
He tried to run. His legs moved, but the world ran with him. Smoke curled in strange shapes—faces, maybe—watching, whispering.
"RUN KYLE!! GET OUT OF HERE."
"SOMEONE HELP!! SAVE THE CHILD!"
"You dared to defy the Lord—"
"Burn for your crimes—"
The voices overlapped, stretched and distorted like wax melting too fast. One voice was a whisper in his ear, another a shout from the sky, another came from his own mouth.
The flames began to drip upward. Time twisted sideways.
He stumbled forward—or backward—and the ground fractured beneath him, revealing a deep, red chasm. From inside it, laughter. Or sobbing. Or both.
Then a voice—his voice—quiet, cold:
You knew this would happen.
You were always going to burn.
The child in the fire didn't scream. He stared. Unblinking. Accusing.
"UHHGHHH!!"
Kyle jolted awake, gasping, his heart slamming against his ribs. His skin was slick with sweat, but his hands trembled from cold.
The dream was no more. But it didn't feel like a memory. It felt like a warning. He just couldn't forget the feeling, no matter how hard he tried. He checked the clock in the room.
6:30 a.m. it read. Well, now was as good a time to wake up as any, so Kyle made his way down to prepare some food.
In his concentration to scavenge for leftovers, he didn't see Roland walk into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Kyle. Did you sleep well? You're up earlier than usual," Roland asked.
"Hmm, I slept as well as the nightmare would let me. It was worse this time—I heard voices, but I couldn't see their faces," Kyle responded with a piece of dried meat in his mouth and a... honeycomb?
"I see you still have your... exotic food tastes," Roland laughed, watching the boy enjoy his makeshift breakfast. Then his face became solemn.
"We need to talk, Kyle. Let's do that now, please," Roland said, sitting across from the boy.
"Can you tell me what happened yesterday? Why did you recklessly go after two boars? And more importantly, how bad was the fight for that one to end up the way it did?"
Kyle looked into the chief's eyes and saw concern and worry.
"I was mad. I wanted to attack that guy for threatening you—for giving you trouble. No... I wanted to kill him.
So I went to vent my anger and bring back more meat. Two birds, one stone."
Roland simply nodded, signalling for the boy to continue.
"The first one was clean. No issues. The second boar—it dodged. Admittedly, by luck and my own slight miscalculation. But then it fought back. It decided to kill me... and it almost did," Kyle said, remembering how he had been rammed into a tree.
"But something happened. A barrier formed on my arms. I don't know how, but I swear I'm not a noble!" Kyle said in a burst of uncharacteristic emotion. "And then it tried again—to kill me—but I rolled out of the way, and it got smashed into the ground by the tree, dazing it."
Kyle covered his face as he continued, not understanding this feeling inside him.
"Then I jumped on it. I started stabbing... and stabbing... and stabbing. I even sliced and clawed at it with my bare hands. And then finally—I pierced the heart."
Roland stared at Kyle, the boy he had raised alongside everyone else. But in this moment, despite his face being covered, Roland could see the look in his eyes.
Kyle didn't regret anything.
"I see. It must have been hard. But can we go back to the barrier? Are you sure you have no idea—or even a guess—as to how you managed to make one?" Roland asked.
"No. Not one clue," Kyle replied, seemingly gauging Roland's expression.
Sigh "Kyle, given the situation, I'm sure you've seen it for yourself, but everyone is a bit wary of you. You must know why, right?"
"Yeah." Kyle responded in a downcast tone. He was well aware.
"I won't lie to you. It's a weird occurrence—happening in a place deemed a phenomenon of the century. So nothing can really be true or false definitively. And I, for one, believe you as a person. Which brings me to my second reason for this talk."
Roland slid a letter to Kyle. Kyle found it odd—he never received letters—but took it regardless.
> TO: Kyle of Willow's Rest
> FROM: SANCTUM MAGNA