Chapter 3: The Law of Life.
Valsington Institute, one year earlier
A young boy with a bright, radiant smile was playing with the other children in the wide clearing before the building crowned by a statue of a great howling wolf. The ground was covered in dark grass, a place where children often gathered to play.
"Look! Look, Beltrán!"
A small girl ran up to him.
Beltrán, who had been watching a pair of tiny Wons digging in the soil—small arachnid creatures with round bodies resembling snowballs—turned at her voice. In front of him was a small amphibious creature, its body similar to that of a lizard, except for its slimy skin, which reflected light in shifting colors depending on the angle.
"A Xolot!" Beltrán exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement.
Laughing, the girl placed the small Xolot into Beltrán's hands. He smiled broadly, his happiness shining through his expressive, innocent face.
"I found it near the back fence of the institute. It must have wandered off from a river," the girl said, grinning and revealing a missing tooth.
"That makes sense. There must be a river nearby—they usually go out looking for materials to build their nests. You're really smart, Moly! It's rare to see one at all!"
Moly couldn't help but clasp her hands behind her back, clearly delighted by the praise. Other children nearby began to gather, most of them Beltrán's age or younger. They stared in amazement, mouths slightly open—few had ever seen the creature's unusual skin before.
"Again with those stupid animals? They're disgusting. Isn't a noble supposed to behave better than that?"
A loud voice echoed across the clearing. The children turned to see a boy around ten or eleven years old, handsome, with wavy chestnut hair and blue eyes. Many of them glanced nervously between Beltrán and the girl beside him.
"Disgusting?" Beltrán replied calmly. "It's a bit slimy, sure—but it's cute."
Carefully holding the creature, Beltrán walked toward the boy named Noah and gently showed him the small Xolot.
"Get that trash out of my face!"
With a sharp slap, Noah knocked the Xolot out of Beltrán's hands. The creature, which had remained still until then, scrambled desperately in a random direction.
"Listen, pal," Noah said with a grin, "you shouldn't pick up every piece of garbage you find on the ground—unless you enjoy living among it."
Without hesitation, Beltrán crouched down to grab the Xolot.
"Why would you do that?!" he exclaimed, startled.
His hands trembled as he tried to catch it, but the creature slipped away. When Beltrán placed his hand over it, a boot suddenly came down hard on his hand, crushing both it and the Xolot beneath.
Beltrán cried out in pain, a sharp sting shooting through his hand as the sole of the boot left a clear imprint on his skin.
"What have you done? You killed the poor creature!" Noah said, feigning shock.
Beltrán raised his hand slowly toward his face. The crushed body of the Xolot lay in his palm, its entrails spread across his skin, its once-bright colors dulled by dark crimson.
"But you—!"
"Disgusting!" Noah shouted. "Its guts are all over your hand! You crushed the Xolot!"
Beltrán froze, stunned. Denying it was pointless—everyone had seen Noah step on his hand. Then another child yelled:
"Beltrán killed the Xolot!"
Laughter erupted. Noah repeated the accusation louder and louder, drawing the attention of more students.
"Hey! That's not—"
"You killed it!"
"That's gross!"
"I wouldn't go anywhere near him…"
The whispers grew clearer, harsher. Beltrán stood there, overwhelmed, fingers pointed at him from every direction.
"Beltrán likes disgusting things!"
The children chanted the words between laughs. A crushing mix of helplessness and sorrow filled Beltrán's chest. Desperately, he searched for Moly.
"Moly! That's not true! You gave me the Xolot—he stepped on it! Tell them!"
Moly looked as if she were about to speak, but when she saw the crowd, panic seized her. She took a step back.
"I—I don't know you," she said.
Beltrán's eyes widened as she turned and fled. The laughter grew louder. Finally, he fell to his knees, unable to defend himself any longer. Tears streamed down his face as he ran away from the clearing.
"Hey! Disgusting!"
As Beltrán left class later that day, a group of kids shouted after him.
"Please… stop calling me that," he said, his voice strained.
"Disgusting? That's exactly what you are! I heard what you did! I'd never be friends with someone who enjoys killing animals!"
At lunch, Beltrán tried to approach a group of three boys. They recoiled in disgust.
"Guys…"
"Don't even think about it! We don't want to be friends with a psycho like you!"
He tried to explain, but they ran off laughing, calling out to others as they went.
"Sure! We can be friends!" one boy said cheerfully. "Come on, follow me."
Hope flickered in Beltrán's chest as he followed him to the back of the institute.
"Now!"
From the trees, several children emerged, hurling balls of mud at him.
"Disgusting!"
"He'll probably kill us next!"
"Don't come near us!"
Beltrán felt his eyes sting with tears.
"Having fun without me?" a familiar voice said.
Noah stepped forward, picked something up from the ground, and hurled it with force. The blow struck Beltrán's head, leaving him dizzy.
"You hit him!"
"That's what you get!"
Beltrán fell backward onto the ground. When he touched his forehead, his fingers came away red.
"Run, everyone!" Noah shouted, laughing as they scattered.
"Hey, idiot! I heard you told the teacher about us!"
Inside the institute's restrooms, Beltrán entered with dull, lifeless eyes. The door slammed shut behind him. He clenched his fists and turned around.
"I've had enough," he said angrily. "I won't let you walk all over me anymore."
"What did you say?" a boy asked as he stepped out of one of the stalls.
The bathrooms, divided into several sections, were freely accessible to students. Four more boys emerged from the other stalls. Beltrán looked at them cautiously, but he did not step back.
"If you do anything to me… I'll tell the teachers," he muttered.
"Do anything?" one of them sneered. "Like this?"
They lunged at him all at once. Beltrán tried to fight back, but he was slammed into the wall, his head cracking hard against the tiles. Two larger boys held him down while another stuffed a cloth into his mouth, choking off his screams.
"What's wrong?" one mocked. "Can't scream now? Better stay quiet!"
A blow knocked the air out of his lungs, forcing him to his knees as he vomited. A hand grabbed his hair and smashed him back against the wall.
"Don't hit his face, guys!"
The kicks began. Beltrán curled into a fetal position, taking blow after blow.
Please… let it stop…
"Then don't use the bathrooms anymore, young Beltrán," the teacher said flatly from behind his desk.
"B-but they beat me!" Beltrán protested, still stained with vomit.
"Do you know their names?"
"N-no, but if we go to the classrooms then—"
The teacher slammed his hand on the desk, silencing him.
"Do you think it would matter? Noble or not, here you are just another student. The mockery will continue. That is the law of life."
"The law of life?"
"Weak animals are prey to hunters. Showing weakness only makes things worse. No one saves a dying animal."
Beltrán clenched his teeth.
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Choose whether you are hunter or prey. If you're afraid, avoid them."
"Afraid?! Are you calling me a coward?!"
The teacher slapped him hard, sending him to the floor.
"Yes. That's exactly what you are. Now get out. And don't you dare say a word to your family. One comment from me would be enough to ruin your academic future. No parent wants to acknowledge their child's weakness."
For an entire year, the academy became Beltrán's personal hell. Beatings, mockery, and humiliation repeated day after day.
You are a Leonhard… you cannot run.
Valsington Institute, one week ago
"Haha, you can't even use Prana properly?" a boy sneered during thaumaturgy class.
Beltrán tried to manifest it, managing only a few weak sparks.
"Are you sure you're one of us?"
He ignored the comments, focusing harder.
"This idiot thinks he's something special…"
One boy raised his hand, forming a spark and aiming it toward Beltrán.
"I wouldn't do that," a voice said from behind.
Noah appeared, forcing the boy to lower his hand.
"Beltrán pretends not to hear you," Noah said calmly, "but look at how his hands are shaking. If you want to hurt him—watch."
Then Noah began hurling carefully measured taunts. Beltrán's sparks flickered… and died out completely.
"That's how you mess with him," Noah said, satisfied.
The harassment continued for the rest of the class.
Valsington Institute, present day
"So? How's your lunch?" Noah's voice echoed nearby.
Beltrán shoved him away.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Noticing teachers and students exiting their classrooms, Noah stopped. He couldn't be seen.
"I have to go," Beltrán said, walking away.
He managed to lose Noah in the crowd.
That was close…
After a year of abuse, Beltrán stood on the edge of hatred, though fear still restrained him. His alternate memories had reshaped his character, expanding his tolerance—but the trauma remained.
Mixing this anger with a child's body isn't a good idea.
He decided to change. He would no longer hide—but he wouldn't expose himself needlessly either.
He stopped in front of a statue: a warrior holding a massive sword.
"Fareth…"
Reading the plaque stirred his curiosity.
"It's rare to see someone interested in the old idols," a voice said near Beltrán.
Startled, Beltrán remained still for a few seconds before turning. In front of him stood an older girl—perhaps twelve years old. Unlike most girls her age, her body was more developed. She had dark brown hair, cut just past her shoulders and tied into a small bun, loose strands falling across her forehead. Her light blue eyes studied him with curiosity.
"Someone went through the trouble of putting them up," she added with a soft laugh. "The least we can do is wonder why."
She stepped closer to his side and read the plaque.
"Tell me—who do you think Fareth was?"
"Maybe a hero who saved kingdoms or territories from some great calamity," Beltrán answered thoughtfully.
She watched him in silence, her expression turning serious.
"You have a very refined vocabulary for a child."
"I do well in class," he replied, regaining his composure.
"Well said. What's your name?"
"Beltrán Leonhard."
Beltrán pulled out his sandwich and began to eat, assuming she would leave.
"I think I've heard about you…" she said. "You're the boy they like to pick on."
Beltrán frowned, irritated, but answered flatly.
"Yeah. That's how it is."
"Come on, don't let it get to you. When I was your age, they used to throw mud at me too."
She sat beside him, as if reading his thoughts.
"I don't care what others say. Are you interested in the statue? I can tell you its story."
Beltrán nodded.
The girl began to speak.
Fareth was a legendary hero, the inspiration of bards and tragedies alike. During the wars of the Great Ancient Valley, the warring factions believed they had uncovered a final weapon from a lost civilization. Instead, they awakened a creature—Kaarme.
The monster annihilated entire armies. And so Fareth, champion of the Æsir, confronted the beast with his bare hands. For days they fought, shaking the entire valley, until Kaarme fell… and Fareth died standing, like a true warrior.
"But—" the girl rose with a smile, "lunch is over. If you come back tomorrow, I might tell you the second part."
Beltrán finished his sandwich in frustration and returned to class.
The institute was designed to protect the youngest students, with buildings separated by age. The rear areas housed the most demanding classes: physical conditioning and the foundations of thaumaturgy.
Beltrán arrived at the sand field, taking in the sight of training weapons and practice dummies.
Prepare yourself for what's coming.
The whispers started almost immediately.
"Beltrán's back…"
"That bastard…"
"He's asking for more…"
He tried to reach the locker rooms early to avoid trouble, but as he opened his locker, someone grabbed his wrist.
"So you came back for more," a deep voice said.
Larson appeared with several other boys. They surrounded him, mocking.
"Relax, it's just a joke," Larson laughed. "I'm looking forward to training with you today."
They walked away laughing.
Beltrán clenched his teeth.
This bastard is insane.
He hoped the class would be different.
It wouldn't be.