"Why am I in a cell?"
Shin forced himself to breathe and think.
He'd left the estate, boarded a kindly old man's carriage, eaten bread and dried meat, and grown drowsy. He'd fallen asleep to the sway of wheels. When he woke—this.
"What happened?"
Panic fluttered in his chest. Clothes or no clothes didn't matter. The book did.
His book—the Eastern grimoire—was gone. That book was his lifeline. Without it, he felt hollow.
"I have to find it."
He stood and examined the barred door. Locked, of course.
"Can I open it? Let's try."
He gathered mana in his eyes and invoked ≪Clear Eye≫. Mechanisms sharpened into view: tumblers, springs, the simple pin stack of a cheap lock.
Now to move them.
"≪Moving≫."
Invisible force—an extension of his will—slid into the lock like a ghost-finger. He made the touch as fine as wire and teased each pin up, holding them one by one.
"…There."
A clean click. The door swung inward.
He slipped into the corridor. Voices drifted from around a corner. Shin pressed to the wall and listened.
"There was only one kid this time…"
"That's fine. He came along easy. Men don't fetch much coin anyway."
The words turned his stomach.
Came along easy. They meant him.
"I didn't find anything worth selling."
"No helping that."
"Even that book—can't read the script. Might as well use it for firewood."
Firewood?
No. He had to stop that.
"Wait," he called, stepping into the room.
Two people sat at a table near a hearth: the genial "driver" from the road, and a second man dressed as a carter. Both stood fast, knives flashing into their hands.
"You… how did you get out?" the driver demanded.
"My book," Shin said evenly. "Give it back."
The second man flicked his eyes toward the hearth. Boxes were stacked there, filled with pilfered goods. Shin spotted the worn cover of his grimoire among them and exhaled in relief.
"Hold it," the knife-man snapped, moving to block Shin's path. "You can tell us how you broke out later. Back to your cell."
The knife hovered inches from Shin's chest. The man's expression was all business now. The kindly mask was gone.
"Why did you do this?" Shin asked. "And where is this?"
"You really don't get it," the driver said, grinning. "You ate bread laced with sleeping powder. We're kidnappers. This is our hideout. Understand now?"
"…I see."
So much for kind strangers.
"I'm not going back," Shin said. "I'm taking my book, and I'm leaving."
"You got a death wish, brat?"
Shin raised a finger and gathered a tight knot of mana.
"Don't point at—"
"≪Magic Bullet≫."
The shot hit the knife-man square in the chest. He jackknifed, spun full over, and smashed through a thin interior wall, skidding to a stop in a heap.
First time shooting a person. Effective.
"What… was that?" the driver whispered, backing away.
Villain, Shin corrected silently. Calling him a coachman would insult real coachmen.
"Damn you, brat!"
"≪Shock Wave≫."
A compressed burst of force erupted from Shin's palm and drove the villain straight up. He hit the ceiling with a crack and stuck there for a breath before going limp, dangling in a cracked plaster crater.
"Good." Shin flexed his hand. "≪Shock Wave≫ works under pressure."
He had trained alone for years; this was his first real fight. The circuits held.
"Now… my book."
He crossed to the hearth. The grimoire lay atop a box of trinkets. He reached for it—and stopped.
"Hey! What's going on?"
"What was that noise?!"
Boots pounded. A squad of men—villains, all—burst from the adjoining hall. Eight of them, steel in their hands, faces twisted in anger.
"…What's this?" one snarled. "You—naked brat. Did you do that?"
They were all armed with swords and axes. It was frightening—also, a little absurd.
"You're kidnappers too, right?" Shin asked.
"What did you say?"
"Don't get cocky just 'cause you're naked!"
Nakedness was not a strategy; it was a consequence. Enough talk.
"Die, brat!"
They charged.
"≪Sanders≫."
Lightning crawled out from Shin's downward-facing hands, racing along the floor in jagged veins. It snapped up their legs and bit deep.
"Abababababa!"
"Agh!"
A heartbeat later, seven men hit the ground, twitching and smoking. ≪Sanders≫—Ground's Thunder—was a grounded arc: brutal at close range, and it kept people down.
"Damn it! What is this—"
One man had leapt onto the table and stayed clear of the lightning. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Sensei! Hey! Sensei!"
Sensei?
"You're dead now!" the man crowed. "Sensei's the strongest! You're—"
"≪Magic Bullet≫."
He cartwheeled off the table and crashed to the ground.
Footsteps approached. The air shifted, the scent of blood riding in on a colder draft.
A giant entered—easily over two meters tall, shoulders as broad as a door. He took in the room with a single, slow glance.
"…I know it's obvious," he rumbled, "but were you the one who did this?"
"Yes," Shin said.
"I know there's no point in asking, but why are you naked?"
"I woke up like this."
The giant barked a laugh and reached over his shoulder. He drew a massive sword, the blade thicker than Shin's arm. It looked like it could crush as much as cut.
"Are you a kidnapper too?" Shin asked.
"What's the point of asking? It won't change what happens next."
"…True."
"Then die."
He moved like a falling tree, and the blade howled through the air. Shin twisted aside. The cut passed close enough to stir his hair and detonated the tables and chairs behind him.
"You dodged," the giant said, eyes brightening. "But now—die!"
This one would land.
"≪Soft Shield≫."
A yielding pane of force bloomed between Shin and the descending edge. The greatsword hit—and stopped, wrapped in a pliant wall of mana, inches from Shin's face.
"…What!?"
The giant recovered fast and hammered again. The result didn't change. ≪Soft Shield≫ flexed and bled the force away. Brute strength wouldn't break it.
Surprise curdled into irritation in the giant's eyes.
Shin countered.
"≪Mashougeki≫."
His own technique—Magic Bullet woven into Shock Wave, a compressed slug of mana fired point-blank.
It struck the giant in the torso. The impact rolled through him like thunder. His sword flew, he spun end over end, and he hit the far wall hard enough to crack stone before dropping in a heap.
Strong. Far stronger than the common thugs.
Stronger than Grandfather or Uncle? No—there was no comparison. They were chosen by divinity itself; they bore Godhood's grace. This man was only human.
Heat flushed Shin's skin. His hands trembled.
He had used magic as he'd imagined it—clean circuits, proper output—and it had worked. Relief swelled into a fierce, quiet pride.
This was magic.
"Now… I can finally get it."
He steadied his fingers and reached for the grimoire.
A strange, rasping whirr carried from the breach the first knife-man had made in the interior wall. The air shifted. A thick, feral scent rolled in—musky, hot, and wrong.
"An animal…?"
Boars and wild dogs sometimes wandered near the shack he'd lived in. This was similar, but heavier, sharper—predatory.
A hulking shape padded out of the hole. Black fur drank the firelight. A ragged mane bristled. Massive claws scraped stone. Murder looked out from golden eyes.
"A monster…?"
Not a simple beast. In this world, monsters were mankind's natural enemies, driven to the edges of the world by heroes long ago.
"Grrrrrrrrrrrr!"
A Black Lion—larger than any horse—lowered its head and growled. The image from old picture books snapped into place. The name rode up from memory.
Black Lion.
Just when he thought the worst was over.
He'd only just left home, and luck had decided to test him immediately.