บท 5: Graveyard
He had lied then, and they both knew it.
The Borderlands were a graveyard, a place where people were sent to die fighting monsters. But maybe that wasn't technically true because those who died were weak—people like Atrox. But wouldn't that be said about anywhere in the Eternal Skies? The strong take, and the weak get crushed.
Atrox was done pretending to be strong. He was weak, and he accepted it. His father had sent him there knowing he'd get killed with his level of power—a mere Squire looking to fight monsters?
The metal cage dug into his side uncomfortably, but he didn't worry himself. In this small cage, there wasn't really anywhere to shift to. The carriage stumbled on a rock and shook the cage again, digging the metal deeper.
The night before, after his meeting with Cleir, the new guard had taken over and dragged Atrox unceremoniously into a cage filled with other criminals being transported to the Borderlands.
The history of the Borderlands was that of the Arcane Wizards who created the Rifts. Now it was a place where monsters continually streamed out. The Borderlands were originally formed as a defense against that but were usually neglected by the Clans since closing them was too big and expensive an endeavor. So they fought to gain as many resources as they could from the ruins that sprawled around the area—a death trap enticing people with the promise of rewards.
The Soryu Clan sent their criminals there to fight, but the Borderlands themselves drew outlaws and rogues to them.
A sharp bang on the cage sent his head spinning, and his eyes snapped open to see one of the guards. The man wore black clothes with leather armor and looked at them with his mouth curled in disgust. "Alright, come out."
The cage opened, and they crawled out: Atrox and three others—an old man with a bloated chest, a boy of thirteen, and a woman who kept mumbling to herself.
The carriage had stopped in a forest, beside a river. The sun was still too bright for Atrox, and he shielded his eyes, using his hair to cover them as he slowly adjusted.
The lead guard, a tall man with tree-branch-like arms, watched them flatly. His gaze turned even flatter as he took in the state they were in. "Congratulations. You have been accepted by Flagbearer Steelclaw of the Steelclaw Alliance."
He continued as though they wouldn't understand him—and he was right. "The Clan has graciously given you to us to contribute to the fight in the Borderlands. What this means is that you should shut up and do as you're told."
He turned, not expecting a response, but the young boy raised his hand. Short, with a head full of wounds and a swollen face, the boy's expression carried a light Atrox recognized, though he could barely believe he'd once looked like that himself.
As predicted, the boy asked, "Won't we be fighting monsters?"
The lead guard turned back to him, his face grim. "Are you an official Knight? If not, forget it. You think you can fight monsters? Hope you never have to. Just do as you're told, and maybe you won't die early."
Atrox saw it in the boy's eyes—he didn't believe him. He thought he was invincible. Atrox had thought like that too, a lifetime ago, but now he was here, and Nadia was now an official Knight.
They were asked to strip naked, then thrown rough sponges to scrub their skin until it burned. Their hair went next, cut nearly to the skin, and rubbed with a liquid that smelled and stung like onions and pepper. After that, they were given brown robes to wear.
The lead guard nodded at them. "Good. Now we won't bring lice to our camp. I must admit, we are really unlucky this time—no fighter or Knight among you, not even a Squire. That saves me the time I'd spend chasing anyone down for being stupid."
Atrox paused at that. 'Not even a Squire? Well, I guess I wasn't really a Squire. I didn't even have any essence in my core. Wait, is my core even still there?'
He spent the next few days in the cage trying to feel it out, but it was like trying to wiggle a tail. His core was there, but at the same time, it wasn't. He didn't give it much attention since he had more pressing matters, like surviving without his hair. He was so used to having it between his eyes and everything else that he felt naked without it.
They traveled long distances, carefully skirting around cities or towns and sticking to forests and open ground. The Soryu Clan's territory had more rocky terrain than anywhere else in the Hinterlands, and the carriage hit enough stones to bruise his sides against the cage.
During the first week, the old man with the bloated chest died after coughing himself into what seemed like a ruptured chest. The guards didn't bother removing the body for a whole day, so it kept bumping into Atrox.
They were fed twice a day—a little better than the food he'd had in prison, though not by much. It filled the stomach and kept it warm.
The boy tried to talk to him, but when he saw the dull, lost look in Atrox's eyes, he stopped and pestered the woman instead. She only mumbled at him. He then tried the guards and got a slap for his trouble.
Three weeks later, after Atrox's hair had grown a little, they reached the Borderlands. For the first time since their journey began, Atrox's interest was roused, and he watched through the cage.
He had reached his graveyard.
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