Jean was eager to check the contents of the box as soon as they settled into their too-big-to-be-called-a-room.

  Inside the bag, Jean found something that looked like a small pair of shorts. But when he tried putting them on, they shrank. Too small for shorts. After fiddling with them for a while, he was sure they were... underwear.

  Next, he found loose, thin, tight-looking clothes—so tight they seemed uncomfortable at first glance. But as he put them on, it felt like they didn't even exist, like a second layer of skin.

  Comfortable.

  There were also black leather boots, roundish and snug, with laces that went all the way up his shins.

  As he put them on, the laces fixed themselves, and the size was now perfect.

  He moved around to get familiar with the feeling.

  After that, he found a pair of black shorts made of tough, durable fabric.

  Then came a half-sleeve shirt, buttonless. He felt like he was climbing into a blanket before it fit snugly to his size. It was plain white, but it did fit him well.

  He also found outerwear—a wool-like shirt that was loose, with no cuffs on the sleeves and no cinch at the waist. It had a hood, too.

  Jean had seen people wearing similar things, but they "buttoned" somehow, and he wasn't sure how to fasten this one.

  It had a small metal piece hanging down and rough lines at the edges.

  How do they button them? he thought while looking at the steel-gray color.

  Lastly, there was a mask. The mask had a pattern of intersecting black and gray haze, the rest of it stark white.

  Unlike other masks he'd seen—white as eggshells with slots for the eyes and a snake engraving on the forehead—this one had no openings. No features at all, save for the haze-like pattern and the same snake engraving.

  Actually... all the items bore the same snake engraving somewhere on them.

  The mask had a wide strap that would completely cover the ears when worn.

  But,

  something about it unsettled him. It wasn't something you could wear casually—it radiated an ominous feeling.

  So he ended up placing it back inside the bag.

  Finally, he examined the knife. It felt rough and heavy in his hand. It came with a sheath and a belt that he easily figured out how to put on.

  He moved around in his new clothes, surprised at how comfortable they felt.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  But the knife... Jean was skeptical. He had seen many knives carried by people outside, and this one didn't seem to have even a trace of mana. Though he hadn't awakened his mana yet, he could already sense it in the world around him.

  Still, he didn't want to damage the room... or so he thought.

  Crouching down, he swung the knife lightly at one of the bed legs.

  Very lightly...

  SLAM!

  Startled, Jean jumped back and shoved the knife into the bag, forgetting about the sheath and belt hanging on his waist.

  "What are you ruining now... dammit!" an annoyed voice came from outside.

  The edgy elf stormed into the room, only to find Jean awkwardly trying to prop the broken bed leg back into place.

  "Do you really want to work me to death?" The elf's face was so contorted with irritation that it hardly looked like a face—much less an elf's.

  He shoved Jean aside. "Piss off."

  Jean's eyes darted around the room, checking for any evidence he might have left behind.

  The elf held the broken bed leg in one hand, supporting the bed with the other. He extended a hand and released bluish-colored mana. The wood stretched and melded together, forming a deformed but functional bed leg.

  "Listen here, brat."

  It was the third time someone had called him "brat." Jean froze. The first time had been the knight, the second was Aaron. What was a brat? Was it a bad word? he wondered.

  "If you mess anything up again, I'll make sure to keep you in shackles until this stupid escort mission is over," the elf growled.

  Jean didn't even know what an escort mission was, but he nodded anyway. This elf was clearly a bad person.

  Night fell, marking their first indoor sleep in a long time. Jean realized something rather important—at least by his standards.

  He didn't know the name of the girl traveling with them.

  "Mom said I should introduce myself before asking others for their name," he thought.

  He walked over to the girl, who was still awake. The elf had reserved a large place with two bedrooms and a guest hall. It even had a stove and herbal teas. Quite luxurious for someone who claimed to come from another forest.

  He probably just despised sleeping in the same room as them.

  Jean stopped in front of the girl, startling her. "Um... My name is Jean. What's your name?"

  He was surprised at how much better he was speaking now.

  The girl, still caught off guard, answered hesitantly. "Nina. I'm nine this year."

  She seemed to know he didn't know how old he was, so she didn't ask.

  "Stop talking and sleep already. We've got a lot to do tomorrow," Rian's irritated voice came from his closed room.

  Before they could reply—

  SHATTER~

  —the glass of Rian's window shattered.

  From the very beginning, Jean had never dropped or left the bag behind. It had become his identity, his existence—everything he currently had.

  "IT'S YOU BASTARDS AGAIN!" Rian's shout echoed across the inn.

  Jean didn't think. He grabbed the knife and rushed into the room.

  Glancing back at Nina without pausing—

  —he whispered, "Don't come inside."

  The reddish tint in his hair began to appear again—faint, but there.

  Inside the room,

  he saw six hooded and masked figures standing, each holding a dagger.

  Rian was already prepared, clutching an orb that flickered in his hand.

  The orb had intersecting words and symbols.

  Jean thought the flying words around the orb looked eerily similar to the beautiful stars he had seen in the abyss.

  One of the masked figures spoke in a hoarse, ambiguous tone. "Another kid..." His gaze shifted to Rian. "You should've stayed with the slaves. Now, unfortunately, I have no choice but to kill you."

  Jean shivered under the palpable killing intent. For the first time, he started dreaming of something new—something beyond survival.

  He wished for his family to be united again.

  After realizing what kind of person Aaron Isidor was, his worldview had begun to shift. His imagination followed suit.

  But before those thoughts could take shape, a shrill whisper sounded: "Kill them."

  The assassins lunged.

  Jean's senses sharpened. His mind cleared. It was as if the world shrank to this single room, this single battle. And he... had to win by any means necessary.

  Into the fray, he marched.