Kuro stood bare-chested before the mirror in Fenric's room, studying himself for the first time since arriving in this world.
His body was well-toned, muscular—the product of years of training and combat. No scars marred his torso despite the battles he'd fought. Only two marks told any story: the thin scar slicing beneath his left eye, and the curse mark spreading across his shoulder, connecting to his arm like roots of poisoned ivy.
The mark pulsed with inner light. Blueish-grey veins glowed beneath his skin, branching outward in intricate patterns.
It hadn't climbed higher this time. Instead, the spiral had expanded—widening its grip, tightening its claim.
Kuro's jaw clenched as pieces fell into place.
I have a tough body. Tougher than it should be. He'd survived crushing impacts that would have shattered bones. The Crown Horn King's strikes, the fall from that height, the debris—all of it should have killed him.
And I'm much stronger here than I was on Earth.
He'd noticed it from the start. The weight of Mosvmora felt natural in his hand when it should have been unwieldy. His speed, his endurance—everything had been enhanced the moment he'd arrived.
But it's not me.
The thought burned like acid.
It's not solely my strength. It's mostly because of this curse. Because of what that fucking bird gave me.
His reflection stared back, cold and expressionless.
The idea of needing help—of being dependent on something he didn't understand, couldn't control—sat in his chest like a stone. Every instinct he'd honed in Special Forces screamed against reliance. You survived alone. You trusted your training, your skills, your mind.
Not gifts from entities with unknown agendas.
But survival demanded adaptation.
If I want to live, I have no choice but to accept it.
His face twisted into something ugly—disgust aimed inward.
"Tch."
He gripped his hand; his knuckles went white.
And that fucking bird. What does he want with me?
He had no answer. No context. Just fragments: a voice in the void, a curse spreading like infection, power offered without explanation.
Whatever it is, it won't go the way he desires.
Kuro's grip tightened. His hair hung forward, shadowing half his face.
Then he noticed something in the mirror that made him freeze.
His eyes.
They'd been green on Earth. He was certain of it. Military records, his driver's license, every mirror he'd ever looked into—green eyes stared back.
Now they were black.
Completely black, like pools of ink with some ashen strips.
The curse?
He leaned closer, studying the darkness.
"Tch. Whatever."
He turned away from the mirror, refusing to dwell on it. Grabbed one of Fenric's shirts from the chair—a simple, loose brown tunic that hung comfortably on his frame—and pulled it over his head.
The house was quiet.
Kuro moved through the hall, checking rooms with the systematic precision of a soldier clearing a building. Kitchen: empty. Living area: empty. Fenric's bedroom: empty.
Out celebrating, probably.
He found an unopened bottle of beer in the kitchen—local brew, judging by the unmarked label—and carried it to the couch. The television flickered to life with a press of the remote, some late-night program playing nothing.
He twisted the cap off and drank.
Gulp.
The beer was bitter, earthy. Not bad.
Sigh.
Another long pull.
Gulp. Gulp.
The curse mark pulsed faintly, a steady heartbeat of alien power beneath his skin.
It gives me strength. Durability. He'd proven that much in combat.
What about magic?
The thought had been nagging him since the battle. This world clearly had magic—Ella's crystals and nobles and stuff. It's not like I didn't try before, but now I accept the curse, maybe.
Kuro raised his right palm, studying it.
Let's see.
He swung his hand forward in a sharp motion.
"Fire."
Nothing.
No spark. No heat. Not even a flicker.
He stared at his empty palm, feeling vaguely foolish.
Of course not.
His hand shot back faster than thought, tucking the embarrassment away.
"Idiot," he muttered.
He continued drinking, emptying the bottle in steady pulls. The alcohol settled warm in his stomach but did nothing to quiet his thoughts.
One bottle wasn't enough.
He stood, grabbed the coin Mr. Evandrous had given him—old, worn, with symbols he didn't recognize—and began flipping it absently as he moved toward the door.
Ring.
The coin spun, caught, spun again.
He left his gear in the house. No sword, no knife, no wide-brimmed hat. Just the shirt, his pants, his boots, and the restless need for more alcohol.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The night air was cool against his face as he walked toward the guild hall, where music and laughter still poured into the street despite the late hour.
Kuro pushed through the batwing doors.
The guild hall vibrated with noise and movement. Members danced in a loose circle, drinks sloshing in their hands, forming a shifting ring around the center of attention.
A woman stood on a table, swinging her hips, tapping her boots in rhythm to music only she seemed to hear.
Ella.
Kuro stopped mid-step.
She'd yanked the elastic free from her hair. The light blonde strands tumbled around her shoulders in a messy curtain, catching the firelight as she moved. Her usual severe expression was gone, replaced by something loose and reckless.
She pulled her sword free with a dramatic flourish.
The crowd roared approval.
Ella flipped her bottle into the air—still half-full—and caught it on the flat of her blade, balancing it perfectly. She juggled it from edge to edge, the liquid sloshing but never spilling, her movements dangerously precise despite the glassy sheen in her eyes.
She swayed on the sturdy oak table, her smile too wide, masking something darker beneath.
Then she stomped her boot—almost slipping—and began to sing.
Her voice rang out, rough and carrying:
"Pour the dark ale! Pour the light!
Let's drink to the girl who won the fight!
You saw the head of the beast I brought?
You heard of the magical war I fought?"
The crowd clapped along, laughing, cheering.
"The mayor gave me a medal, he kissed my cheek,
He said, 'Brave girl, you never looked weak!'"
She laughed—but it turned into a wet cough that she covered with her fist.
"But the mayor don't know what the shadows hide,
He doesn't know I wanted to run and hide..."
Her voice dropped, bitter and raw.
"So here's to the Liar! Here's to the Thief!
Drowning the truth in an ale-soaked grief!
The coin is heavy, the glory is sweet,
But I'm just the dirt beneath a dead hero's feet!"
She raised her bottle high.
"Drink up, you fools! Don't you see?
The hero you love... isn't me!"
The crowd erupted.
"HOOOOO! YEAH! THAT'S OUR GIRL!"
"CLANK TO THE DRAGONBLOODS! OUR SAVIOR!"
Kuro stood frozen, comparing the fierce warrior he'd fought beside to this... whatever this was.
His eye twitched.
I need to wash my eyes with a drink.
He moved toward his usual table in the corner—and stopped.
Two figures danced near the wall, arms locked around each other's shoulders, swaying like sails in a storm.
Fenric and Lovia.
The half-beast's tail wagged uncontrollably as he spun Lovia in an unsteady circle. She laughed, face flushed, leaning heavily against him.
Kuro closed his eyes briefly.
I definitely need that drink.
He made his way to the counter. The night-shift bartender—a grizzled man with more scars than teeth—slid a bottle across without needing to be asked.
Kuro paid, opened it, and took a long pull.
He turned to find a seat—
A hand caught his arm.
The grip was strong.
Kuro spun, fist already rising on instinct—then stopped.
Lovia stood there, eyes droopy and unfocused, swaying slightly.
"Lovia." Kuro lowered his fist. "Do you need something?"
She stared at him for several long seconds, as if trying to remember how words worked.
"Yes," she finally managed. "I really, really hic want something. So, so bad. Hic."
Kuro's expression didn't change. "What is it? Is someone troubling you? Tell me who. I'll deal with them."
"...You," she said. "You're the hic one troubling me. Hic."
Kuro blinked. "Me? What did I do?"
Fenric's head appeared between them like a grinning phantom.
"Because you're not smooching her!" he announced cheerfully. "That's what's troubling her!"
Then he vanished back into the corner.
Kuro stared at the space Fenric had occupied.
"Smoo—what? Is he high or something?"
Before he could process the statement, Lovia's hands slapped against both his cheeks, pulling his face down toward hers.
Kuro went very still. "Lovia. What are you doing? Are you drunk? You look more high than Fenric. Not higher than that idiot dancing on the table, but—"
The dancing idiot in question stopped mid-spin.
Ella had noticed him.
She hopped down from the table with surprising grace and swayed toward him, hips moving to music only she could hear.
"Whenever you drink, you hic become a little talkative, don't you? Hic."
Kuro's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"...Uh."
Her chocolate-brown skin seemed to glow in the firelight as she leaned closer, close enough that he could smell the ale on her breath.
She stopped, tilting her head.
"Wanna dance?"
"Dan—ce?" Kuro's brain had stopped functioning. "I... hm. Mmm... I... uhhhhh..."
Lovia's face went pale.
She made a gagging motion—up, down, up, down—
Kuro's instincts kicked in.
BLARGH.
He ducked.
The wave of vomit sailed over his head and hit Ella square in the face.
Thud.
Lovia dropped like a sack of potatoes, unconscious before she hit the floor.
Kuro straightened slowly, staring at the chaos he'd somehow caused without moving.
What the fuck is going on with everyone?
He turned.
Ella stood frozen, drenched, eyes wide and unfocused.
Slowly, her gaze found him.
"You—" She pointed with an unsteady finger. "You bastard. What did you—did you throw? Huh? It smells-You, you, you—"
Her eyes rolled back.
She toppled forward.
Kuro sidestepped.
Ella hit the floor face-first, landing directly on top of Lovia.
Both women lay in an unconscious pile.
Kuro looked down at them, then at the crowd still dancing obliviously, then back at the pile of passed-out guild members.
His expression said everything.
Fenric appeared beside him, swaying. "Dude. What did you do? Knocking out women isn't manly, partner."
"Beast, do I look like I—"
Thud.
Fenric collapsed mid-sentence, joining the pile.
Kuro stared at the three unconscious bodies.
"You know what?" He set his barely-touched bottle on the nearest table. "I've had enough drink, I think."
He moved toward the entrance—then stopped, looking back at the crowd still celebrating, oblivious to the carnage around them.
He exhaled a deep sigh and walked back.
Ten minutes later, Kuro pushed open the door to Fenric's house.
He was not alone.
Lovia hung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Fenric was tucked under his right arm, head lolling.
He deposited both in Fenric's living room and went back for Ella.
She was still face-down on the floor. Someone had considerately moved her sword out of the way.
Kuro stood over her, considering.
I could leave her. She's a Dragonblood—she'd survive sleeping on a table. It's not my problem.
But She'd lied to protect his secret when Fenric asked.
And her song...
"The hero you love isn't me."
He understood that feeling more than he wanted to admit.
"Tch. Fenric would never let me hear the end of it."
He hauled her upright, slung her arm over his shoulder, and half-dragged, half-walked her toward the door. She was heavier than she looked—all muscle and Dragonblood density.
Halfway to Fenric's house, she mumbled something.
"...mosrel horn... knew it... bastard..."
Kuro's jaw tightened.
Tomorrow's going to be interesting.
He got her to the house and deposited her next to the other two unconscious bodies in the hallway.
All three sprawled in various states of dishevelment—Fenric's tail twitching in his sleep, Lovia curled on her side, Ella flat on her back with her hair covering her face.
Kuro looked down at them.
For just a moment, something softened in his expression. Not quite a smile, but close.
Idiots. All of them.
He stepped back outside without a word.
The night air was crisp and clear.
Kuro didn't feel like drinking anymore. Didn't feel like sleeping either.
He just started walking, flipping his coin as he moved through the town slowly settling into sleep.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
The rhythmic sound kept time with his footsteps.
He passed through the merchant district, where half-beasts like Fenric worked late into the night—lifting cargo, digging trenches, moving stones twice their size.
Overseers watched them with whips and harsh words.
Kuro slowed, observing.
A half-beast stumbled under the weight of a crate. The overseer's whip cracked across his back. The half-beast didn't fight back—just straightened, lifted the crate again, and continued working.
Kuro's eyes narrowed.
Why don't they fight back?
It was the obvious question. Half-beasts were physically superior—stronger, faster, more durable than baseline humans. Fenric had proven that much.
What's keeping them chained?
It couldn't just be law. Laws could be broken. Laws were broken every day, even though it's stupid to do.
Is it culture? Religion? Something else?
The question followed him as he continued walking, the coin spinning endlessly between his fingers.
He found himself at the riverbed without consciously choosing the destination.
The snow had melted. Spring was creeping in—he could feel it in the air, see it in the green shoots pushing through mud along the banks.
No moon hung in the sky tonight, but the area glowed softly with fireflies—red and orange, drifting like embers through the darkness.
Kuro sat on a sturdy stone near the water's edge.
His thoughts turned to his goal.
Euneim. The second city.
That's where he needed to go. Where he'd find answers—or at least, more pieces of the puzzle.
The senior knows something off with me. The Bird knows everything. And I'm stuck in the middle.
The river flowed past, dark and quiet.
Then—
An eye opened.
Not physically. Not visibly.
But Kuro felt it.
Like the weight of a gaze pressing against his skull. Like being watched by something vast and patient and utterly inhuman.
Cold spread down his spine.
He stood instantly, hand going to his hip where Mosvmora should have been—but he'd left it at the house.
He spun toward the presence.
Nothing.
Just trees. Darkness. Fireflies.
His eyes darted left, right, scanning shadows with trained precision.
Nothing there.
But the feeling persisted—fading now, but undeniable.
What was that?
The Bird?
Something else?
Kuro remained standing, weight balanced, ready to move.
Seconds passed.
A minute.
The presence was gone.
But the chill remained.
He stood by the riverbank, alone beneath a moonless sky, and waited for something that never came.
The fireflies danced.
The river flowed.
And somewhere in the darkness, something watched.
