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The gates had already been opened by Vandread, who quietly slipped through, closing the metal-reinforced entrance behind him.

Alone, he was left with his thoughts, worried about what Vandread could’ve found within the bounds of Larundog.

A nauseating wait ensued; he could only sit there against the tree, listening to the silence of the lifeless road while watching the front gates, hoping to see the abrasive man return from their threshold.

He hugged his knees close to his chest as it began to cool down; the sun shifted, settling from daytime into dusk as the little sunlight that bled through the leaves had been whisked away.

It was that time.

“–” He looked towards the gate.

There was nothing. It was almost sanity scraping; watching those gates and expecting something to happen, for anybody to come through them.

Alas, it was simply solitude; there was nobody coming down the road or coming back from within the city.

…Something happened, he thought, when Vandread gives himself a specified time like that…he won’t miss it unless something is holding him from it.

Remembering what was told to him by the man who was responsible for his well being, he looked the other way down the road, away from the city and back through the valley. The idea of walking away, alone, wandering the silent fields through the slumbering mountains, wasn’t pleasant to him.

It was just as frightening to him as the unknown within Larundog: the lonely, harsh retreat.

As he brought himself to his feet, brushing blades of grass from his knees, he looked down, conflicted with what the right call was._.

If Vandread was somehow killed, despite his seemingly unkillable body, then he hardly stood a chance of survival if he went in after him. At that point, it’d be best to respect the man’s wishes and run the opposite way.

However, Emilio didn’t feel that.

This would mean putting a stop to his journey towards becoming an adventurer; it meant erasing his aspiration born from abandoning his old life, it betrayed the person he wanted to become–better than his spiteful, selfish self as ‘Ethan.’

A life was lived with a weak body as brittle as a twig, but that life was gone.

With a strong, capable body, running away felt like a betrayal of everything he’d suffered for in his previous lifetime.

Simply, turning back towards the lonely nothingness, which perhaps could still lead to death, scared him more than going into the city.

All it came down to was picking which potential danger to dive into, and the one through the gates was the only one that could somehow have a proper ‘victory’ beyond it.

I’m going in, he resolved.

Approaching the front gates, the air grew noticeably more cold; the sight of bloodstains on the high-reaching walls didn’t help to quell the rapid beating of his anxious heart as he kept his staff held in his hand tightly.

Insurmountable possibilities; that’s what he felt waited beyond the gates. While it seemed anything could be waiting, any scenery could be present, it still felt as though the main probability that existed was one thing: death.

As he reached out towards the iron handle to the door to the side of the gate, meant to be used by the city guards, he found his fingertips just barely shy of grazing the material.

His hand was quivering; it wasn’t something he could overpower with will. Such fear was ingrained in his pores.

I’m shaking, he thought.

It felt almost magical in nature; the sheer potency of the fear he felt and the coldness of the air, thin and brisk; though he eventually grasped the handle, pulling the door open.

As it opened, it creaked with a drawn out whistle. All that was revealed on the other side was a passage through the wide walls.

Not a single torch that sat within the interior of the guard room was lit; it was pitch-black, only with another door sitting ominously on the other side.

In this situation, the existence of darkness was not something he welcomed as he held his staff in front of him, conjuring a small flame to act as a torch to disperse the shadows.

“–” He took a step forward.

As his boot came down, a sloshing sound met his ears; he had stepped into a puddle that felt warm against the sole of his leather shoe.

Bringing his gaze down with the makeshift torch supporting his sight, he found a crimson pool at his feet, which instantly made his stomach drop and his breath to be caught in his lungs.

“Ghh…!” He stumbled back.

It was now visible to him: the dead bodies of Larundog guardsmen that littered the room. They were covered in lacerations, mangled, and disemboweled.

The door he came through slammed shut behind him, and as he tried to open it, the handle didn’t budge in the slightest; jiggling and yanking the handle did nothing.

“…Let me out!” He said under his uneven breath.

Catching his breath and wiping the sweat from his forehead, he stepped back from the door, holding his catalyst forward before unleashing a fireball. It grew as he supplied it with his mana; the light-yellow hue shifted into a ferocious ray of orange before it exploded against the locked entrance.

Of course, using such a spell in a closed-off room caused smoke to infiltrate his lungs as he coughed out. As he looked forward, using a soft cast of wind to dispel the smoke, he found the door wasn’t budged in the slightest, nor did it even bear any burn marks.

What the…? He thought.

There was no doubting the fact that a blast of fire magic should’ve blown the door straight off of its hinges, let alone result in its being completely unscathed. Without a doubt, something wasn’t right; the air had shifted, thick with enigma as an unnerving atmosphere surrounded him.

Before he could test it again, something whispered into his ear:

[What is it you fear most?]

It was a distorted voice, both deep and light, but the meaning of its words were understood naturally.

What I fear…? He thought.

Directly after the question, he dropped to his knees as something began happening to his body: it heated up unnaturally, coming over with a sickly feeling.

As he looked down at his hands, his complexion became pale and his limbs grew; each of his fingers became bony as his arms were as thin as noodles.

No, this is…! He realized.

Summoning a sphere of water, he used its reflective form to look at himself, confirming his fears: he had shifted back into ‘that’ form: shaggy, jet-black hair, bags under his lifeless eyes, and a frail, lanky build on a nineteen-year-old body.

This was Ethan Bellrose.

The outfit he wore, vest, cape, and all had its fabric turned to a solemn gray.

“…Why…?” He asked.

Emilio’s voice was gone; it had become the raspier voice of Ethan. Though his voice was particularly deep, it was in contrast to the fifteen-year-old’s body he should be possessing, but instead now held the body of the sickly adult.

Seeing himself as the self he abandoned, he felt disgusted, but more so mortally perplexed by what caused this.

“…Why can’t I just escape you…? Why do you have to follow me here? I gave it up, but you just can’t stay dead, Ethan…” He painfully mumbled to himself as tears welled up in his eyes.

All I heard was that question ‘What do I fear the most?’ then this…? This is my deepest fear? He thought.

It wasn’t just a change in appearance, either. He could feel it: that same frailty that persisted over his sensitive skin, brittle bones, and compromised immune system. The sensation of a fragile constitution was not one he missed; he began coughing out, keeling over on the floor.

Swirling with repressed memories, his mind was overwhelmed by the sickening shift as he was lost in this unwelcome change.

Though as he sat there on the ground, he caught himself before he caved in to the horror.

[“The Mountain God Style isn’t just about your skill with a sword. More than that, you’re taught in any situation, you must be as stalwart as an ancient mountain. Steel your mind and analyze the situation.”]

The advice from his father flowed into his mind almost as a natural response to the negativity flooding his thoughts.

Could this be some sort of magecraft?…Is it from the entity inside the city? He questioned, why though? I didn’t see anything happen. It was as if it triggered when I entered the bounds of the city.

Though he was repulsed by this situation, he pulled the hood of his cape over his head before picking himself up from the floor.

Whatever the case…I need to find Vandread. If something like this is happening, I doubt he managed to put down the entity, he thought, I’ll just have to make do, as ‘Ethan.’

The unforeseen transformation made him momentarily forget the death that lingered in the dark room; puddles of blood and mangled corpses of guards laid silently as he held his staff, conjuring a small flame once more.

“…Alright…” He muttered.

I can still use magic. Good, he thought.