Erantel was a city in ruins. The once-bustling streets were now filled with rubble, ash, and the cries of the wounded and grieving.
The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
Healers moved through the chaos, their hands glowing with faint light as they tended to the injured, but their efforts were a drop in the ocean of suffering.
Search and rescue teams dug through the debris, their faces grim as they pulled out bodies—some alive, most not.
Children wailed for their parents, their voices piercing through the cacophony of despair.
Some had already been orphaned, their small faces streaked with tears and dirt as they clung to the few adults who could spare them a moment of comfort.
Amidst the devastation, a young girl, no older than eleven, with pitch-black hair and wide, terrified eyes, wandered through the rubble.
Her mother, a middle-aged woman with the same dark hair and eyes, held her hand tightly as they searched for someone.
The girl's voice was hoarse from screaming, but she kept calling out, over and over, "Daddy! Daddy, where are you?"
Her mother's face was pale, her expression a mix of fear and determination as she guided her daughter through the wreckage.
They moved toward the city gates, where a massive crater had been carved into the ground.
As they approached, the girl's cries grew louder. "Daddy! Daddy!"
Inside the crater, they saw him. Veradine, the guildmaster of Erantel's Adventurer's Guild, lay broken and bloodied, his body twisted and limp.
Standing over him was a figure with red hair and black rune-like tattoos that snaked across his skin.
His hand hovered over Veradine's chest, a dark, fluid-like substance oozing from his palm and spreading over the guildmaster's body.
The girl froze, her voice catching in her throat. "Daddy…" she whispered, her small hand clutching her mother's tightly.
Veradine's wife gasped, her eyes filling with tears. "Veradine!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Veradine, answer me!"
But there was no response. Veradine's body twitched, his broken limbs snapping back into place as the black substance enveloped him.
His wounds healed before their eyes, the dark tattoos spreading across his skin as the corruption took hold.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, his movements mechanical, his eyes empty and cold.
The red-haired boy—Lucas—stepped back, his expression unreadable as he watched Veradine kneel before him. "Permission to say goodbye," Veradine said, his voice devoid of emotion.
Lucas nodded, his voice quiet but firm. "Make it quick."
Veradine stood and leaped out of the crater, landing in front of his wife and daughter with a grace that was almost unnatural.
The girl stared up at him, her confusion and fear written plainly on her face. "Daddy?" she said, her voice trembling. "What… what's wrong with you?"
Veradine's wife reached out, her hand shaking as she touched his arm. "Veradine, please… talk to me. What's happening?"
Veradine's expression didn't change. His voice was cold, detached, as if he were speaking to strangers.
"I'm leaving. Whatever happens to you from this point on is none of my concern. Consider me dead."
The girl's eyes filled with tears, her small hands clutching at his sleeve. "Daddy, no! Don't leave us! Please!"
But Veradine didn't respond. He turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving his wife and daughter standing there, their hearts shattered.
Lucas watched from a distance, his expression unreadable. He turned and walked away, his mind racing as he processed what he had just done.
According to Aro, chaos had the power to corrupt, to strip people of their free will and turn them into loyal, unthinking slaves.
That was what he had done to Veradine. He hadn't planned it, but after the destruction he had witnessed today, he knew he needed an army.
He needed soldiers who would be unquestionably loyal, who would protect those he cherished—even if it meant stripping them of their humanity.
As he moved through the ruined city, his thoughts were a whirlwind of guilt, determination, and grim resolve.
The world was cruel and unforgiving, and he couldn't afford to be weak. Not anymore.
If he wanted to survive—if he wanted to protect the people he cared about—he would have to make difficult choices.
Choices that would weigh heavily on his conscience.
But he had no other option. The path ahead was dark and treacherous, but he would walk it. No matter the cost.
Corruption: 13%
[End of Volume 1: Transmigration]