Roddur froze. He looked confused. "Why?" his eyes seemed to ask. Slowly, he turned around to look at the men.
And then, he saw it.
The smiles on their faces had changed. No longer polite. No longer neutral. They were twisted, cruel. Devilish.
From behind, Ken's faint voice drifted again — "They... are bandits…"
Roddur's entire body tensed up in fear. His breath stopped. He was just about to react when something struck him hard on the shoulder.
His vision blurred. The world spun around him.
And before he could understand anything, Roddur collapsed into the dirt — unconscious.
After a long time, Roddur slowly regained consciousness. His body felt heavy, as if he had been trapped somewhere for a long while. As he slowly opened his eyes, everything appeared blurry at first, but soon his vision cleared.
He saw several people standing in front of him, each holding a sharp weapon. They looked somewhat different from ordinary people—there was a chilling ruthlessness in their faces, strange patterns in their clothing, and a cold, emotionless stare in their eyes.
Roddur felt a sharp pain in his head, as though someone had struck him there. Instinctively, he tried to raise his hand to touch his head, but immediately realized he couldn't move. Looking down more carefully, he saw that his hands were tightly bound behind him with coarse jute rope.
The binding was so tight that even the smallest movement caused pain. His legs were also bound firmly, making it impossible for him to shift even an inch.
He was now inside an old wooden room, dimly lit and filled with dust and decay. The air felt thick, as if the windows hadn't been opened in ages. Scattered across the room were various old items—a pile of old swords lay near the floor, three large wooden boxes lined one wall, and beside them stood a worn-out table.
On that table were some weapons, a couple of books, and loose papers. In one corner of the room, a small oil lamp burned, emitting a faint, one-directional glow that lit part of the room, leaving the rest cloaked in shadow.
Slowly, Roddur dragged himself toward the wall and leaned against it. His body was numb, and his face showed clear signs of confusion and concern. Sitting there, he began to carefully observe the surroundings. The air carried a mixed scent—sweat, dust, and old wood. Everything around him felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar.
Suddenly, the thought of Ken came rushing back. A wave of emptiness surged through his chest.
"Where is Ken? I don't see him anywhere!" — he said to himself, though the words carried a sense of helplessness.
Immediately, he began trying to loosen the ropes tied around his limbs. He knew time was running out, and any delay could be dangerous. But no matter how much he struggled, the ropes wouldn't budge. They were tied so tightly, it seemed someone had made special arrangements to keep him completely restrained.
Just then, the old wooden door slowly creaked open. The sharp sound broke the stillness of the room. A few people stepped inside, walking with measured steps. Their eyes locked onto Roddur, and suddenly, the silence of the room grew heavier.
Since the room was dimly lit, the moment the door opened, the harsh light from outside struck directly into Roddur's eyes. The sudden glare made him instinctively squint and turn his face away.
The brightness was so intense that for a few moments, he couldn't even keep his eyes open. When his vision gradually adjusted, he slowly lifted his head and looked toward the doorway.
There stood a strange-looking man—slightly short, moderately built, but dressed in extremely expensive, almost regal clothing.
Behind him were two or three armed individuals following him silently into the room. From his posture, expression, and presence, it was clear—this man was not just anyone.
Roddur immediately thought, "This must be their leader."
As the man stepped into the room, his eyes locked directly onto Roddur. His gaze was cold and calculating, but there was a burning rage behind it.
Without warning, the man suddenly flared with anger. He snatched a sword from one of his followers, turned toward a group of people standing nearby, and without hesitation, struck one of them down with brutal force.
Blood splattered across the dusty wooden floor, and the lifeless body collapsed with a dull thud. The sheer violence of the scene sent chills down Roddur's spine.
He could hardly breathe, his face pale with horror. He had no idea why that man had suddenly murdered someone in front of him.
Then the man shouted—his voice trembling with fury. "You useless donkeys! Can't you see that boy is trying to loosen his bindings?"
His rage seemed to shake the room. At that moment, Roddur realized—the man had seen him trying to free his hands and legs. That was the reason for his outburst.
One of the men standing in the corner stepped forward, his voice shaking with fear, "Forgive us, my Lord. It won't happen again."
There was real terror in his voice and eyes. Two other men dragged the dead body out of the room quickly.
The leader glanced over the remaining people again with eyes full of fire—his presence alone seemed enough to burn them down.
Then he turned his attention back to Roddur.
With rage still burning in his voice, he said, "Take this brat outside. Now."
"Yes, my Lord," one of the men near him replied quickly.
Then the Sardar slowly walked up to Roddur. Without speaking, he crouched down right in front of him. He extended his hand and gripped Roddur's chin tightly, forcing his face up. Bringing his face inches from Roddur's, he stared into his eyes intently.
There was something strange in that gaze. It wasn't just rage—it was analysis, like he was trying to read Roddur's very soul. But Roddur couldn't understand anything.
The leader of the bandit group leaned in, his eyes fixed like blades, and gripped Roddur's face tightly with one hand. The pressure from his fingers was so intense, it felt like he could crush bone if he wished.
He then asked in a deep, commanding voice, "What's your name?"
But Roddur didn't understand a word. The language was completely unfamiliar to him—its tone and accent strange and unrecognizable. He could sense that the man was trying to ask something important, but he couldn't comprehend it.
Finally, Roddur responded with confusion, "I don't understand what you're saying!"
Hearing this, the bandit leader turned his head slightly and asked one of his followers, "What is he saying?"
The follower stared at Roddur for a moment, trying to make sense of the words, then shook his head in confusion. The leader narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Roddur closely—his facial expressions, the shape of his eyes, his clothes, every visible trait. He was clearly analyzing him.
Then, in a more thoughtful voice, he muttered, "This boy looks like a transmigrator."
One of the followers, surprised, added, "I've heard, Sardar… transmigrators often possess powerful divine abilities."
The leader, now eyeing Roddur more keenly, said with a slight smirk, "He's quite the handsome one. Take him—he'll fetch a good price."
Roddur couldn't stay silent anymore. He immediately raised his voice and asked, "Why are you keeping me prisoner?"
But once again, there was no response. His question simply vanished into thin air. No one understood him, and he couldn't understand them either. They were like two beings from separate worlds, separated by an unbridgeable wall of language.
[The Ruines language: This language is the most widely spoken tongue in the kingdom of Rudais. While there are several regional dialects and languages across the kingdom, Ruines is the primary language used in governance, military, trade, and advanced communication.Roddur, who speaks Bengali, finds himself completely alienated, unable to grasp even a word of this world's dominant language. The gap in communication becomes one of his first and greatest challenges in this new world.]
Realizing the issue, the leader gestured to one of his men and ordered, "Bring the device."
His tone was clearly irritated, as if the inconvenience of translation was beneath him. After a short while, one of the bandits returned, carrying a small, black, oval-shaped device—something that looked eerily similar to an earbud but carried an unfamiliar technological design.
Without wasting any time, the leader took the device and shoved it into Roddur's right ear. A soft vibration passed through him the moment it made contact. Then suddenly, the voices that once sounded like noise started becoming clear, translated perfectly into his own language.
Roddur's eyes widened in astonishment. "So… it's a translation device," he thought.
The leader then grabbed Roddur's chin again and repeated his earlier question, "What's your name?"
This time, Roddur met his eyes and answered firmly, "Roddur."
The leader gave a slight smirk and introduced himself, "And my name is Anandrio Mikhail."
There was a quiet authority in the way he said his name—as if it carried weight across regions. Roddur remained silent for a few moments. "Anandrio Mikhail"—the name sounded heavy and unfamiliar, yet somehow important.
Anandrio then began interrogating him—where he came from, who sent him, what powers he possessed, and why he was here. Roddur answered cautiously, only sharing what little he knew. The truth was, he didn't know why he had come to this strange new world.
After a few more questions, Anandrio stood up. He then ordered his men to untie Roddur's legs. As the ropes were removed, Roddur tried to stand, but his legs were still numb and barely held him up.
Two of the bandits shoved him hard and began pushing him out of the room. Each step was a struggle, his body still aching from the restraints.
As they stepped out of the dark wooden room, the bright sunlight hit Roddur's face again. He squinted hard, the sharp light overwhelming after so long in the shadows.
And when he finally managed to open his eyes properly, Roddur saw something that he had never, ever imagined—not even in his dreams.