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Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: A Useless Summon

King Arlof's voice cuts through the silence.

"Why did you summon someone with such a weak-looking body?"

The court magician steps forward, glancing nervously between me and the throne.

"This was the highest-ranking summoning spell. It had a zero percent chance of error."

Why is this old man talking about my appearance?

I'm not a meathead, but I've got an average build, at least.

The magician clears his throat. "Give the man a chance. Let's see if he has the skills we're looking for."

Arlof lets out a low sigh. "Bring it in."

Two guards return moments later, carrying what looks like a glass orb mounted on a metal stand. It shines unnaturally, like it's made of crystal or magic or both.

King Arlof finally addresses me directly.

"Place your hand on the orb."

I hesitate. The orb hums with energy, the kind of energy that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. But I already know I don't have a choice.

So I slowly reach out and press my hand against it.

A warm pulse surges through me. The orb glows gold, and a soft chiming sound rings out. Words float into the air above it, clear and glowing:

[Healer]

Arlof's expression hardens instantly.

"Useless. So useless," he mutters, voice full of disgust. "All the resources and lives spent… and we summon a healer? We needed someone who could fight beside the Hero on the front lines, not… this."

Wait… you said lives lost.

People died… to bring me here?

If I don't say something, if I don't prove I'm useful, they're going to get rid of me.

No. I can't let that happen.

I swallow hard and step forward, trying to keep my voice steady.

"W-What if the Hero gets injured in battle? I'm sure I can still be of use."

"SILENCE!" Arlof's voice booms through the hall like thunder. "What use is a healer when we already have a Saint?"

They don't have a way to send me back.

With how much it took to bring me here, money, power… lives, they wouldn't waste those kinds of resources if they had a way to undo it.

I glance at the guards lining the walls. Every one of them is armed. Watching.

"Guards," Arlof says coldly. "Seize him. And have him executed."

My blood runs cold.

But before the guards move, the court magician steps in.

"Wait! Your Majesty, why not sell him off to another kingdom?" he suggests quickly. "At the very least, we could recover some of the money spent on the ritual."

I'm saved… Thank the heavens.

Was that demon of an old man really going to kill me?

Relief washes over me in a shaky wave, but it doesn't last long.

King Arlof lifts his hand and makes a simple gesture. Cold. Dismissive.

"Bring the materials for the slave crest," he commands.

My stomach drops.

Wait. A slave crest?

No… no way. These people aren't really going to—

They wouldn't… There's no reason to. They're just going to sell me, right? Just move me along like cargo. That's bad enough, but… slavery?

As the thought spirals, a metal cart rolls into the chamber, pushed by two silent attendants. The court magician, the one who argued to spare me earlier, steps forward again. Her expression is unreadable.

I try to move, but the guards hold me in place with terrifying ease. I struggle anyway, even as my heart slams in my chest.

She walks up to me calmly, holding what looks like a pen. But instead of using it, she slices a shallow line across her palm. Blood runs down her fingers.

Then she presses her bleeding hand against my bare shoulder and starts drawing directly onto my skin with the blood.

Symbols. Glyphs. Magic circles I don't recognize. They glow faintly with each stroke.

She begins chanting.

And then—pain.

Pain like I've never felt before. My entire body locks up, every nerve screaming. It's like every single bone in my body is breaking. Over and over again.

I scream.

"I-I'LL DO ANYTHING—PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP!"

No one reacts.

The guards don't flinch. The nobles don't blink. Even the magician's expression stays distant, like this is just another task on her to-do list.

Everyone in the room watches with the same cold, emotionless eyes. Like I'm less than human.

Like I'm property.

The last symbol is burned into my skin literally. I feel it sear into my chest. Then everything goes black.

I wake up on a stone floor. My throat is raw. My body is sore, shaking, and heavy.

It's dark. Cold. Damp.

A cell.

Chains hang from the walls. The only light comes from a flickering torch outside the bars.

I'm alone.

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