Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Azel Zestringer (2)
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Boom!
An explosion rocked the air, sending a massive cloud of dust billowing upward. A huge hole gaped open in the earth, spewing forth a brilliant blue flash, followed by a single shadow bursting out.
Rumble...
The ground then collapsed, filling the hole with a torrent of soil and debris.
"Ugh..."
Azel groaned, nearly caught in the cave-in. He had smashed the coffin and used every last ounce of strength to leap out. Otherwise, he would have been buried alive.
"Damn... so deep..."
He grumbled about how deeply they had buried him, but only ragged breaths escaped his cracked lips. His lips, mouth, and throat were so parched that even speaking was agony.
From what he had sensed while escaping, it was over ten meters to the surface. Yet there had been about three meters of space between the coffin and the ceiling. With the power he had originally planned to use, he could have simply broken the lid and emerged. The problem was the massive influx of external power that had suddenly poured in.
The sheer volume had shattered the coffin lid, blasted through the empty air, pierced the thick walls of the stone underground structure, and even hurled away more than ten meters of earth before flinging Azel's body to the surface.
'What the hell was that?'
To enter at exactly that moment—if it had been anyone but Azel, they might not have controlled it and self-destructed.
"Ugh."
Azel flinched as sunlight stabbed at his eyes upon reaching the surface. To him, who had slumbered so long, this bright daylight was like violence itself.
Azel was stark naked now, his body withered like a mummy's, making him look like some monster. It was hard to believe such a form could even move or speak.
In truth, speaking was difficult. Not just from exhaustion, but because his lips were split and his mouth bone-dry.
'I need water.'
He urgently needed something to eat for nutrients. But water was even more critical.
Azel couldn't see his own body. Even without checking, he knew it was in a dire state, on the verge of death at any moment.
'Of all places, the middle of a forest... Why bury me here?'
Surveying his surroundings, Azel grew grim. He was in a dense forest. Dangers lurked unknown in such a place. In his current state, even a single ferocious beast would send him to the afterlife.
'My life hangs on luck now.'
Biting his parched lips, Azel forced himself upright and began to move. He had to find water and drink. Then, find fruit for nutrients. Once his body recovered even a little, he could refill his Spirit Veins with mana force...
As he advanced cautiously with those thoughts, a sound suddenly pricked his senses.
'People.'
Voices drifted from beyond the trees—several people chatting as they approached. He couldn't tell how many, but it was a considerable group.
'Guess I'm saved for now?'
Not that he could be optimistic. Who knew what kind of people they were? If they were bandits who treated lives like flies?
Staring tensely in their direction, Azel saw a young man in leather armor clutching a spear emerge. He startled upon spotting Azel and called back.
"There's a person here!"
Several more men soon appeared in a rush. They all wore the same attire.
'Regular army?'
He judged so because their weapons were uniform, and beneath the leather armor, they wore identical clothes—drab dark green, surely military uniforms.
"Centurion."
Moments later, a man in distinct attire stepped forward. A curly blond youth with a helmet adorned by red plumes and a sword at his waist.
Seeing him, Azel felt intrigue.
'Pretty strong.'
The youth's looks didn't suit his rank of Centurion. His refined, young master-like features still held a boyish air, making him seem under twenty.
Yet his presence was striking. The soldiers naturally parted for him—not just because he was Centurion, but because he was a Spirit Order practitioner, subtly exuding an intimidating aura.
"It... really is a person."
The Centurion frowned at Azel. His appearance was so ghastly it was hard to see him as living.
'How does a person end up like that?'
Even extreme starvation wouldn't reduce someone so much, would it? If it were night, he might suspect a corpse animated by dark magic.
"I am Zail Vince, Centurion of the Western Border Guard under the Lurein Kingdom. Might I ask your identity?"
His face still held youthful traces, but his speech was refined. Azel thought it fitting for a knight as he tried to reply.
"I... am..."
But no voice came.
"..."
Seeing Azel only rasp and gasp, Zail spoke.
"You don't seem able to converse. Let's take you to our camp first. That alright?"
"Uh..."
Azel tried to say yes but just nodded. Confirming communication, Zail signaled his men.
Two burly soldiers stepped up to support Azel. He wanted to say he could walk, but even one step was impossible.
'Ah, what a sight I make.'
Supported by the soldiers, Azel headed to camp. Zail suddenly asked.
"Want some water?"
Azel's eyes widened.
Water!
Ah, what a sweet word.
Seeing Azel nod, Zail uncapped the canteen at his waist and handed it over. Azel brought it to his lips hastily, then paused. Slowly, carefully, he tilted it and drank.
"Aaah..."
It was life itself. The moment water touched his desiccated mouth, shivers raced through his body.
But only for a moment. Even drinking slowly, the canteen emptied in seconds. Azel eyed it wistfully before returning it to Zail.
'Feeling a bit better.'
One canteen wouldn't revive his near-dead body dramatically. But his fading consciousness sharpened, and a sliver of strength returned.
"Tha...nks..."
"No need to speak."
Zail stopped Azel's strained effort. He asked his men.
"Anyone have extra water? One's not enough."
Nearby soldiers promptly offered their canteens. Azel drank three dry before satisfaction.
His body, long in hibernation, lacked nutrients and water so extremely that it was miraculous blood still flowed in his veins. Thus, water alone markedly improved his state.
Moreover...
'Hmm. This should do for now.'
Azel, who had mastered Spirit Order—the secret art turning humans superhuman—to its limits, could control even his body's internals beyond ordinary grasp. Maximizing water absorption, his insides swelled rapidly.
By then, they reached the camp.
"Ah..."
Seeing it, Azel's eyes widened.
It was a ruin excavation site. The forest center had been dug out, revealing an underground entrance, with digging and wall-carving in full swing around it.
'So that's why I woke.'
Azel realized the noise that roused him came from their excavation.
This ruin they dug was the underground structure where he had slumbered. Kallos must have built this secret facility to preserve him during sleep.
'How much time has passed...'
For such a facility to be treated as a ruin meant much time had elapsed—likely far more than Azel had anticipated.
The ominous premonition he felt upon waking grew stronger.
3
Soon, Azel was led to Zail's tent at the camp's edge. As Centurion, he had a private one separate from his men.
"Sit here for now."
Zail offered a chair and a blanket.
"Cover yourself with this. Until we get spare clothes..."
"Ah."
Only then did Azel realize he was naked. His grotesque appearance had made everyone overlook it, so he had too.
'Damn. What an embarrassment right after waking.'
Azel flushed, but his mummy-like face hid it.
Zail said.
"You can't talk easily yet, so just listen. We were excavating the ruin when we heard an explosion nearby. We investigated and found you."
That was the blast from Azel escaping the coffin. He was glad for the commotion.
Zail continued.
"Excavating this ruin is a vital mission for our army. Thus, we need to know who you are and what happened there. Understood?"
It was reasonable, so Azel nodded. But other thoughts arose.
'How do I explain this?'
He didn't know how much time passed since he slept, where this was, or who they were—making response tricky. And even if he told the truth, would they believe?
'I need to grasp the situation first...'
Fortunately, Zail wasn't rushing him. Azel looked too pitiable.
"We'll have the Military Doctor check you and let you rest a day. Then, please answer our questions."
Azel nodded. For a suspicious outsider like him, rougher treatment wouldn't be odd in the military. This courtesy felt strange.
'Who'd think such a refined guy is a regular army Centurion, not from some famed knight order...'
Azel was sure Zail was noble. Only fine upbringing yields such poise and manners.
Soon, a subordinate brought spare clothes—work garb for laborers, but Azel was grateful.
Next, he was taken to the Military Doctor. The young doctor, idle without combat, startled at Azel.
"What? Is that really a living person?"