The days that followed did not get better.
Never.
After that incident,
No one truly took care of Noc.
No family.
No home.
He was eventually taken to a small church orphanage on the outskirts of that region.
Not because anyone cared.
But because,
It was easier to place a child like him somewhere… than to let him die on the streets.
The building was old.
Cracked stone walls, with thin moss growing between the gaps.
The narrow windows allowed only a little light to enter, creating long shadows that never truly disappeared even during the day.
The roof often leaked when it rained.
And the air inside was always cold.
Inside,
Children like Noc.
Unwanted.
Unneeded.
Unchosen.
They were fed.
Given beds.
Taught prayers.
But,
Never truly seen.
An old woman who took care of them, Sister Elma, once said in a flat tone,
"You should all be grateful to god you still have a place."
No smile.
No warmth.
Just a statement.
Like an undeniable fact.
"There are many children out there who don't even make it here."
A small child beside Noc whispered softly,
"Grateful, she says…"
But he didn't continue.
Because there was no point.
The caretakers were not cruel.
But they were not warm either.
They simply did their duty.
Like everyone else in this world.
Without emotion.
Without attachment.
And there,
Noc learned something new.
He was no longer beaten like before.
No longer pelted with stones.
No longer used as entertainment.
But,
He also meant nothing.
He became…
invisible.
And that,
was more terrifying.
Because when someone is hated,
At least they are still acknowledged.
But when they are unseen,
It means your very existence does not matter.
The days there passed slowly.
Quiet.
Monotonous.
He woke up early.
Cleaned the cold stone floors.
Carried water from the old well that often jammed.
Repaired fragile wooden furniture.
And every time he worked,
No one praised him.
No one noticed.
It was simply… done.
As if that was how it should be.
One day, a child asked him,
"Why are you always silent?"
Noc didn't answer immediately.
He kept scrubbing the floor.
A few seconds passed.
Then he said quietly,
"If I speak… what changes?"
The child fell silent.
Not knowing how to answer.
And from that moment,
He stopped asking.
Noc's body slowly hardened.
Not from training.
But from labor.
From necessity.
And from his desire to become strong.
But,
He was still weak.
Not fast enough.
Not strong enough.
Not enough… of anything.
The other children began to find their paths.
Some were adopted.
Those days always felt strange.
There were smiles.
There was hope.
But also,
Unspoken jealousy.
One child once said before leaving,
"I'm getting out of here."
His voice was full of certainty.
Noc only watched him.
Not envious.
Not sad.
Just… observing.
And in his heart,
He already knew.
"He probably won't come back."
Some were recruited as workers.
Taken away by adults who spoke little.
Some,
Disappeared.
No explanation.
No announcement.
One night they were there.
The next,
Gone.
And no one asked.
Because everyone knew,
The answer might be worse than not knowing.
Noc,
Stayed.
Like a shadow.
But,
There was one thing that never truly disappeared.
The memory of his father.
Of old stories.
Of battlefields.
Of honor.
Of becoming something.
Someone.
"A soldier…"
He repeated the word softly.
Alone.
At night.
When everyone slept.
When no one was watching.
One night, a child beside him whispered,
"You're still thinking about that?"
Noc didn't turn.
"Yes."
The child chuckled softly.
"You? A soldier?"
There was no mockery in his tone.
Just… confusion.
Noc was silent for a moment.
Then he replied quietly,
"…at least it's better than becoming nothing."
"Even if I die… at least I tried."
Silence.
The child didn't respond.
But after that,
He never laughed at Noc again.
It wasn't a grand ambition.
Not a magnificent dream.
Just,
a simple desire.
To not be… meaningless.
To stand.
To be counted.
To not be trampled.
And for the first time,
Noc began to try.
He lifted wood.
Practiced simple movements.
Stab.
Swing.
Repeat.
Behind the church.
When no one was watching.
But his body,
Did not follow.
His hands trembled.
His steps faltered.
His breathing was unstable.
And every time,
He failed.
One day, the wooden stick slipped from his hand.
Fell to the ground.
He stared at it.
For a long time.
Then said softly,
"…why can't I?"
There was no answer.
There never was.
But,
He kept trying.
Because it was the only thing,
That felt like a way out.
As he grew older,
He finally left.
Not officially.
Not with permission.
He left… quietly.
One night,
He stood in front of the church gate.
Looking back.
No one stopped him.
No one searched for him.
As if his existence,
Had never mattered.
"…fine."
He turned.
And walked away.
The journey… was nothing like he imagined.
There was no hope.
No opportunity.
Only… people like him.
Runaways and smugglers who didn't talk much.
They walked fast.
Without waiting.
Without caring.
One night,
When they stopped in a dry forest,
One of them looked at Noc.
For a long time.
"…kid."
Noc turned.
"If you die on the road…"
He spat to the side.
"…we won't bury you."
Silence.
Noc only nodded.
"…yeah."
The man narrowed his eyes.
As if expecting something else.
Fear.
Pleading.
But there was none.
"Hah… weird."
He chuckled.
"Kids like you usually cry first."
Noc didn't respond.
Because to him,
That wasn't a threat.
Just… a fact.
Days passed.
His feet blistered.
Bled.
But he didn't stop.
He learned one thing quickly,
If he fell,
No one would pick him up.
And sure enough,
One time, he stumbled.
His body fell onto rocky ground.
Pain.
Burning.
But when he looked ahead,
They kept walking.
No one stopped.
No one turned back.
Noc slowly got up.
Holding his breath.
"…if I fall behind…"
He muttered quietly.
"…I will die."
And from that moment,
He never fell again.
Not because he was stronger.
But because,
He gave himself no choice.
When they finally reached the Solvenhart border,
There was no welcome.
No miracle.
Only a large gate.
And cold guards.
"Documents."
One smuggler handed something over.
The guard glanced at Noc.
"You."
His gaze flat.
"This kid coming too?"
"Yes."
The guard exhaled lightly.
"…don't cause trouble."
Noc only lowered his head.
And walked in.
Without realizing,
He had left one world.
To enter another.
That… wasn't much different.
Through an illegal route.
With a small group of smugglers.
One of them looked at him strangely.
"You're still a kid."
Noc replied shortly,
"I can walk."
The man snorted.
"If you die on the road, don't blame us."
Noc didn't respond.
Because that wasn't the issue.
His goal was only one,
The Kingdom of Solvenhart.
A place said to,
Value strength.
Value soldiers.
Value those who could fight.
A place where,
He might become something.
The journey was harsh.
Dirty.
Dangerous.
Some fell ill.
Some were left behind.
Some… never woke up.
But Noc didn't stop.
Because for the first time,
He had a purpose.
But,
Reality does not change just because you hope.
In Solvenhart,
He stood before a recruiter.
His body was examined.
His movements judged.
And finally,
The man sighed.
"Not possible."
Simple.
Without emotion.
Noc looked at him.
"…why?"
"Your body is weak."
No hatred.
No insult.
Just fact.
"We can't use someone like you."
Silence.
Colder than mockery.
Sharper than insults.
Because this,
Was final.
In the end,
He became a porter.
A carrier.
A load-bearer.
Someone who walked behind.
One day, a soldier said while tossing a sack,
"Carry this."
Noc struggled to catch it.
"If you drop it,"
The man smirked.
"Don't expect us to wait."
Noc nodded.
"…yeah."
He walked behind.
Always behind.
Watching others fight.
Watching them be respected.
And himself,
Nothing.
But,
He endured.
Because,
It was better than nothing.
Or at least,
He wanted to believe so.
Then came that opportunity.
An expedition to the continent of Cerythralis.
Dangerous.
But open.
A man asked him,
"Are you sure?"
Noc answered,
"Yes."
"Do you have a reason for joining?"
Noc paused.
"…because I have nowhere else to go."
That was enough.
He was accepted.
The journey to Cerythralis was by merchant ship.
Large.
Old.
Filled with people who didn't truly want to be there.
And from the first day,
Noc understood his place.
"Oi, porter."
A sack was thrown at him.
Hard.
He almost fell.
"Catch it properly."
Laughter echoed.
Noc lowered his head.
"…yeah."
He lifted the sack.
Silent.
As always.
Second day,
He was carrying water.
His steps slow.
Measured.
But someone deliberately bumped his shoulder.
Water spilled.
"Look at that."
"He can't even walk properly."
Laughter.
Noc looked at the wet floor.
Then said softly,
"…sorry."
"Sorry?" the man stepped closer.
Mocking tone.
"Can 'sorry' replace that water?"
Silence.
Noc didn't answer.
Because he knew,
There was no right answer.
Third day,
The sea wind was stronger.
The ship swayed.
Some got seasick.
Including Noc.
His body was weak.
His stomach empty.
But he kept working.
When he paused,
Leaning,
A voice called out.
"Oi."
A boot struck his leg.
"Don't slack off."
Noc opened his eyes.
"…I'm still working."
"With that face?"
More laughter.
"Look at him."
"Like a walking corpse."
"Why is someone like him even here?"
"Bait, maybe?"
Laughter grew louder.
Noc closed his eyes for a moment.
Then stood up again.
Without replying.
Without looking at them.
Because,
He already knew.
They didn't see him as human.
At night,
He sat alone at the corner of the ship.
Cold wind.
Black sea.
Silence.
An old man sat not far from him.
Chewing something.
"You're not angry?"
Noc didn't turn.
"…what for?"
The man raised an eyebrow.
"They're clearly mocking you."
Silence.
A few seconds.
"…if I get angry…"
Noc finally answered.
"…what changes?"
The man fell silent.
Then chuckled.
"Nothing."
"Yeah."
Noc stared at the sea.
Empty.
"…so there's no need."
The old man watched him for a while.
Then said quietly,
"You're not weak."
Noc didn't reply.
But in his mind,
He already had his answer.
"…I am weak."
And he didn't need to be lied to.
On the last day before arrival,
A soldier stood before him.
Looking him up and down.
"Do you know why you're here?"
Noc looked at him.
Silent.
"Because people like us…"
The man smirked.
"…need people like you."
Silence.
A few seconds.
Noc nodded slightly.
"…yeah."
Not because he agreed.
But because,
He had known from the start.
And when the ship finally docked,
Nothing changed.
No miracle.
No new opportunity.
Just,
A new place.
With the same way.
And Noc,
Remained,
A maggot.
But,
Once again.
The world did not give him a new role.
He remained,
A tool.
Bait.
He was pushed forward.
"Walk ahead."
"Check for traps."
"If something's there, shout."
No one said "be careful."
No one cared whether he returned or not.
And when the creature appeared,
Everything became clear.
He did not run.
Not because he was brave.
Not because he accepted it.
But because,
He couldn't.
His body was not fast enough.
And when the fangs pierced his flesh,
He heard something.
Laughter.
They were not panicked.
Not afraid.
Not regretful.
They,
laughed.
"They laughed."
The sentence returned.
Empty.
Cold.
He should have died.
But he didn't.
He survived.
In the same way as before.
Dirty.
Low.
Without dignity.
With roots.
With worms.
With anything.
And there,
He finally understood.
"This world… is rotten."
No emotion.
Just fact.
"And I…"
He looked at his hands.
"…am not something that can live in a clean place."
He exhaled slowly.
"…I am just a maggot."
No denial.
No hatred.
Only acceptance.
"And maggots…"
"…live in rot."
And back to the present,
Noc returned to his hut,
He muttered something…
"Only one thing."
"A way to survive."
"I am weak."
"That will not change."
"But…"
His eyes were empty.
Cold.
"…I can still live."
"And if this world only respects the strong…"
"…I will make them believe I am strong."
"If they want a monster…"
His gaze hardened.
"…I will become that monster."
And this time,
He did not hesitate.
Not anymore.