Extra To Protagonist-Chapter 147: Memory (4)

The tag burned a little in his palm.

Not from heat. From friction. The edges were sharp where the letters had melted. It was old. Bent. Real. The kind of thing you carry for no reason and never let go.

’Someone probably died for this. Or because of it. Or both.’

The guard didn’t tell him to keep moving. Just looked at him once, then turned down the hall.

Merlin followed.

They didn’t speak as they moved through the corridors. These ones weren’t stone anymore. They were plated. Reinforced.

Steel mesh underfoot. It clanked. Echoed. You couldn’t sneak through this part. Even your breath felt recorded.

Every door had a number. Every hallway had rust in the corners. Every light flickered just enough to feel intentional.

He smelled oil. Sweat. Old iron. His clothes still didn’t fit right, the sleeves too short, the collar tight. He scratched at it, then dropped the hand. No use pretending comfort.

They stopped at a cross-hall. One guard pointed right.

"Sector Four. Take the tunnel until you see the blue marker."

Merlin nodded.

"Good luck," the other said, but it didn’t sound like he meant it.

He went alone. The corridor narrowed again. His boots scuffed over the mesh floor. Somewhere in the distance, someone was yelling. Not words. Just noise. Barked orders or pain, it was hard to tell.

The tunnel opened up again.

Sector Four.

Or what passed for it.

The ceiling dropped. A row of bunks on the left. A cluster of crates turned into makeshift tables. A central pit with what might’ve been weights or weapons or broken tools, hard to tell.

Ten people.

All turned when he entered.

Not hostile.

Not curious.

Just... cataloging.

The nearest one, a tall girl, probably his age, head shaved except for a strip of red braid that ran down her back, stood first.

"You’re the new one."

He stopped.

She didn’t offer her name.

"You’re in that spot now."

She pointed to an empty bunk near the end.

"That one."

Merlin walked over. Threw the tag onto the mattress. It clanged.

A few heads turned at the noise. One kid in the corner, dark eyes, hollow cheeks, no shirt, spoke.

"You keep it?"

"No," Merlin said.

"You should. Bad luck not to."

Another girl, younger, piped up. "Maybe he wants bad luck. Got that look."

"Shut it," the first girl said.

Then to him again: "I’m Vera. You don’t talk much, fine. But when it’s your shift, you show up. You miss it, we all get punished."

He nodded. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

"Tomorrow morning. Fourth bell. Training yard. Wear shoes."

She walked off.

Conversation resumed like he hadn’t arrived.

No one asked where he came from. No one offered names. No one offered food.

But no one tried to take anything from him either.

That was something.

He sat.

The mattress was thin. The bedframe metal. He felt everything.

His body still didn’t feel like his.

’Rethan.’

That was the name that fit here. Not Merlin. Not yet.

The system flickered once in the back of his mind.

[Observer Count: 71]

[The Smiling Witness adjusts their seat.]

[The King Below remains silent.]

[You are being watched.]

He exhaled through his nose.

’No kidding.’

The lights dimmed without warning. Night mode, or whatever passed for it here.

He laid back. The springs groaned once.

Someone down the row was whispering. The kid with hollow cheeks. A story or a joke or a prayer. Maybe all three.

Merlin stared at the ceiling.

No runes. No magic. Just old paint and a rust line running like a scar from corner to corner.

Tomorrow would be the test.

He didn’t know what kind. Physical, maybe. Magical. Psychological.

But it didn’t matter.

Because no matter what it was, he’d have to pass it.

Rethan had passed it.

And Merlin didn’t have another choice.

—

The chamber didn’t echo. The silence was too full for that. It pressed in, heavy but not hot. No velvet, no gold. Just stone underfoot and a chair at the far end, barely raised.

The man seated in it wasn’t draped in robes or iron. He wore worn leather across his chest and simple black gloves on both hands.

The King.

Not crowned. Not seated on power.

Just seated.

Watching.

Merlin felt Rethan’s shoulders lock tighter the longer the silence dragged. The fear wasn’t full, yet.

But it hovered like fog just behind the lungs. There was something in the King’s gaze that didn’t blink. Didn’t need to.

Merlin tried to clear his throat.

The King cut him off before a sound could leave.

"You’re not sick."

Not a question. Just statement.

Rethan’s mouth moved before he could stop it. "No, sir."

"You’re not stunted."

"No, sir."

The King leaned forward, just slightly.

"You held a reading above regulation. You fractured one of the bind-measure columns."

He said it like someone reading off a report he didn’t need to double-check.

Rethan’s voice scraped a little more this time. "It was an accident."

"It wasn’t."

Silence again.

Merlin swallowed. The body around him didn’t fight, didn’t panic. But it wanted to. There was a twitch in his hands he couldn’t iron out.

"Name," the King said.

Merlin didn’t answer.

Because Rethan already had.

"Rethan."

A beat passed.

The King’s gaze sharpened.

"No house?"

"No."

"No patron?"

"No."

"No instructor mark?"

"No."

The King let the silence expand after that. Not pressing. Just giving it room to grow teeth.

"You’re from the Eastline Orphan Intake," he said.

Merlin blinked.

Rethan didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He already knew.

"Yes, sir."

The King exhaled once through his nose.

"You shouldn’t be standing here."

Merlin felt the tension move again, like pressure on a bruise.

"I didn’t come here to stand," Rethan said.

That got a flicker.

Not of surprise. But of something close to approval.

"You don’t scare easy."

"No, sir."

"You should."

The room didn’t move. But Merlin felt it. The change.

A pressure, low and slow, rolled into the space like a new tide creeping over sand. His vision didn’t blur. The floor didn’t crack. But something in the space behind his ribs clenched like it was under inspection.

The King hadn’t raised a hand.

He didn’t need to.

"You feel it," the man said.

"Yes."

"Describe it."

Merlin opened his mouth, but the word wasn’t his.

Rethan said, "It’s like being unmade."

The King nodded.

"That’s how the old ones felt it. The first ones. The ones who knew what mana really was. Not light. Not force. Just weight. Pushed through history."

He rose from the chair.

Didn’t stride. Didn’t stalk.

Just walked.

Stopped two feet from Rethan’s face.

His eyes were gray, not like the sky. Like gravel. Dull, mean, permanent.

"You know what makes your reading dangerous?"

Merlin tried to answer. Failed.

The King didn’t wait.

"It doesn’t stop. You don’t collapse when it floods you. You channel. You process. You’re not a container."

He paused.

"You’re a conductor."

Rethan said nothing. Merlin wanted to say a thousand things. None of them came out.

The King stepped even closer.

"You think you’re the only child born with high draw rates? You’re not. They die. Their minds burn. Their organs rupture. Or they start fires with their sleep and never wake up."

Another pause.

"But you. You took a Tier-Three scan and warped the column."

He reached out, not fast, and tapped a single knuckle against Rethan’s chest.

"And you’re still alive."

Silence again.

Then—

[The Messenger watches closely.]

[The First Lawkeeper is transcribing every breath.]

[The Devourer mutters: "Not bad."]

Merlin almost rolled his eyes. Almost.

But Rethan didn’t.

Because Rethan was still locked in that place. In that posture. That moment between being tested and being seen.

The King spoke again.

"I’m not going to pretend you’re normal. I’m not going to lie and say you’re a citizen."

He circled slowly.

"But I’m also not throwing you back to the east lines."

He stopped behind Rethan’s left shoulder.

"I want to know what you do when given one inch of ground. What you do with a name that wasn’t given. A room you weren’t invited to."

He stepped back into view.

"You’re going to train. You’re going to report. You’re going to shut your mouth when you feel like screaming. And maybe—if you survive—maybe you’ll be worth a damn."

He didn’t wait for a thank you.

He didn’t need one.

He turned, walking back to his seat.

"Dismissed."

Rethan bowed.

Merlin tried not to.

But his knees moved anyway.

He turned for the door.

But the King’s voice came once more, sharp.

"One more thing."

He paused.

"You ever break another column—"

Pause.

"Break anything that can’t be replaced."

Merlin turned just slightly.

The King smiled.

And for the first time since entering, he looked tired.

"I’ll be the one to kill you."

Merlin nodded once.

Didn’t speak.

He stepped out.

And only then did he start to breathe again.

—

Rethan stepped into the sunlight, the door clanging shut behind him. The corridor was wide with stone walls that absorbed sound.

His own footsteps felt loud. He swallowed once, the taste of dust filling his mouth.

A broad-shouldered guard stood at attention. The guard’s chest heaved from impatience, not fatigue. "Sergeant Brane wants you in the yard. Mother likes to see dominant flows in action."

Rethan nodded, walking past without looking back. Every step still felt heavy, no lingering fear, just adrenaline receding.

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