Wonderful Insane World-Chapter 168: Meeting with my New Comrades

One of them — the one in the wool cap — looked at him for a moment, without hostility or sympathy, simply with that quiet lucidity that dissects more than it judges. Then looked away, as if Dylan wasn’t anything urgent to decode.

No one spoke.

Not yet.

The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the silence of hunting dogs on a leash. They were waiting. But not passively.

Dylan remained still, muscles seemingly relaxed, but every nerve alert. He knew this kind of moment. It was the calm before the first shot. The kind of calm where the one who speaks first gives up ground.

Then the barefoot girl slowly turned her head toward him.

"You don’t look like a merchant," she said. "Don’t smell like one either."

Her voice was soft, like a breathless melody, but her gaze remained fixed, unsettling.

Dylan raised an eyebrow, without standing.

"And you look half-asleep on your feet. Doesn’t stop you from opening your mouth."

A silence slid over the group — thin as a blade.

Then she smiled. A real smile, almost amused.

"Good," she said simply.

That single word seemed to act as a signal. The man with the open coat exhaled through his nose, a sort of quiet laugh, then stepped down two stairs to approach.

"Name?" he asked.

"Dylan."

"And your anima?"

Dylan hesitated a fraction of a second. It wasn’t the question that bothered him... but its nature. He didn’t really know the jargon of these domains; he wasn’t sure if there were different types of anima or if it was just a way of asking about his power. But Dylan also knew that those who bore Stigmas weren’t so common — especially not in a small town like this. So he’d have to talk level.

Here was the real problem: should he tell them he had a Stigma? Knowing full well these people — true Awakened ones — would feel if he lied. But telling the full truth here, in this place that reeked of a carefully stitched trap? Bad idea.

So he went with something in between. A well-wrapped half-truth.

"My core fully formed a month ago."

A smirk crossed the face of the boy who looked like him. Not mocking. Just... informed. Like he’d heard this song before.

The giant with the feline eyes tilted his head slightly.

"You’re quite young... do you belong to a guild or a clan of some kind?"

Dylan hesitated. Not long. But long enough for the doubt to settle.

He finally stood, slowly. He didn’t try to dominate, nor shrink himself. Just rose to their level.

"I was just raised by a family rich and strong enough to train me early."

A silence settled. Heavy. Reflective.

Then the girl with the dangerous smile — the one with knife-cut hair — whistled through her teeth.

"He’s got balls, at least." fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

"He mostly doesn’t know where the hell he’s walked into," the one in the cap replied without looking at him.

The leader straightened and tapped his own knee.

"Maybe. But he speaks straight. And he doesn’t stare at his shoes while doing it."

He looked up toward the upper part of the room, where the balconies were hidden in shadow.

"He’s coming soon."

Dylan followed his gaze.

"He...?" he finally murmured. "Must be talking about Gael."

The colossus responded without turning his head.

"Our employer, of course."

And there, for the first time since he’d entered, Dylan felt a real chill run down his spine.

It wasn’t fear.

It was sharp awareness.

He was in the eye of the storm.

And the wind hadn’t started to blow yet.

Before anyone even crossed the hallway, Dylan felt that same invasive presence take hold of the room — like a wave, but not the kind you see coming. A heavy, deep wave that turns your bones inside out without breaking the surface.

There was no slamming door. No footsteps. Just... a shift in air pressure. As if the room had held its breath.

And yet, around him, no one panicked. The six Awakened remained calm — almost too calm. A few shivers betrayed unease — the barefoot girl slowly crossed her arms, the boy in the cap straightened a bit — but no one stepped back. No hand reached for a weapon.

Dylan felt something more primal crawl up his spine. Not fear. But that older instinct. The one that says: don’t blink until it’s gone.

And then he entered.

Not exactly walking.

Gael didn’t move like a man. He didn’t arrive. He imposed.

There was something in the way his body seemed to glide through space — not so much moving forward, but as if the world was stepping back to make room for him.

Dylan couldn’t have said how old he was. Or how tall. Not even the exact color of his clothes — everything about him defied precise description, like a memory you try to hold still but slips through words.

He had a fine face, pale skin, almost youthful, with few marks or wrinkles... but his eyes. His eyes were too full. As if a thousand years had piled into them without ever resting.

The gaze of a creature. Not a predator. Not even a god.

But a phenomenon.

He wore a simple black tunic. No jewelry. No symbol. Nothing flashy, nothing obvious. And yet, he shone. Not literally. No light. But with a density that bent silence around him.

He stopped at the edge of the circle. Not in the light. Not in the center. Just close enough for his presence to fill the room.

And he spoke.

With a calm voice. Too calm.

"Dylan."

Just that.

Not a question. Not an accusation. A simple statement.

Dylan didn’t answer right away. His body wanted to. His tongue wanted to spit out something — a "present", a "that’s me", a "Nice to see you again, sir?" — but nothing came.

Because Gael wasn’t asking for a response.

He was declaring.

Finally, Dylan raised his chin.

"That’s me."

Gael tilted his head. Not as a judge. As an analyst.

"You resemble your aura less than last time."

Almost a soft murmur. But not a compliment.

One of the Awakened, the twitchy-eyed one, chuckled under his breath.

Dylan forced himself to stay upright.

"Guess money really does work wonders."

A silence followed.

Not a cold one. A measuring silence.

Then slowly, Gael stepped down the first stair. Not fast. Not slow either. As if nothing in the universe was worth rushing for.

He placed a foot on the second.

"So you think what radiates from you... can be disguised by a cleaner shirt?"

He stopped halfway into the circle. Never in the light.

Dylan looked straight at him, holding back his words. Because now, every sentence was a key or a noose.

"No," he finally said. "But I think sometimes, to be heard... you need to look like what people think they should fear."

A very brief smile touched Gael’s lips. A twitch that, on anyone else, might have looked mocking.

But on him, it felt more like silent validation.

Then he slightly turned his head toward the others.

"You see? He’s more interesting than expected."

And all around Dylan, the six Awakened slowly lifted their eyes toward him.

Not to judge.

But to assess.

Gael resumed his descent without a word. One step after another, always with that pace that bowed to nothing and explained itself to no one. He reached the very center of the circle. Where the light fell, straight and clear, with no shadow possible.

And there he stood, without flinching.

The silence adjusted around him like cloth being ironed with a look. The Awakened, one by one, straightened a little. Some stood. Others moved a foot subtly closer to the ground. No sudden moves. Just a readiness turning into gravity.

Gael barely raised his voice. Yet every word landed.

"You know why you’re here. There will be no long introductions. Just a briefing. One you’ll need to fulfill your respective roles."

He swept the room with his gaze, and even the walls seemed to want to avoid it.

"This war’s gone on too long. It’s expensive — in resources, in money, in lives. Few were truly prepared. So we... we’re going to hasten its end."

He paused, then slowly circled the room, looking at each Awakened in turn. Not like a leader. Not like a friend. Like a certainty.

"Count Pilaf is moving. And he’s not moving alone. The Luthiane Plains fell yesterday. Officially, it’s just a border skirmish. Unofficially... the lines have been crossed. Magically. Strategically. And symbolically."

He stopped in front of the gray-skinned colossus.

"Your elders know what that means."

The colossus barely nodded.

"They finally gave in to the pressure."

"Not fallen yet," Gael added, "but stretched past the point of reason. They’re looking for a breach. And the High-Terrace is a crucial link. Too crucial to let things unfold naturally."

Then he turned to Dylan.

"You, you arrive in the middle. I chose you for that reason. You don’t yet carry the scent of any side. You’re not pure. But not corrupted either. You are... useful. And that’s already something."

Dylan stayed expressionless. He knew what that kind of word hid. "Useful" in the mouth of a man like Gael meant "disposable with purpose."

"And I guess I’m supposed to feel flattered," he muttered.

Gael ignored the remark.

"There will be three missions. Three fronts. Three roles."

He raised three fingers.

"Infiltration. Dissuasion. And Provocation."

This content is taken from fr(e)ewebn(o)vel.𝓬𝓸𝓶