"You're under arrest for the murder of Knight Piston Cavalle of Goldblack!"

Next morning, Thom found himself with hands thrown into the air.

His wounds had barely managed to heal, and he was wrapped up in bandages and patches all over his body. The handful of knights pointing their lances at him were an indicative that he hadn't been as good hiding his tracks as he had though.

"Is this the one you were talking about, mister Arberard?"

A towering man was standing besides the knights. He wore a full plate armor with chain underneath, and a giant warhammer was hanging from his back. A bushy beard adorned his chin below a wide and robust nose, met by a pair of thick eyebrows. This image was extremely familiar to Thom, it was the chief of Goldblack's guard.

Thom turned around for a second, and saw Marz nervously joining his hands.

"Young one..." He muttered.

"Go inside, Marz."

Thom knew he couldn't do a thing against these many men in full plate carrying polearms. Even if he could somehow manage to break past them, then he'd have to fight the chief guard of Goldblack. Thom knew that his survival was more probable if he quietly handed himself over.

He hadn't let the murder of Piston get to his head. The only reason he had managed to do it was because of how well he had painted the situation for himself previous to his attack.

The knights tightly held him against a wooden slide, their hands making loops around Thom's arms as the rope started to tighten more and more against his already wounded skin.

"Lad..." Merry and Marz were watching from the other side of the fence.

Thom managed to hold his body away from the wooden slide while incorporating his back. His eyes met with Marz and Merry's, as a smile formed in his mouth.

"Don't worry. I'll be back soon."

"Quiet!"

His head was crashed against the slide by the butt of a lance, and Merry quickly took refuge in Marz' arms. Thom looked at them through corner of his eyes as he felt the blood seeping into his tongue. He tried to put on a smile, but the iron rod was pressing so tightly against his jaw that he couldn't even manage that much.

The knights started to put more rope around Thom, going from one side of the slide to another. He could guess the purpose of this binding, it was so he wouldn't fall off or try to escape.

The horses started to pull on Chamgue's signal, and Thom was carried away. Leaving Marz and Merry behind, as the farm in the distance became each time smaller.

The horses started to go uphill, and Thom started to understand better why he had been tied. Regardless of the rope that was holding against him so hard that he felt his skin bleed, he still felt like he could fall down at any moment. His stomach emptied at the thought of going several feet rolling downhill with his hands tied up.

They passed trough the slums outside of the city's walls, where people had started to go out of their houses and peek their heads trough the windows. Thom saw the poor clothing on them, the sunken cheeks and the unhappy faces all around. To be honest, he hadn't done what he did thinking of anyone else but himself. He wanted to feel better with his own life, so he killed someone who had enjoyed one better than himself.

When he looked at the people that seemed so unhappy with their lives, he felt sympathetic towards them. Could he, at some point, help them too?

Splurt!

Thom closed his eyes as he felt something explode in his face, and an irritating stench reached his nose. When he opened them, he found the pieces of rotten tomato that had landed just on his face, laying there besides him.

"Don't let rotten food go to waste, drench that bitch!"

People started to toss all kinds of vegetables, fruits, and even broken tools towards him. His bruised body started to be impacted with all sorts of rot, fowl smells that almost made him puke one after the other. The knights laughed by his side as they dodged every bit of trash hauled his way, and promptly, the gates of Pontya were closed in front of his bloodshot eyes.

Splash!

"Grrrraaaaagh!!"

His welcoming gift was a bath of boiling water.

The pain from his wounds opening was only the beginning. The amount of blood coming from his wrists being held by the iron shackles tied to the ceiling seemed insignificant compared to the one oozing from his whole body.

Ten lashes, a hundred lashes.

The executioner had taken his sweet time with the rigorous treatment he had given to Thom's body. However, that was just the beginning. The first day was the appetizer, if he didn't dare open his mouth to spill his secrets.

"What organization sent you?"

"Who is your backer?"

"How long did it take you to plan this?"

Thom answered truthfully to all the questions asked, succumbing to the unbearable pain he was submitted to. But the executioner wouldn't believe him. He kept hitting him time and time again until he got tired, and called for the prison guards to take him away.

As they were dragging him away, the executioner pointed to the tools on his desk with a smile. "We'll have more fun tomorrow." He said, and Thom felt the world being torn apart.

He was thrown inside a filthy cell and the cage was closed by a thunderous sound.

He spent the night crying, making up false answers for everything the executioner could ask him, and waiting for the infection to take his life in the midst of the night. But he didn't have such luck. A refreshing light covered his body in the middle of the night, and all his wounds were gone by next morning.

He woke up in a fright. He didn't die while sleeping, neither he woke up in his bead with all of it being a dream. He didn't bleed out, rather, the fact that he had woken up healed meant that somebody wanted him to stay conscious for as long as they needed to.

He was dragged away once more without the strenght to resist, and his hands hung from the shackles. The executioner laughed nefariously as he picked up the whip once more, and licked his lips in a disgusting way. Thom was ready to spout all the nonsense he had made up the night before as he was hit the first time, so he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and clenched his hands as hard as he could

However, it didn't sound like a bolted whip digging into flesh- no, it was more like the sound of metal clashing against each other.

「Learning successful. The passive skill [Copper Skin] has been acquired. The user's defense against physical attacks has been increased by 900%. [Oak Skin] and [Stone Skin] have been skipped thanks to the following skills:

•[Luckiest].

•[Dissolve Sublevels]

Chance of former operation being successful: 0.0045%」

The executioner opened his eyes wide in surprise as he saw only a small scratch being made on the man's body. He took a step back, and Thom, noticing the sudden change in situation, couldn't help but let go of a small smile.

"Oh... Oh my."

Thom suddenly felt his confidence creeping up to his lips once more.

"You, you criminal! What did you...?"

"What is it, sir?" Thom sneered. "Need some help down there? I think that might be too flaccid for my tastes. Barely even felt it."

"Bastard!"

The executioner grabbed an iron pike from his weapon rack, and Thom swallowed dry. He started to worry and closed his eyes immediately.

Bang!

Yet, when he felt the blunt force pressed against his stomach he felt the necessity to quickly open them. His eyes widened in surprise as he observed with a rather brilliant smile the surprised face of the executioner while holding a broken spear in his hand, the broken part dangling just by a straw from the spear's body.

"Oh no..." Thom accented his smile even further. "I don't think that's going to get up again."

"Aaaaaagh!"

The executioner took an axe from the rack, and cleaved down with madness at the shackled youth.

•••

"Is this real? Has our executioner finally gone mad? Let me read the list out loud. One bolted whip, an iron spear, two pairs of tongs, three perfectly good daggers, a saw, a straight sword, and for fuck's sake, an axe! You've all read the report from the executioner, but do any of you actually believe any of this? Is this man a golem?! Are you aware that if any of you fought this man, you'd have to use a damn deep steel sword to kill him?"

A pair of hands slapped onto a wide desk while holding onto a paper. Those shouts sounded exceptionally loud in the middle of that closed room with no windows or doors open, with only a few people around the table.

"Loposia! Watch your mouth in front of the general! Or would you perhaps sooner have me personally escort you out of the meeting room?"

The one to quickly rebuke the balding man was none other than Chamgue, the chief of guards. If it was any other person, they would have already cowered back and stapled their mouth shut, but the man by the name of Loposia showed no signs of backing out of his hysterical rant.

"Chamgue! You brought this mess into our quarters! Are you telling me this is the same man we got in here a month ago for crashing against our crops after falling from the sky?"

"That is indeed the case." Chamgue nodded with that usual pride of his.

"Then why the hell—"

"By the gods, why is Loposia so damn loud..."

A short girl with black hair was the one to cut off the rant of Loposia this time. However, the man simply gritted his teeth and stole a hateful glance at her in this occasion.

This particular girl possessed black hair, black eyes, and black eyebrows, as well as the ragged eyes that were so characteristic of her clan. She wore a rather childish and cute look on her face, but her body was in complete contrast to it, even from afar.

Although she wasn't wearing flashy armor, her bulky arms and sturdy back, accompanied by the massive sword hanging from her scabbard, made her look like a warrior capable of being appointed as one of Miel's close assembly. It was even more terrifying if one had ever seen her cross blades with anyone, or, even, seen her swing her black sword even once.

"In my honest opinion, this youth has managed to save us some trouble." The one to speak next was a tall man cloaked in dark robes from head to bottom.

"That is a rather irresponsible commentary coming from the one appointed to carry on the assassination, Petyo." A man covered in white robes said without lowering the confident smile he always carried in his lips. "Aren't you only downplaying your abilities if you say such things? Are you saying you couldn't have done it yourself?"

"That it not what I meant." Petyo replied with a scoff.

"He's right, Araba." The same girl from before spoke again. "Didn't this dude make us a favor? Why are we punishing him so badly? In my opinion, a man that is capable of saving the servants while chopping the head of the venomous noble at charge is a slave-freer. He could have simply gotten rid of everyone there, but he got rid of Piston and his guardsmen, who's hands weren't exactly clean either. And regarding Piston, for gods' sake, I swear that man tried to grope me once."

"That's not the matter, Erina."

As soon as that lazy and breathy voice ringed inside the room, everyone's eyes were centered on the sole chair at the end of the table.

A rather small person was sitting there with one leg over the other, as in one hand they held what seemed like an expensive wine bottle.

This person's hair was a sweet golden color that reminded of the sky at dawn, flowing down their shoulders until it reached the base of their back. The eyes below their pair of refined eyebrows were a clear amber color, and their skin, pale and smooth, seemed like it had never been touched by a blade. At first glance one would think it was a woman, but the slightly square chin, the ample shoulders, and the lack of breasts would quickly tell you this person wasn't a gal in her mid twenties, but a man that put way too much care into his looks.

This was general Miel, the vicious general of Goldblack's army.

The woman at one side of the table, Valta, simply drank a cup of coffee without a care for the man's voice. The only sound in the table for several minutes was the one of coffee being slowly slurped inside.

"As I was saying..." Miel sighed. "The man we captured seems to have an incredible resistance to punishment, which is indeed a problem if we wanna get some information out of him. You see, he doesn't seem like someone from Kulkus, which is the matter of concern. Whether he killed Piston or not... That is secondary."

He lightly signaled Chamgue with his hand, and the burly soldier threw upon the table a small band tied up to a blue stone. No one seemed to recognize it except for Araba, who immediately exclaimed:

"A Neirian translating stone."

"Uh. You can tell it's from the Neire empire just by looking at it? You're truly impressive, Araba." The girl by the name of Erina smiled as she crossed her arms.

"It's not like that. It has a magic energy seal. That blue hue isn't just for aesthetics, it is a magic dye applied to match the Neirian flag."

"Hmm..." Erina inspected it from up close, but it just kept being a pretty stone to her.

"Anyways, we're worried that the Neire Empire might be trying to create a distraction of sorts, although we're not sure for what. There has been some serious tensions from Kulkus and Neire ever since the closing of the borders a few years ago."

"Which is stupid in it's own way. A regime like the empire's would never send such a man to commit an indiscreet assassination like this. It's absurd in every level. This only creates a casus belli for Kulkus to attack the empire, and they wouldn't go unbacked by the other human nations. If the king hadn't tasked us with the assassination of Piston to begin with, the empire would be full of it to the neck by now." Loposia kept talking as Erina rolled her eyes.

"What other prove do we have that this isn't just a madman with a vengeance?" Petyo asked.

"None. But he did not seem to speak Kuulkiam when we retired the stone. We could confirm it wasn't Neirian, or Wender, or Agarian for that matter. Also... He was carrying this."

Chamgue unsheathed the sword on his belt, and carefully placed it on the table. As he was just doing so, the bored gaze in Erina's face vanished in the spot, and she even threw her chair to the ground while standing up.

"This blade...!"

The people in the room opened their eyes wide, and looked at the eerie black sword that had been put on the table. A purple glow covered the weapon from hilt to the tip of the blade, and it danced around the pristine metal like a flame on a candle. The group couldn't help but gasp in awe.

"Could this be..." Araba admired the blade.

"Titite!" Erina exclaimed and grabbed the grip of the sword. "The same material as my greatsword!"

"Several times heavier than steel, resistant to third tier fire spells, impossible to shatter with a hammer, and won't bend even if you heat it. A material that only the best blacksmiths of the human province can use!" Araba described it, but everyone was already aware of what titite was. He knew this, but was simply too amazed to retain his thoughts.

"And a playtoy to the Clawgold." Petyo touched the greatsword hanging from Erina's back as he sneered.

"Exactly." Miel nodded. "We are worried that this man is also an exiled Clawgold and this sword, his birth weapon. And, actually, that would be the best case. But, if ny any chance he's not an exiled, and he's just carrying out an initiation mission, that would cause real trouble. Why do you think the Clawgold would act like this? It's more probable that they wanted to plant a reason for Kulkus to attack the empire."

"Wait, we're going overboard." Petyo chuckled. "He may just be an exiled and that's it. Actually, he may not even be a Clawgold at all. Does he even look like a Clawgold to begin with?"

"Black straight hair, black eyes, black eyebrows, and short in height. Fits the description pretty well. The only difference was the shape of his eyes, but I fail to see why he couldn't have just slightly bigger eyes than the average Clawgold."

"Heh. Maybe that was the reason he was exiled." Erina said with a mocking grin. "They're pretty bitchy about that kind of thing."

"Then, are you sure if that is real titite, Erina?" Chamgue asked the girl, who pushed her lips upwards as if thinking of something.

"Well... Something seems off. Hold on."

Swoooosh!

She swung the sword down once with her arm, and a gust of wind blew with the tip of the sword as the center point. The chairs rattled around for a moment as everyone's hair was pushed back and thrown into a mess. When she lifted the sword back and placed it on her shoulder, there was a dark bruise on the wood an inch away from where tip of the blade had landed.

"It definitely has some weight to it, but it feels off." She twisted her face as if trying to think really hard about what the problem was. "Maybe it's just too light? Around seven pounds or so, I'd say. Still several times more than a steel sword, but if it's titite... I don't know, maybe if it was a dagger?"

At the same time that Erina's words fell, the sound of metal shrieking and breaking exploded in the room.

"What?!" Loposia freaked out and jumped back.

The longsword that Erina held in her hand had immediately reduced in size to that of a dagger. Even the grip and the hilt had remodeled themselves, and now fit the perfect design of a dagger.

"Oh." Erina blinked in surprise. "That is more like it. Thanks!"

"An enchanted blade! And such a high level of enchanting, too! I was so mesmerized by the sword that it never crossed my mind to analyze it for magic! Haha! Quite the show!"

Araba was extremely happy for some reason, but Erina simply placed it on the table again and looked at Chamgue with a smirk.

"He has a titite dagger, there you go. Unconvinced that he's a Clawgold?"

The whole room suddenly fell into silence. The faces on most of them had suddenly turned somber.

"Is an impenetrable skin a normal trait for a Clawgold?" Loposia asked.

"Not particularly. But he could have been using a spell, no? I also know of some monks that can do that."

"Pfft." Araba laughed. "I checked his majirical system the night I went to heal him. It's not even that he isn't good at magic, he does not possess any conduits, and not even a magical organ. It's something I had never seen in my life. Even farmers have at least a certain amount of magic to name two, three of their children. Same with using vital energy, the majirical system shares conduits with ki flow. He couldn't have done either."

"Saying, hypothetically, that he managed to fool your eye, how good of a mage would he have to be to cast a spell like that?" Miel arched an eyebrow as he directed his voice towards Araba.

"... The second tier spell [Bark Skin] gives some protection against arrows and slashes, and the third tier spell [Stone Skin] could even block a spear or a whip. But iron tools that also deal their fair amount of bludgeoning damage like an axe... Perhaps a fourth tier spell. But this man resisted this punishment for 10 hours straight, correct? Even [Bark Skin] costs close to one Estone to cast, and lasts for a minute. Casting a fourth tier version of that for ten hours... Haha. He'd be a god."

The room swallowed dry.

"It's an inherent thing he can activate at will, then." Miel bit on his lower lip.

The room felt silent again.

Until the sound of liquid being drained from a cup broke the silence in half.

All eyes were suddenly directed towards Valta, who had her spot on the table full of sweets' crumbles, and was already on her third cup of coffee. She lowered the cup from her face, placing it down onto the dish, and opened her mouth as if to respond to the mass of gazes suddenly fixing upon her.

"If you're unsure if he's a Clawgold, face him against a real one." Her expressionless face leaned on Erina's direction as she spoke. "She may be able to hurt him, too."

"Hmph."

Miel smiled at the idea.