Becoming a Monster

Chapter 376: Chapter 376: They’re Right to be Skeptical

A giant building stood out in an open plain, a building that didn’t fit the beautiful scenery around it. No parking lots, no lamp posts, not even a car in sight. To the people inhabiting it, and to those outside, it was the scenery that was bizarre.

The people at the mall were still struggling to understand what was going on.

Their confusion lasted until noises sounded from one direction.

Their attention snapped to the source, weapons at the ready. After overcoming a fight that threatened to kill them all, those who lived were wary towards any threat.

From the field, the sound grew louder. Their silhouettes were barely visible, but behind them, those with better eyesight could see a structure. A structure that rose higher than the hills.

The modern people panicked when they recognized the number of people coming. Their first instincts were to call on their hero.

________________

It wasn’t long before Mark and the others were outside.

Now there was no distance left between them and the approaching group. They now stood across from another, separated by nearly fifty yards of grass.

Opposite them, a group of strangers stood. There were dozens of them, maybe more. Their armor was nostalgic, even their weapons, and yet the humans from the modern world could perceive a notable difference: almost none of their gear was mismatched or scavenged.

At first, relief sparked. The sight of organized, armed, and confident people felt like salvation. But that relief soured as their eyes adjusted. Not all of them were human.

There were humans with pointed ears. Beastfolk stood on two legs, wolves, felines and others whose ancestry were clearly not of their world, yet they wore steel and leather just the same, shouldering weapons like comrades rather than monsters. And then... there were the young ones. Kids, barely into their teens, dressed no differently than the hardened veterans beside them, blades strapped to their backs. Their eyes were sharp, but with intervals of genuine curiosity towards the large "castle".

The sight made the survivors falter. Their grips tightened on their weapons, their stares lingering too long. Fear battled with hope.

Because despite their strangeness, they were still people. Fighters, yes, but people. Maybe this was the olive branch they had been praying for. Maybe here was proof that safety, real safety, existed somewhere in this nightmare world.

But just as they observed the strangers, the strangers were observing them. They saw the lack of structure, the way the mall survivors stood in scattered clumps, factions just like them with no distinction that they were part of an army or organized militia. Families, loners, and strangers, all thrown together with no unifying chain to bind them.

And then the crowd of strangers shifted.

Their leader rode forward, seated upon a bird, one that was as massive as a horse. It clunk with the sound of metal plating adorned on its body. The creature’s eyes carried a war-like focus that mirrored its rider.

The man upon its back didn’t speak. His silence was heavy, his gaze swept once, twice, before settling on Mark, and those beside him.

Unlike the rest, this small group didn’t flinch. Their hands gripped their weapons without a shred of panic. Their posture was tired, battered, but resolute.

And the rider knew... they were the strong ones.

No one spoke up, each side was still wary about one another.

The rider’s gaze swept over everyone once more, asserting the claim that Mark was most likely their leader, his gaze traveling towards the unknown castle that housed people looking out the glass and open doors. He spotted young ones, the elderly, and those who lacked the aura of a fighter.

It was then that his vigilance lessened by a notch, more willing to discuss with them before making assumptions.

"My name is Thalric IronHeart," His voice carried across the field. Even without the use of mana, everyone could hear him. "I am the Guildmaster of the Ironbinders."

Thalric didn’t add anything else, at least not yet. Thalric’s eyes traced their expressions, studying the confusion that swept across the crowd. Not a soul stirred in recognition. Their expressions helped even more to affirm his theory.

When Thalric was still trying to wrap his head around the sudden expansion of their city, he was then ambushed by the reports of a mysterious castle now appearing near their gates.

He came here with every able-bodied warrior that was tied to their guild. He was uncertain whether the sudden appearance of such a place meant that the place was always there and yet had found a way to go unnoticed or... if it was something else.

But now, seeing them up close, his doubts sharpened into something far stranger.

These people may not be from here. Their aura was different; their clothing was some that he had never seen before. Their fortress was even stranger, advanced in ways, yet lacking foresight. No walls, no towers, no defenses. Only fragile panes of glass and thin frames that would shatter at a lone arrow.

This place obviously didn’t belong here, and the lack of recognition sealed it. Not one of them reacted to his name, his title, or his guild. To anyone that lived near their city, "Ironbinders" carried weight. But to these people who apparently lived next door? Nothing.

"Tell me... Who leads this place? What are your intentions?" Thalric’s tone was that of a commander, yet his question offered Mark a lifeline. Mark wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, because Mark had noticed Thalric’s stare a long time ago. Even as Thalric asked for their leader’s identity, Mark could tell that the question was directed toward him.

Everyone else didn’t hide it either. A wave of murmurs spoke to each, but everyone’s eyes hesitantly looked towards their hero.

Mark could feel their stares, their hopes, as he took a step forward. His weapon pointed to the ground but his grip was at the ready.

"I do. My name is Mark Rosenthal. But there’s nothing to lead... We didn’t choose to be here. We don’t even know where here is. If you came to destroy us, then say it now. But if you came to listen..." His eyes hardened, matching Thalric’s stare. "Then know this, we’re not enemies. We’re just trying to live."

Thalric studied him in silence. His eyes were heavy, and Mark felt them as though they were weighing his soul.

"You say you are not enemies. That you were... placed here. I believe that, at least...I want to. But my beliefs alone will not convince my people. It will not convince my city that you are not enemies." He leaned forward, for the first time his skepticism began to show.

"Rosenthal. I can see it clearly. These people cling to you, not as subjects to a king, not as soldiers to a general, but as desperate souls to their last hope. That is not nothing. That speaks to your strength, and the trials you’ve endured."

His tone never faltered, but Mark could sense an overwhelming aura building. It was a pressure that made him feel feeble, a feeling that only one "man" had ever made him feel before.

Thalric could sense the young man resisting, aura clashing with his own. His eyes narrowed, a subtle flicker of surprise flashing across them. He knew divinity when he felt it, clerics and healers carried faith that burned faintly within their magic. But this boy was different. Pure, radiant. Weaker, yes... but the purest he had ever encountered.

And others felt it too. Certain eyes among the guild grew fervent, restless, like embers stirred into flame. One woman in particular, her hand squeezing onto a cross that hung around her neck, leaned forward as though compelled by Mark’s presence.

Yet despite this, this made Thalric press harder.

"And yet... If you are as strong as I sense, if your people endured so much... Then where are your enemies? Where are the bodies of the threats you claim to survive against? Your gear shows signs of battle, and your bearings show that it was recent. Yet I see no battlefield, no signs of struggle. You tell me you are survivors, yet all I see is an unguarded castle that shows no signs of defending yourselves against these... enemies."

Mark opened his mouth, ready to speak. He could feel the suspicion of everyone rising with every moment of their silence. He could see their gazes looking over the mall, not noticing such an oddity. Mark could understand their suspicion, even though he would find it suspicious.

"Enough, Thalric."

The woman who stepped forward was no mere subordinate. Her presence commanded almost as much weight as Thalric’s own. She was covered in an immaculate robe, threaded with golden embroidery. Some of those jewels swirled with magic within them as if the gems were made out of mana cores.

And she was not alone.

At her side stood a warrior encased in platinum armor that seemed almost as exquisite as the robed woman. Their face was hidden. Every inch of them was polished, radiating a sense of superiority over those around them. Behind them, a small platoon of soldiers stood in formation. Anyone could tell that this woman was important, maybe even a higher status than Thalric.

The priestess was speaking to Thalric; however, her eyes were fixed on Mark. But then, without reason, her gaze fixated on the woman next to him, and for a moment, her composure faltered.

"Don’t forget why I came here, GuildMaster."