[[Skill: <<Decompose>> has been acquired]] [[Skill Effect: Disassemble target]] ――That was it. That was all. Valentia Lucas remembered that day with perfect clarity even now. Spring, at seventeen years old. In the Conferment Temple of the royal capital Galdion, a priest held out an imprinting stone. He placed his palm over the offered stone. Just three seconds. That was all it took for a skill to be carved into your body. This was the obligation and the crossroads of fate for anyone living in Tilvarna. The priest looked at the letters floating on the stone and fell silent for just a moment. "[gentle]Well... it can be used for butchering meat, I suppose" A bitter smile. It said everything. Dismantler. A hidden skill that manifested in only one out of every eight thousand people, with nothing but "Disassemble target" written on the status. While his classmates with combat-oriented visible skills showed off their glowing statuses—"Flame Manipulation," "Sword Technique Enhancement"—Lucas's was painfully mundane. But back then, he'd thought: (It's fine. I can make up for it with raw ability. I got a scholarship to the adventurer academy, so if I work hard, I can manage.) He'd believed that. Really, truly believed it. ――― On the outskirts of the royal capital Galdion, on the road before Mirza's Black Forest, the party finished their goblin subjugation. Three goblin corpses lay on the ground. Small, pathetic bodies. Danger rank F. Subjugation reward: five copper coins per corpse, with ears cut off as proof. That was the regulation of Fang of Links—the organization that managed adventurers, commonly called Links. The members of Crimson Edge were already wiping their weapons clean. The atmosphere said today's work was done. Lucas crouched in front of a corpse. (Alright, this is my turn.) He activated his Decompose skill. A faintly glowing imprint on his right hand shimmered, and he held it over the goblin's body. With a small sensation, the corpse cleanly separated into materials. Toxic parts were removed, leaving only usable materials. "[serious]The material quality goes up! If you process the goblin fangs properly, the selling price—" He looked up, and one of the party members was staring at him with a withdrawn expression. "[sarcastic]...Why are you doing that now?" "[serious]Because the material value increases" "[cold]That's not what adventurers do, normally" Someone exchanged glances. Then someone laughed. "He's a butcher." "Can't even carry supplies." Laughter spread. Lucas remained crouched before the corpse, unable to say anything. Then the leader Souma stepped forward. Reinhardt Souma, twenty years old. Short black hair with red streaks mixed in, sharp red eyes—that was his distinctive look. He stood about one hundred eighty-two centimeters tall, noticeably larger than Lucas. His equipment was top-tier, his body honed and muscular. As leader of Crimson Edge, he'd placed third in the adventurer academy's mock battles, a historical ranking. That Souma smiled brightly. "[cold]Sorry, but I don't want to drag down the party's rank" His tone was like discussing the weather. "[cold]You're fired, effective today" "[surprised]Huh?" That was all that came out. Crimson Edge had already turned their backs and started walking. Lucas remained crouched, staring at the goblin corpse and scattered materials on the ground. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Souma's red eyes showed no hint of apology until the end. It wasn't arrogance, exactly—it was like he genuinely felt nothing. He'd judged the Dismantler useless and discarded it. That was all it was to him. Left alone on Galdion's main street. Clutching enough money to buy two loaves of bread. ――― His wallet held seven copper coins. His Links rank was F. The lowest rank for adventurers, with average rewards of one to three silver coins. But taking requests required a base, and being in a party was a prerequisite. There was almost no work a solo F-ranker could do. Lucas left the royal capital. He had nowhere to go. His hometown was gone. As a scholarship student at the adventurer academy, Lucas had no "home to return to." On the first day, he stubbornly refused to buy bread. Every time his stomach growled, he told himself, "It's fine, I can still walk." On the second day, rain began to fall. He pulled his cloak over his head and kept walking. His brown leather jacket grew heavy and wet. His black hair with green streaks clung to his face, flickering at the edge of his vision. On the third day, a pack of wild dogs chased him. Running at full speed, Lucas suddenly thought: (My whole life's been like this, hasn't it?) A laugh that wasn't really a laugh crossed his face. Not painful enough to cry over, but not enough composure to actually laugh. Just run. That was all. He shook off the dogs and stopped on a hilltop. The sunset sky was red. Beneath that sky, he saw stone walls. "[surprised]...Ah, a town" He murmured only that, then tumbled down the slope. ――― Bernd. When he entered, it was smaller than he'd expected. Part of the stone wall was loose. The cobblestones were old and uneven. Shop signs had faded, some letters readable, others not. Few people walked the streets. But smoke rose from chimneys carrying the smell of dinner, and somewhere a child's voice could be heard. As he walked, he sensed this town had once thrived from mining. Now it was too quiet. The population was small. Few shops. Yet there was still the scent of people living their lives. A stray cat walked slowly along the edge of the road. It noticed Lucas and stopped, staring at him intently. Its ear was slightly torn, a worn-out cat. Lucas stopped too and stared back for a while. The cat lost interest and disappeared into an alley. He passed a tavern. A sign reading "Red Horn Tavern" hung above it. Laughter and the smell of roasting meat leaked from inside. Boiled wild boar, maybe. His stomach growled. Loudly. (Can't go in. Seven copper coins won't...) He walked past. Next he saw a lodging house sign. "Lantern Branch Inn." Small letters beneath the wooden sign. One night: thirty copper coins (no meals). Lucas stopped before the sign. Thirty. Thirty copper coins. He had seven. (...Ah. I don't have enough.) He realized the obvious arithmetic too late. There was a pause. (Wait. You should've figured this out before leaving Galdion, you idiot.) He wanted to hold his head, but he was too exhausted to lift his arms. Walking aimlessly, he came before a wooden two-story building. Several papers were posted on a bulletin board. The light was already fading. He could read the sign's letters. "Fang of Links - Bernd Branch" Links. The organization that managed adventurers, a branch in the frontier. Lucas stopped before it. (If I sleep under this eave... would they get mad?) The fact that he was seriously thinking this made him question himself. But if he didn't rest somewhere tonight, he was confident he'd collapse by morning. He leaned his baggage against the building's wall. He sat down under the eave. The cobblestones were cold. His cloak was damp and barely helped. He stared blankly at the sky. A few stars were visible. In Galdion, there was too much light to see stars, but here it was dark enough. (What'll I do next week?) He was thinking about next week instead of tomorrow because thinking about tomorrow made the anxiety too overwhelming. His avoidance was clumsy, he thought. A stone about the size of a fist lay at his feet. Without thinking much, he reached for it. It was like a habit. Whenever he touched something, he wanted to test his Decompose skill. Back when he was in the party, they'd laugh—"practicing butchery again?"—so he'd done it secretly. The imprint on his right hand glowed faintly. He held it over the stone. There was no sound. The stone became sand. It scattered in the night breeze, grain by grain. Lucas stared at the sand for several seconds. (...Huh?) The sensation was different from when he decomposed the goblin corpse. Not the feeling of separating meat from bone. Something simpler—like the stone's structure itself had collapsed. (My skill... can I use it on things other than meat?) It was a question he'd never thought to ask before. No one had ever told him. Not the priest, not the academy teachers, not his party members. "Dismantlers can only be used for butchering beasts" was common knowledge, so it was a garbage skill, so he got fired. But the stone had just turned to sand right in front of him. He placed the sand in his palm. Small grains moved across his skin. A soft, grainy sensation. Just moments ago it had been solid stone. (If I can use it on things other than meat...) He couldn't think beyond that. His vision spun. Ah, this is bad. That was his last conscious thought. Three days with almost no food. Soaked by rain, running, walking endlessly—his body finally reached its limit. Lucas slid down the guild's door, his back against it, collapsing sideways onto the cobblestones. Cold. But he couldn't stand anymore. (Tomorrow... just a little more... I'll test it...) Consciousness faded. Only the sensation of sand grains in his palm remained. The night of the frontier town descended quietly. The Red Horn Tavern's laughter still echoed faintly. Somewhere, a cat cried. Valentia Lucas closed his eyes before the Fang of Links Bernd Branch entrance, clutching sand in his hand. Not knowing if anyone would find him.