Invincible
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#191
🕑 Added 2025-02-05 16:05:11 +0000 UTCRockefeller (6)
Phlegm churned in his throat.
Even as he ran, periodic coughs escaped him.
Though he had fled far, the smoke clung to him persistently.
Rockefeller held Arcyon close and used telekinetic magic to push away the endless mist.
'It's smoke. At times like this, I need to hide in it. There's no way they'll think I escaped here.'
Only a desperate will to survive occupied his mind, leaving no room for complex emotions.
Even now, Rockefeller flinched at the screams echoing from afar.
The more he trembled and felt his heart pound, the colder his mind became.
When his body was on the verge of collapse, he was lucky enough to find a small ditch suitable for hiding.
Using the overgrown weeds as a roof, Rockefeller tucked his small frame inside.
As he caught his breath, the sound of soldiers' footsteps came closer, and he quickly covered Arcyon's mouth.
Did the infant instinctively understand that silence was necessary to survive?
Arcyon only made soft, shallow breaths.
“Man, why are they making us search this far out?”
“No kidding. Who would be insane enough to wander through this thick smoke?”
“Sir Derkan is relentless. What else do you expect from someone who came from the Mage Tower? He's insufferably meticulous."
At the mention of the man who set the village ablaze, Rockefeller quietly clenched his teeth.
“Forget it. Let’s just gather what we can. These beggars may not have much, but a little here and there adds up.”
“Yeah, we’d better hurry. The others are already looting.”
The soldiers hurried off.
Rockefeller stayed perfectly still for a long time, just in case.
By the time he felt safe, dawn had already arrived.
Having spent the night wide-eyed in fear, Rockefeller emerged from the ditch and looked at the slum.
The aftermath of the fire was devastating.
The nauseating smell of burning flesh was stronger than the stench of ash, and buildings had been reduced to nothing but dust finer than sand.
Even then, the thought that soldiers might still be nearby kept Rockefeller from stepping into the ruins.
Turning his back on the destruction, he walked aimlessly.
Thud.
Unknowingly, he had lost one shoe while running. His bare foot stung; a thorn must have pierced it.
Ignoring the pain, he kept walking.
Thud.
It was then that Arcyon began to cry, as if weeping on his behalf.
Finally, Rockefeller let go of the tension that had gripped his face.
On that day, Rockefeller cried harder and louder than baby Arcyon.
***
Three years later, after the slum had burned down.
“Do you see over there? That’s the child you were talking about.”
“…Huh? I knew the kid was young, but I thought it’d be a teenager at least. That’s far younger than I expected.”
Rockefeller had settled into mercenary work in a city occupied by rebels.
The mass exodus of former residents meant many empty houses remained.
Since his enemies were now tied to the kingdom, his goals aligned with the rebels.
However, he chose not to join the rebellion directly, instead working as a mercenary. He believed they were also perpetrators.
‘I understand they’re fighting against the kingdom’s tyranny. But if you’re going to resist, shouldn’t you be careful not to harm innocent people?’
Their methods were brutal.
They beat entire families to death simply for being affiliated with the kingdom and beheaded children without mercy, fearing future reprisals.
Even commoners who sided with the kingdom out of necessity weren’t spared.
Though they spoke of building a land free of tyrants and oppression, they were no different from oppressors themselves.
Above all, being a mercenary offered a higher chance of survival than joining the regular army.
While soldiers had no choice but to obey orders to fight in dangerous battles, mercenaries had some freedom to refuse.
'I must never die. Not for Arcyon's sake, for my village, or for Medel. I cannot… not yet.'
***
Two years of survival on the battlefield.
“How does someone so young survive so well? Did they cut him some slack?”
“No. You’ve heard of the Battle of Valtran, haven’t you?”
“You mean the one where the rebels were nearly wiped out by the kingdom's forces? Don’t tell me you were among the survivors?”
Considering that the lifespan of child soldiers rarely exceeded a few months, it was an extraordinary feat.
“Yeah. I was assigned to the same squad as that kid back then.”
“I heard it was horrific. You must’ve been in real danger.”
"That’s right. Just before we were completely surrounded, I thought I was going to die. But suddenly, that kid told us to follow him.”
“You followed him, huh? At that point, that little brat wasn’t even famous. What made you trust him?”
“Instinct, I guess. Sure, plenty of guys laughed it off, but for some reason, I just had this strange feeling it was the right thing to do. Looking back now, it was pure luck. I survived because I followed that kid.”
Before long, he was being called a child of fortune among the rebels.
“Pray hard. You’ll want to be assigned to the same unit as that kid.”
The secret to Rockefeller’s survival lay in his meticulous habits of preparation and analysis.
‘The numbers aren’t bad. There’s still time left. Maybe I’ll check on Arcyon before I go?’
Recently, Arcyon had begun to speak.
With the money earned as a mercenary, Rockefeller had hired a housekeeper who diligently taught the boy to talk.
“I brought some snacks.”
“Mm!”
“You listened to what the lady said, right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“If you don’t answer properly, no snacks for you.”
At times, the stubborn 4-year-old frustrated him, but Rockefeller still felt grateful for Arcyon’s presence.
This was the child who had survived thanks to the sacrifices of precious people. The last trace of Medel.
And yet, that wasn’t the only reason.
‘We may not share blood, but you are my family. Just as Medel did for me, I’ll…'
Perhaps it wasn’t Rockefeller who saved Arcyon, but Arcyon who saved Rockefeller.
He often wondered if Medel had felt the same way when she took Rockefeller in.
Medel, too, was an orphan of war.
When he had lost everything and felt that death would be easier, he found a reason to live.
“Alright. Listen to the lady well, okay? I’ll bring you something even tastier next time.”
“Where are you going?”
“Hmmm? To buy more snacks. They’re sold far away.”
Leaving Arcyon behind, Rockefeller returned to the battlefield. This time, it was a small, manageable skirmish.
After analyzing the enemy’s divided forces and gathering intel, the odds clearly favored the rebels.
He believed everything would go smoothly once again.
***
At dusk, the battlefield stretched toward the horizon.
The kingdom’s soldiers lay on the ground, bloodied and motionless.
Yet, the surrounding mercenaries broke into a cold sweat, their eyes darting in panic.
“W-What the hell is that…?”
A man walked toward them, silhouetted against the setting sun.
As he approached, his white hair and long, pale beard became visible.
He was a gaunt, ragged old man.
“He’s no mercenary. He’s killing both allies and enemies indiscriminately.”
“Then… is he a knight?”
“I don’t know. But this much is clear: with that level of skill, he must be someone whose name everyone would recognize.”
There was something chilling about the old man. It wasn’t just his blood-drenched skin.
Beyond his near-superhuman skill, there was an unsettling, inhuman aura about him that made one’s skin crawl.
With each drip of blood from his soaked beard, his lips twitched ever so slightly.
“…237. 238. 239.”
It was as if he were counting the number of people he had killed in this battle.
Panic soon turned everyone’s gaze toward Rockefeller.
“Delken, what do we do this time?”
“…We need to retreat. We’ll lose the battle, but nothing’s more important than staying alive.”
“Do you really think we can escape from that monster?”
The old man moved with blinding speed, too fast to be human.
If he decided to pursue, it would be nearly impossible to shake him off.
“Scatter. There’s no other choice but to run in all directions. Some of us will survive while others are sacrificed.”
It might have sounded heartless, but they were mercenaries.
Having clung to survival over victory, they found some strange fairness in the idea that death could strike at random.
“Alright. Let’s make sure we don’t overlap paths while running.”
Everyone gulped and bolted without looking back.
The familiar sound of screams erupted from every direction.
‘What is that? What kind of insane monster is he…?’
The appearance of an indiscriminate madman, slaughtering anyone in his path, was an unexpected and terrifying variable.
Once Rockefeller had taken refuge in the mountains, he pulled out the dagger he had carefully kept close. Using its reflection, he checked behind him.
‘Nothing.’
There was no sign of the old man. Considering the distance he had covered, Rockefeller thought the old man must have lost his trail. In the middle of a battlefield filled with corpses, it was impossible to track the movements of one individual.
Just then, Rockefeller tripped and fell.
“Huh?”
For a moment, he thought he had tripped over a tree root, but he was certain he had already checked the path ahead. There was nothing he could trip over—he had ensured that using his telekinetic magic.
Suddenly, a frail voice came from just below his right side.
“The game of hide-and-seek is over.”
The voice belonged to the old man, who lay flat on his stomach, hidden in the tall grass. Rockefeller felt a surge of terror as he looked into the man’s hollow, dark eyes.
It felt as though he was facing an object, not a person. That made him even more afraid—there was no telling what the man might do. He radiated no human emotion, and Rockefeller instinctively knew mercy was out of the question.
But then, the old man said something surprising.
“You’re that so-called ‘child of fortune,’ aren’t you?”
“…Why are you asking me that?” Rockefeller stammered.
The old man pressed his blade against Rockefeller’s neck and replied, “I’ll ask the questions. You just answer them. If you need motivation, your life depends on your answer.”
Rockefeller squeezed his eyes shut, thinking fast.
‘I need to say whatever gives me the highest chance of survival.’
The question itself suggested that the old man had come all this way looking for him. Whether that meant he saw Rockefeller as a target to eliminate or had another purpose, he couldn’t be sure. But denying it would certainly mean death.
‘To this man, a life’s value is decided solely by whether or not it serves his purpose.’
Opening his eyes, Rockefeller nodded slowly.
“…Yes. I didn’t want to be, but that’s what people call me.”
The old man tilted his head and suddenly leaned in close.
“‘Fortune,’ how ironic. If I hadn’t come looking for you, all those people wouldn’t be dead.”
Rockefeller followed the old man’s gaze and felt his legs tremble.
“S-So, you’re saying… they’re all…”
“The ones who were by your side? They’re all dead.”
For a moment, Rockefeller almost blurted out “Why?” but managed to swallow his words. The old man had made it clear that asking questions wasn’t allowed.
Unfortunately, his face must have betrayed his feelings.
“Ah, that look,” the old man muttered. “The look of someone staring at a lunatic.”
He shook his head.
“Don’t be mistaken. Call me a senile old man, call me something less than human—I couldn’t care less.”
Then, as though lost in thought, he mumbled something incomprehensible.
“When you’ve lived life for the 500th time, all of those feelings get worn down to nothing.”
Rockefeller stared silently at him. Finally, the old man explained why he had come.
“I heard you’re good at telekinetic magic. A street kid, young in age, but skilled at it. I was curious if you had the bloodline I’m searching for.”
Rockefeller immediately understood the old man’s intention and replied, “A rare branch… My magic awakened through enhanced perception.”
There was no need for a long explanation. Children of his background—street kids awakening magic at a young age—were rare, but telekinetic magic was even rarer. Without awakening their senses, it was unusable.
Even among those with natural talent, those who excelled at sensory magic typically became famous in other magical fields.
The old man’s murderous intent seemed to subside slightly, as though pleased with the answer.
“Good, you’re quick. I never thought the blood of demigods would trickle down to this generation. That’s why you need to live a long life—you see things you never expect.”
Demigods?
The old man was definitely mad.
“Well, fine. Now that I’ve found you, let me explain your task. From this moment, you will learn magic for my sake.”
The old man pulled out a book from his tattered clothes. The cover was filled with strange symbols and geometric shapes. As he opened it, he continued:
“This book holds a spell that can erase even the memories of a soul. You will learn it and use it on me. In return, I’ll spare your life.”
Rockefeller realized this was his chance to ask a question. The situation made no sense, but it was clear that the old man needed him.
“One book filled with incomprehensible symbols? Even if I somehow manage to learn this magic… How can I trust you’ll spare me?”
The old man’s lips curled into a sinister smile.
“I always keep my promises. Even after all these years, I’ve never broken one. Not even once.”
