When Roy opened his eyes again.
He found himself in a vast yet dim underground chamber, where a sinister atmosphere permeated every corner.
Within his field of vision, enormous cultivation pods were everywhere, each growing a "person" from scratch. These individuals varied in gender but shared nearly identical facial features—all with white hair.
They floated in a green, translucent solution inside the pods, their eyes closed as if in a deep slumber like newborn infants. Their sleeping faces were carefree, with bubbles occasionally rising around them.
Roy stood amidst these pods, his expression blank.
Suddenly, someone opened the chamber's door.
Two young men entered and walked among the pods, their expressions resembling those of shoppers at a market—filled with appraisal, disdain, and dissatisfaction.
Before long, the two selected a pod, operated it to open it, and extracted the "person" inside.
The moment the "person" was taken out, they opened their eyes for the first time, their bewildered gaze reflecting the world before them.
Then, they were carried out by the two young men.
The chamber returned to silence.
The other "people" in the pods continued to sleep like infants, oblivious to everything outside.
Within two days.
The two young men returned to the chamber. After some deliberation, they selected another "person" and carried them out.
This cycle repeated.
Several pods in the chamber were emptied.
But soon, they were refilled with new "people."
Their creation from nothing took only a few days.
Then, one day.
The "person" inside an inconspicuous pod twitched their brows, as if struggling against something, and opened their eyes.
Without anyone waking them, they had awakened on their own.
Their eyes were also filled with confusion.
However, unlike the oblivious confusion of the other "people," theirs was more like shock at why they were here.
They instinctively struggled inside the pod, only to swallow mouthfuls of the translucent solution.
As they thrashed, the two young men, as if alerted to the anomaly in the chamber, rushed in and extracted them from the pod.
The two young men exchanged glances, murmuring in surprise.
The "person" was extremely weak, unable to move even a finger. Each breath felt like their lungs were burning, and their ears and eyes seemed newly grown, making it impossible to hear what was being said or see the expressions on the faces around them.
After a brief discussion, the two young men made up their minds and carried them toward the door.
"Don't go there!"
Roy, witnessing everything from the side.
Though he desperately wanted to stop what was happening, his words never reached their ears.
He was like a bystander, forced to watch helplessly as events unfolded before him.
Everything around him felt like a mere holographic projection, replaying a past that had once occurred somewhere.
The scene shifted.
A frail old man wrapped in bandages and clad in tattered armour appeared before the three.
"The Einzbern homunculus technology is truly extraordinary. It's said that occasionally, there are special cases like this—ones who develop self-awareness before leaving the 'womb.' Such exceptions often come with innate special talents. It seems he is one of them."
"Handle him carefully. He is valuable experimental material."
The two young men nodded and moved him to the laboratory.
From that moment on, he entered hell.
The so-called "careful handling" did not mean treating him like a master with utmost caution. Instead, it meant keeping him in the best possible condition—ensuring he ate well, drank well, and didn't fall ill. This "kindness" was entirely one-sided, allowing no refusal. Even if his underdeveloped stomach ached and he had no appetite, he was force-fed the bare minimum of liquid food. Any act of defiance was strictly forbidden.
Once his development was complete, he was placed on a stretcher and wheeled into the lab.
Watching this, Roy's expression grew increasingly grim, his eyes filled with a predatory malice.
First came sensory experiments.
Vision, hearing, taste—these were standard. But touch was also tested.
And, of course, pain was part of the experiment.
The blade descended, slicing his skin, cutting through his muscles, piercing his bone marrow—all to confirm he felt pain like any ordinary human.
He screamed on the operating table, but the wielder of the blade paid no heed to his cries, even smiling in satisfaction.
Once it was confirmed he had the same sensory capabilities as a normal human, they began studying his body—examining how his tissues differed from other homunculi and ordinary humans, investigating what unique traits he possessed, and where those traits originated.
First, they took skin samples. Then, they carved out flesh. Next, they drilled into his bone marrow. Finally, they dissected his organs. The agony grew worse with each step.
The magi had countless ways to torment him while keeping him alive.
From the moment he left the underground chamber filled with pods, he had realized he was in a terrible place. He had tried to hide his awareness, adhering to the principle of speaking and acting as little as possible, pretending to be like the other homunculi—obedient, silent, never refusing any order.
But when the blade cut into his bones and flesh, he finally broke.
"It hurts! It hurts so much!"
"Stop! Please stop!"
"Don't torture me anymore! I'm a sentient being, just like you! How can you do this without even a shred of conscience?!"
Seeing him writhe, weep, and beg on the experiment table, the magi smiled in approval.
Even his psychological responses were identical to a normal human's.
This homunculus was truly exceptional.
And exceptional specimens deserved greater burdens.
"Conscience?"
The armored elder stepped forward, his aged voice dripping with scorn.
"No one has a greater conscience than us. Do you know why? Because we are saving this wretched world—eradicating its curses, restoring humanity to an era of peace and stability. Our goal is that noble, that grand!"
"On this path to salvation, sacrifices are inevitable. You shall become a cornerstone of that salvation! Consider it an honor. Future generations will remember your contribution—though perhaps only in vague, passing words like 'thanks to experiments on an unnamed homunculus.'"
"You should be grateful. You are precious experimental material, unlike the other homunculi and test subjects who are discarded after just a few days of research."
To intimidate him further, the armored elder took him to the disposal pit.
Inside lay countless homunculus corpses, some not yet fully dead, twitching instinctively. But no one bothered to retrieve them—they were treated as if already lifeless.
Looking closer, the pit didn't just contain homunculi. There were real humans too—among them, children as young as four or five, lying motionless, long devoid of breath.
He collapsed to his knees, unable to refuse.
He couldn't even die.
The magi could easily hypnotize him. He had no autonomy, no way to end his own suffering. They kept him alive, puppeting his existence as they pleased, subjecting his body to endless torment.
And so, day after day, for an immeasurable length of time, he endured.
After prolonged experimentation, the magi hit a wall in their research.
Then, one day—
He awoke to darkness.
His face was wrapped in cloth.
His eyes had been gouged out.
***
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