Cold.
That was the first thing Arata felt when he regained consciousness.
Not just the cold of the stone floor beneath him,
but a deeper cold, like the kind found in graves that were never meant to be opened.
Drip... drip... drip...
Somewhere in the darkness, water leaked in steady rhythm.
It echoed like a countdown.
Arata's wrists were bound in chains—
not steel,
but some kind of blackened metal laced with runes that shimmered faintly.
His body ached.
His head throbbed.
His mouth was dry.
But inside him…
something was laughing.
> "You should thank them,"
the voice in his head whispered.
> "They feared you enough to bury you in a tomb made for gods."
The cell door creaked open.
A figure stepped in, torch in hand.
Not a soldier.
Not a mage.
A girl.
Young.
Maybe sixteen.
Draped in a dark academic robe with a silver phoenix embroidered on the shoulder.
Her eyes glowed like mercury.
"You're not what I expected," she said calmly.
"You're worse."
Arata blinked.
His lips were cracked.
But he forced the words out:
"Where... am I?"
The girl smiled slightly.
"The Vault of Screams."
"The place where your kind are buried… alive."
She stepped closer, eyes scanning the black veins on his arms.
"You shouldn't even be conscious. That binding metal drains essence from everything it touches."
"And yet here you are…"
She crouched before him.
"Tell me, Arata Yukimura—how did you awaken the Corpsebrand?"
> Corpsebrand.
That word again.
Arata didn't know how to answer.
He didn't awaken anything.
It awakened him.
The girl tilted her head.
"No answer? That's fine. I'll make you remember."
She pulled out a small glass orb—cracked, humming with cursed energy.
Arata recoiled, but the chains pulled him back.
She pressed the orb to his forehead.
FLASH—
Suddenly, Arata wasn't in the cell anymore.
He was in a memory.
A burning village.
Flames devouring wooden homes.
Screams.
He saw himself—
a younger version—
kneeling beside two corpses.
His parents.
Their bodies were already cold.
Their eyes—
open, glassy, lifeless.
A cloaked figure stood above them, blade drawn.
The man turned.
Arata's younger self screamed—
"NOOOOOO!!"
The vision shattered.
Back in the Vault.
Arata gasped.
Sweat drenched his body.
The girl stood back, eyes wide.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" she whispered.
"Your awakening… it was born in grief. Not rage."
> "Grief is the purest fuel,"
the voice in Arata's head murmured again.
"And yours has not even begun to burn properly."
The girl was silent for a long moment.
Then she leaned in, voice low.
"Do you want revenge, Arata?"
Arata blinked.
"What?"
"Revenge. For your family. For the soldiers who called you a demon. For the king who ordered your death."
Her tone turned sharp.
"Because if you do… I can help you escape."
The cell trembled.
Somewhere above them, screams echoed again.
Not his.
Not hers.
Someone else was dying.
No.
Something else was awakening.
Arata looked up.
"Who are you?"
The girl smiled, but her eyes were grim.
"My name is Kaede Igarashi."
"I was born to the Royal Court of Scholars."
She stepped back and raised a pendant carved with the symbol of a broken crown.
"And I'm here to burn the empire to the ground."
BOOM—!!
The Vault door exploded open.
Dust filled the corridor.
From the smoke emerged two guards—
But they weren't human anymore.
They were mutated, limbs twisted, faces pale with blank glowing eyes.
"Experiment Failed. Subject Loose."
"Terminate the Aberrant Host."
Kaede cursed.
"They've sent the Echowalkers!"
She flung a glowing rune toward Arata's chains.
"Break those damn seals! You want revenge? PROVE IT!"
The rune struck.
The chains cracked—
but didn't fully break.
Arata screamed as the binding metal sizzled against his veins.
And then—
it happened.
The Corpsebrand ignited.
Black fire erupted from his chest.
The chains snapped with a scream of metal.
The Echowalkers lunged.
Arata didn't move.
The shadows did.
His shadow rose up, formed a second shape—
A figure clad in a tattered black cloak with a skeletal crown.
Eyes like dying stars.
Kaede's face went pale.
"The Corpse Knight…" she whispered.
The figure raised a hand.
"You summoned me once, child of grief," it spoke in a voice that echoed beyond time.
"Shall I tear your enemies again?"
Arata's body burned with power.
He looked at the Echowalkers.
He didn't hesitate.
"Do it."
The Vault shook as the Corpse Knight surged forward—
One swing of his blade,
and both Echowalkers were ripped in half, black mist exploding from their cores.
Silence returned.
Arata dropped to one knee, panting.
Kaede approached, stunned.
"You really are the one..."
"The Wielder of the Eighth Sigil."
Arata looked up, confused.
"What does that mean?"
Kaede swallowed hard.
"It means the world will either worship you… or burn because of you."