Light spilled across the luxurious red carpet.
Each step pressed into its polished surface with a sense of solitude.
A thin cloth wrapped her hair, her face adorned with accessories laid out neatly on the vanity.
Anxiety surfaced upon her features,
inviting her fragile eyes to tremble.
She lifted a pale-colored gown, pressed it against her frame, judged the proportions, and dressed herself in its elegant form.
Stepping back two paces, she bent, turned, and curtsied. The hem of her skirt fanned out, flowing with the rhythm of her body—a gesture shaped by the beauty society demanded.
Yet the tremor remained.
Her shaking hand painted itself in the color of blood.
The number on her palm rose again—
"23."
Her chest rose and fell abnormally, breath rasping hot against her ears.
She collapsed, tasting the irrevocability of her actions.
Her fist clenched tight in pain.
But all feeling was shaken away as light poured over her body. Her vision blurred, only to sharpen as the shadow of a figure stood before her.
"Are you alright?"
"Victor!?" Selith gasped, recoiling.
"There's no time. We must leave now."
"This… this isn't over yet?"
"It isn't. The truth behind all this lies with someone inside, and I need your help."
"I… I—"
Victor didn't wait. He seized her arm and led her toward the corridor.
His steady gaze fixed forward. They fled the dormitory unnoticed.
There was little time.
His eyes locked on the distant manor as he sprinted across the cold cobbled street, weaving past rows of buildings until he was forced to halt—
A cry of anguish rang beside him.
Victor turned. Their eyes met. Her fair skin was grazed by cold wind and stone. She tore her arm back, glaring at him with distrust.
He exhaled deeply.
"Can you get me there—move us the way you can, if it isn't beyond your limit?"
"I can move us… if the shadows can reach. But it's not instant travel—it's moving with the speed of shadow itself."
Her hesitation pressed on him until he knelt before her.
"I know you're exhausted. But please—focus on your duty first. I trust you don't wish to disappoint those who depend on you."
"…Yes."
Her voice sank low. Her face turned aside, hiding feelings too heavy to bear.
Victor understood—but it mattered little compared to his task.
As long as she was safe, that was enough.
"Let's begin. There isn't much time."
Her arms wrapped him loosely. The world darkened, like drifting into a dream. Her body melted into shadow, stretching its current of darkness toward their destination.
The light returned. Bushes and grass brushed against them.
Selith's bare form crouched, hugging herself in shame. Victor looked away, his words short and firm.
"Wait here. I'll return. But if I cannot… go back to your allies immediately. I'm sorry I can't understand you more. I act for what I see, even if it's not the present. Still… I'm sorry."
Her trembling eyes fixed on his back as he walked away. A sob rose in her throat, turning the cold night into raw grief.
The chill pierced her chest, stabbing deep into her heart.
"I—I can't take this anymore! But… I can't disappoint him. He saved me from the flames. I… I—!"
Her wailing drowned her words. Her chest heaved with sorrow, air refusing to enter. Weak in spirit, she clawed the grass and bowed her head into tears.
For one human, such an irreconcilable burden of thought was torture. Killing was madness for one who could not comprehend it.
Victor's usually composed face wavered. He was no saint—blood ran cold in him—yet his conviction made him selfish enough to ignore others' feelings.
Still, her grief gnawed at him. He could not remain untouched.
Emotion swayed thought like a tide. If humans could rely only on reason, sorrow would fade. But emotion remained—an inescapable flaw of nature.
Knowledge grew, feelings shrank.
And yet, Victor realized: the grieving woman before him was not so different from himself.
It pulled him back to the time he was invited into politics—a world he had scorned.
He shook his head, casting the thoughts aside. Now was not the time.
His rough hand touched hers, thumb circling softly. His faint smile offered fragile comfort.
"Let's go. We'll leave here once the task is done."
His fingers brushed away her tears. His darkened gaze lingered with sincerity, though his words remained hard.
After steadying himself, Victor surveyed the manor. Surrounded by fields and tall trees, it was built to impress from its second-floor view.
One window stood open. Perhaps a chamber or study still in use.
He pointed upward, guiding Selith's eyes.
"Can you get me up there? If someone's inside, can you slip us through unnoticed?"
She nodded.
Shadows enveloped their sight, shifting the world. A broad corridor appeared, adorned with paintings, mannequins clad in shattered armor, carpets of gold-threaded design, and a great clock chiming with birdlike song.
Victor softened his breath, his hand easing her trembling back.
"Are you alright?" he whispered.
"Yes… I'm alright."
They pressed to the wall, peering through gaps beneath doors. Room after room—lavish, uniform, lifeless.
No light, no movement.
'Where does this faint light come from?' he wondered.
It was a dangerous thought. To question now risked missing the trap before it closed.
Descending the grand stairs, they entered the silent hall. The front door was shut tight.
"It seems we've missed it. We should retreat."
Turning back, unease gripped him. Barrel was still inside, facing this alone. The plan could collapse.
He had to act now, before everything slipped away.
But as they climbed to the second floor—
The door below creaked open. Footsteps thundered inside.
Someone of stature. The presence was undeniable.
Victor and Selith crouched, shadowing the sound.
Gas lamps flared to life, blinding for a moment before sharpening the scene.
A middle-aged man. Stern face, scraggly beard, bald crown. Black suit, meticulously arranged.
He entered a room. Silence followed.
Victor chose not to open the door.
"Selith—become shadow. See what lies inside."
She nodded, melted beneath the door, then returned, breathless.
"It's safe. There's a passage to the cellar."
They entered. Steps descended into dim stone, into the heart of darkness.
There, in the glow of a single light, a young noble groaned. Tears stained his proud face. His fingers severed, blood stinking of recent torment.
The middle-aged man smoked, filling the air with suffocating haze.
"W-what do you want!?" the noble screamed. "Let me go! You'll regret this!"
The man laughed.
"Ha! Sharp tongue. Answer me, and maybe I'll let your little mistress live another day."
"Damn you, old man!!"
"Don't make that face, boy. No maid here to dry your tears. Hahaha!"
He yanked the noble's hair, sneering.
Selith clenched her fists, ready to strike—but Victor stopped her.
Patience was needed. Information had to be drawn out.
"Calm yourself," he whispered. "I know it's cruel, but we must endure."
"You mean this is the one behind it?" she asked.
"I don't know. But here in Rasentiven, agents of the Republic hide among us. That man may not be our true target. But the boy is vital—he is envoy of the Blood Empire. His death would spark war."
Their whispers faded—
"Argh!! Damn you!! You bit me!?"
The torturer reeled. Selith struck, her fist crashing forward.
But in a flash, ice spears burst from his hand, piercing her left eye.
Her scream tore the chamber. She collapsed, clutching the freezing wound.
Victor's gun roared. Light and sound shattered the room.
The man fell without another cry.
Victor searched him quickly. A vial of glowing green liquid—medicine. Common enough in these lands of unnatural power.
He pulled Selith upright, holding her tight as tears streamed down her face.
The vial emptied into her.
The ruined eye knit with nerves and vessels. Her breathing steadied as Victor soothed her.
He had to pretend. To keep her spirit intact.
Meanwhile, the young noble smiled through tears.
"Who are you!? Did you save me!? That bastard is dead, isn't he!?"
Victor smirked faintly. Hidden still in the dark, his identity unknown.
A choice loomed.
Aid the noble and join the Blood Empire.
Kill him and Selith, and escape.
Aid him and return to Dengart.
All fraught. All perilous.
Carrying Selith upstairs, he laid her down.
"Rest here. I'll return."
His resolve faltered. Confusion gnawed. What was right? What was his role?
Sliding down the wall, he stared at his hand.
'Why am I here? Who brought me to this world? What is true, and what illusion?'
But a plan formed. His earlier thought, reshaped.
He fixed his attire and climbed again.
"Selith," he said softly, "when the noble comes, take him to the river opposite this manor. A brown-haired man will be waiting. Don't wait for me. I have business to finish."
Her weary face froze. Her wide eyes brimmed with unspoken words.
But Victor pressed on.
"Do you trust me? We've not known each other long, but I hope you'll do this. And afterward… perhaps we can truly come to know one another."
"…Yes. I… I want that too."
Her smile bloomed faint and pink.
He turned, walking back into the familiar dark. His gentle face hardened once more.
Now, everything began to shift.
If this was a different world, then he was its protagonist—of novel, of tale, of epic.
And he would do everything to uncover its truth.