Godwyn awoke floating in space.
There was no light, not even a place—only darkness that could drive anyone insane.
He looked around, as if searching for something lost, something he wanted to catch with his eyes, but he found nothing.
"Where am I? What is this darkness surrounding me from every direction?"
He spoke in a confused voice, trying to adapt to the situation.
"Strange… am I in a dream, or reality? Also, I don't remember anything."
His appearance was strange, as if he had been transported from one place to another, more terrifying and bizarre. He pinched himself to confirm he wasn't dreaming—but it hurt.
And so, he realized this place was not a product of his imagination. He kept turning fiercely, hoping to find something, even if it was a monster, but then clutched his neck in pain with both hands.
"Pain… no… it's like a fire is burning near my neck. The strange part is, I feel like it's bleeding something… yet I can't feel it."
Caught between shock and worry… a faint voice emerged from nowhere, echoing like a distant resonance:
"Welcome, you who are lost from the light, fleeing from your fate, you who have lost faith."
Godwyn was stunned by this majestic voice. He wanted to speak, but his mouth shut, his eyes widened as he watched the space around him crack apart.
An upside-down statue appeared, crucified, its eyes bleeding… then opened them with such force that the very place shook with its might.
Godwyn could only gaze at this colossal figure, struggling to form words that could describe what he saw.
"…"
The mysterious being spoke in a voice broken and jagged, as if butchering logic itself:
"There is no need to burden your mind with thought. You stand in the presence of the first place where the strong were born."
And in the same tone, it continued:
"Everyone has the right—and you are no exception—the right to take revenge, and to trample the heads of their enemies."
"So, son of the noble Emperor… can you walk the path of corpses, the path of truth? Or will you return your sword to its scabbard, which is falsehood?"
Godwyn stared, struggling to grasp what this mysterious entity meant… but the best choice was:
"…"
Silence.
The mysterious being spoke again, tapping as though unearthing the truth:
"It is only natural… not to have an answer for such a grand question. But in your journey, you will come to know what I meant."
It continued as the statue's eerie eyes opened, releasing a blinding light that forced Faithless to shut his own:
"We shall meet again… two-faced one."
In that instant, everything was destroyed—as if logic itself had collapsed—and a crimson mark appeared: Error…
⸻
From nothingness—his body burned, his head severed…
"Painful…"
"What is this pain? Why does my neck… burn?"
Godwyn couldn't open his eyes. The air around him was dense, motionless, as though the world itself had stopped moving. His trembling fingers touched something damp, sharp… detached.
His head.
His head was separated from his body.
He gasped sharply, but his voice came out muffled, as if his throat was filled with ash. Yet still, he felt everything: his limbs, his chest, even the pounding of his heart echoing in the void.
He tried to open his eyes—futilely. It was as though his eyelids were sewn shut with burning needles.
With a trembling hand, he reached toward his neck. The place of separation burned with terrifying heat… then he felt something moving inside. Black threads, soft like hair, emerged from his neck and began stitching his head back onto his body.
His body was thrown backward by an unseen force, settling as a black collar tightened around his neck. Upon it was an inverted cross, pulsing with a faint red glow.
He gasped once more… and opened his eyes.
The ceiling above was covered in strange carvings—symbols he could not understand. Beside him, a vase hung crookedly on the wall, like a tilted clock. A window let the moonlight seep in.
Slowly, he rose from the bed, clutching his neck in pain. He looked around: the walls were dilapidated, smeared with chaotic drawings. The bed was crude wood, topped with a tattered pale cloth.
"Where am I?"
"Why am I not in my room?"
And then… the memories attacked him.
Not like words, but like images and movement.
Blood. Screams. Flame. A ruined palace.
His father—stabbed by a cursed black sword.
His mother's face—severed from her body while she smiled, as the Sovereigns laughed.
His brother—dragged into the abyss. And that mysterious voice, and the statue from the shattered void.
He gripped his head. Pain pierced his skull like needles drilling into bone.
"I remembered…"
"The Imperial Palace was attacked. The Sovereigns—the treacherous servants—slaughtered my father and mother. They cut off my mother's head while laughing…"
He fell silent, then smirked coldly:
"My father? I don't care about him. But my mother…"
"I'll kill them. All of them."
"But still, what I cannot understand—is that voice, and that statue… were they real? Or mere hallucinations?"
Breathing heavily, blood trickled silently from his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at a broken mirror hanging on the wall.
His reflection appeared:
Messy red hair, gray eyes flecked with a faint golden dot, features cold as if carved from ice. He lifted his hand to the collar around his neck… then stopped.
"No. No one must see these threads."
"So, the pain I felt in that void—was it caused by this wound? But how?"
He took a small sip of water and wiped his face, trying to focus.
"The statue… that was truly terrifying. My chest tightened painfully when I saw it. Thank God it ended."
He ran both hands through his hair, pushing it back.
"But what I understood from its words… was vengeance. As though it was the one giving me the chance to pursue it."
Godwyn's lips curled into a cold smile as his fingers touched the collar:
"It seems… it is the one responsible for resurrecting me from death, to carry out this mission once again. Looks like I've been given another chance."
He stepped back.
But before he could sit back on the bed, the door creaked open slowly.
A tall man entered. His blond hair reached his neck, his eyes green, a light beard decorating his face.
He spoke with a tone both warm and strange:
"Oh… a true miracle."
"To fall from the Mountain of Emperors with your head severed, and survive? Something great must be dwelling inside you, boy."
Godwyn stretched his hand toward a sword placed beside him. He gripped it tightly and spoke in a sharp voice:
"Who are you? And what do you want from me?"
The stranger smiled, unaffected:
"And this is how you greet the one who saved your life?"
Godwyn fell silent, then repeated with a harsher tone:
"I said… who are you?"
The man walked toward a bookshelf, leaned on it, and said:
"My name is Isaac Luenza. Just the ruler of a small village under the Kingdom of Lucia. But like many, I despise this filthy system that feeds itself on wars and blood."
Then he looked at Godwyn intently:
"And also, I was gathering herbs outside the village when I saw you fall from the mountain. Your head was still breathing, so I brought you here. And… from your features, it's certain you're the son of the Fifth Emperor."
Godwyn replied in a cold voice:
"I do not deny my blood, but I hate it…"
Isaac closed his eyes for a moment, then said calmly:
"I'm only looking for someone who can help me end this detestable reign. And it seems… you harbor hatred for your family tree and for the Sovereigns as well. Would you like to join me?"
Godwyn didn't answer. He glanced again at the mirror, then stood, holding the sword in his hand. His expression remained indifferent as he said:
"I'm sorry, Sir Isaac, but I refuse your request…"
Godwyn wore a red coat, open at the front. Before he could step forward, Isaac placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Do you intend to face the Sovereigns in your current state?"
"That's none of your concern."
Godwyn swung his sword, aiming to stab Isaac—but Isaac stopped the strike with two fingers, reducing the blade to ashes, a smile rising on his face.
Godwyn's hand froze, icy cold crawling into his fingers.
'He broke it… with two fingers?'
Isaac spoke quietly, without raising his voice:
"With such strength, you'll die in your very first confrontation."
Godwyn stepped back, then said:
"Why do you want me to join you?"
Isaac answered with a smile:
"Because you are the missing piece I need to complete the puzzle… bringing down the Sovereigns requires a miracle, and you are that miracle."
He then continued, pointing his finger toward the number six:
"Train here for six months. After that, we'll begin. I'll send a group with you to carry out plans to dismantle the kingdom's infrastructure. And after that… comes the Sovereigns."
Godwyn thought for a moment, then said:
"I don't like fighting with groups. I prefer to work alone."
Isaac laughed:
"Stubborn… If you insist on working alone, so be it. But I won't let you die. I have people watching. They intervene when necessary. I call them: Vowless."
"Vowless? Who are they? And how will you know if I'm in danger?"
Isaac smiled mysteriously:
"My disciples… and I have deep knowledge of knowing when someone is in peril."
Then he turned his back, gripping the handle of a weapon, his eyes glowing red:
"Sleep now. Tomorrow… you will meet them."