Not long after the mysterious man vanished into the night, a group of knights rushed into the courtyard. Their eyes widened in horror as they discovered the fallen figure of the nation's hero, lying in a pool of blood.
"LORD HERO…!" one of the knights cried out, his voice breaking with anguish. The sight was unbearable—Leonard's body was battered, drenched in crimson, and most terrifying of all, his heart was missing.
The knights quickly surveyed the area. The royal guards who had been stationed there were sprawled across the ground, most unconscious, some barely clinging to life, their blood soaking the stones.
At once, the knights began securing the scene. They carried away the wounded and tended to those on the brink of death. But the shadow of dread had already spread.
---
By the next morning, the news of Leonard Cardion's death shook the kingdom. It was not just his death that chilled the people's hearts, but the grotesque truth—that his heart had been stolen.
When the announcement was made, citizens flooded the streets and gathered at his funeral, mourning the hero who had once been their beacon of hope.
Meanwhile, about a kilometer away from the burial grounds, hidden in a narrow, damp alley of the royal capital, a figure stood in silence.
The man was cloaked head to toe, his face veiled save for a pair of crimson eyes glinting in the dark. He leaned against the cold, mossy wall, arms crossed, one leg bent and propped against the stone.
The air in the alley was sharp and bitter, a biting chill clinging to every surface. Yet the man's presence was colder still. His finger tapped impatiently against his arm, a faint rhythm betraying his irritation. He had been waiting there for half an hour.
Footsteps echoed from the entrance of the alley. The cloaked figure straightened at once, his gaze narrowing as three men stepped into view.
"You're late," the crimson-eyed man said flatly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.
"Forgive me. I was… surprised by the news," the man at the front replied. He had golden hair, neatly combed, and sharp brows above calculating eyes. His name was Vaul Ecernard—a noble of high rank, infamous for his arrogance. Two bulky guards followed close behind him.
The cloaked man's gaze sharpened. "Surprised? Or afraid?"
Vaul forced a polite smile. "At first, I doubted your ability. But after hearing the report… I hurried here at once. I owe you an apology for my distrust." He even inclined his head slightly, a gesture few would ever believe possible from a man of his stature.
But the cloaked man turned away, his fingers idly playing with each other as he murmured coldly, "You should know, nothing comes without a price." His crimson eyes flicked back to Vaul, gleaming with quiet menace.
Understanding the implication, Vaul smirked. "Naturally. I've prepared double the payment as a sign of goodwill—and apology." He motioned to one of his men.
The guard stepped forward and opened a heavy case. Inside were twelve gleaming bars—Crystium, a rare currency shimmering in hues of violet and blue—and a small, pitch-black cube that faintly glowed with a blood-red light.
The cloaked man's eyes narrowed, surprised for the first time. "Onyxis…?"
Onyxis, the highest form of currency in the world. While Gild—the golden coin—served the common folk, and Crystium represented the wealth of lords and merchants, Onyxis stood above them all. A single cube of Onyxis was worth a million Gild, so rare that only kings and the most powerful nobles ever possessed one.
"Yes," Vaul said with a smug smile. "Yours, if you hand over the heart." He extended his hand expectantly.
But the cloaked man didn't comply. Instead, he let out a faint laugh and said, "You should hand over the payment first."
Vaul's eyes narrowed, annoyance flashing across his features. "You dare? Are you trying to deceive me—take my payment and vanish without delivering what I asked for?"
The cloaked man raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of mockery in his unseen smile. "I have no use for Leonard's heart. It means nothing to me. But you… you are the one who desperately needs it. Think carefully, Vaul. Who holds the power here? If you dare to renege on this deal… you'll be digging your own grave."
Vaul froze. The man was right. He had sent dozens of assassins after the hero, yet all had failed. Only this mysterious figure had succeeded—without so much as a wound to show for it. Whether it was luck or sheer strength, it didn't matter. Vaul knew he couldn't afford to refuse.
Reluctantly, Vaul took the case from his guard and offered it forward with both hands, feigning courtesy. "Very well."
The cloaked man took it, checking the contents carefully.
"Rest assured," Vaul said, his voice slick with pride. "I am a wealthy noble. Gold, Crystium, Onyxis—they are nothing to me. You'll find them all genuine."
Satisfied, the cloaked man finally retrieved a leather pouch from his side and tossed it toward Vaul.
The noble caught it and peered inside. His lips curled upward as his eyes fell on the prize: a dark crimson heart, still grotesquely fresh. Leonard's heart.
A triumphant grin spread across Vaul's face. "At last…"
The cloaked man said nothing. He simply watched in silence, his crimson eyes unreadable.
"Our business is done," he said at last, his voice cold as steel. "I'll take my leave." He turned toward the dead end of the alley, preparing to leap away.
"Wait!" Vaul called sharply, panic edging his tone. The cloaked man glanced back.
"Your name—tell me your name. I may need your services again. Where can I find you?"
The crimson-eyed figure stared at him for a long moment, then replied, "There is no need. If fate wills it, we will meet again."
With that, a gust of wind swept through the alley, carrying dust that obscured their vision. By the time it cleared, the cloaked man was gone, as if swallowed by the shadows.