Today was supposed to be a peaceful day, but it quickly descended into terror and tragedy.
…
"My lady! It's a boy! H-he looks so handsome…" the maid whispered, her voice trembling before her body crumpled to the floor.
Her head struck the marble with a dull thud. By some miracle, the newborn was unharmed by her sudden collapse.
Her lifeless eyes stared blankly at the child, her face frozen in a neutral expression as though even death had failed to rob her of duty.
The mother, who had been waiting with bated breath for the maid's declaration, widened her eyes in disbelief. Her voice cracked as she let out a strained cry, "Son? Son?!"
Panic overtook her. There was no sound from the child, not a single cry or whimper. Fearing the worst, she rushed forward with trembling arms to hold him, thinking she had already lost her child before even hearing his voice.
Yet the moment her eyes met his, she froze.
He was staring at her—his gaze wide, deep, and eerily calm. His face was unusually handsome, the kind of beauty that made her momentarily question if such a child could truly be hers.
'So… beautiful,' she thought in wonder.
But there was no time to linger on such thoughts. The warmth quickly drained from her body. Her legs buckled, and her vision faded. Within seconds, her eyes dulled, her body falling beside the maid.
Now surrounded by two lifeless figures, the baby's round eyes reflected pure horror.
"Th-this…" his heart pounded erratically as a flood of memories surged into his mind.
Memories from lifetimes past—countless deaths, endless rebirths, countless faces—came rushing in like a tidal wave.
As the memories settled, the boy exhaled softly. A weary expression crossed his chubby little face, far too mature for someone who had just taken his first breath in the world.
'This should be my hundredth reincarnation… huh?' he murmured inwardly, his thoughts tinged with fatigue. 'It seems I truly have been cursed… to live and die endlessly.'
Amon chuckled softly, though there was no joy in his voice. Just then, hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway. Three figures burst into the room.
The first was a middle-aged man gripping a broadsword tightly. Behind him followed two men with alert, sharp eyes—clearly guards. Amon sensed their cautious presence as they stepped into the room.
Their eyes landed on the newborn lying quietly on the cold floor, surrounded by the corpses of two women. For a heartbeat, confusion crossed their faces, then dread overtook them.
The middle-aged man's eyes widened in horror as he stumbled forward.
Within moments, without even a scream, his body dropped lifelessly to the floor. The guards followed almost immediately, their expressions frozen in sheer terror.
Amon's chest tightened. An invisible weight pressed against his tiny body.
'Dead… All dead. My parents in this life, the maid, the guards… Why? What is happening?'
His vision trembled, heart throbbing in dread. In all his ninety-nine past lives, he had never experienced something as deeply terrifying as this.
As the room fell silent once more, his limbs grew cold and numb.
'Am I overstraining this body?' he wondered, feeling his senses dull. His newborn form couldn't handle the intense burden of memory and power.
Dizziness swept over him, and his vision blurred. Still, he clung to consciousness.
His wide, unblinking eyes swept across the once-luxurious bedroom. Moonlight filtered through ornate windows, casting long shadows across the floor.
The greatest sin a person could ever commit—murdering one's own parents.
He could barely form a thought. Instead, he felt himself spiraling inward, vision retreating into the depths of his soul. Images of previous lives flickered in his mind.
Outside, a few more maids had sensed something was wrong and stepped into the room. Their fates mirrored the others. One by one, they fell. The room grew colder, thicker with the smell of death.
Amon could feel the numbness creeping over him.
'Every time someone dies, it's as though a part of me vanishes…' he thought.
His limbs, already small and fragile, weakened further. Hunger gnawed at his insides, a primal need rising now that the adrenaline had faded.
'I… I can't… think… anymore…'
His thoughts slowed until they came to a halt. Then, silence. He slipped into unconsciousness.
Not far away, hidden in the shadows, a trembling old man had witnessed it all.
His limbs quivered violently as he shuffled forward, muttering words under his breath. In his hands, he clutched a kitchen knife, the blade shaking with every step.
"Cursed… a cursed child. He killed them all…" the old man whispered, his eyes wild.
He approached cautiously, expecting his life to end the moment he stepped closer. But the child remained still. The deathly aura had receded.
It seemed the infant's power no longer stirred while unconscious—either that, or something far more sinister was at play.
The old man's breathing quickened. A strange thought rooted itself in his heart.
'Maybe… maybe the heavens themselves have acknowledged the sin of this child. Maybe they've granted me a chance… to end this horror.'
His eyes burned with conviction. Raising the blade high, he prepared to strike.
Then, a sudden gust of wind swept through the room. The flames in the lanterns flickered. And with the wind came a voice—soft, melodic, and tinged with amusement.
"What an interesting child…"
The words were the last thing the old man heard before his head twisted sideways, a fountain of crimson arcing through the air.
A woman stepped through the doorway with measured grace. She wore flowing blue robes that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. In one hand, she held a mask. The object seemed to pulse faintly with power, exuding an aura not of this world.
Her eyes scanned the room calmly. Then she spoke to herself in a whisper.
"To think… the moment this child was born, the skies split open… and this mask descended from the heavens. It's as if fate itself knew what this child would become."
She approached the boy slowly, her expression unreadable. Then, as she gazed down at his face, a glimmer of pity softened her features.
No child should ever witness such horror, let alone cause it.
Something about his face stirred unfamiliar emotions within her. Though she had walked the lands for centuries, her heart flickered with a strange sense of protectiveness.
She gently touched his cheek, her fingers cool and careful, then lifted the mask to his face.
"If he awakens, his divine energy should have recovered. And then… his passive ability may return."
Her voice faded, uncertainty lacing her thoughts.
But then she froze.
She tried to remove the mask—and failed.
Her brows furrowed in shock.
"I can't… I can't take it off? Even someone like me?" Her eyes locked onto the mask with unease.
For a long moment, she stood still. Then, finally, she sighed.
"How interesting… I will call you Amon. The faceless Amon."
"I wonder how far you'll go in this fascinating world…"
With those words, she lifted the child into her arms. In the next breath, the two of them disappeared, leaving behind nothing but silence—and the scent of death that lingered in the moonlit room.