Kairoz stood atop a tiled rooftop, eyes sweeping over the village below.
Chaos.
Villagers flooded the streets, moving in jerks and swarms running, stumbling, screaming like mindless zombies drawn toward a single point.
"What the hell…" he muttered.
His gaze snapped to the center of the village.
A presence.
Dense.
Oppressive.
Kendra energy coiled there like a storm that refused to disperse.
The entire village is possessed? he thought grimly.
His jaw tightened.
And that energy…
That's not normal.
It was too concentrated. Too heavy. Not wild—but intentional.
Kairoz exhaled slowly.
Then he smiled.
"…I want to see ," he said softly. "Whoever's causing this."
Kairoz stood on the rooftop, one sword resting loosely in his hand, the other embedded deep into the tiles beside him.
He glanced down at his palm.
Dark Kendra energy pulsed faintly around his fingers unstable, but obedient.
"…I'm starting to gain control over it," he murmured.
The air shifted.
Kairoz's expression hardened instantly.
His grip tightened. His stance changed.
Someone's here.
The wind stilled.
Kairoz noticed it.
Every villager had moved toward the center of the village.
This side… was empty.
I'm alone here, he realized.
A flicker.
Movement.
"I saw something…" he thought, eyes narrowing.
A shadow shifted again.
Kairoz's breath hitched.
If that thing is real…
He bolted.
Boots slammed against stone as he chased the shadow through the narrow streets, turning corners blindly, heart pounding louder with every step.
Then—
Silence.
He stopped inside a deserted alley.
Sweat rolled down his temple as he bent slightly, catching his breath.
He scanned left. Right.
Nothing.
"…Maybe it was just my instincts overreacting," he muttered.
He turned around.
And froze.
Someone was standing behind him.
Tall.
Unmoving.
A figure dressed like a grim reaper, a massive scythe resting beside it. Its face was completely hidden within darkness—no eyes, no expression. Just emptiness.
Kairoz's eyes widened.
His swords slipped from his hands, clattering to the ground.
"A—AAAHHH—!!"
A raw, broken scream tore from his throat as his legs gave out. He collapsed onto the stone, body shaking uncontrollably.
Fear—pure, primal fear—crushed him.
This wasn't a villager.
This wasn't human.
And whatever it was…
It had been waiting for him.
"Stop overreacting," the ghostlike entity said flatly. "I know very well you're not scared."
Kairoz's scream cut off instantly.
His face returned to normal—calm, unreadable—as he pushed himself up from the ground. He brushed the dust from his clothes, eyes locked onto the figure.
"I'm not overreacting," Kairoz said evenly. "I was just… surprised."
He narrowed his eyes.
"I sensed no energy from you. Not even a trace."
"That shouldn't be possible for a living being."
The tall figure didn't move.
Kairoz exhaled slowly.
"…What the hell are you?" he asked. "A grim reaper?"
His grip tightened as he slowly reached for his fallen sword.
"You here to take me away?"
The alley remained silent.
And somehow, that silence felt like an answer
"I am not a Grim Reaper," the ghostly figure said calmly.
"Nor am I human. Nor demon."
It stood motionless, its presence unnervingly hollow.
"I am simply a ghost that wanders," it continued. "I have no age. No origin. I don't even possess a true name."
Kairoz listened without interrupting.
"But people call me by one," the entity said at last.
"The Tithe."
"Tithe?" Kairoz repeated—then smiled faintly. "I remember reading about you."
He tilted his head. "The one who deals in give and take."
The ghost did not deny it.
Kairoz's smile widened, dangerous and curious.
"Then do me a favor," he said lightly.
"Take my eyeballs—both of them."
The air grew still.
"And in return," Kairoz continued, nodding toward the massive scythe-like weapon, "give me that."
Silence.
Then—
"I refuse," Tithe said flatly.
Kairoz raised an eyebrow.
"You're an odd one," Tithe went on. "If you've read about me… then you should also know why I appear before someone."
Kairoz's smile faded.
His eyes narrowed.
"If a person desires something unachievable… or something nearly impossible to obtain," Kairoz said slowly, "the Tithe appears."
He lifted his gaze to the ghost.
"To make a deal no one has ever refused."
A faint smile curved his lips.
"…Interesting."
He straightened.
"So," Kairoz asked calmly, "what's your deal for me?"
For the first time, the air reacted.
The Tithe laughed.
"Kukuku…"
The sound was hollow, wrong—like laughter echoing from an empty grave.
"Now we're talking," the Tithe said, its voice carrying quiet amusement.
The shadows around it deepened.
Meanwhile
Aah—chuu!
Touka sneezed sharply, her breath fogging the cold air as she stood by the riverbank.
Blood stained parts of her clothes, dark and stiff where it had dried.
"Tck… so cold," she muttered, hugging herself. "I need to wash this off."
The river stretched before her—wide, silent, and icy. The water moved slowly, reflecting the pale light above like glass.
She looked down at herself, jaw tightening.
"I really did make a mess this time…"
After a brief hesitation, Touka removed her clothes, the cold biting instantly at her skin. She stood there for one last moment, staring at the river—then stepped in.
The shock hit her like needles.
She dove under completely.
Seconds passed.
Touka burst back to the surface, gasping sharply, water streaming down her face and shoulders. She pushed her wet hair back and glanced at it through trembling fingers.
"…Still black," she murmured.
Her expression softened as a memory surfaced.
"I got this dye for you," Sorin had said, grinning.
"Special stuff. No matter what happens, this color won't fade."
"Only this pouch can remove it."
Touka exhaled slowly, letting the memory sink away with the cold.
After finishing her wash, she returned to the shore. She pulled on clothes taken from one of the assassins she'd killed—rough, ill-fitting, but dry enough to survive in.
Nearby, her own clothes hung close to a small fire, steam rising as they slowly dried.
Touka lowered herself beside the flames, extending her hands toward the warmth.
"So cold…" she whispered, teeth faintly chattering.
"At this rate, I might die from the cold before anything else gets me."
The fire crackled softly.
The river flowed on, silent and uncaring.
Touka stared at her palm as faint Kendra sparks crawled across her skin.
A tattoo surfaced—thin, angular symbols glowing briefly—then settled. From the center of her hand, something materialized.
A book.
She caught it calmly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Human Emotions
—Archived Record, Central Library
"…Ah. This one," she muttered.
She sat closer to the fire, the flames reflecting faintly in her cold eyes, and opened the book without much expectation.
Pages flipped.
Joy.
Fear.
Anger.
Grief.
Her expression didn't change. She understood the definitions easily—mechanical, logical. Useful information.
Then she reached a marked chapter.
Love
She paused.
"…Love?" she read aloud quietly.
A complex emotional attachment characterized by affection, longing, vulnerability, and desire for closeness.
Touka frowned.
"Desire?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Longing… for another human?"
She read further.
When experiencing love, the heart rate increases, thoughts become irrational, and the subject may feel warmth, embarrassment, or pain without physical cause.
Touka blinked.
"…That sounds inefficient."
She turned the page.
Love may cause blushing, avoidance of eye contact, and confusion when near the subject of affection.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Why would one avoid eye contact with a threat?" she muttered. "If proximity causes weakness, wouldn't distance be optimal?"
Another line caught her attention.
Love can make people protect others at the cost of their own lives.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the page.
"…Die?" she whispered.
For the first time, something unfamiliar stirred in her chest—not an emotion, not yet—but discomfort. A strange pressure she couldn't categorize.
She shut the book abruptly.
The fire crackled.
"…People are strange," Touka said, cheeks faintly warm—though she didn't notice it herself. "Creating emotions that sabotage their own survival."
She placed the book back onto her palm. The tattoo glowed once more, and the book dissolved into light.
Touka leaned back, staring into the flames.
"…I don't see the appeal," she said firmly.
But despite herself, her hand rested over her chest for a brief second longer than necessary.
"Love, huh… it can make people protect others at the cost of their own lives," Touka said to herself. "It could be useful. I need to learn more about it."
She smirked.
Clang!
Duke's sword collided head-on with the Monk's glaive.
The Monk blocked Duke's sword with his glaive.
"It's too heavy for a young boy," he said calmly.
More Kendra energy burst from Duke's body.
The Monk's eyes narrowed.
Duke's hand glowed green—windy energy swirling violently around his blade.
With a powerful push, Duke sent the Monk crashing across multiple rooftops.
But as the Monk regained balance mid-motion—
Duke was already there.
His speed—
The Monk blocked Duke's attacks one after another, but even so, his arms trembled.
"Tck—!"
Still blocking… even after being heavily damaged by Miss Violet.
I need to kill him now, Duke thought.
"AHHHH—!!"
Duke raised his sword straight up, Kendra energy flooding into the blade.
"AAAAHHH—!!"
He slashed downward.
The compressed energy exploded into the strike.
The Monk's eyes widened.
He blocked horizontally with his glaive—
But the impact was overwhelming.
The rooftop shattered.
The Monk was blasted straight through the building, crashing down and destroying two floors below.
Duke stared at his sword in shock.
How did my Kendra energy flow into the blade? he thought.
Then he realized—
This isn't my sword.
He had picked it up from an enemy after his own weapon shattered earlier.
"…A Kendra-enchanted blade," Duke muttered. That explains it.
No time to think.
This is my chance.
Duke leapt forward instantly, sword aimed straight at the Monk.
The Monk reacted just in time—rolling sideways and snatching his glaive back into his hands.
Steel clashed violently.
The deadly exchange began.
Blades screamed as they collided again and again, sparks flying as both fighters carved shallow cuts into each other. Each strike carried killing intent.
While blocking, the Monk noticed something.
His lips curled into a grin.
"Tch… fighting him like this will be fatal," he muttered. "I'll have to use force."
Duke roared, pouring more Kendra into his weapon. The green glow intensified as he swung again.
The Monk blocked—
—but the impact was overwhelming.
He was hurled backward, smashing through rooftops and walls as entire sections of houses collapsed beneath the force of the clash.
The battlefield trembled.
With this blade, I think I can do anything, Duke thought.
He charged the sword again with Kendra energy, the green, windy aura flaring violently around the blade.
Leaping into the air, he aimed a powerful vertical strike at the Monk. "It's over," Duke said, confidence radiating.
The Monk's eyes widened. "You haven't noticed yet," he said, shifting into a horizontal stance, glaive ready to block. A grin spread across his face.
Steel collided. Duke's sword slammed against the glaive—but then, with a sharp crack, the blade snapped.
Duke froze, shock washing over him.
The Monk's grin widened further. "Your sword… it was on the verge of breaking from your very first strike," he said, eyes glinting with amusement. "You poured too much Kendra energy into it. It couldn't contain it."