Vairan walked forward, axe dragging behind him as he approached the cart.
Then—
THUMP.
A heartbeat echoed violently in his chest.
His steps faltered.
The axes slipped from his hands and crashed into the snow.
Clang.
Vairan's eyes widened.
Blood spilled from his mouth, dripping onto the ground below.
His purple energy flickered—unstable—
then vanished completely.
"…What—?" he whispered.
His body gave out.
Vairan collapsed face-first into the snow, unmoving.
The mountain fell silent once more.
Dango stood behind Vairan.
A knife trembled in his grip.
His breath came out in short, panicked gasps as he stared at the collapsed body in the snow.
"…H-He's down," Dango whispered to himself.
Blood stained Vairan's lips.
No movement.
No energy.
Nothing.
Dango swallowed hard.
His hands shook as he raised the knife higher.
"If… if I don't do it now…" he muttered, eyes wide with terror.
"He'll wake up again."
Snow crunched under his feet as he took one careful step forward—
Then another.
The knife hovered above Vairan's neck.
Dango's heart pounded so loudly it felt like it would burst.
"D-Die…" he whispered.
His arm tensed—
Dango's arm froze.
The knife never came down.
A hand had seized his wrist—
Firm.
Unmoving.
Dango's breath hitched.
"…W–What?" he stammered.
Slowly—terrified—he turned his head.
Standing behind him was Fredrick.
His grip was iron.
Cold eyes stared straight through Dango, unblinking, merciless.
"Touch him," Fredrick said quietly,
"and you die."
The color drained from Dango's face.
"W–Who… who are you?" Dango croaked.
Fredrick didn't answer.
He struck.
Dango was smashed into the snow, skidding across the ground with a cry of pain.
Before he could even rise—
Footsteps echoed behind them.
Soldiers emerged from the mountain path, weapons drawn, surrounding the area in disciplined silence.
Fredrick released Dango's wrist and straightened.
"Clear the mess," he said calmly.
"Yes, sir," one soldier replied immediately.
The squad moved at once.
Dango lay in the snow, shaking—
finally understanding.
This mountain was no longer his escape.
Fredrick's gaze fell to the man lying in the snow.
Vairan.
Broken. Bloodied. Unconscious.
Fredrick stepped closer.
Then—
His eyes widened.
"…No," he breathed.
He knelt immediately, brushing snow away from Vairan's face, studying it closely.
That resemblance—
His blood ran cold.
"He's… the son of the late Lord Drayden," Fredrick said, voice tight.
"Vairan Drayden."
The soldiers stiffened instantly.
"What?" one whispered.
Fredrick stood sharply.
"This is bad," he snapped.
"Royal blood is involved."
He turned on the squad, authority crashing down like steel.
"Save him," Fredrick ordered.
"At any cost."
"Yes, sir!" the soldiers responded in unison.
"Get a healer. Now."
"Prepare immediate transport."
"If he dies here, we answer to the crown."
Fredrick looked back down at Vairan, jaw clenched.
"…So you're still alive, Lord Drayden's son," he murmured.
The snow continued to fall—
Unaware that the fate of the kingdom had just shifted.
At the main gate, Jack stepped out of his tent, rubbing his eyes after a long nap.
"…What is this mess?"
Broken carts. Bloodstains. Silence where voices should've been.
"Where are the others…?"
His hand snapped to his sword.
Steel rang as he drew it.
"Huh? What the hell is going on?!" Jack shouted into the empty camp.
Then—
A voice.
A woman's voice.
Singing.
Faint.
Soft.
Melodic.
"Sleep, my child, the night is near,
Fog will hush what you may hear.
Eyes like stars, so wide and bright,
Close them now… no need for fright."
Jack froze.
His breath slowed.
The song continued, drifting through the mist.
"Mother's here, the mist won't stay,
It only comes to take away…
All the ones who disobey—
So hush, my child…
Hush and pray."
"…What the—" Jack whispered.
His grip tightened around his sword.
"No way," he muttered. "A ghost?"
He shook his head.
"…No. This place is already a mess. It's probably an enemy."
He started walking toward the house where the voice was coming from, boots crunching softly against the ground.
The closer he got, the clearer the song became.
Jack stopped in front of the door.
He raised his fist and knocked hard.
BANG. BANG.
"Hey!" he shouted.
"What's with that voice, huh?!"
His sword angled forward.
"Come out," Jack growled.
"I know you're not a ghost."
The singing stopped.
The mist thickened.
And the silence that followed was worse than the song.
The wooden door groaned open.
A woman stood there, cradling a baby swaddled in pale cloth.
Her hair fell over one side of her face.
She smiled calmly—
Her eyes wide.
Too wide.
"Ahhh…" she said softly, voice sing-song and sweet.
"What do you want, sir?"
Jack blinked, confused.
"N–Nothing," he stammered. "I just—"
A voice cut in.
"I want you."
Jack flinched.
"H–Huh?" he said.
He turned—
And froze.
Someone was standing beside him.
Blood dripped slowly from the man's sleeve, splattering onto the ground.
Jack's eyes widened.
"Who are you ?"
It's was Rheet
Rheet didn't look at him.
His gaze was locked on the woman.
On the baby.
On the smile.
Rheet bent down calmly and picked up a knife from the ground—bare-handed. The blade was still wet.
At the same instant—
The woman lunged.
She tried to stab Jack.
Rheet moved faster.
He grabbed her wrist mid-strike and twisted hard.
"Careful, kid," Rheet said coldly.
"You almost fell for it."
He shoved her back.
"That singing?" he continued.
"It numbs the mind."
The woman stumbled, terror flashing across her face.
She tried to reach for the knife—
"I can't forgive what you did to my friend," Rheet said.
He punched her.
CRACK.
Her body flew back and slammed into the ground.
The baby slipped from her arms, rolling safely onto the dirt as she collapsed beside it.
Groaning.
Rheet stepped forward, eyes burning.
"You're not possessed," he said.
"But you're worse than one."
The woman spat blood and laughed weakly.
"I'll kill you," she hissed.
Footsteps thundered.
Soldiers poured into the area from every direction, weapons raised, surrounding the house.
"It's over," Rheet said calmly.
"You're surrounded."
The woman's smile finally broke.
Jack stood there, shaking.
Confused.
"…W–What is happening?" he whispered.
Rheet didn't answer.
He never took his eyes off her.
Back at the center of the village, chaos slowly began to loosen its grip.
Shattered carts lay scattered across the square. Burned wood still smoked. Villagers lay collapsed or frozen mid-motion, eyes vacant, bodies trembling as if caught between worlds.
Miss Violet stood among them, boots planted firmly in the snow-muddied ground.
Her eyes glowed faintly.
Chains of pale-blue light erupted from her palms—Soul Bind Chains—slithering through the air like living threads. They wrapped gently around the possessed villagers' wrists, necks, and torsos.
"Easy… breathe," Violet murmured, voice calm but strained.
The chains pulsed once.
Then twice.
One by one, the villagers gasped sharply, collapsing to their knees as the foreign energy was torn free from their souls. Color returned to their faces. Eyes cleared. Confusion replaced terror.
A woman sobbed.
A man clutched his chest, whispering thanks.
Another simply stared at Violet like she was unreal.
Violet staggered slightly—but steadied herself.
Nearby, Drex was already moving.
With brute force and raw focus, he lifted chunks of collapsed roofing and shattered beams, tossing them aside like they weighed nothing.
"Lysa!" he shouted, coughing through dust.
"Hang on— I've got you!"
A faint groan answered him.
Drex froze—then tore the debris apart faster, hands bleeding, fear driving every motion.
Then—
Footsteps.
Measured.
Disciplined.
Soldiers entered the square, weapons lowered but ready.
Violet straightened immediately.
Her eyes snapped to them.
"…They're ours," she said quietly. "Imperial soldiers."
One of them stepped forward and saluted.
"Captain Violet," the soldier said.
"What's the situation here?"
Violet exhaled slowly.
"Not good," she replied.
Her gaze swept the broken village, the wounded, the unconscious.
"I'll explain," she added, already moving.
"Just—wait here."
Then—
Her steps stopped.
Her eyes widened.
From the far end of the square, the Duke emerged through the thinning mist.
He was walking fast.
Careful.
In his arms—
Samira.
Unconscious. Blood staining her clothes. Her head lolled weakly against his shoulder.
Violet's breath caught.
"…No," she whispered.
The world seemed to narrow to that single sigh
The Duke's grim face.
Samira's still body.
And the horrible certainty that whatever had happened…
The Monk burned.
Flames clung to his body as he crawled across the shattered street, fingers scraping uselessly against stone. His robes were gone—skin blackened, flesh cracking, blood smearing the ground beneath him.
"Ahh—ehh—!"
He dragged himself forward, coughing violently.
"I—I don't wanna die… I don't…" he sobbed, voice breaking. "Please… I don't want to die…"
The houses ahead blurred through tears and smoke.
Then—
The firelight dimmed.
A shadow fell over him.
The Monk froze.
Two figures stood before him.
One was tall, calm—eyes sharp with curiosity.
The other… was wrong.
A presence with no weight. No breath. No energy.
Just absence.
"So," Kairoz said quietly, looking down at the crawling Monk.
"This is the one you gave power to?"
The air went cold.
"Yes," the Tithe said calmly.
"I did give him power."
The Monk clawed forward again, body dragging through ash and blood.
"P–Please… save me…" he begged, voice cracking.
"I—I can't heal… my body won't regenerate…"
The Tithe looked down at him.
"I believe that is the woman's attack," it said evenly.
"The one who bound souls."
Kairoz's eyes narrowed.
"Violet," he said flatly.
The Monk reached them at last.
With trembling hands, he grabbed the hem of Kairoz's coat and pressed his burned forehead to Kairoz's boot.
"Please—!" he cried.
"I'll do anything! I don't want to die!"
For a moment—
Nothing.
Then—
SLAM.
Kairoz kicked him away without hesitation.
The Monk's body rolled across the ground, coughing blood, flames flaring as he screamed.
Kairoz looked down at him with pure disgust.
"Don't touch me," he said coldly.
"Stay away from me."
The Monk lay there, shaking, sobbing, finally realizing—
There would be no mercy.
The shadows behind them deepened.
And the Tithe watched.
"He loved his eyes," the Tithe said softly.
"His face. His hair. His body."
The Monk whimpered weakly, fingers clawing at the ground.
"But more than that," the Tithe continued,
"he desired power."
Kairoz didn't look away.
"So I gave him what he wanted," the Tithe said.
"Power beyond what he deserved."
It paused.
"And in return…
I took everything he loved."
The Monk let out a broken scream as his reflection caught in a shard of glass—
burned flesh, ruined form, nothing left to admire.
"You had a family, didn't you?" the Tithe asked quietly.
"Your mother. Your father. Your wife."
The Monk's body trembled as he crawled weakly across the dirt.
"It didn't have to be this way," the Tithe continued.
"There were other paths."
The Monk shook his head violently.
"No—stop… please—" he sobbed.
"I didn't know… I didn't know it would be like this…"
Kairoz stood above him.
Expressionless.
Eyes empty.
The Monk grabbed at the ground, voice breaking.
"Mom… Dad… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry—"
His words dissolved into choking cries.
The Tithe turned away from him and faced Kairoz.
"So," it said calmly,
"do you still want power?"
Kairoz didn't answer.
Kairoz didn't answer.
The Tithe's voice lowered.
"With power, everything is taken away," it said.
"Nothing remains."
It stepped closer.
"Only pain."
"And regret."
The Monk's crying echoed behind them—small, broken, meaningless.
The Monk's crying stopped.
Abruptly.
Silence swallowed the street.
"I know the price," Kairoz said.
The Tithe's shadow rippled.
It grinned.
"Kukuku…"