The Silver Moon Inner Castle stood solemnly atop its cliffside foundation, its high stone walls and arched windows casting long, cold shadows over the courtyard. Deep within this fortress was the Council Hall—a cavernous chamber illuminated by tall candelabras whose flames flickered against the marble pillars.
On the main seat, at the far end of the hall, sat the Silver Moon Viscount. His elbows rested on the carved armrests, and his fingertips pressed against his temples. Fatigue weighed down his expression. The last few days had aged him far beyond his years. He exhaled a long, weary breath, rubbing his brow as though trying to chase away the lingering dread that occupied his mind.
Ever since the incident at Kubeiro Estate, he had not slept through a single night. The commoners—blissfully ignorant and sheltered by their lack of understanding—treated the matter as harmless gossip. To them, "haunting rumors" were nothing more than a fresh topic to chat about while they ate dinner or gathered at the marketplace. They whispered about flickering lights, ghostly shadows, and cries echoing from the abandoned estate, never realizing how accurate those tales truly were.
But the Viscount knew the truth. He knew exactly how severe the situation was.
It wasn't a mere ghost.
It wasn't some wandering soul born from an unlucky death.
It was an evil spirit—a true, legendary undead creature whose very existence destabilized the physical world around it.
If mishandled, the entire Stone Bell City could become a twisted, cursed wasteland—a ghost domain where the living could no longer survive.
This terrifying possibility gnawed at him day and night.
To subdue the monster haunting the estate, he had already lost a Great Knight—one of his most dependable warriors—and five Knights. Each death had struck him like a hammer blows to his heart. Knights were not weeds that grew in the fields; they were valuable, rare, trained assets each representing years of resources, training, and effort. Losing six at once… his heart bled at the thought.
And after all those sacrifices?
That evil spirit still roamed freely, its malicious presence now even stronger. Having consumed the souls of the six fallen Knights, it had transformed into something more horrifying—more vicious, more cunning, more difficult to kill.
If he did not eliminate it soon, the consequences would be unimaginable.
A surge of fury ran through him. The Viscount clenched his fists and ground his teeth together with barely restrained anger as one particular name surfaced in his mind.
Kubeiro.
The fool.
The utterly useless fool.
Currently locked away in the dungeon, Kubeiro had been the root cause of this disaster. If that incompetent nobleman had been able to control his own household—if he had prevented his wife from being deceived by the Starfire Church and from bringing that cursed blood-colored flower into the Manor—none of this would have happened. And even after the initial deaths, the man had closed off information to protect his own reputation, delaying the response until the situation spiraled completely out of control.
The Viscount's palm smacked against the armrest.
A self-serving idiot like that… killing him ten times would not cool his rage.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, forcing calm back into his voice. After several steady breaths, he lifted his gaze to the scribe standing quietly beside him.
"Are all the people I ordered recruited already here?" he asked slowly.
The scribe bowed respectfully. "Yes, my lord. All of them have arrived. They await you in the front reception hall."
"Good." The Viscount stood, straightened his coat, and strode toward the hall.
He needed fresh strength.
His own forces were already stretched thin, and even the Knights who remained were mentally shaken from witnessing the deaths of their comrades. To fight an evil spirit—one that had grown stronger—he needed every capable warrior he could gather. Whether mercenaries, wandering Knights, or any freelance combatant with Knight-level strength, every additional blade could increase their odds of success.
If only he could find a Wizard.
Not those charlatans who threw colored smoke or performed cheap parlor tricks to impress uneducated crowds—no.
A true Wizard: mysterious, disciplined, wielding powers specifically suited to dealing with evil spirits. If he could hire even one real Wizard, the situation would be far less dire.
But Wizards hid their whereabouts, rarely appearing openly. Even if one lived nearby, the Viscount had no way to contact him.
"I heard the second son of the former Shimmer Baron became a Wizard," he murmured to himself while walking. "But who knows if that's anything more than rumor?"
His steps soon brought him into the reception hall.
More than twenty men sat inside, most wearing armor or carrying weapons. They looked like typical mercenaries and wandering Knights—weathered veterans in their thirties or forties, their bodies hardened from years on the battlefield. Those born without noble blood always cultivated inferior breathing methods and had limited access to resources, so they typically reached basic Knight rank only after years of grueling work.
For most of them, that was the end of the road.
Peak Knight was a distant dream, and Great Knight was almost impossible without a miracle.
The Viscount scanned the room. As expected, there were perhaps one or two who might be close to Peak Knight. A Great Knight? He doubted it. Still, he had not brought them here to fight amongst themselves. Their purpose was singular: defeat the evil spirit.
Yet, one individual immediately drew his attention.
Among all the armored fighters, one man wore a thin gray robe instead of metal plates. A Night Owl mask covered his entire face, lending him an air of mystery. His presence was striking—a lone figure who seemed out of place, yet oddly composed and self-assured.
The Viscount studied him for a moment.
Every person here had already undergone an initial strength assessment performed by his men. Anyone admitted to this chamber had been verified to possess Knight-level strength. So, although the masked man appeared unconventional, the Viscount did not question his qualifications.
He walked to the main seat and sat down, gesturing for the scribe to begin.
The scribe stepped forward, clearing his throat before addressing the group.
"First, thank you all for answering the Viscount's recruitment notice," he began. "The details of the mission were clearly stated on the notice, but I will repeat the most important part. The creature haunting Kubeiro Estate is not an ordinary undead. It is extremely powerful. Even a Knight may die if he is careless." His tone was solemn. "Knowing this, do you still wish to participate?"
None of the men spoke, but their firm expressions revealed that they already knew what they were facing. Rumors had spread throughout Stone Bell City—everyone here had heard about the multiple Knights who perished. Their presence alone meant they were prepared.
At last, a large man with a booming voice raised his hand.
"I only have one question," he said. "Is the thousand-gold reward real?"
The scribe nodded. "Yes. Of course it is real. The thousand gold coins will be distributed according to each participant's strength and contribution. And if any man falls in battle, we will ensure his share is given to any family member or relative he designates."
The group murmured with excitement.
A thousand gold coins divided among roughly twenty people—each would receive twenty to thirty coins at minimum. To them, that was worth three to four years of hard labor. A reward like this was rare; perhaps once in a lifetime.
But before their excitement settled, an unexpected voice rose from the group.
"If only I participate," a calm voice said, "will all one thousand gold coins be mine?"
The entire hall froze.
Every head turned toward the speaker.
It was the masked man—the one in the gray robe, the one who stood out from the very beginning.
In an instant, the air became heavy.
Several mercenaries scoffed aloud.
"Tch. What a big mouth on that one."
"Does he even know what he's saying?"
"Trying to swallow the whole reward alone? I'd like to see if he's strong enough to back up that talk."
"Heh. It's been a long time since I've met someone this arrogant."
Dozens of hostile gazes locked onto the masked man. Men who lived off the sword were not patient or gentle by nature. Their pride was sharp, and their tempers sharper. For someone to stand among them and declare he could handle the mission alone… it was provoking, disrespectful even.
A muscular Knight with broad shoulders stood up, stepping forward with heavy boots that echoed across the floor. He gripped the massive iron axe strapped to his back and stared at the masked man with open hostility.
"Kid," he growled, "if you want to monopolize the reward, you'll have to get past me first."
He cracked his neck loudly and smirked.
"You're acting pretty arrogant, so I'll assume you think you've got the skills to back it up. How about we have a contest? Whoever loses kneels down and barks like a dog—then withdraws from the recruitment. Do you dare?"
Several others immediately jumped in, amused by the idea.
"Haha! That's a good suggestion!"
"I want to see this fight!"
"Whoever backs out is a coward!"
"Come on, masked kid—let's see if you're scared!"
The hall filled with noise and instigation.
At the far end, the Silver Moon Viscount remained silent, watching with narrowed eyes. He wasn't opposed to the clash. In fact, he was curious. Someone who dared say such things during such a dangerous mission was either unbelievably foolish or truly confident in his own strength.
His instincts told him the masked man was not a fool.
Under all those gazes, the masked man—Magus—finally lifted his head.
He nodded.
"A good suggestion," Magus said. "Let's do that."
The hall quieted slightly, waiting for the display of bravado.
Magus slowly raised his eyes to meet the burly warrior's. Behind the Night Owl mask, a faint glimmer of strange light flickered.
"Now," Magus said softly, "you can kneel and bark like a dog."
The burly Knight's smirk froze.
Then his entire expression melted away—as if his mind had been wiped clean in an instant.
Before anyone could blink, the man dropped to his knees.
His hands pressed against the floor, and he lifted his chin.
"Woof."
A stunned silence crashed over the hall.
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