The Duskwood.
Pale, frigid moonlight spilled over the thin mist, casting a hazy glow across the land. Lester wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced back at the thirty-odd men behind him—men dressed as bandits, handpicked loyalists of the Zach Clan. Individually, their skills were unremarkable, but as a unit, they moved with precision and discipline. Every last one of them swore fealty to the Traditionalist faction; their loyalty was beyond reproach.
When he had first received the order from the Council Elder, Lester—Captain of the Clan Guard—had been brimming with confidence. Not long ago, he had been merely the vice-captain, serving under a High-Ranked Swordsman who had been fiercely loyal to the late patriarch. But after the young master's disappearance, that captain had vanished without a trace, leaving Lester to step into his shoes. At forty-five years old, Lester was long past his prime as a swordsman—an age where further progress in martial prowess was all but impossible. He had abandoned rigorous sword training years ago, focusing instead on cultivating his network of connections. When the crisis erupted, those connections had paid off handsomely. Though he lacked the deadly skills of an assassin like Della, his unwavering loyalty to the Traditionalist cause and sterling reputation had convinced the elder to promote him to captain. This mission, then, was his chance to prove he was worthy of the title.
"Our target is just ahead," Lester murmured, gripping his longsword tightly as he addressed his men. They were hidden in the trees, peering nervously at the massive castle looming ahead—its dark silhouette stretching against the bright moonlit sky. The elder's intelligence had been crystal clear: apart from a few maids, Duskwood Keep was all but undefended. On the journey here, Lester had scouted the garrison himself, confirming the reports. The two small guard contingents were woefully understaffed, barely enough to patrol the town and its immediate surroundings. And at night, they did not return to the keep; they bunked down in the town proper to respond to emergencies quickly.
Lester had considered attacking the town instead, of course. It was larger, more open, and would have allowed for an easier retreat if things went south. But the elder had shot down the idea immediately. "Most nobles care little for their townsfolk," he had said. "What matters to them is their home—their castle. We still cannot fathom what kind of man this Blake is. Wasting our energy on the town would be foolish."
"Do not forget our mission," Lester said, his voice sharp. "Strike fast, and do not draw attention to yourselves!" He paused, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Any questions?"
The men exchanged glances, then one spoke up hesitantly. "Captain… the boys heard there are some mighty pretty women in the keep…"
A cold smile tugged at Lester's lips. During their reconnaissance, they had heard plenty of similar tales. The maids handled all the keep's daily errands and purchases, so they were a common sight in the town. To the simple folk of this backwater village, these young, lively girls were the subject of endless gossip and speculation. Having listened to enough of those tales, his men were understandably eager—especially now that they were posing as bandits. What did bandits do, after all, but loot, plunder, and take women? If they were going to play the part, why not commit to it fully?
"I know exactly what you're thinking," Lester waved a hand dismissively. "If the opportunity presents itself… the boys can have a little fun. You know what I mean."
"Yes, Captain!" The men grinned, exchanging knowing looks as they replied in hushed tones.
"Not 'Captain'," Lester corrected them sharply. "Call me 'Boss'. Remember—we're bandits now."
"Yes, Boss!"
As the men chuckled quietly among themselves, none of them noticed the shadowy figure perched silently on a branch high above, watching their every move. Then, with a soft rustle of wings, it glided away into the night, heading straight for the castle.
A bright red glow flickered to life between the gaps in its armor, dancing like embers.
"It seems we have some uninvited guests eager to pay a visit to the master's castle," a soft, melodious voice said.
Standing on the main staircase landing was a maid with long golden hair, her expression warm and elegant as she spoke. Around her, the Wraith Warriors flared to life, their crimson auras intensifying. In the shifting shadows and moonlight, nine other slender, petite figures stood in the great hall, their gazes fixed on the woman before them—Charlotte—awaiting her orders.
"Thirty-one of them in total," another maid said, standing quietly on the second-floor balcony. A pitch-black raven perched on the windowsill beside her, tilting its head curiously as it watched the humans in the room.
"To think they would dare lay a hand on the master's castle," Charlotte's eyebrows arched slightly, her lips curving into the polished, professional smile of a lady's maid. "What arrogant little bandits they are."
The air hummed with the faint, inaudible whispers of souls. A cold wind swept through the corridor, carrying with it a wordless roar that no mortal ear could perceive.
"That simply will not do, Miss Judy," Charlotte said, turning to one of the figures. "While you are the master's personal combat unit, as maids, it falls to us to defend the castle. Besides… I think it is high time the sisters grew accustomed to fighting with these new bodies of ours."
"Hmph! A bunch of brainless bandits—let's bury them all and turn them into fertilizer!" Another tiny maid sniffed disdainfully, pumping her small fist excitedly in the air. Her long red pigtails bounced with the movement.
"Still, guests are guests," Charlotte said, reaching up to smooth her hair. When her hand fell back to her side, her fingers were suddenly curled around several crystal vials—their contents shimmering with dangerous, iridescent light under the moonlight and candle flames.
"As the master's maids, it is our duty to make sure they leave satisfied," she continued. "Of course, please try to keep the collateral damage to a minimum. After all, everything here is quite valuable."
The maids scattered across the hall nodded in unison, exchanging confident smiles.
They were no ordinary maids. Even among the Wraith Warriors, the ten women led by Charlotte were a breed apart. Unlike warriors like Judy, who relied on raw soul power to unleash devastating attacks, Charlotte and her sisters specialized in combat and assassination through pure skill—no supernatural abilities required. To them, physical frailty was no obstacle. They might never be warriors, knights, or assassins in the traditional sense, but these young women could deliver a death sentence with a precision that left no room for doubt.
"Rudy, how are the castle's external defense mechanisms faring?" Charlotte asked.
"All systems are operational," a maid with short black bobbed hair and glasses replied, closing the massive tome in her hands. Her voice was lazy, almost bored. "They haven't been activated in decades, but they should still function as intended."
"Against these fools? We don't need such ancient relics," a maid with long aquamarine hair scoffed, twirling a longbow in her hands. Her delicate, cute face twisted into an expression of contempt. "They're nothing but a bunch of third-rate bandits, Rudy. Did you think we were going up against the Holy Grail Knights?"
"Even a lion gives its all when hunting a lamb, Miss Helena," another maid retorted, frowning slightly. She adjusted her collar, tucking her impossibly ample chest back into her uniform—restoring her proper, demure maid posture. If one ignored the sinister black glove encrusted with gold and silver thread on her left hand, that is.
"This is our first time fighting with these bodies," she added, her tone firm. "I expect everyone to be on their guard and get used to their new forms. Especially you, Miss Chris—your bust size is vastly different from your previous vessel. Do try to keep your balance, won't you?"
Charlotte's joke elicited a chorus of giggles from the maids, but the laughter quickly faded into the shadows, swallowed by the silence.
"Now then—are we all ready?" Charlotte asked, sweeping her gaze across her companions. She nodded in satisfaction, then her expression turned sharp and serious in an instant.
"From this moment forth—Operation begins for the Doomsday Banner's Special Combat Unit: *Black Cat*!"
Silence. Utter, absolute silence.
That was the first thing Lester felt as he led his men closer to the castle. It was not the normal quiet of a night in the woods. As they crept soundlessly toward the keep and climbed onto its stone platform, it was as if the entire world had stopped making noise. No wind rustling through the leaves, no chirping of crickets, no hooting of owls—nothing. Here, everything felt dead, suspended in a void where there was neither beginning nor end. Lester even had the absurd thought that even if they stomped their feet loudly, no sound would escape. This place was a silent realm of death, where even noise itself was forbidden.
Of course, they had heard the rumors about Duskwood Keep. Now, standing so close to the ancient, towering structure in the dead of night, even the most skeptical among them felt a chill creep down their spines. But there was no turning back now. They had only one choice: to press forward.
Lester gritted his teeth, steeled his resolve, and stepped forward to the massive oak doors. He grabbed the iron knocker and slammed it against the wood three times.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
The heavy knocking echoed through the silence. Almost immediately, a clear, melodious voice called out from inside.
"Who is it?"
"We are envoys of Lord Hans," Lester replied smoothly—drawing on years of experience as a guard captain. "We have urgent business to discuss with your lord."
There was a brief pause, then the sound of bolts being drawn echoed from within. Slowly, the great doors creaked open.
"I'm terribly sorry, but our master—"
The girl's words died in her throat. The moment the door opened, Lester—who had been waiting for this exact opportunity—stepped inside in a flash. His right hand clamped over the maid's mouth, muffling any scream, while his left hand struck hard at the base of her neck. The girl's eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed to the floor unconscious before she could even make a sound. At the same time, Lester drew his longsword, his eyes scanning the great hall vigilantly for any unexpected threats. Though he had not wielded a sword in earnest for years, his movements were fluid and seamless—no hesitation, no fumbling.
To Lester's surprise, the vast hall was completely empty. It was not what he had expected. He had thought that even in the middle of the night, there would be at least a few guards on duty. But there was no one—not a soul in sight. Could it be that this maid was the only one left to watch over the entire castle?
Doubt flickered through his mind, but he wasted no time dwelling on it. He quickly gestured to his men, signaling them to storm the castle. Then he slammed the doors shut and locked them firmly. Even if their cover was blown, the town guards would not be able to break in easily.
"Looks like there's no one here, Cap—er, Boss," one of his men said, looking around the empty hall. The others nodded in agreement. The castle remained eerily quiet, as if no one had ever set foot inside. Pale moonlight streamed through the huge stained-glass windows, casting a psychedelic glow over the ancient red carpets.
"Enough chatter," Lester snapped. "Stay alert! This is an old castle—anything could happen. Move fast! Round up all the servants, grab whatever valuables you can find, and then we get out of here!" He glanced up at the massive grandfather clock standing in the center of the hall. Its hands pointed directly at three o'clock in the morning. "We have four hours—make them count! If you boys want your fun, you'd better hurry. If we're late, we'll all be in deep trouble."
"Boss—what about this woman?" one of the men asked, nodding at the unconscious maid on the floor.
"Her…" Lester turned automatically to answer, but his words trailed off as he followed the man's gaze.
His blood ran cold.
The maid who should have been lying unconscious by the door was gone. Vanished without a trace.