On the way to the castle, John jogged to catch up with General Ren.
"Sir," John called out, "I have a question."
Ren nodded, not breaking his stride. "Speak."
"Why did the King order you to bring me? I need to return to my village. My friends... they're waiting for me."
Ren slowed slightly, his expression hardening. "Forget about them."
John stumbled to a halt. "What?"
Ren turned sharply, eyes flashing with cold authority. "The moment you entered Ritterfest, you offered your life to the kingdom. You are no longer a villager. You're a High-Ranked Knight now. Your past is irrelevant."
John opened his mouth to argue, but Ren cut him off. "Never question your superiors again."
Without another word, Ren disappeared ahead, leaving John clenching his fists in frustration.
"Why is everyone so damn serious..." John muttered. He glanced at the ring on his finger. "I forgot to ask about the old man who gave me this." He gritted his teeth and sprinted after Ren.
Meanwhile, inside the towering castle walls, King Elden stormed down the corridors. His voice echoed off the marble pillars.
"Aurora! Where are you? I'm sorry!"
Only the guards heard his desperate cries.
From the end of the hall, a man approached—Sir Evan, dressed in royal robes, a heavy book tucked under one arm. His dark brown hair hung to his shoulders, and his face carried the calmness of a scholar.
"My lord," Evan said, bowing slightly. "You need to come to the throne room. Something... terrible happened last night."
Elden scowled. "What now?"
Evan's tone turned grim. "It's about the village of Chinhi."
Without another word, Elden followed Evan to the grand doors. The guards snapped to attention, swinging the doors open.
Inside, five nobles stood at attention near the throne. The prince waited beside the royal seat, arms crossed.
As Elden entered, the nobles bowed.
"What's all this?" Elden growled. "Hosting a nobleman's tea party without me?" He slumped onto his throne.
Sir Evan stepped forward. "No, my lord. I summoned them... because of the disaster at Chinhi village."
Elden narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Speak."
Evan signaled the guards. "Bring him in."
The heavy doors creaked open again. Two guards dragged a broken man into the chamber. His arm was severed at the elbow, his body wrapped in bloody bandages. His face was a grotesque mask of tears and agony.
Elden wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Who's this cripple?"
Evan replied, "Andy Chinhi. Son of the late village head."
"Late?" Elden barked. "Wasn't he alive last month during my birthday feast?"
Evan's voice dropped lower. "He was, my lord... until last night."
Elden tapped his fingers against the throne. "And why's this one unconscious?"
"We sedated him, my lord," Evan said. "He was screaming too loud... and it might disturb your mood."
Elden rolled his eyes. "You disturbed me already." He waved a hand dismissively. "Wake him up."
The guards dumped a bucket of ice-cold water onto Andy's face. He gasped awake, coughing and shivering.
"M-my lord," Andy whimpered. "Forgive me... I cannot kneel properly..."
"Enough blabbering," Evan snapped. "Tell us what happened. You want revenge, don't you?"
At the mention of revenge, Andy's tear-swollen eyes sharpened with bloody determination.
"Y-Yes... I'll tell you..." he rasped.
Andy's broken voice echoed through the hall:
"It happened late at night..."
The scene shifted to the village of Chinhi. The cold mist rolled over the fields. From within the fog, a figure emerged—cloaked in black, a scythe resting on his shoulder, a Soul Reaper in human form.
A guard on patrol spotted him. "Who goes there?"
The Soul Reaper said nothing. In the blink of an eye—SWOOSH. The guard's head sailed through the air, a crimson arc following it.
The noise drew more guards running toward the scene—and they froze.
Blood soaked the ground. Their comrade lay headless at the stranger's feet.
"W-who are you?!" one stammered.
Another pointed in terror. "It's Von—he's dead! He killed him!"
But before they could act—SWOOSH. Another head fell. Then another. And another.
The air was filled with the scent of blood and fear. Screams tore through the night as the Soul Reaper stalked through the village, leaving a trail of severed heads behind him.
Panic spread like wildfire. Villagers rushed to their doors, slamming them shut, some screaming prayers to long-forgotten gods.
A few brave souls dared to stand their ground. Sword-wielding men blocked the path of the Soul Reaper.
"Stop! Why are you killing innocents?" one demanded.
For the first time, the Soul Reaper spoke. His voice was cold and detached, as if discussing the weather.
"To you, it may seem like meaningless slaughter... To me, it is mercy. I offer you the luxury of death—swift and painless—before the true cruelty of existence devours you."
As his words fell into the frozen air, his killing intent exploded outward, an invisible storm pressing against the hearts of all who stood before him.
Swords shook in terrified hands. Some men dropped their weapons altogether. The strongest among them found themselves paralyzed, unable to move, unable to breathe.
The Soul Reaper took a step forward—and the slaughter began anew.