Night fell quickly, a cold wind bringing a thin mist from the west. The village felt quieter than usual, like holding its breath. Everyone knew something was going to happen. But no one knew it was this soon.
A scream broke the dawn.
The villagers ran to the center of the village. There, in front of the meeting hall, hung something from a flagpole.
Not just one body. But two.
The heads of Mr. Garet—the village chief—and his wife. Their bodies were neatly chopped up, arranged in a sitting position, as if they were attending a meeting. Their eyes had been gouged out. And on the wall behind them, written in blood:
"Justice does not belong to the system. But to those who dare to take it."
Veyrn arrived shortly after. He didn't look surprised. Just… disappointed. "This isn't the work of savages," he said softly. "This is symbolic. Planned."
The villagers began to hysterical. They asked for protection, revenge, anything. But Veyrn didn't act immediately.
Instead, he gathered everyone together, then asked calmly:
"Who isn't here tonight?"
All heads turned. And in the silence, one name emerged:
Zeo.
Elsewhere, away from the crowd, Zeo sat on a small hill, staring at the small fire he had lit. In his hand was a piece of paper, stained with blood.
"You're starting slow, Veyrn," he muttered. "I'm already three steps ahead."
But behind his smile, there was one thing that made him think. Because he wasn't the one who killed Mr. Garet. He wasn't the one who wrote the message.
He just… knew it would happen.
And if he didn't do it—who?
On the other hand, Rivan shivered not because of the cold. But because he had discovered one detail that no one had mentioned.
The symbol on the wall—at the end of the blood sentence—was no ordinary magic symbol.
It was the same symbol that was also in the book that had gone missing from the library.
And that meant… there was a third player.
Someone invisible. Who might be crazier than Zeo. And freer than Veyrn.
Rivan hadn't slept since the night of the massacre.
In his head, the pieces began to fit together—but not in a straight line. Something was crooked. Off. Like another hand was playing on the chessboard, but never at the table.
He returned to the ransacked library. Looking for… anything.
And he found it. Behind the very back shelf, hidden in a crevice in the weathered wood—a single, worn note. The writing was different from the official archives. Older. More… insane.
"If magic is the root, then Darzel is the poison. He is not bound by the laws of magic, for he himself is not of this world. He does not use magic. He makes it."
Rivan swallowed. That name—Darzel—was never mentioned in the royal archives. But there was a small symbol in the bottom corner of the page—three interlocking circles.
The exact same symbol that had been on the wall when Mr. Garet was killed.
Not Zeo's. Not the symbol of the Order of Veyrn.
Something older. More hidden.
Meanwhile, Zeo stood at the edge of the forest. He felt something. A strange aura. Not like ordinary magic. More like… a subtle vibration that pressed against his skin, piercing his bones.
He traced symbols in the air, trying to track its source. But to no avail.
Then a voice came. Very soft. From within his own mind.
"You love destruction, Zeo. But you still think like a human. That is your limitation."
Zeo froze. He had never heard that voice before. Not a spell. Not a spirit. But something… that knew its name.
"Play your chess. Kill whoever you want. But remember… chess is not the only game in this world."
And the voice was gone.
Zeo remained silent. For the first time in this story—he did not smile.
At the same time, Veyrn was reading a report sent from the capital. His hand paused on a page. His eyes narrowed.
"Darzel…"
He whispered the name like someone reciting a curse.
"So he's still alive."