Chapter 1: Raen the Loyal Servant
Raen Glorfill died young. Not in a blaze of glory, nor with heroic sacrifice. His life was snuffed out like a candle during a storm, quiet, cold, and without warning. He was born alone, he live alone, and even in his last breath he's still alone. He's just another forgotten corpse rotting in the corner of a bustling city.
Raen didn't remember much about his death. Only the cold. The burning pain of frost biting into his bones, and the feeling of having your blood freezed slowly. It was a slow and painful death.
Raen always imagined death as a peaceful release, an eternal rest. But instead, he woke up in place called the Underworld.
When he was still a kid. Raen remembered his mom telling him stories about the other world that exist. He still remembered vividly, the world Heaven and Underworld his mother mentioned. She said that between the two worlds stand their world, the Overworld.
Her mother would often tell him how beautiful the two world compared to theirs. Big golden gates, river of flowers that spread to the horizon and many many more beautiful paradise that stimulated his imagination.
She also said to him, that when people like them dies, their soul would definitely go to the paradise of where the dead rest peacefully—the Underworld. Not in the Heaven, that place is for those people who transcended mortality, peasants like them obviously don't have that power.
Listening to this, the kid Raen also wants to go to the paradise her mother always told.
Even after her mother died. Raen believed in the stories her mother mentioned. He believed that her soul was resting peacefully in that to-good-to-be-true paradise she always mentioned.
But his imagination got changed when he woke up in this accursed place. No golden gates. No rivers of flowers, and certainly not a peaceful place to rest. Just the endless howls of burning winds and the scent of scorched flesh. Raen's flesh had long since turned to dust when he arrived, yet his soul still remained intact, left to burn in the blazing purgatory.
The Underworld was not a place for relaxing vacations nor it was a peaceful paradise. It was a realm of pain, where the unclaimed souls anguished in torment, waiting for oblivion to swallow them whole.
Raen should have been one of them. A forgotten soul, waiting for his demise.
But then, she found him.
Death.
Surprisingly, Death was not a hooded skeleton or a terrifying monster that children books picture her to be. Instead, she was a very beautiful lady with pale skin like moonlight hitting a fine jade, black eyes colder than the void, and hair that danced like the blowing wind in the spring. She didn't speak when she reached out to him. She didn't have to. The moment her gaze fell on Raen, the searing agony stopped.
"You'll serve me," she said.
And like that, his suffering ended. Raen was chosen—not because of strength, or talent, or will. Maybe it was because of pity. Or a cosmic joke. Either way, Raen was offered salvation—to serve Death as one of her Mercenaries and escape the fires of the purgatory.
There were no oaths, no rituals. Just the promise of purpose. And that was enough for Raen, he is forever grateful for the mercy she bestowed upon him, and an unwavering loyalty is not enough to repay it.
---
The Mercenaries of Death weren't soldiers. They were executioners. Tasked with reclaiming the souls of those whose time had run out. Afterall, not all who died passed on peacefully like Raen did. Some clung to life. Some twisted fate. Others defied Death altogether.
It was the Mercenaries' job to fix that.
But Raen…
He was useless even in this world.
The other Mercenaries were cultivators, monsters in human form who reached the peak of mortality before dying and serving Death. Raen, by contrast, had barely lived long enough to wield a broom, let alone a blade.
His missions were disasters.
Target one? Escaped.
Target two? Escaped and stabbed him.
Target three? Laughed at him, before almost taking his life.
Although they can't die easily because of them being a soul body, it doesn't mean it's alright to fail. After the fifth mission, he wasn't even given targets anymore. Instead, a black-robed man—one of the olderr mercenaries, handed him a tiny wooden token with a single word:
Demoted.
He was no longer a Mercenary. He was now demoted to a servant.
Everyday, he was tasked to trim the grass outside the Palace of Death.
Delivering water for the flame spirits that cleaned the Obsidian Halls.
And to top it all off, polishing the weapon racks that no one used anymore.
He was tasked to do these uncanny jobs.
But, despite it all. Raen stayed.
He didn't complain. He didn't curse the gods or weep in the shadows. He simply served. Because even as a servant, he's not suffering from a blazing purgatory, plus he's still somewhat near to her, Death. He still remembered the way she saved him. The way her gaze had felt like peace that ended his suffering.
And that memory was what's keeping him to serve Death, day after day, for a hundred years.
Raen was tasked with many jobs, including cleaning and cooking. But his favorite job that he did this past hundred years is, trimming the courtyard. The grass was made of ash here, pale gray and soft, sensitive by just a touch. At first he didn't know how to trim it, but with enough passion and determination, he got the hang of it, using his dagger precisely and slashing with purpose.
Raen trim, cut, and repeat. For the past 100 years, Raen had shaped the lifeless courtyard into a garden full of carved statues, that each one resembling Death in a different pose, personality, and emotions.
Today, Raen was working on carving her bright smile.
Raen bent down, the sharp edge of his knife sliding carefully through the ashgrass, shaping her jawline. A flick of the wrist here. A gentle curve there.
"Almost~" Raen said eagerly, eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.
It was one small cut away from being done when—
The sky screamed a howling boom. A streak of black light tore through the heavens. Fastly approaching the ground.
Raen looked up.
Boom~
A black stone fell from the sky with a muffled boom.
It hit the statue—his newly carved statue—turning it back into fine dust. Ash exploded outward, blinding Raen as he staggered back, squinting his eyes.
"My statue..." He said, dejected.
And then Raen saw a figure.
In the center of the crater stood a woman. She was drenched in blood and shadows. Her dress was torn, her scythe was cracked. But there was no mistaking it, he can't forget those eyes that pulled him out of his misery.
Death.
Not the calm and graceful monarch he remembered. She's hurt, badly.
Raen didn't think about anything anymore. He dropped his knife and quickly ran to her.
Death heard it, the footsteps of a desperate person trying to help her.
She looked up at him, lips twitching with a wry smile.
"Still trimming grass, Raen?"
He fell to his knees beside her, reaching out.
"How did this happened..."
She chuckled, slowly closing her eyes.
"Maybe this is the karma for what I did..."
Raen hands trembled slightly, holding back his tears he asked,
"Is there anything I can help, my lady? I'm willing to offer my life for you to survive."
She heard this, and laughed, low and tired.
"There's one thing..." She said with a ragged breath.
Then she leaned forward and kissed Raen.
Raen's world froze.
It was soft, the lips that made contact with his, was soft like the clouds. Her breath, was also hot, burning hot. Her tongue, like a twisting vine, interacted with his and shared a passionate dance together. But amidst of it all, Raen felt the strong passion rising from her body, passion to live, passion to be happy, and passion to seek vengeance.
Raen felt these emotions like it was passed down to him. Planting a seed of vengeance in his heart.
A voice whispered inside his mind. Her voice.
"I choose you." She said, still clinging to him. Pressing her lips with a slight push.
Then—
An unfamiliar voice sounded inside Raen's mind.
[The Black-Rose Contract has been formed.]
Those are the last voice Raen heard, before his eyelids dropped and his consciousness slowly fading away.