This depraved world tore what was his away. Memories are fading, nothing to protect, no home to return to, no name to cim, no one to mourn his death, eternal longevity… But it was he who brought his current dilemma upon himself as he trod a path toward the abyss. He who had forgotten his real name

  —EINN MIZRAHI, LOOKING AT SHINKU

  Location: ? Fehlerfreint Empire – Labor Camp ?

  Date: ? 2001 – May 27 – 09:00 a.m. ?

  Bang!

  “AAAAGHHHH!”

  The agonized scream tore through the morning air, raw and guttural, cutting like a knife through the oppressive silence.

  A man canine-like ears writhed on the ground, clutching his leg as blood spilled freely from a jagged wound. His face contorted in sheer agony, every trembling gasp an echo of his suffering. Nearby, a girl cried out, her voice frantic.

  “Papa!”

  Her small frame wrenching itself from her mother’s desperate grasp as she ran to the fallen man who’s filing like a fish removed from its water tank.

  The onlookers—beaten, shackled, and silent—dared not move. Their ears twitched, tails bristled, horns lowered. Therianthropes. A people with the blood of beastmen in their veins, bearing the traits of animals—fur, scales, fangs, sharpened senses. But to those of purer blood—the Empire, their existence was nothing but a stain. They were dehumanized, and in a world now at war, their treatment had sunk to new depths of cruelty.

  Once the empire’s disdain had merely been whispers and scornful looks. Now, it was shackles, bor camps, and mass graves. Therianthropes were no longer seen as people, merely beasts to be worked to death—or sughtered for the hell of it.

  Bang!

  Another shot rang out, this time into the sky. The imperial soldier, smug in his uniform, sneered at the gathered crowd of therianthropes.

  “This,” he decred, voice carrying over the huddled mass of therianthropes, “is what happens to those who consort with the Resistance.”

  The man’s wife, her voice choked with desperation, called out through her tears. “My husband didn’t do anything—”

  The butt of a rifle silenced her. It struck her jaw with a brutal crack, sending her stumbling backward. She fell to the dirt, her sobs swallowed by the dust rising around her.

  “You Tainted don’t have the right to speak,” the soldier spat. His eyes swept over the crowd, gleaming with sadistic amusement. “What, did you think fleeing to the United Kingdom would save you? That we’d let you live just because you dream of freedom?” He scoffed. “Today you dream—tomorrow, you revolt.”

  The soldier with a pistol drove his boot into the fallen man’s ribs. The therianthrope wheezed, a wet gurgle bubbling past his lips as his body convulsed. “Tch. We’re just upholding the w,” the soldier sneered, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure.

  A young therianthrope, feline in nature, stepped forward, his golden eyes abze with fury. “A stray thought doesn’t warrant a death sentence, you depraved Imperial mongrels!”

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Three 7.62mm select-fire battle rifles fired in unison. The man colpsed, his life snuffed out before his body even hit the dirt. The soldier with the pistol gnced at the corpse, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a sickening grin.

  The soldier exhaled through his nose, then gave a slow, smile. “Imperial Unity Preservation Act of 2001, Section Two,” he recited, mocking the weight of w. “‘Anyone who speaks ill of the Empire, the Emperor, or the military during wartime forfeits their rights as a human.’” He crouched beside the body, voice dropping to a whisper. “Not that you things ever had rights to begin with.”

  A hush fell over the crowd. Therianthropes shrank back, their ears pinned ft against their skulls. Another life discarded, another soul erased, all because he was “less than human.”

  A child knelt beside the dead man, her hands ghosting over his still-warm face. “Papa…” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Please… breathe…”

  The soldiers ughed, a low, hollow sound that filled the air with something far worse than malice—it was the absence of any humanity. The child’s eyes darkened, glowing faintly with an ethereal blue light. She raised her small hand as power began to surge through her, a raw, untamed force gathering in her palm.

  “Fire—”

  But before the spell could be cast, the soldiers’ guns roared.

  At first it was just a single shot. Her body jerked. A second ter, another volley of gunfire tore through her frail frame.

  She crumpled beside her father, her tiny hands twitching once before falling still. The world around her fell silent, except for the soft drip of blood pooling at her feet.

  “THAT WAS A KID!”

  The scream tore through the air. A therianthrope—his voice ragged, shaking—staggered forward. “YOU MURDERED A CHILD!”

  “DAMN IMPERIAL—”

  The soldiers didn’t wait for the rest. More gunfire erupted, the dull, repetitive thud of bodies hitting the ground a grim accompaniment to the staccato of bullets. One by one, the therianthropes fell, their blood seeping into the earth, merging into a single, crimson pool beneath them.

  Spent casings littered the ground. The soldiers, unfazed, reloaded with eerie calm, grinning all the while.

  “Clean up, boys,” the leader barked. His men moved swiftly, kicking bodies into a mass grave—an open pit where smoldering fmes awaited.

  Without a word of respect, they set the corpses alight, the fmes hungrily devouring the fallen. For the Empire, it was just another day. For the therianthropes, it was the end of a life never truly lived.

  Just as the st embers of flesh curled into ash, soldiers in ash-gray military uniforms appeared, marching in tight formation. Leading them was a young man, his wavy, short hair the color of dead skies and his eyes a deep, smoldering scarlet. The moment he appeared, the soldiers in dark red stiffened, snapping to attention with a sharp salute.

  The young man halted, his gaze sweeping over the carnage. He returned the salute with a brisk nod. “Another batch of Tainted?”

  The soldiers in red nodded. “Yes, Lieutenant Dantōdai.”

  Beside him, a female sergeant scrunched her nose, visibly repulsed. “Ugh, the stench… How are you fine in this, Yami?”

  Yami heaved a sigh, his scarlet eyes narrowing on the soldiers in red. His expression remained neutral, but there was a coldness beneath the surface as he strode toward the man with the pistol. “Our orders were clear—round up the therianthropes and send them to the mines.” His voice was low, controlled, but ced with quiet menace. “I don’t give a damn what your reason was for killing them, but I won’t tolerate dogs who don’t follow the rules.”

  Without warning, his fist shot forward, connecting with the soldier’s gut. The man doubled over, gasping for air, his hands instinctively clutching his stomach. The others looked on, faces draining of color, yet none dared to move. The pale, frightened expressions on their faces mirrored those of the therianthropes they had just sughtered.

  Yami’s voice was cold, carrying a weight that made even the air feel heavier—almost choking. “All rounding-up operations are suspended. Every avaible soldier is to head to Dunéglise and capture the remaining United Alliance troops.”

  The red-cd soldiers, without protest, quickly guided their injured comrade and hurried away, their footsteps a hurried shuffle against the cold earth.

  The female soldier beside Yami chuckled, watching them retreat with an amused smile. She casually flicked her long amaranthine hair over her shoulder. “Harsh as ever, huh?” She yawned, stretching her arms behind her head. “The king ordered a rescue mission just yesterday… is it really necessary to bother with capturing the stragglers? There’s, like, what… about three hundred thousand of them left?”

  Her casual way of talking to her superior elicited a sigh from Yami. Turning his piercing scarlet eyes to her. He reasoned:

  “United Kingdom is running out of veteran men. Securing the remaining ones would guarantee a ndslide victory, Leni.”

  Leni rolled her eyes, smirking. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”

  Together, they made their way toward a light amphibious vehicle, its cold metal gleaming under the overcast sky. The scent of burning flesh still hung in the air, a nauseating reminder of the scene they left behind. Two soldiers mounted the front seats, while Yami and Leni settled into the back.

  As the engine hummed to life and the vehicle began to rumble forward, the silence between them stretched on, heavy and thick. But Leni couldn’t hold her tongue for long.

  “We’ve still got that issue with Subject: 4N9,” she said, her voice casual but her gaze sharp. “No sightings, no leads…”

  Yami’s eyes gleamed slightly, like an unsheathed bde under the moonlight. “I never expected it to be easy,” he muttered, his lips curling into a grimace. “That bastard’s been stirring up trouble everywhere, and no one’s ever left alive to witness it.” He leaned back, his expression darkening. “But that’s Shinku for you.”

  The vehicle rattled as it sped over uneven ground. Leni’s shifted slightly, a question forming on her lips.

  “Shinku? But his name is…” Her sentence trailed off as Yami’s lips twisted into a sharp, almost manic grin. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, glowing with a sinister red light.

  “It suits him,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a disturbing excitement. “For someone who wades through blood, it does.” His grin widened, dark and feral. “The Crimson Devil… it’s exactly what he is.”

  ? ? ?

  Location: ? Fehlerfreint Empire – Outskirts ?

  Date: ? 1995 – July 29 – 11:30 p.m. ?

  “Einrichtung Nummer Eins wurde zerst?rt. Alle Mitarbeiter, ergreifen Sie das gest?rte Thema. Ich wiederhole, Einrichtung Nummer Eins wurde zerst?rt. Alle Mitarbeiter, ergreifen Sie das gest?rte Thema…”

  The automated mechanical voice droned on in Imperial tongue, cold and devoid of life, looping endlessly as the dull arm bred across the night. Red lights flickered in rhythm with the arm, casting everything in a hellish glow. Footsteps thundered in the distance, the synchronized march of soldiers in dark red and ash-gray uniforms, converging on a massive facility buried deep within a dense forest.

  Fmes roared from shattered windows. The walls were gaped with massive, jagged holes, as if some unstoppable force had torn through them. Equipment y in ruins, wires sparked in a twisted, chaotic mess, and the bodies of soldiers—dozens of them—lined the corridors like discarded puppets, their lives snuffed out by a singur destructive will.

  A six year younger Yami led a detachment of soldiers dressed in ash-gray uniforms. They moved with caution, trailing behind the main force, scanning the devastation with wary eyes.

  “Amazing…” one soldier muttered, echoing the thoughts of many. “That subject did all this?”

  The scene of destruction wasn’t wrought by magic, but sheer brute strength—like a living tank tearing its way through anything in its path. The combustible materials strewn across the facility had only amplified the chaos, adding fuel to the fire.

  They ventured deeper, the air thick with smoke and the scent of blood. As they reached a crossroads, two hallways stretched before them.

  “We’ll break off,” Yami instructed, his voice calm but ced with a sharp edge. “We take the left. You head right.” The leader of the ones in red nodded and signaled his men to break off. Yami’s group veered left. “Stow your staves. This space is too confined for long-range magic.”

  With rifles drawn and pistols at the ready, they advanced down the narrow, shattered corridor. Cells lined the walls, their arrangements neat, but what y inside was anything but orderly. The concrete within was decayed and crumbling like rotting flesh, the floors slick with blood. Every cell stood empty.

  Ahead, a set of double doors loomed, the gss fogged and opaque. Two soldiers fnked the entrance, preparing to breach. One raised his fist, signaling the countdown, while the other readied a stun grenade.

  Three, two, one—

  Before they could act, crimson chains burst through the doors, their harpoon-like ends slicing through the bodies of the soldiers crudely. The stun grenade fell, detonating upon impact, and the corridor was consumed by a blinding fsh of white light, accompanied by a deafening ringing that drilled into their skulls.

  Yami steadied himself, blinking against the disorienting light. The smell of blood filled his senses—thick, metallic, unmistakable. The chain smells like blood… A vampiric magic! His scarlet eyes fred brighter. It’s a successful subject…!

  Without hesitation, he shoved aside the lifeless bodies still suspended by the chains and charged through the door. What greeted him on the other side sent a rush of something almost akin to exhiration through his veins—something primal, something he couldn’t quite comprehend.

  Before him stood a boy, no older than fifteen. His long, messy dark crimson hair spilled over his shoulders, drenched in blood. He wore a teal patient’s gown, torn and soaked in the same scarlet hue. Despite his slender frame and feminine features, it was his eyes that caught Yami’s full attention—crimson, a shade simir to his.

  “S: 4N9… From two years ago?” Leni beside him read aloud, her eyes narrowing as she saw the broken chains bound to his limbs, their shackles adorned with red crystals. “Impossible…! A restraint failure?!”

  “Aren’t those the new models?”

  “He broke through, huh…?”

  Their blood ran cold, some of them grinning, baring their fangs. The young man turned his head slowly, his bnk, mechanical gaze locking onto the soldiers who had stormed into the room.

  While the others hesitated, Yami didn’t waste a second. He lunged at the boy unarmed, leaping and sending a straight kick. The young man raised his arms in defense, blocking the blow but was sent hurtling back into the wall with bone-shaking force. Gunfire erupted from the soldiers as the others sealed the entrance with a magic spell, raising the earth itself to form a barrier.

  The boy staggered, dodging the onsught with inhuman speed. He moved like a shadow, slipping between the bullets, his strength easily that of ten men. But his movements cked coordination, and stray bullets found their mark, embedding themselves into his flesh.

  The young man colpsed to his knees, panting, overwhelmed by the fusilde of gunfire. Yami saw his chance and dashed forward, hand pulled back for a finishing blow. But the boy wasn’t done yet. In a quick, erratic motion, he snatched a gss shard from the floor and rolled to the side, sshing upward.

  Blood spttered from Yami’s forearm, but he didn’t so much as flinch. However the blood on his arm shimmered, turning to mist, and began flowing toward the boy. His body absorbed it, the bullets slipping out of his wounds as his flesh knitted itself back together in a blink of an eye.

  “He got me good…,” Yami muttered with a grin, his eyes gleaming with savage delight.

  The young man backed against the wall like a cornered animal—or so it seemed. Yami noticed it then—the boy wasn’t retreating out of fear. He was pnning something.

  Hmm? Why is he backing away…?

  Yami’s gaze dropped to the ground, his grin widening with manic glee. The others noticed the change in his demeanor and looked down as well, their faces drained of colors. A massive magic circle, drawn in blood, stretched across the floor, encircling them.

  “He’s going to use an aberrant magic…!”

  The boy pricked his fingertip, letting a drop of blood fall. The moment it hit the ground, the space around it rippled.

  “Junction Between Life and Death,” the young man chanted, his tone monotonous—hollow.

  The circle ignited, momentarily bathing the room in a blinding crimson light. Red lycoris flowers bloomed from the inorganic concrete floor, glowing faintly in the suffocating darkness that swallowed everything else after.

  The soldiers froze, their bodies refusing to obey them, though no visible chains bound them. Only Yami remained unaffected.

  “Hmm? You can move?” the young man asked ftly, eyes cking intrigue.

  “Act even a bit surprised will you, kid.” Yami sniggered like a wolf. “So you’re also a success experiment, I take it? You really did a number on this pce.”

  The boy’s crimson eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance passing through his otherwise bnk expression. Silence stretched between them until Yami broke it.

  “A chrysalis mage like you shouldn’t be able to cast an aberrant spell. You must’ve used a shortcut—engraving the magic circle instead of casting it manually. Clever.” He tilted his head, his scarlet eyes glowing. “Who taught you that?”

  The boy offered no response, only cold silence. Yami’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with the wild hunger of a predator.

  Without warning, Yami lunged, and the two cshed in a whirlwind of strikes, their crimson eyes locked in a deadly dance within the absolute darkness. Red lycoris petals scattered around them, caught in the violence of their movements, each strike aiming to rip the other one from his life.

  The boy swung a wild hook, but Yami caught his wrist, twisting it before delivering a vicious kick that sent him crashing into the bckened wall. The boy winced, clutching his stomach, knowing he couldn’t win this fight. He had to retreat.

  “Vorpal Chains,” he whispered.

  Crimson chains erupted from the ground, encircling the boy, their lengths extending toward the ceiling to form a protective barrier. Yami struck at them, but the chains held firm, unyielding even to his strength.

  All Yami could do was watch as the boy punched through the wall, allowing the pale light of the moon to flood in.

  Without another word, the boy vanished into the forest, leaving only blood-soaked ruins in his wake.

  Slowly, the domain faded. The crimson lycoris wilted, and the world returned to its former state.

  “Damn it!” one soldier groaned, kicking a boratory equipment as soon as he regained his ability to move.

  Leni approached Yami, her expression grim. “He got away…”

  But Yami’s smile remained. His eyes lingered on the broken wall, where the chains had dissolved into pools of blood. “S: 4N9… 4N9…” he muttered, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “Covered in blood… Shinku.”

  ? ? ?

  Location: ? United Kingdom of Téssera éthni – Ludinium – Royal Pace ?

  Date: ? 2001 – May 27 – 02:30 p.m. ?

  Inside the Royal Pace is where the throne room sat—the formal pce for holding council and grant audiences. Inside a blood-red carpet ran from the great iron doors to the three-step dais where throne itself sits atop. The throne is massive, made of dark, polished wood, with intricate carvings of the mythical wyvern—a symbol or a homage to something.

  Seated on the throne was the king, draped in opulent robes of burgundy and gold. His hand rested under his chin, sharp eyes scanning the lone figure kneeling before him.

  “So, you wish to establish a subdivision composed primarily of sorcerers and sorceresses?” he spoke, his voice resonating through the chamber. he asked, his deep voice resonating through the chamber like a low rumble of thunder.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the woman replied, lifting her head just enough to meet his gaze.

  Her short, snow-white hair framed a face as fierce as it was beautiful, her eyes reflecting the depth and serenity of the sea. Cd in gleaming silvery armor—complete with breastpte, vambraces, cuisses, and greaves—she was the very picture of a warrior knight, each piece of armor catching the light and casting subtle glints around her.

  “Over the past five years,” she began, “I have implemented a rigorous training regimen for a select group of soldiers. Through this, they have grown from untrained neophytes into adept sorcerers, capable of utilizing their powers in ways that would bolster our forces significantly.”

  Behind the throne, three towering stained-gss windows reached toward the heavens. Each side window depicted a majestic wyvern, wings outstretched, while the central pane showcased a radiant unicorn. The sunlight streaming through cast a kaleidoscope of colors upon the woman, cloaking her in hues of crimson, sapphire, and emerald.

  The king shifted in his seat, the soft rustle of his burgundy robes filling the silence. “An elite unit, you say…” He leaned back, resting his hand on the armrest. “It’s not without merit. Yet, as you are well aware, our forces are in disarray. Establishing a semi-autonomous subdivision would demand considerable resources—resources we do not have to spare in our current state. Beyond that, I see no pressing need to divert attention to such a venture.”

  “Your Majesty, with respect,” she pressed, her voice steady but edged with urgency. “The Empire’s hidden weapon poses an unprecedented threat. Enhancing our forces is imperative to restore bance—”

  He raised a hand to silence her. “That will not be necessary. The Empire’s so-called weapon may boast immense destructive power—enough to level down Libérédóry’s Réseaux de Maréchaux—but locating and neutralizing it will be straightforward once we commence our counteroffensive.”

  The woman fell silent. Arguments swirled in her mind—strategies, benefits, the lives that could be saved—she wanted to argue, to plead the case for her elite subdivision. But the king’s logic was undeniable. Like they used to say, “why fix something that isn’t broken?”

  The woman stood up and bowed her head. “Thank you for you time, Your Majesty.”

  The king regarded her for a moment, his gaze softening just slightly. “You need not thank me, Reina. Your family has served this throne for generations. I will always lend an ear to your counsel.”

  Reina rose and turned to leave. But, on her way, the great doors creaked open, and two figure stepped through—his entrance a breach of decorum so subtle it was almost a whisper.

  “There’s a good reason for establishing that subdivision,” a voice, hollow and unnerving, echoed through the chamber.

  Reina froze mid-step, her hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of her sword. She turned to see two figures entering the chamber. The first bore long, crimson hair cascading like streams of blood; the other had luminous, otherworldly violet locks, cd in traditional burgundy military uniform.

  “Shinku, what are you doing!?” Iustitia’s voice rang out in arm as she hurried to intercept him, her pace brisk yet hesitant. She reached for his arm, but Shinku continued forward, unperturbed by her or the rifles raised by the pace guards in the same uniform as hers.

  Reina stepped forward, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Who are you? And what do you mean by ‘a reason,’ stranger?”

  “I’m supposed to meet the king after your audience,” he said matter-of-factly, “but I overheard your conversation and decided to intervene.”

  Reina’s gaze flicked toward the king, who mirrored her confusion. The throne room’s walls were thick, designed to muffle even the loudest cries. How could he possibly have overheard them?

  Iustitia, desperately trying to salvage the situation, grabbed his arm and bowed low before the king. “Your Majesty, I apologize for this man’s intrusion…”

  Shinku shrugged her off, sighing as though the interruption was an inconvenience. His crimson eyes met the king’s with an unnerving crity. “I have an appointment with you, Your Majesty.”

  For a moment, the room tensed, the guards’ fingers tightening on their triggers. Yet, despite the young man’s audacity, there was an unexpected respect in his tone—a peculiar adherence to etiquette that gave the king pause.

  After a brief silence, the king raised a hand. “Stand down,” he ordered, his voice calm but firm. The guards hesitated before lowering their weapons.

  Looks like the old man is reasonable…

  The king gestured toward Reina. “Field Marshal and the Prime Minister are absent. Reina, I ask you to witness this discussion and provide counsel.”

  Reina inclined her head, her suspicion evident but masked by a stoic composure. She stepped onto the dais, her armor catching the light from the stained-gss windows. Her gaze fixed on Shinku as she moved beside the throne, a silent challenge radiating from her presence.

  Shinku turned slightly toward Iustitia, his voice low and dispassionate. “Who is that woman?”

  “She’s Reina Augusta Caliburn,” Iustitia whispered, her tone a mix of respect and exasperation. “The strongest member of the Caliburn lineage—an arcanist mage.”

  Shinku’s eyes narrowed. A city-scale mage…, he thought before bringing back his gaze to the king and Reina.

  Reina, sensing his scrutiny, spoke sharply. “State your name and purpose, young man.”

  Shinku hesitated, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. “My name… is Shinku,” he said at st, his tone clipped. “I am here to offer intelligence.”

  Reina’s brow furrowed at the unfamiliar, cold name. No surname, no allegiance. A name that sounded more like a brand than an identity.

  “No surname?” The king’s question mirrored her thoughts, a faint sense of wariness creeping into his voice.

  “What a weird name…” Reina added.

  Iustitia’s eyes widened slightly. Now that they mentioned it… Was ‘Shinku’ even a real name?

  “I don’t remember my real name,” Shinku admitted, his voice ft but den. “This is what someone from the Empire called me.”

  Reina tilted her head, curiosity now mingled with suspicion. “What do you mean you don’t remember? Are you suffering from amnesia?”

  Shinku dismissed the question with a slight shake of his head. “My identity is irrelevant to my purpose here,” he said, his attention returning to the king. “I’ve come to offer intel.”

  Before he could continue, the king interrupted, raising a hand. “Why should I trust a man who doesn’t even remember his own name?”

  A flicker of irritation crossed Shinku’s otherwise deadpan face. Without a word, he reached into his jet-bck jacket and withdrew a peculiar weapon—a short, single-edged bde. The guard extended into a quillon that hooked sharply, giving the weapon an almost predatory appearance. A butterfly sword.

  The tension in the room spiked as pace guards raised their rifles again, but the king held up a hand, signaling them to stand down.

  Shinku’s crimson gaze never wavered. Without hesitation, he raised the bde and, in one swift motion, severed his own hand.

  “Wha—!?” Iustitia’s voice cracked, her face draining of color.

  Reina’s usually composed expression twisted into arm, and even the king’s stoic mask faltered momentarily. It wasn’t every day someone casually severed their own hand.

  “Shinku, what are you—!?”

  “My identity doesn’t matter. What matters is what intel I carry.” He turned to Iustitia, his gaze eerily calm. “Prick your arm. I need your blood.”

  “H–huh!?” Iustitia retrieved a knife from her uniform, doing what she’s instructed. “W–what are you trying to pull off?” While blood trickled in her arm, she noticed how Shinku’s hand is slowly rebuilding itself—as if regenerating from nothing. “What the hell…?”

  The blood that trickled from her arm glowed bright and turned into a crimson mist which flowed toward his stump, enveloping it in a crimson bnket until a fully formed hand emerged from the haze.

  “That’s not healing magic…,” Reina muttered, disbelief breaking through her collected demeanor.

  Shinku turned his newly formed hand over, flexing the fingers as though testing them. “No,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “Healing magic accelerates the body’s natural recovery. It doesn’t rebuild missing limbs.”

  The king leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing. “Only the vampires, long extinct, possessed such regenerative abilities…”

  Reina, confused, chanted a magic spell. “Wyvern’s Gaze.”

  Her eyes glowed with a deeper azure hue, the magic enhancing her vision to extraordinary levels. Fixing her gaze on Shinku, she analyzed his form. A faint crimson aura exuded from him like heat waves from fire. Focusing further, she could see through his flesh, unremarkable—at least on the surface. But something felt so wrong.

  “Amazing… Is she able to see my mana signature?” Shinku calmly asked.

  “Yeah… It’s the Caliburn’s prized magic spell that they can only employ,” Iustitia responded and gnced over him. “How are you so calm…?”

  “There’s nothing to worry,” he replied.

  Reina blinked and concluded:

  “He’s a human… But something’s tched to his heart…” She looked at Shinku, eyes piercing—focused on his heart. “You’re alive yet dead at the same time… What are you?”

  Shinku offered no answer at first. Sliding his bde back into the confines of his jacket, he met her question with a slight tilt of his head, a faint trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

  “You’re confident now,” he said, his tone low and deliberate. “You think the Empire still fights as it once did—with rifles, swords, magic staves.” His eyes shifted to the king. “But the weapon that destroyed the Réseaux de Maréchaux should’ve been your wake-up call.”

  The king’s fists clenched atop the throne’s armrests. “Are you implying the Empire now wields beings like yourself?”

  The way their gazes changed, the shift from seeing him as human to something other, was a familiar ache. It reminded him how even a small deviation could lead to dehumanization—just as it had for the therianthropes. He couldn’t help but smile coldly all the more.

  “The Empire has begun experiments,” he stated, his voice unnervingly calm. “They’re replicating the abilities of the extinct vampires: tenfold strength, access to vampiric magic, near-immortality, and regeneration—all at the cost of blood.” His crimson eyes glinted as he added, “A resource easily found on the battlefield.”

  They’re the ultimate form of weapon.

  Ahh…

  Reina’s sharp gaze flicked toward Iustitia, who looked pale, her mind repying scenes of that harrowing night. The image of Shinku, taking on ptoon after ptoon alone, fshed vividly. If the Empire’s ranks were filled with beings like him…

  “That Empire… If it’s true, we’re screwed…” she muttered, her hands trembling before she clenched them into fists.

  Shinku’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “The Empire’s Kriegsmacher Batallion is already composed of these successful experiments and sorcerers. If you want even the faintest hope of resistance, you’ll need to adapt—and fast.”

  Most Téssera éthni forces are mostly fledglings—teens who are new to war and magic. Even if they want to bance everything, they can’t. However, Reina saw this opportunity to persuade the king.

  “Then grant me permission, Your Majesty,” she urged. “Let me establish the subdivision we discussed earlier. I’ll ensure our neophytes are trained and ready for the counteroffensive.”

  With the new circumstances, the king couldn’t argue anymore. In fact, it’s the best course of action they have. A crack have appeared, therefore it must be fixed.

  “Very well. I’ll allow the creation of this elite subdivision,” he said, his voice ced with resignation. His gaze shifted to Shinku. “As for you, Sir Shinku, I accept your organization’s assistance—though I expect your promised intelligence to be as valuable as you make it to be.”

  Shinku inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the king’s words. “Killing two birds with one stone…” he murmured. His crimson gaze flicked upward. “I’ll have one of our agents contact you with additional information. In the meantime, prepare yourselves.”

  Reina straightened herself, looking at Shinku with eyes of suspicion and gratitude. “The United Kingdom will focus on improving its forces.”

  ? ? ?

  The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the courtyard as Shinku and Iustitia exited the royal pace. Their steps echoed off the stone, the silence between them deep and heavy, a palpable distance despite their physical closeness. The wide paved courtyard felt suffocating, as if the very air bristled with unspoken words.

  As they neared a towering fountain, its centerpiece a monarch’s statue, Iustitia faltered. Her gaze darkened, locking onto the cold water spilling from the monument as though seeking answers in its unceasing flow. She clenched her fists and broke the silence, her voice sharp as steel, cutting through the stillness.

  “Hey,” she began, her voice heavy, each sylble den with hesitation.

  Shinku halted but didn’t turn. His back was a wall, impenetrable, as though he already knew what she would say.

  “You’re one of the Empire’s experiments, aren’t you?” He didn’t answer—his silence a confession, as if that fact wasn’t obvious enough enough. But Iustitia pushed deeper. “I can’t imagine what they did to you… But… is that why you can’t recall your name?”

  At the mention of ‘name,’ Shinku’s fingers twitched—a fleeting, almost imperceptible motion. But she saw it, just as she had in the throne room. The word was a knife, reopening wounds that hadn’t healed, perhaps couldn’t heal.

  Why does it matter to me? she thought bitterly. He was a stranger, a man who had saved her life and yet remained an enigma. She didn’t truly know him, yet the void in his stare—that bleak, unmoored detachment—cwed at her insides.

  Her mind slipped back to the coach, to him perched apart, gazing into the horizon’s blur. That same look: lost, half-gone. She’d asked why he fought, and his reply had chilled her. I have nothing to protect… Not here…

  He has nothing to protect… So why…!?

  Her fists balled tighter, breath slicing the air. “We have the same enemy,” she parroted his past remark, her voice louder now, cracking the fragile silence. She took a step toward him, her glowing purple eyes burning with the intensity of her emotions. “You’ve said that before, that means you’ll get fully involved in this war… Why? I don’t understand. You have no reason to fight… not like this.”

  The weight of war was something she knew all too well. It was a ravenous beast, devouring lives and leaving nothing but scars. She had felt its cws dig into her, taking everything that mattered. She fought because she had to, because there was something left to protect—even if it was just a flicker of hope in the darkness. But Shinku… he was plunging into the jaws of the beast willingly, for reasons she couldn’t comprehend.

  “Yeah, I will, despite that,” he said ftly, the word devoid of any feelings. “Eveything I had—things to protect, things to remember, all were reduced to nothing.”

  His icy tone struck her like a blow, knocking the air from her chest.

  He turned slightly, his crimson eyes locking onto hers. They were hollow yet searching, as if seeking something just out of reach. “Now, I’m in pursuit of something to repce them,” he murmured. “This war… it’ll show me.”

  Her heart sank. The detachment in his words, the singur focus in his gaze—it was like watching a man walk willingly into the depths of hell.

  “And your first destination… Is going against the Empire…”

  To the Empire that had torn him apart. The Empire that had turned him into something not human—killed and forced him to live again.

  “That’s why,” he began, voice low, “don’t steal my fight from me.”

  She didn’t understand him, couldn’t understand how someone with no roots, no tether to life, could still throw himself into war. But in his hollow eyes, she saw it—an emptiness that mirrored those of soldiers in the trenches, yet where their emptiness came from loss, his came from a past erased.

  And perhaps that was even more dangerous.

  J_Win