The villagers didn't even have time to scream. One by one, they collapsed under the Soul Reaper's blade, their bodies falling like broken puppets, their blood soaking the frozen earth until the ground turned into a sea of crimson mud.
Through it all, the Soul Reaper walked calmly. Each step was deliberate. Each swing of his scythe — silent, final, absolute.
To him, it was not slaughter. It was salvation.
Above them, the pale moon bore silent witness to the night their world ended.
Suddenly, from his left —A sword whistled through the air.
The Soul Reaper tilted his head slightly, dodging with ease. He turned to face the one who dared interrupt his work.
"Why so impatient?" he said, his voice calm, almost curious. "I was coming to kill all of you anyway."
Before him stood the village head — sword raised, face twisted with rage.
"WHY?! WHY ARE YOU KILLING MY PEOPLE?!" the man screamed.
The Soul Reaper's crimson eyes gleamed coldly. "Hmm. Stronger than the others… But strength makes no difference to the dead."
The village head charged, roaring, thrusting his blade with wild desperation.
The Soul Reaper dodged once.
Twice.
A third time.
Finally, the old man staggered back, panting for breath.
The Soul Reaper tilted his scythe. "Are you done playing?"
He raised his weapon high to end it—
But before the blade could fall, a second sword pierced straight through his back.
"FATHER!! Are you alright?! I GOT HIM!!" It was Andy — eyes wild, hands shaking, hope flashing in his voice.
The Soul Reaper calmly turned his head.
"You think stabbing me in the back... would stop me?"
Without warning —slick and merciless —the Soul Reaper swung. The village head's head tumbled across the blood-soaked ground.
Andy stood frozen, watching his father's body crumple. The sword slipped from his trembling hand.
He dropped to his knees, clutching the severed head, crying blood.
He didn't even resist as the Soul Reaper ripped the blade from his own back —the wound sealed shut within seconds.
The Soul Reaper grabbed Andy by the hair and dragged him through the carnage. "Look closely," he whispered. "Remember every moment."
One by one, he hunted down the survivors —breaking doors, ripping apart cupboards, dragging out the old, the women, and the children —and slaughtered them all, leaving no life behind.
He piled their broken bodies around Andy.
The Soul Reaper knelt beside Andy, his voice almost gentle.
"You will live," he said coldly. "You will be my messenger."
Before Andy could react—SWISH—
The Soul Reaper's scythe slashed through his leg. Blood sprayed across the ground.
Andy collapsed, screaming in agony as pain exploded through his body.
But it wasn't enough. Slash after slash followed — not to kill, but to maim.
Deep, bloody cuts tore across his chest, arms, and back until he was barely recognizable —a ruined, broken thing sitting helpless among the corpses.
The Soul Reaper leaned close, voice as cold as death.
"Tell your king," he whispered. "The era of peace is dead. The era of chaos... has begun."
Then, without a sound, the Soul Reaper vanished into the cold night —leaving Andy alone, broken beyond repair.
Andy's broken voice echoed through the grand hall:
"That's what happened… my lord…"
The nobles stood silent. Even the prince swallowed nervously. The king stroked his beard, frowning.
"Sir Evan," Elden said, voice low, "give the boy food and rest."
Evan nodded and signaled the guards, who carried Andy away.
As they left, Evan leaned closer to the king and whispered, What do we do now, my lord? The knights are already sealing the area. No rumors will spread."
The king grunted. "What do you expect me to do? Fight a ghost?"
Evan thought bitterly,
'This idiot wouldn't even be king without General Ren propping him up.'
Just then, the grand doors swung open.
General Ren entered, John following behind him.
They both bowed low in greeting.
The prince, standing beside the throne, saw John and sneered.
"My lord," the prince said loudly, "allow me to handle this matter! I will personally bring back that Soul Reaper's head!"
Elden's face hardened. "No."
"W-what?!" the prince stammered. "Why?! I am strong enough, you know!"
"I said no." The king's tone brooked no argument.
The prince clenched his fists, his face darkening, but he bit back his fury.
Elden ignored him and turned to the newcomers.
"Ah, General Ren. And you, boy— John, isn't it?" He gestured lazily.
"Sir Evan, this is John — the winner of Ritterfest. I've named him High-Rank Knight."
John bowed respectfully. Evan's face remained unreadable, but inwardly he sighed:
'Another child handed power. Wonderful'.
"And now," Elden said, voice booming through the chamber, John will handle this case."
John blinked. "Wait... what case?"
Around the room, the nobles, Evan, and the prince hid their smirks.
'This kid doesn't know how to survive yet. Interestin'g.
General Ren thumped John lightly on the back.
"When the king orders, you say 'Yes,' not 'Wait.' Understand?"
John quickly bowed lower. "Forgive me, my lord."
Elden waved it off. "You're new. It's fine. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, you leave for Chinhi village."
John bowed again and left — unaware of the prince's burning glare following his every step.
John wandered the long stone corridors, unsure where to go. As he turned a corner, he crashed into someone —books flying everywhere.
"Oh—sorry! That was my fault!" John reached down instinctively to help the girl up.
As he caught a glimpse of her face, he froze.
"Princess Aurora...?"
No — her hair was different. Pure white, like snow.
The girl smiled awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I should have been careful. And... no, I'm not Aurora. I'm her twin sister."
John opened his mouth to respond—and was immediately kicked from behind.
The blow sent him flying into the stone wall, dust raining down around him.