"It's… pretty cold," Tatsuya muttered under his breath, breath puffing in a soft cloud that vanished into the crisp mountain air.
The narrow path he walked on twisted and climbed through the rugged cliffs like a serpent of stone. Yet, Stefan — his trusty mountain goat — trod with unwavering steps, unfazed by the uneven ground or steep incline. Each clack of his hooves was calm and measured, as though this precarious trail were no more troublesome than a garden stroll.
Definitely not a path any carriage could take, Tatsuya thought, tightening the reins just slightly to keep pace.
On either side of the trail, vibrant fields stretched out — a chaotic bloom of color, like the mountain itself had spilled a rainbow across its slopes. Flowers swayed in the gentle breeze, a sea of reds, blues, purples, and golds, their delicate petals trembling under the touch of spring's chill.
The sky overhead was an unmarred expanse of blue, not a single cloud to be seen. And yet, the wind whispered with a bite that made Tatsuya wish for a pair of gloves — thick ones, woolen and warm, like the ones his mother used to knit back home.
It's so strange. So beautiful. And yet…So cold.
It had been half an hour since he started along this path. The silence of the mountains had been his only companion — until the soft, metallic sound of bells reached his ears.
Ding…
Ding…
He looked ahead.
A village.
Small, modest, nestled between the trees like it had grown from the soil itself. Not the one called Shiloh — that was still a two-day ride to the south. This was somewhere else. A place Tatsuya had passed on the map without giving it much thought.
This is the one Paul always visits. But why? Let's find out.
The trail gently descended into the village, and as Tatsuya rode in, he pulled the hood of his cloak tighter around his neck.
There was nothing extraordinary about this place at first glance. The cottages were small, their thatched roofs browned and frayed by time. Wooden beams framed the walls, stained dark by years of wind and rain. Lanterns hung at each doorstep — unlit during the day, but gently swaying in the breeze as though ready to light up once dusk came.
At the village's heart lay a cobblestone square, a gathering place. Tatsuya could imagine it filled with people on market days, or echoing with laughter during festivals. Perhaps someone would sit by the fire in the center and tell old stories — just like in Paul's tales.
A small chapel rested near the edge of the village, its windows faded with age. Beside it, a modest cemetery dotted with headstones stood half-hidden behind a grove of whispering trees. A narrow stream trickled past, lazily winding between the houses and fields, its waters catching the sunlight like glass.
Tatsuya let out a quiet breath. He had no errands here. No reason to stop. In fact, this was a detour from the path he was supposed to take. But something compelled him.
I just want to see what kind of place Paul spends his time in. What kind of people live here?
As he passed the chapel, his musings were interrupted.
"Hey! Young man!"
The voice, cracked with age but still clear, reached his ears. Tatsuya turned his head and spotted an elderly woman making her way toward him.
Her back was hunched slightly, but she walked with determination, her steps steadied by a gnarled wooden cane. Her gray hair was tied back in a bun, and a shawl wrapped her shoulders like a cocoon.
Tatsuya gently tugged on Stefan's reins, bringing the goat to a slow stop. He slid down from the saddle and landed lightly on the ground, brushing the dust off his sleeves before turning to face her properly.
"Yes, madam?" he said with a polite smile. "How may I help you?"
The old woman stopped a few paces away from him and gave him a once-over, eyes narrowing with an intensity that caught him off guard.
"May I ask you something, young man?"
"Of course. Please feel free to ask whatever you wish."
She pointed a wrinkled finger toward his chest. "That Jurdan you're wearing…"
Jurdan?
Tatsuya blinked, puzzled. Is she referring to my kimono?
Wait… do they call kimonos "Jurdans" in this world? This world's naming sense never fails to surprise me.
The woman continued, her voice softening with fondness. "That garment… Legendary Disciple Paul bought that from me, you're his son, aren't you?"
Tatsuya's eyebrows shot up.
Legendary Disciple…?
That term echoed in his mind like a dropped stone into a still lake. The history books had spoken of that. A thousand years ago, they had fought alongside the Legendary Hero, and three of the Four Disciples had died to the Nizhalgal, 400 years ago.
But Paul is alive. A thousand years? That's absurd, even in a fantasy world… right?
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Ah, I'm sorry, madam. I'm not his son. I'm just… his student."
The woman's eyes seemed to drift, as though pulled into a distant memory.
"I see. Paul has always been…"
Her words faded.
Her expression froze.
Suddenly, her eyes widened. Her mouth trembled slightly. Fear rose behind her gaze like a veil slowly being pulled open.
"D…Dem…"
Her voice quivered. She took a step back. Then another.
Tatsuya frowned, confused. "Is something the matter, madam—?"
"I-I'm sorry," she blurted out, cutting him off. Her voice was strained now, a thin thread stretched too tight. "I just remembered I have somewhere to be. It was… nice speaking to you, young man."
Before he could say another word, she turned and hurried away — or at least, as fast as her aged legs would allow.
Her pace wasn't fast enough to be called a run, but there was urgency in it — the kind of walk one does when they're afraid of looking behind them. Like she feared something might be there. Watching. Following.
What was that just now…?
Was she… afraid? Of me?
Tatsuya stood in place, hands limp at his sides, a strange chill creeping up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold mountain air.
Tatsuya climbed back onto Stefan with a light hop. The mountain goat gave a soft grunt, as if annoyed that their short break had ended so soon.
He took one last glance back at the narrow dirt path they had entered from. The old woman who had spoken to him was nowhere to be seen. Not that it mattered much now—what stuck with him wasn't the conversation, but the look in her eyes before she left.
That look of quiet terror.
"Let's go," Tatsuya said under his breath, nudging Stefan forward.
As they trotted slowly through the village, a strange realization began to sink in.
It's… too quiet.
The clopping of hooves on packed earth echoed louder than it should have. There were no other sounds. No merchants hawking their wares. No chatter of neighbors exchanging news. No laughter of children darting between homes with arms full of errands or trouble.
Nothing.
Only wind and hooves.
Where is everyone?
The lanterns on the doorsteps still swayed gently in the breeze, and fresh laundry still hung from lines between the cottages—frozen mid-dry like the day had simply paused in motion.
Shutters were closed. Curtains drawn. Not a single face peeked through.
Tatsuya leaned forward slightly in the saddle, narrowing his eyes at the silent houses that lined the road.
"This isn't abandoned…" he whispered. "It's not like a ruin or anything…"
He wasn't wrong.
The village wasn't falling apart. The walls were maintained. Roofs patched. Gardens tended. There were signs of life—tools resting against doorways, a half-split pile of firewood, a broom left leaning on a fencepost. And yet, there wasn't a single person out and about.
Not even the usual barking of a stray dog or the cluck of a loose chicken. Nothing.
It's like the whole village just… stopped.
Like they saw something they weren't supposed to. And now they're all hiding from it.
He swallowed hard, the quiet pressing against his ears like cotton, muffling even his thoughts.
It wasn't the kind of silence that brought peace.
It was the kind of silence that came before something terrible happened.
Or right after.
Tatsuya glanced up. The sky was still a perfect blue, unmarred by clouds. The wind blew softly across the fields of color, flowers dancing obliviously to whatever fear gripped the village. Stefan walked calmly, the reins still in Tatsuya's hands, but his thoughts were spinning faster than the hooves below.
"New Year's should be close…" he said softly, almost hoping the words might invite sound back into the village. "Aren't they supposed to be preparing decorations? Gathering food? Something?"
But there were no wreaths. No lanterns strung across beams. No scent of cooking or celebration.
Do they not celebrate it here? Or… did something stop them from even trying?
The unease that had taken root in his chest during the conversation with the old woman had now spread, threading through his limbs like a slow-acting poison.
He had no answers. No reason to stay. And no one to ask.
So, with a soft click of his tongue, Tatsuya gave Stefan the signal.
The mountain goat trotted forward, hooves kicking up small puffs of dust as they made their way out of the village.
Behind him, the quiet remained.
As if the entire village was holding its breath.
Waiting.
Watching.
What the hell happened here…?
That question echoed in his mind as he passed the last house, the flower fields stretching out once more on either side. The mountains still loomed in the distance, silent and stoic. But the further he rode, the colder the wind began to feel—not on his skin, but inside his chest.
Like they were hiding from something terrible.
Part 2
The sun had already begun its slow descent behind the mountains, painting the sky in hues of soft amber and rose-gold. Shadows stretched across the winding path, and the cool mountain air carried the scent of wildflowers and distant firewood smoke. Each breath Tatsuya took felt crisp, like the world was beginning to close its eyes for the day.
Stefan let out a slow exhale, his hooves crunching softly on the gravel road as they approached a weather-worn T-junction.
The path split into two, framed by crooked trees and silent hills. In the middle stood a wooden post, its rough surface brown with age and speckled with moss.
Two signs hung from it, swaying slightly with the breeze.
"…I can't read this," Tatsuya muttered, narrowing his eyes at the unfamiliar script. The letters danced in a strange swirl—elegant but unreadable to him.
he dug into his bag, and pulled out a his Language Guide.
Flipping quickly through th pages, he traced the runes with his fingertip.
"Let's see… This one is 'King'… that one… 'dom'… and the last one… 'Deity'?"
His lips moved as he repeated it. "Kingdom of Deity."
The Kingdom of Deity.
Tatsuya blinked.
It wasn't just any name. It was that name—the Kingdom of Deity. Paul had worn him about.
"The largest kingdom in the country of Aluria…" Recalling the lines almost word-for-word.
Golden towers that stretched above the clouds. Blessed architecture said to be touched by the gods. A city where the mana of the land flowed strongest. The heart of civilization.
His imagination had painted countless pictures of that place over the years—glittering streets, noble knights in radiant armor, arcane relics preserved in glass, and magical creatures coexisting under divine banners.
Tatsuya leaned forward in his saddle, eyes flicking toward the road to the right.
That road leads to Deity.
"Try to avoid the Kingdom of Deity, no matter what," Paul's words surfaced again in his mind, cutting through the moment like a cold wind through fabric.
Tatsuya frowned.
That had been the one instruction Paul gave him about this place. No explanations. No stories. Just a warning. A firm one.
Why, though?
Was there danger there? Or was Paul just being overprotective? Hiding something? Treating him like a child who couldn't be trusted with anything beyond what was safe and controlled?
"Tch." The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Tatsuya looked back and forth between the two signs. The left one, he already knew.
"Shiloh. The village I'm supposed to go to," he said aloud, as if saying it made the decision easier.
That was the safe route. The planned one. The one that followed Paul's orders to the letter.
But the road to the right…
The forbidden path. The unknown.
And perhaps more importantly—the path Paul didn't want him to take.
A grin tugged at the corner of Tatsuya's mouth.
"…What's the worst that could happen?" he questioned. "Just a quick look. I'll rest there for the night, maybe explore a little. It's getting dark anyway. I'm not doing anything wrong."
He knew that wasn't true.
He knew full well this wasn't just curiosity leading him down that path.
It was pride.
The pride of someone who had always been beneath Paul's shadow, always treated like a student, a child, someone not yet ready. And maybe, just maybe, if he stepped into this forbidden kingdom and came out unscathed… he could prove something.
Prove Paul wrong.
Prove to himself that he could stand on his own.
The wind picked up slightly as if sensing his decision, rustling the leaves around him and making the signs creak against their hinges.
Stefan gave a short huff as Tatsuya gently tugged the reins to the right.
"We're going to Deity," he said.
And just like that, the decision was made.
He passed the sign to Shiloh without looking back.
The sun dipped lower, the path to the Kingdom of Deity stretching before him like an invitation—and perhaps, a warning. But he pressed forward anyway, heart thudding with equal parts excitement and unease.
About an hour had passed since Tatsuya had chosen the forbidden path, and the landscape had shifted subtly as he descended. The once untamed mountain path gave way to smoother trails. The towering pines thinned out, replaced by wide plains and farmlands that stretched quietly into the horizon. But even those grew scarce, and soon, all that remained was silence.
And then—he saw it.
Tatsuya slowly brought Stefan to a halt, pulling lightly on the reins as the city of Deity revealed itself beyond a gentle rise in the land.
"…Whoa."
He couldn't help the word from slipping out.
Before him stood the gates of the Kingdom of Deity.
Massive stone walls stretched upward like the very bones of the earth itself had been carved into a fortress. Veins of old magic were etched into the granite, glowing faintly like forgotten runes beneath moss and time. The walls seemed to breathe history—untold ages of conflict, glory, and power.
The gates themselves were forged of steel and silver, polished to such a shine they caught the last glimmers of sunlight and reflected it like a dying star.
The sheer size of it all was overwhelming. Compared to this, Tatsuya was a single thread of straw staring up at a mountain.
"…Impressive doesn't even begin to cover it," he murmured, wide-eyed.
But awe quickly gave way to confusion.
Something's off.
He scanned the horizon, eyes narrowing. Where were the people?
Where were the guards?
Where were the lines of merchants waiting to enter, their carts packed with spices and cloth? Where were the tired travelers, laughing and stretching their legs after a long journey home? Where were the watchmen in plated armor, spears in hand, calling out orders?
There was no one.
Not a single soul.
Just Tatsuya. Just Stefan. Just the endless stretch of silence beneath the looming walls.
"Maybe everyone's already inside?" he offered aloud, trying to comfort himself. "The sun has already set…"
His voice faded quickly, swallowed by the silence around him. The lack of any response made his words feel hollow. Even the wind had quieted.
Tatsuya shifted in the saddle, rubbing his gloved hands together.
This doesn't feel right.
Even if the city had a strict curfew, there should be guards. Even if the gates were rarely used, there should be someone here. He half-expected to hear a shout from the ramparts, some angry voice calling out: "Who goes there? State your business!"
But there was nothing.
Just the faint metallic scent of the gate. The shadows cast by the high walls. The eerie stillness of a city that should have been alive.
"…Don't tell me I came all this way just for a closed gate," Tatsuya muttered, forcing a chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes.
That thought—of wasting an hour's journey only to be turned away—irked him more than it should have. Stefan huffed beneath him, as if echoing his frustration.
Tatsuya leaned forward in the saddle, eyes narrowing.
Then, something caught his attention.
The gate—
It was open.
Only slightly. Just enough for a single person to slip through, if they were determined.
His breath caught in his throat. "Wait… what?"
He leaned in further.
The rightmost door was cracked open, just wide enough to let in a sliver of wind and shadow. The steel gleamed faintly, but the opening itself was dark, like the maw of something ancient and waiting.
A chill ran down his spine—not from the cold, but from something else entirely.
"…No guards. No people. But the gate's unlocked?"
Every instinct in him told him to turn around. This was suspicious. Too suspicious.
And yet—
His heart pounded in his chest. Not from fear. But from that same cursed curiosity that had led him here.
The gate is open.
Which meant an invitation, didn't it?
Or a trap.
But either way—
Tatsuya swallowed and adjusted the strap of his bag.
"I didn't come all this way just to stare."
With that, he gently nudged Stefan forward, eyes never leaving the dark slit in the gates of Deity.
Whatever waited for him inside… he would find out soon enough.
The iron groan of the gate echoed behind him.
It wasn't loud—but in a place like this, where not even the wind dared to whistle, it rang like thunder.
Tatsuya stepped past the threshold.
The instant he did, a change overtook the world.
The noise from outside—the faint chirping of distant birds, the crunch of Stefan's hooves—vanished. Like he had stepped into another layer of reality, where sound itself was muffled beneath a thick blanket of stillness.
His boots pressed against cobblestone, worn smooth by centuries of use, but they made no sound.
Binding, Stefan on a wooden pole right next to a apple stall. Planning on retrieving him later.
He walked through the city.
The facades of the houses are richly decorated and have different colors. The houses have steep, pointed roofs with Gothic and Renaissance architectural styles.
Many of the buildings have decorated gables, some in a stepped gable or bell gable style.
The buildings are made of stone or brick and are painted in different shades, such as blue, green, and sand.
This variety of color gives the street a lively appearance. The windows are narrow and oblong, often with wooden shutters or frames that are richly decorated.
But not a single light flickered from the windows.
Not a single shadow moved beyond the glass.
Not a single person stood in the streets.
No guards.
No merchants.
No city cries.
No life.
"…This can't be right," Tatsuya murmured, though the words fell flat. Not even an echo responded.
He kept walking.
Each step carried a tension he couldn't explain. It was like walking through a painting—a beautifully crafted city captured at the exact moment life had vanished from it. There was no decay. No ruin. No signs of struggle or chaos.
Only absence.
An empty kingdom.
A dream turned ghost.
The grand main street led to a wide square at the city's heart—an open plaza where, by all accounts, there should have been fountains and market stalls, laughter and chatter, nobles in long coats and guards barking orders. Instead, Tatsuya found only stillness.
And then—
He saw him.
A figure stood at the far end of the plaza, facing slightly away, as if he hadn't noticed Tatsuya at all.
But that was a lie. Tatsuya could feel it in his bones. That presence—it had noticed him. It had noticed the moment he stepped through the gate.
The figure didn't move. But the longer Tatsuya stared, the more unreal the man seemed.
His red hair shimmered like fire beneath the dimming sunlight, each strand catching the light and casting warm reflections onto the polished cobblestone. The air shimmered faintly around him, like heat haze bending reality ever so slightly.
A light-blue cloak draped over his shoulders, loose but regal, the ends gently swaying as though caressed by an unseen wind. The fabric gleamed with embroidered sigils that Tatsuya couldn't recognize—ancient markings, perhaps magical.
A silver crescent clasp held the cloak together at the chest, polished so fine it mirrored the world around it. The crescent shimmered when the light caught it, refracting the last glow of the sun like a falling star.
And at the man's hip, a single sword rested in its sheath.
Simple. Elegant. The kind of sword that did not need to boast to be feared.
Tatsuya felt it.
An aura—not one of magic, but of something older.
Not overwhelming. Not oppressive.
But ancient. Waiting.
Tatsuya swallowed hard, every fiber of his being tense.
The silence stretched on like a taut string, threatening to snap.
He didn't know why—but his heart began to pound.
Thump.
Thump.
Was it fear?
No… something more.
Like standing before a precipice.
Like knowing the next step would change everything.
Tatsuya took one step forward.
The red-haired figure turned his head.
Only slightly. Just enough to glance at him from the corner of one golden eye.
Who is that…?
That was the only question echoing in Tatsuya's mind as he stared across the silent plaza.
The red-haired boy stood perfectly still. His silhouette, bathed in the amber light of the dying sun, looked like something from a storybook—elegant, noble, ethereal.
Maybe… maybe he knew something? Maybe he could explain why this entire city felt like it had been hollowed out?
Tatsuya took a breath, about to call out—
But then the boy spoke first.
"If people are capable of knowing right from wrong," the boy began, his voice quiet yet piercing, each word measured with precision, "why do they still choose to sin?"
His tone was not casual.
It was not conversational.
It was judgment.
Tatsuya froze. The question… wasn't something he was ready for. Not from a stranger. Not in a place like this. The boy looked young—around his early twenties at most—yet his words carried a weight that made him seem far older.
"That's… that's a hard question to ask," Tatsuya said hesitantly. "I guess I'd say… people sin because of desires, fear, or temptation?"
He offered the answer with uncertainty, not expecting it to land. But the boy's expression darkened.
"I wonder…" the red-haired boy murmured, voice dipping low. "How deep does it run? Are you a pawn? A herald? Or just a fool who wandered too far into the serpent's den?"
That cold stare bore into him. Unrelenting. Unforgiving.
He's judging me, isn't he?
And strangely, Tatsuya didn't even disagree. It wasn't like he was clean. His past was stained. He had done things… terrible things. Maybe not for selfish reasons, but that didn't change what they were.
"I… I know I'm not perfect," Tatsuya muttered, eyes dropping. "I give into temptation all the time. And I feel horrible about it."
"Horrible?"
The boy's voice was colder now, the syllables biting.
"You feel horrible… while consciously continuing to do it? You cult members are all the same."
"W-What?" Tatsuya recoiled, his breath catching. "Cult…?"
"I don't understand what you're talking about!" he shouted. "I'm not part of any cult!"
The boy didn't respond right away.
Instead, he stepped forward—just once—but even that movement made the shadows around him stretch unnaturally long, like the light itself feared his presence.
"You disguise yourselves as human beings. You cry about regrets. But you're parasites—feeding on the sins you pretend to hate."
"I… I don't…" Tatsuya stammered, trembling.
"The Scent of the Devil lingers on your skin."
That one phrase stopped Tatsuya's thoughts cold.
The boy's golden eyes shimmered with contempt.
"The Demon Cult. Those who worship suffering. Who crave destruction. Their stench coats this land, and I can smell it on you."
Each word cut deeper than any blade.
"You bring chaos. You lead others to sin so you can feast on the decay they leave behind. You're not victims. You're the cause."
Tatsuya staggered back. The boy's accusations weren't just words—they were truths.
Because…
He had killed people.
Yes, they bullied him. Beat him. Tormented him endlessly. And yes, no one helped. No one lifted a finger while he drowned in misery.
But… he still chose to kill them.
No justification could change that. He had taken lives. And he knew it was wrong.
He was no hero.
He was a sinner, hiding behind excuses.
I'm no different, I killed them… knowing it was wrong.
He clenched his teeth. The shame crashed down like waves on stone.
But I had to! No one would've stopped them. I just wanted peace! I wanted to be free! But instead, I was sent here—this cursed hell, like I was never meant to escape at all!
"That's why I need to kill you," the boy said softly, as if declaring something inevitable.
Tatsuya's eyes widened, for some reason that scared him.
Death….
And before Tatsuya could even process that
He was gone.
No, not gone. In front of him.
The boy appeared in a flash of red and silver, and with one brutal motion—
"AGH—!"
Tatsuya's body was hurled back like a ragdoll.
The world spun.
His ribs screamed in pain as he slammed against the ground and rolled, his limbs flailing helplessly.
Before he could even think of getting up—
CRACK!
A boot collided with his side, launching him further.
His back crashed against the gate. The same gate he entered through—mere minutes ago.
Everything hurt.
His vision blurred. Dust choked his lungs.
And still… the red-haired boy approached.
Step by step.
His figure, framed by the dim glow of the plaza, looked more monster than man now.
Shit—he's going to kill me.
Panic overtook reason.
Draw his sword? No use. Tatsuya could feel it in his bones—he wouldn't stand a chance.
He whipped his head to the left—
Stefan.
Still standing where he'd left him, silent, unmoving. Waiting.
That was his only chance.
Tatsuya mustered what little strength he had left, bit down on the pain, and ran.
Ran like his life depended on it.
His fingers found his sword, slashed the rope in one wild motion, and leapt onto the saddle.
No words.
No hesitation.
Just—
"GO!"
Stefan took off like lightning.
The mountain goat's hooves slammed against the cobblestone, then dirt, then gravel, carrying Tatsuya away from that place—away from death.
They burst through the gates.
I got up away! I got away!
No, he could have killed me with the breath of his lungs but he didn't. Did he let me escape?
And only once the night wind howled past his ears, the trees swallowed the road, and the gates of Deity vanished behind him—
Only then did Tatsuya finally exhale.