Before the last crimson threads of light
vanished with the sun behind the distant hills,
the imperial palace lights shimmered brilliantly, rivaling the stars in the sky.
As the grand doors of the banquet hall opened, golden light spilled into the outer corridor, announcing the arrival of one of the nobles whose presence never went unnoticed.
Lucas Hertford, the eldest son of Duke Hertford, stepped inside with measured calm—as though his footsteps had long been set to the rhythm of the hall itself.
His expression was composed, revealing no more than necessary, while his eyes swiftly surveyed the surroundings like someone accustomed to reading places before people.
He wore black garments embroidered with deep violet, a cloak of the same shade draped over his shoulders.
At his side rested a striking black sword adorned with gleaming silver engravings.
His appearance was not flamboyant—it was presence itself; stern dignity and cold beauty that did not seek attention, but claimed it in silence.
He advanced until he stood before the throne, bowed with flawless discipline, and said in a steady voice
"I apologize for my lateness, Your Majesty."
The Emperor observed him for several brief seconds—a gaze not devoid of evaluation—before a faint smile touched his lips, granting him permission to rise.
The two exchanged a fleeting look, swift enough to pass unnoticed by anyone else.
The Emperor spoke calmly
"I had hoped the Duke and Duchess would attend as well, though I understand their reasons. I was nearly disappointed at the thought that you might not come either, Lord Hertford."
Lucas replied without hesitation, dipping his head slightly.
"I would not dare miss the celebration of the Empire's precious sun. Nevertheless, I ask Your Majesty's forgiveness for entering so awkwardly and at such a late hour. I wished to prepare a gift worthy of your station, and it required more time than I had anticipated."
He cast a slight glance behind him.
The servant understood the signal and stepped forward with measured strides, bowing as he carried a long white box adorned with delicate golden patterns.
He opened it carefully, revealing a sword of overwhelming presence.
For a brief moment, the Emperor's eyes widened in surprise before he regained his composure.
Lucas continued
"I hope my gift meets with Your Majesty's approval. Happy birthday, and may God grant Your Majesty a long life so that the Empire may continue to be blessed by your presence."
The Emperor nodded with satisfied approval.
"I am quite pleased with Lord Hertford's precious gift. We shall speak properly later. For now… I wish you to relax and enjoy the evening."
Lucas bowed once more and quietly withdrew to one side of the hall.
There, nobles had gathered around a blond young man with gentle features—Prince Theodore.
The prince had noticed Lucas from the very beginning, having silently observed his exchange with the Emperor.
They exchanged a brief look, each understanding the other's intent.
With a simple gesture, Theodore halted a servant, set his glass aside, and nodded toward the balcony.
In that corner, the noise of the hall faded, leaving space for conversation without prying ears.
Theodore spoke first.
"That gift… was it truly what I think it was?"
Lucas nodded calmly and stepped toward the railing, leaning against it as he gazed down at the shimmering festival lights below.
He did not answer immediately, as if gathering his thoughts.
"Finding Her Highness's sword was more difficult than I expected."
Theodore smiled faintly and approached, patting his shoulder for a moment.
"You know my aunt's precious sword was lost the very night we lost her fifteen years ago. Recovering it was no easy matter—even my uncle and His Majesty turned the Empire upside down searching for it… to no avail."
"Even His Highness the Archduke?" Lucas asked quietly.
Theodore exhaled deeply before answering.
"To be honest, my uncle spares no effort when it comes to my late aunt. At one point, he even searched for the bodies of her children. His failure to find them… still weighs heavily on him to this day."
Lucas finally turned his head toward him and spoke in a low voice.
"If he possesses such a character, then why do those ominous rumors surround him? And why does His Majesty not intervene to stop them? Does he benefit from them somehow?"
Theodore forced a faint smile and looked away.
"Although I am his son, my father never speaks of my uncle. Their relationship is strained—they scarcely manage a proper conversation. Yet he always hesitates… because he is his brother."
He paused briefly before looking back at Lucas.
"I have no brother to understand such feelings. But… after all, you are like a brother to me, Lucas."
Lucas remained silent for a moment until Theodore broke the quiet again.
"Enough of that story. Tell me… what news do you bring?"
Lucas turned his back to the railing, casting a brief glance toward the banquet hall.
"That is precisely why I came."
He folded his arms, lowering his gaze.
"Does His Highness the Archduke have reason to investigate the forbidden regions across the Empire?"
Theodore's eyes widened.
"You mean the areas surrounded by local legends? Like the Valley of Eternal Healing, for example?"
Lucas lifted his gaze with faint sarcasm.
"Do you believe in that sort of nonsense, Your Highness?"
"Of course not—I mean the circulating tales. But… what does this have to do with my uncle?"
Lucas replied calmly
"It seems he is searching for something. Or pursuing a specific objective through those regions. I do not believe it relates to tracking those people… yet using inexperienced students strikes me as excessive."
Theodore lowered his head.
"That is unlikely. If finding them were easy, those creatures would have reached them first… and your family would not have borne such a burden."
Lucas studied him thoughtfully.
As he turned the words over in his mind, he raised a hand unconsciously to his chest.
His complexion gradually paled, and his breathing grew shallow.
Theodore noticed the change; a shadow of concern crossed his features.
Lucas's breaths became increasingly labored, barely drawn, before he whispered
"It seems… my time is up."
Theodore spoke with alarm.
"Is it that episode again? You should not have come straight here without returning to the duchy for treatment."
"I still have some time…" Lucas replied.
"And since I will remain unconscious for another five days, I would not have been able to present Her Highness's sword to His Majesty—nor inform you about the Archduke."
Theodore clenched his fist, then inhaled deeply.
"I understand… So you want me to pursue the matter in your place, even knowing I won't be as competent as you."
Lucas lifted his gaze, looking at him with faint mockery while struggling for breath.
"If you used your position properly, you wouldn't need my assistance in the first place."
Theodore forced a smile that quickly faded into deep concern.
"I think you've overdone it this time, Lucas. You should have prioritized your health instead of acting like this," he replied sharply.
Lucas cut him off, harsher than intended.
"It's not as though I'm going to die now. I still have a few years left."
"Even so!"
Theodore's voice rose unconsciously.
"Don't behave so recklessly! We are not so desperate that we would accept seeing you in this state!"
Lucas quickly glanced back, realizing their voices might have carried into the hall.
He lowered his tone, attempting to calm him.
"I appreciate Your Highness's concern, but these matters are important to me. They must not be postponed any longer… There are other things I will attend to later."
Theodore's grip loosened, yet worry lingered in his eyes.
"Does this have anything to do with Gilbert Klein… or Raymond Baskerville?"
"You will know everything at the proper time, Your Highness. For now… I must depart."
Lucas opened the balcony door, then turned back before leaving.
"If your patience runs thin, you may question the Marchioness… though I doubt she will tell you anything. As for Baskerville, I advise you not to approach him for now. I intend to speak with him before I tell you everything."
Theodore nodded seriously.
"I understand… Then I will see you in five days."
Lucas finally smiled and waved lightly before departing the hall, passing everyone who attempted to initiate conversation with him.
He remained composed until he reached the carriage door—where his strength finally gave out, and his attendants rushed toward him in alarm.
Inside the Academy —
One Hour Earlier
Raymond Baskerville walked alone toward the dormitory, his mind distant, his steps slower than usual.
He had spent the day with his brother Mikhail, yet their conversation lingered relentlessly in his thoughts.
That person in the dream said searching for witches would lead me straight to the gallows… but asking about them casually wouldn't carry the same consequence.
That's why I thought that moment was appropriate to ask… I didn't expect those reactions.
He exhaled slowly as he continued walking.
I made a fool of myself again in front of those uncles… Even Mikhail joined them.
And though the story I heard was presented as a legend, I cannot be certain it isn't true.
If there were nothing to it, it would not have reached me through a fleeting dream.
He tightened his coat around himself unconsciously.
All I gained was superficial knowledge.
The rest depends on how I search.
I wonder… is Mikhail still hiding something from me?
If that person's words were true and my brother is the one intended, then he must be doing it for a reason.
He hesitated.
Should I bring it up with him again?
I will… but in private. He said he's free this entire week.
Another thought slipped into his mind—more pressing.
Will I see that person again if I sleep tonight?
…I truly want to meet him again.
Ray reached the dormitory building and climbed the stairs as usual—until he stopped unintentionally halfway up.
Darkness loomed over the corridor above.
It was not yet past six in the evening, yet all the lights were extinguished.
Unusually, the hallway appeared longer than it should have.
Emptier… colder.
He stepped forward.
Dark blue shadows flickered at the edges of his vision, like thick smoke that refused to settle.
He blinked hard and pressed his eyes shut.
Just fatigue…
That was how he convinced himself.
When he reached the second floor, a scent struck his nose.
His entire body shuddered.
The smell of iron.
Thick. Foul… terrifyingly familiar.
His limbs stiffened.
The world around him distorted, as though the walls were slowly closing in.
A violent ringing filled his head.
His eyes widened as nausea churned sharply in his stomach.
He lowered his gaze gradually, as if his eyes refused to look forward, while thoughts clashed in his mind without clear meaning.
Scattered sensations… incomplete memories… something forgotten forcing its way back.
Then the mist appeared.
Darkness dancing lightly before him, forming a clear path toward the end of the corridor.
He stopped.
One thought, sharp to the point of pain, rang in his mind:
Do not move any further.
If you do… you will regret it for the rest of your life.
But his body did not obey.
His feet moved on their own, following the mist step after step, until he reached the end of the second-floor corridor.
There, near one of the windows, the crimson glow of sunset reflected upon a figure standing in silence.
The person held something round in one hand.
Ray's breath halted.
The figure's clothes were stained with blood-red crimson, and in the other hand was a long dagger gleaming with dreadful sheen.
Ray's heartbeat thundered violently, as though his chest would split open.
In that moment, he understood—without needing explanation.
His gaze lowered instinctively to the large mass at the figure's feet, submerged in a crimson pool.
A human head.
When the person noticed him, he tossed the head aside carelessly. A terrifying smile curved his lips.
He raised his arm, pointing the dagger at his own neck.
Ray moved.
It was not conscious thought—it was instinct.
He raised his arm and lunged forward to stop him, but the dagger was faster.
It pierced the young man's throat with brutal ease.
Blood scattered everywhere—
staining the walls, the floor, Ray's face and clothes.
Ray collapsed to his knees, unable to catch his breath.
Deep within his mind, another scene exploded forth—familiar, tearing at his heart as though repeated for the thousandth time.
This time, the face was clear.
Lucas.
He saw him die before his eyes.
His eyes widened in shock, his voice suffocated within his chest.
"Why…?
Why am I seeing this now?"
Ray pressed a hand to his chest, struggling to breathe—but the air would not come.
That scene was beyond explanation.
Yet it carried the unbearable weight of one truth he suddenly understood:
(His soul… had been torn apart by this before.)
And in that moment—amid blood, shadows, and a memory that did not belong to the present—
Raymond Baskerville realized that he was losing his mind more than ever before.