"Pain…"
"Does dying hurt like this?!"
The joy that had bloomed that night vanished like drifting dust. Herman felt pain—pain tearing him apart—yet he tried to sense where it was coming from.
"It's like fire devouring my body… but the pain is too close."
He moved his hand. It felt heavy. A pile of rocks lay on it. He ran his hand over every part of his body until he reached his neck…
It was severed.
He gasped sharply, his voice trembling with terror.
"My head is… separated from my body?!"
The pain burned him so fiercely that he screamed with all he had—not outwardly, but inwardly.
"How did this happen? I don't remember anything at all… If this is a dream, then I'm trapped inside it."
He touched the cut and pulled his hand back quickly, shaking it as he spoke in fear:
"If my head is cut off, how am I still alive?! Or am I trapped in some endless nightmare?"
"Thinking about it carefully… can I say I'm someone who's dying… or being tortured?"
In the midst of fear and anxiety, Herman felt the burning fire surge through his neck again. He squeezed his eyes shut, even though he was trying to open them, but the pain stopped him.
Black threads emerged from his neck, connecting to his body, stitching the severed part back into place.
Herman half-awoke and gasped deeply, as if he were in the depths of the ocean, searching desperately for the surface to breathe.
His trembling right hand went to his neck.
"Am I imagining things, or were there threads that reattached what was cut?"
He lowered his head slightly, steadying his breath, then raised it and slowly opened his eyes. His expression was filled with stunned disbelief.
"But first of all… where am I?! This isn't my room?"
The room was fairly large… a medium-sized bed, a bookshelf near the door opposite the bed, a window through which moonlight passed, and a mirror beside the bed with several cracked pieces.
Herman got off the bed, trying to remember anything at all, but his mind refused to help.
"What a worn-out, ancient room. Who could possibly live—"
He didn't finish the sentence. A terrifying headache struck, dropping him to his knees.
Memories poured into him like shards of sharp glass carving their way into his skull.
He saw only fleeting glimpses:
Shadows of mysterious figures storming the halls of a dark palace.
Screams… blood splattering across the walls…
And a king raising a sword gleaming beneath tongues of fire, his eyes blazing with the color of a strange book.
Another flash:
A powerful hand gripping his hair, dragging him to the edge…
The wind howling in his ears… then the fall… and darkness swallowing him whole.
Then a fleeting image of a woman with warm eyes calling his name…
And the voice of a man with crimson eyes collapsing amid the flames.
The headache intensified, and Herman felt as if his skull were being split in two. He tried to scream, but the air was trapped in his chest.
He reached for the ground, searching for anything to anchor his soul.
His breathing trembled… then the words escaped him, as if dragging a heavy weight behind them:
"That was… that palace?"
His breath tangled with tension, and the truth exploded inside him like a blade shattering brittle bone.
He pressed his palm against his heart, his eyes shining with something he couldn't tell was anger or fear.
In a hoarse voice, he said:
"They… they betrayed the sanctity."
As the last wave of pain faded, Herman slowly regained his breath.
He lifted his head, sweat dripping from his temple, as though someone had slammed the door on his memories.
Only then was he able to speak clearly, his voice a mix of shock and suppressed rage:
"I finally remember… the reges fatui."
He looked at his hand and grabbed his neck again as he said:
"It seems I somehow returned to life… and if that means anything…"
He stood up, walked toward the mirror, and looked at his reflection—his expression ruled by anger and hatred.
"It seems someone has given me another chance… a chance for revenge."
His features were cold, as if drained of life: messy black hair, drowsy gray eyes, and his neck surrounded by a cluster of threads.
He turned on the tap and washed his face. A faint golden hue appeared in his eyes, so subtle even he barely noticed it.
"The reges fatui will pay for their betrayal of my family…"
As he stood there, he collapsed to the ground again, trembling, having exhausted all his strength… not to mention the blood covering his once-elegant clothes—if they could even be called elegant anymore.
He cleared his throat, trying to force words from his mouth:
"I want to cry, but my eyes refuse… I'm so scared. Where are you, Mother?"
Herman was only a young boy, no older than eighteen, yet he had seen things far beyond his years.
He grabbed the sink with both hands, trying to pull himself up. He looked into the mirror with his gray eyes—and noticed someone behind him, leaning against the door with their head lowered.
He spun around quickly, but there was no one there.
He clutched his head, murmuring softly:
"Am I starting to hallucinate? I thought I saw someone—"
He didn't finish before a calm voice interrupted:
"The blasphemer has returned to life…"
Herman glanced to his left and saw a mysterious figure sitting on a wooden chair beside a bookshelf. Blond hair, green eyes, dressed in a black priest's robe.
"To fall from the mountain of the sovereigns, your head severed, and then return to life… only the children of the sovereigns or cursed slaves possess such traits. Am I right, Herman?"
Herman gave a sarcastic smile despite his fear and unease, looking straight at him.
"I don't know who you are, but you seem to hold some important information… Are you one of the reges fatui's dogs?"
"Oh, you speak heavy words without knowing who you stand before," he said with a sorrowful expression, continuing:
"And for your information, not all dogs are traitors. Your description is primitive and outdated, Herman…"
Behind the mysterious man, a glowing inverted cross appeared, like a shadow.
"And I am nothing more than the ruler of a village. I found you lying among the shadows of the trees and wanted to save you."
Herman was stunned and murmured to himself:
"Since when has there been a village beneath the mountain of the sovereign… Wasn't it destroyed by the reges fatui?"
"What exactly are you getting at? Could you speak a little less in riddles?" Herman asked, his posture defensive and questioning.
"What I want to convey is that I know what you do not," the stranger said in a knowing tone, as if playing on Herman's nerves.
He continued:
"I am merely someone who wants to bring down the rule of the Kanehurst Empire and kill the reges fatui… because the empire has become nothing but ruins."
The mysterious priest fell silent for a few seconds, moving his hand to block the moonlight from entering the room.
"Even your father, despite his strength, was like a mosquito before their cunning."
"…"
Herman said nothing, only stared at him with cold eyes. He rubbed his chin and muttered to himself:
"This is either a priest or a saint… but he reeks of forbidden knowledge."
"What I understood from your riddled speech is that you're planning a coup and want to target the reges fatui."
"Brilliant. And what does a coup require? Someone whose power is madness," he said, gripping his inverted cross necklace.
The mysterious man stood up, extended his right hand forward, and smiled faintly.
"Herman, what do you say about joining the wrath and toppling this blasphemous rule?"
Herman looked at the man's hand, then into his green eyes, and murmured softly to himself:
"Carrying out a coup with a group… It seems the wrath are disciples? Hmm…"
"But I don't care about the empire at all; not everyone there deserves to sink into Hades."
"The target is clear—only the reges fatui."
Herman smiled, then spoke in a voice that was almost a whisper into the stranger's ear:
"I appreciate your offer, but my goal isn't to overthrow the regime or save those who live under it. My goal is very clear—revenge."
The stranger laughed softly.
"What a slightly selfish goal… It seems you don't value the lives of others in your empire, Prince Herman."
Herman waved his hand, returning the laugh with pride in his expression.
"Hahaha. No. When everything is taken from you… you lose the true meaning of life. So their lives mean nothing to me."
"Also, I am no longer a prince. After the catastrophe in the palace, after everything I loved was erased before my eyes, I became a dead man from the past… I became the Prince of Nothing."
"Prince of Nothing… what a heavy title."
"It seems you're set on your decision. I won't argue with you at all. But I have another proposal—would you like to hear it?" The stranger walked back and forth across the room with both hands behind his back.
"And what is your proposal?!" Herman asked, surprised.
The mysterious man snapped his fingers, igniting the number six in the air.
"Six months. Why not train with us for six months?"
He stepped closer to Herman, stood before him, and lowered his head due to their sacred difference in height.
"Boy, the ones you face are not ordinary enemies. They belong to the False God class. Even the Fifth Sovereign fell before them. Sharpening your skills is your best option."
"I don't want to sound foolish, but he's right… the reges fatui are extremely powerful. Rushing in will lead to losing everything," Harmen spoke softly.
"There's no other choice. In my current state… I don't expect I could even kill one of them—especially the First reges fatui."
"I won't say yes directly, but there's no harm in training… And one more thing: I'll go to the empire alone. I don't want a group to interfere with my path." Herman brushed his hair back as he spoke, sadness in his expression.
"Haha, as you wish. Now, go to sleep, and tomorrow I'll introduce you to them."
The mysterious man grasped the doorknob and looked at Herman with a strange smile on his lips.
"Before you go, there's something else I forgot to ask—what is your name? And something more important: since when has your village been beneath the mountain?"
His smile vanished coldly, transforming into an ominous grin.
"You may call me William canehurst… Saint William canehurst."
When he finished saying his name, he left the room, closing the door behind him like a ghost. Herman was surprised that he hadn't answered the last question—William had only smiled.
Herman sat on the bed, interlocking his fingers.
"I don't know whether he's a traitor or not… but the way he speaks and acts suggests he harbors hatred toward the empire and the reges fatui."
"But the terrifying part… how did he know what happened? And how does he even know my name?! I shouldn't turn my back on him… he could be a blasphemer."
He grabbed his head in pain, then continued:
"The wrath… it's as if I know them…"
He walked to the window and stared at the broken moon in the sky, grinding his teeth.
"Your deaths will be a sanctification of life, you filthy ghouls."
As soon as he finished speaking, he heard a chant in the Hermes language, which made him collapse to the ground from the pain that struck his skull…
"O Eldritch, protect thou."