Chapter 1
Part 1
"Hahaha… how truly lamentable I am right now."
The bitter laughter slipped from my lips as I tilted the battle-worn flask and swallowed a mouthful of hard liquor.
It burned all the way down, scorching my throat, yet it did nothing to quiet the noise inside my chest.
Above me, the moon hung bright and cold, indifferent to my misery, its pale light bathing the land where everything had begun—where my life had taken shape, and where my sins had taken root.
"This place…" I muttered, my voice trembling. "This is where it all started. Me. My life."
I stood on the roof of our old farmhouse, the night wind blowing cold from north to south, making the already silent night more eerie and restless.
For nearly two decades—eighteen long years—this land had been my world.
A three hectare land, modest yet generous, enough to sustain a family that asked for nothing extravagant.
My father's rough hands had tilled this soil.
My mother's laughter once drifted across it with the wind.
My older brother's footsteps had echoed here, strong and steady, while my sister's dreams had taken shape beneath the same moon that now watched me in silence.
This was my home.
And this was the place where my guilt truly awakened.
As the memory flashed, the pain it brought carved deeper scars into my wounded heart and soul.
"Mom… Dad… Brother… Sister…" My knees weakened. As I sat quietly in the middle of the night, the flask trembled in my grip toward my one remaining hand. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
My voice cracked. The words spilled out, broken and pitiful.
"I'm sorry your son—your brother—was so cowardly. So weak. I brought destruction to our family. I ruined everything."
The liquor reached my lips again. Another gulp. Another futile attempt to drown the memories clawing their way to the surface.
"I'm sorry… hikk… sorry…"
The moonlight revealed every corner of the land, and with it came memories I could no longer suppress.
This farm had been enough. It had always been enough.
Yet I, blinded by ambition and youthful arrogance, believed there was something more waiting for me beyond these fields.
I told myself I needed a new life, a grander future. I ran from home chasing dreams that glittered like gold—and in exchange, my life became a living hell.
It all began in the capital.
I had been naïve, reckless, drunk on freedom and pride. The city swallowed boys like me whole, yet I thought my strong body—honed by years of farm labor—made me invincible. That illusion shattered the day I crossed paths with Gerald Thomson.
At first, he was just another arrogant noble brat in an expensive restaurant.
We argued over something trivial—a seat, a table, a meaningless insult thrown with careless cruelty. Youthful vigor met blind pride, and fists followed words before reason could intervene. I didn't know who he was then. I didn't know he was the son of the Shadow Guild's leader.
I only knew that when our fists clashed, I won.
My body was stronger. My resolve fiercer. I subdued him easily, slamming him to the ground while the room watched in stunned silence. For a fleeting moment, I felt victorious.
That moment cost me my life.
His bodyguards arrived like shadows given form. Where I had relied on brute strength, they wielded skill, experience, and ruthless efficiency. I was beaten into the floor, my vision swimming, my bones screaming. Only then did I learn who Gerald Thomson truly was.
From that day on, I was no longer a man.
I became his dog.
At first, I tried to resist. I fought back in small, desperate ways—refusing orders, clinging to scraps of pride. But Gerald didn't need to touch me again. He used something far more effective.
My family.
Threats wrapped in polite smiles. Photographs taken from impossible angles. Casual mentions of my sister's routine, my father's habits, my mother's health. I went to the authorities, foolishly believing justice still existed for people like me.
I had no proof.
They imprisoned me instead—six months behind cold bars, where hope withered day by day. When I was released, I was shown a video.
My younger sister.
Bullied. Cornered. Terrified.
In that moment, my resolve shattered completely.
I knelt.
From then on, I obeyed.
Years passed in a blur of humiliation and blood. I was treated worse than an animal, forced to clean up Gerald's messes, to shoulder his sins so his hands could remain spotless. Orders escalated from intimidation to violence, from violence to something far worse.
The first life I took still haunts me.
That was the moment I ceased being human.
That was the moment I truly became his servant.
I never returned home. I couldn't. I didn't deserve to. While I lived as a shadow in the capital, my family waited—especially my mother. When she fell ill, I wasn't there. When she asked for me, I didn't come.
Instead, Gerald sent me away.
To a training camp.
They called it training, but it was hell.
The Thomson family raised assassins there—cleaners meant to erase problems before they reached the surface. One hundred people were sent in. Only one walked out.
Me.
I witnessed brutality beyond imagination. Starvation. Torture. Betrayal. We were broken down piece by piece until survival itself became a sin. By the end, I had earned a name whispered in fear.
The Thomson sword Specter.
A blade that moved only at their command.
Two years later, I learned the truth.
My mother was dead.
My father had followed soon after.
When I stormed into Gerald's room, rage burning through every vein, he didn't flinch. He simply smiled and showed me new images.
My sister, walking into college, her smile bright and hopeful.
My brother, standing in uniform—a soldier now, proud and upright.
"How can you destroy their lives?" Gerald asked softly. "One move against me, and they disappear."
I believed him.
I had seen the camp.
I knew what they were capable of.
At my father's burial, I finally gathered the courage to attend. I stood there, unworthy among mourners, only to receive a punch to the face from my brother and a slap from my sister. I didn't fight back.
I deserved it.
My mother had died because of me.
She waited for me until the end—waiting, apologizing for things she never did wrong, loving me despite everything. Even as sickness consumed her, she spoke my name. In her final breath, she called for her son.
When I heard this, the stone heart I had forged in blood finally shattered.
"Brother… I'm sorry…"
The words dissolved into sobs. My body shook violently as years of guilt poured out all at once.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
My brother's eyes burned with hatred as he grabbed my collar, dragging me close.
"Sorry?" he roared, punching my face again and again. "***** you! You ungrateful brat! You only ever thought of yourself!"
Blood filled my mouth.
"Do you know why Father died?!"
His fists didn't stop.
And I let them fall.
Because no punishment could ever be enough.