Kael's breath caught the moment his gaze landed on the old man standing near the wall, head bowed, shoulders caved inward as if the weight of his past sins had finally crushed him.
In that instant, realization struck like a blade.
This place.
This inn.
These walls.
They were not a refuge.
They were the hands that once chained him.
Kael's fingers curled so tightly into his palms that his nails pierced skin. Warm blood seeped out, unnoticed, as his body trembled—not with fear, but with restrained fury. His jaw clenched so hard it ached. Every instinct screamed for him to stand, to shout, to tear apart the silence suffocating his chest.
But he didn't.
He stayed seated.
For the villagers watching him.
For the child clutching at his sleeve.
Elric noticed anyway.
She shifted closer, her body shielding his without words, her hand pressing firmly against his back—grounding, anchoring. A quiet reminder: you are here, now. You're not alone.
Only then did Elric lift her gaze to the village head.
"Now," she said calmly, though steel lined her voice, "tell us everything that has happened here."
The village head stepped forward, leaning heavily on his cane. His face was weathered not just by age, but by exhaustion and fear that no sleep could erase.
"Your Graces… since the war ended, our village has not known peace."
His voice wavered. "At first, it was only occasional—strange creatures seen in the forest. Ghouls. Twisted beasts. We lost livestock."
Kael's crimson eyes narrowed.
"But over the past few months," the chief continued, "it became worse. They began attacking people. At night. At dusk. Sometimes even at dawn."
Elric's brow furrowed. "How many have gone missing?"
The chief swallowed hard.
"Seven," he said quietly. "Three adults… and four children."
The room fell into stunned silence.
"That many?" Elric asked sharply. "And you didn't evacuate? Didn't seek aid sooner?"
"We did," the chief answered quickly. "We sent word to the nearby cities. Reinforcements were sent—but every search party returned empty-handed. Not even bodies were found."
Robert stepped forward, his expression tense. "This land falls under Count Jean's jurisdiction. If he received reports, someone at Delcra should have been informed. I can contact Sebastian or Albert once we return."
Kael barely heard them.
His gaze had drifted back to the boy standing near the doorway—the same child who had grabbed his hand earlier. The boy's eyes were red from crying, fists clenched around torn fabric.
A mother who never returned.
Another child left behind.
Kael inhaled slowly, sharply—forcing the tremor in his chest down.
"Then…" he said, his voice low but steady, "I will help search for them."
Every head snapped toward him.
"It is my responsibility," Kael continued. "As Archduke. And as Hero. I will not let my people disappear without answers."
Relief rippled through the villagers. Some bowed immediately. Others clutched each other, tears spilling freely.
But Kael's eyes shifted—cold and piercing—toward the old man standing rigid against the wall.
"And in return," Kael said, each word controlled with brutal effort, "I need information."
The chief stiffened.
"About the orphanage," Kael added.
The air changed.
The village head's face drained of color. The old man visibly flinched, knees nearly buckling. Murmurs spread among the villagers like a sickness.
"The orphanage…" the chief whispered. "That place has existed longer than most of us. We always believed it was cursed."
Elric caught the tremor in Kael's hand before anyone else did.
The chief hesitated, then continued, guilt seeping into every syllable.
"We heard things. Screams, sometimes. Children crying at night. But… we told ourselves it wasn't our place. That involving ourselves would invite disaster."
Kael's vision blurred.
So they knew.
The chief raised his head, looking at Kael with desperate reverence.
"Hero Kael… ever since its destruction, the monsters have only worsened. We believe the orphanage was the source. Even in ruins, it still haunts us."
For a heartbeat—just one—Kael nearly stood.
Nearly screamed.
Bad omen.
Source of evil.
The words echoed painfully over memories of shackled wrists, needles, blood, and small voices begging adults who never came.
But Kael didn't explode.
Instead, he nodded once.
Slowly. Carefully.
"After this crisis is resolved," he said, "I have one request."
The villagers stiffened.
"What is it, Your Grace?" the chief asked nervously. "I fear our village has little to offer—"
"I want the ruins buried."
Silence.
"Not sealed. Not ignored," Kael continued. "A proper burial. Mark the ground. Acknowledge the children who died there."
The chief froze—then bowed deeply, tears slipping down his face.
"I swear it. We will see it done."
Relief passed through the villagers, but Elric didn't miss the shadow lingering behind Kael's eyes.
She stood, addressing the guards.
"Begin investigating immediately. Track the movement patterns of the creatures. No one acts alone."
As the guards dispersed, Elric glanced once more at Kael.
She knew the truth.
He was helping a village that had once turned its back on suffering children.
Not because he forgave them.
But because he refused to let more children die unheard.
And that resolve—born from pain—was far heavier than any crown he wore.
-----------------------------------------
While Elric and Count Jean continued their tense discussion near the village center, Kael walked the outer gate with a single guard at his side. A lantern swayed gently from the guard's hand, its pale light carving narrow paths through the dark.
Hours had passed.
Too quiet.
Kael's unease deepened with every step.
His gaze drifted upward—to the mountain ridge where the ruins of Taylor Orphanage, Branch 34 loomed like a scar against the night. The villagers had insisted the disappearances were linked to that place, yet what remained there was only ash, bone, and silence.
Or so it seemed.
Kael frowned slightly. He remembered the documents. Not only blood extraction. Not only experiments.
There was something else.
Something the records hinted at—but never explained.
"My lord," the guard beside him spoke softly, breaking his thoughts. "This is the edge of the village gate. We should turn back."
Kael nodded faintly. He stepped closer to the rear exit—where the road disappeared into the forest. Darkness pooled thickly between the trees, swallowing sound and light alike.
Then—
Crack.
The sharp snap of wood echoed through the night.
Both Kael and the guard turned instantly.
From between the trees, a small figure stepped into the lantern's glow.
A child.
Barefoot. Wrapped in ragged cloth barely clinging to her thin frame. Mud and ash stained her skin. Her dark brown hair hung in tangled strands over her face.
The guard stepped forward at once, placing himself in front of Kael, sword partially drawn.
"My lord, stay back. No child should be alone in the forest at this hour."
The child slowly lifted her head.
Kael froze.
Her eyes glowed crimson.
A curse child.
Just like him.
Her mouth opened—and a sound tore out of her throat.
A shrill, unnatural scream pierced the night.
The guard and Kael both flinched, hands flying to their ears as pain rang through their skulls. The lantern shook violently. The guard fully drew his sword, blade gleaming.
"Don't move!" he shouted.
But it was already too late.
Shadows in the forest began to move.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of glowing red eyes opened in the dark. Forms twisted and dragged themselves forward. The scream was not a warning.
It was a call.
The child's body warped grotesquely. Limbs bent at impossible angles. Skin peeled and darkened. Rot and decay spilled into the air as her form stretched and cracked, transforming into something unrecognizable.
The stench hit them next—thick, nauseating, suffocating.
"Ghouls—!" the guard breathed.
They surged forward.
The guard lunged first, sword clashing against clawed hands slick with rot. Kael drew his blade in one smooth motion, stepping beside him.
Steel met bone.
Kael's sword carved through a ghoul's arm—but instead of blood, black ichor sprayed across the ground. The creature shrieked, collapsing only for another to scramble over it.
Kael moved on instinct.
Slash. Parry. Step back.
But as his blade moved, his mind shattered open.
Children screaming.
Iron chains.
Needles piercing flesh.
Girls dragged into dark rooms—crying, begging.
Men laughing.
Commands to "breed another."
His grip faltered.
The guard's shout snapped him back. "My lord!"
Kael barely raised his sword in time to block a claw that would have torn through his chest. The impact jarred his arm, pain roaring up his bones—but he did not fall.
I won't fall.
He forced his breath steady.
"I won't let this happen again," Kael muttered hoarsely, blade flashing as he struck back.
Then—
Through the chaos—
He saw him.
At the edge of the forest.
A silhouette standing still amid the writhing darkness.
Red hair.
Red eyes.
The boy.
The one who had lost control.
The one who laughed as fire swallowed the orphanage.
The one who died bleeding in front of him.
Kael's breath caught.
"…You," he whispered.
The figure did not move.
Did not attack.
Only watched.
Footsteps thundered behind them.
"Lady Elric!" a guard shouted.
Flames lit the night as Elric and the other soldiers charged in, arrows igniting midair, swords blazing with enchantments. The ghouls shrieked as fire tore through them, black smoke curling upward like twisted prayers.
"Elric—!" Kael called.
She reached his side instantly, blade flashing, eyes fierce. "I told you not to wander alone!"
"They were waiting," Kael said tightly, forcing himself to look away from the forest. "They called them."
The last ghoul fell screaming.
Silence crashed down abruptly, broken only by harsh breathing and the crackle of dying embers.
Elric followed Kael's gaze toward the trees. "What did you see?"
Kael's voice trembled—not with fear, but with grief.
"…A ghost from my past."
The forest remained still.
But the feeling did not fade.
Something had answered the call.
And something—
had been watching him all along.