The moonlight soaked the Norigusho estate in silver silence.
But within the farthest room in the west annex, silence was not peace.
CRASH.
A porcelain vase shattered against the wall, shards raining like frozen tears.
SLAM.
A chair flipped and splintered beneath Kain's heel.
"FUCK!!"
He wasn't yelling at the chair. Or the vase. Or even the mirror he had already punched, blood still dripping from his knuckles.
He was yelling at everything.
"This isn't even my fucking life!!"
Kain staggered backwards, knocking over his own writing desk. His notebook tumbled to the floor, pages fluttering like dying birds.
He collapsed to his knees, clutching his head.
"A day. Just one day. And I've been beaten. Humiliated. Treated like filth by the very characters I gave names to—by faces I drew. I made this world… and it hates me."
He looked down at his hands. Still shaking. Still weak. Still Kain Norigusho, bastard and failure and future corpse.
And yet—he was still alive. That meant something. Didn't it?
Didn't it?
His voice dropped to a whisper. "I need out."
He stood, half-hunched, and staggered toward the bell chain. One pull. Two. Then three.
Moments later, the door creaked open.
Sir Aldane entered in silence, eyes flicking immediately to the blood and broken furniture. His face didn't so much as flinch. "You rang, my lord?"
Kain didn't look up. "Get me out of here."
"Where to?"
"A village. A tavern. I don't give a shit. Somewhere not here. I need to drink until I forget I exist."
A pause. Then a gentle nod. "Understood."
Outskirts Village — 11:45 PM
The tavern was nameless. All rotting wood and bad music. Smoke choked the rafters. Drunks muttered to each other in slurred curses. A bard with no soul played out-of-tune chords while a barmaid with a black eye laughed like her ribs were broken.
Kain sat at the bar, cloaked and silent.
The drinks came fast. One. Two. Five. The world turned warm. Then soft. Then blurry.
His head dropped onto the wood with a thud. He might've cried. He might've laughed. He didn't know anymore.
Time passed.
3:04 AM — Behind the Tavern
The night was too quiet. The forest behind the tavern didn't whisper like it used to. No insects. No wind.
Kain stumbled out, untying his trousers and leaning against a tree to piss. "Damn noble life," he muttered. "No privacy. No dignity. No toilet paper."
He was about to button up when—
A glint.
Behind him.
Cold metal. Whisper-soft footsteps. An intent that didn't belong in drunken stillness.
Kain turned—
Too late.
A hooded figure, masked in black serpent scales, struck with a curved dagger—
CLANG!
A blur of steel intercepted the blade. Sparks flew.
Sir Aldane.
His sword carved the air with blinding speed—and severed the assassin's hand clean at the wrist.
The dagger clattered to the dirt.
The assassin screamed, staggering back as blood sprayed like ink across bark.
"Run," Aldane said, his voice cold and steady.
Kain was already stumbling backward, dizzy and stunned. But something wrong filled the air.
Whispers.
Shadows moving in ways shadows shouldn't.
Three more assassins dropped from the trees. Each clad in segmented black armor, faces covered, blades curved like snakes' fangs.
Sir Aldane stepped between them and Kain, his own blade glowing with faint red runes. "Stay behind me."
Then—the battle began.
One assassin lunged low, aiming for Aldane's ribs.
Parry. Slash. Twist.
Aldane countered with a brutal upward swing that tore across the attacker's chest. Another moved to flank—
But Aldane spun like a whirlwind of steel, cloak fluttering, blade singing.
The third assassin hurled throwing knives—Aldane caught one mid-air and drove it into the second's neck.
But the fourth—the one whose hand had been severed—was crawling forward again, cradling a second dagger.
And he was crawling toward Kain.
Kai was on the ground, dizzy, terrified. His vision swam.
Then he saw the assassin—dragging himself like a wounded beast. Gripping a dagger with his remaining hand. Glaring with venom. Coming to kill.
Panic gripped Kain's chest. He looked around—no weapon, no help.
Only the dagger the assassin had dropped.
He grabbed it.
The steel burned in his hand—too light, too sharp, too alive.
"Get away—!"
He stumbled forward—
Tripped.
And fell.
Right onto the assassin.
The dagger plunged into the man's heart.
There was a gasp. Then nothing.
Kain's breath caught in his throat.
And then—
It happened.
His eyes snapped open. The irises blazed violet—so deep and bright they looked like stars gone mad.
Veins beneath his skin flared with light.
He stood.
Sober.
He wasn't drunk. Not even a hint.
His body had changed. Faster. Stronger. Denser. Like the weight of the world had shifted into his muscles.
But it wasn't just his body.
Memories.
He saw flashes.
—A childhood in the slums of Karth.
—Training in silence with poisoned blades.
—Orders from the Serpent Guild.
—Techniques. Kill-points. Weaknesses. Evade patterns.
He remembered everything the assassin knew.
Kain staggered back, eyes wide, chest heaving.
"What the fuck…?"
He looked down at the dagger. His fingers adjusted their grip—perfectly, like instinct.
Sir Aldane was still fighting—but now struggling.
One assassin's blade had cut across his thigh. Blood soaked the ground.
Kain stepped forward.
He didn't think. He moved.
The first assassin turned—too slow.
Kain slid forward—his footwork fluid, exact, stolen from memory that wasn't his.
The dagger whipped up—cut across the throat.
Blood sprayed. Another flash—
—The assassin's life entered him. Technique. Knowledge. Strength.
The second turned. Threw a blade.
Kain caught it. Spun. Drove it into the enemy's chest.
More memories.
Every time he killed—he grew. Stronger. Faster. Smarter.
A blur of motion behind him—Aldane fighting side by side now. The old man didn't question it.
Slash. Parry. Stab.
Another fell.
And with him, another life was consumed.
Their pain. Their training. Their deaths—all burned into Kain's bones like ink on parchment.
The final body hit the ground.
Kain stood still, drenched in blood. Not his own.
His dagger dripped. His breath was steady.
Sir Aldane turned to him, wide-eyed. "My lord…"
But Kain's expression was unreadable. Terrified. Euphoric. Numb.
"What… the hell am I?" he whispered.
And somewhere, deep inside him—
—A voice that wasn't his answered.
"You are Death."