Chapter 35 Uninvited Guest
Days passed quickly, and soon it had been a month since the Shrouded One had been defeated. The following day marked a special occasion—Ariella's birthday. She was turning thirteen, and as the heroine of her village, the entire community came together to throw her a celebration in the village square.
Almost every villager was in attendance, beaming with pride for their little heroine. Elara, of course, wouldn't miss it for the world. She sat right at the front beside the birthday girl, her smile nearly as bright as the decorations around them. Shrieks of joy and laughter echoed from every corner of the square.
Then came the birthday song.
"Happy birthday, dear Ari," one of the villagers began, and the crowd sang along in perfect unison.
"Happy birthday, dear Ari! How old are you now?"
Soon it was time for the cake. The villagers had prepared a grand feast, ensuring that every single person was included. There was food, drink, and a beautiful cake that stood proudly at the center. Ariella made the first cut, took a bite with a giggle, and soon everyone joined in the merriment.
It was a perfect day—until the universe decided otherwise.
Amidst the celebration, a voice suddenly rang out, loud and unmistakable. It echoed through the square, freezing every heartbeat, sending chills down every spine.
A voice they never thought they'd hear again.
He was back. The Shrouded One had returned.
"Quite a feast we're having here," the voice drawled sarcastically. "Hope you don't mind my unexpected visit. I just thought—since the entire village was invited—it'd be rude if I didn't show up. Anyway... happy birthday, dear Ari. Long time no see. Miss me?"
His mocking tone mimicked the villagers' earlier cheer, turning the joy in the air into dread.
The celebration turned into chaos. Panic erupted. Villagers scrambled, each running for their lives. Those too stunned to move fainted on the spot, and no one stopped to help them. It was every man for himself.
Elara and Ariella stood frozen, staring wide-eyed at the figure before them.
Hadn't they killed him? Hadn't his body dropped dead right in front of them?
Then who was standing there now?
Their minds swirled with questions, but not a single answer surfaced. The man—if he truly was a man—watched them calmly. Too calmly. As though he had expected their reaction.
And in truth, he had.
Their stunned faces confirmed it. He had died, and it had been at their hands. He'd suspected it, prepared himself mentally for the possibility, but now it was real. He had died—and yet here he stood.
How? Was it necromancy? Something darker? He didn't know. And that troubled him more than he let on.
Behind him, Little 5 observed quietly, already guessing his thoughts. He had to act quickly—had to distract him. The Master had warned them all: never tell Little 9 the truth about what happened. It was forbidden.
Even though they were just as curious about how he came back, they had to pretend like everything was normal. That was the Master's order.
Back when Little 9 insisted on staying in his childhood room, the Master summoned them and gave strict instructions. No one was to speak of Little 9's death. Ever.
After some time, when they all learned to better control their emotions, the Master sent Little 5 to support him. Since his defeat, the Master no longer underestimated the girls. He made sure Little 9 had backup.
And surprisingly, Little 9 hadn't argued.
Perhaps he now believed he really had died at their hands. Perhaps he'd learned his lesson. Because when the Master suggested he be given help, he simply nodded and agreed.