The village had always been a quiet, humble place—nestled beside the river, its cottages nestled like old friends, side by side. But that night, the peace shattered like glass.
It started with a howl. Low, guttural, a sound that reverberated through the bones of anyone who heard it. A cry that sent a tremor through the air, as though even the wind flinched from its ferocity.
People ran.
Shutters were slammed shut, children pulled into their parents' arms. The air was thick with panic, the kind that claws at the throat and makes breath shallow. The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally long, like the night itself was pulling them in, darkening the streets with its smothering presence.
From behind the corner of the village square, a hound emerged. Its massive form, like a nightmare made flesh, tore through the mist, jaws bared, eyes glowing with an unnatural hunger. Its coat was a matted blend of shadows, as if the creature had been forged from the very darkness that had overtaken the village.
"Scream!" a woman's voice pierced the night. "Run, for the gods' sake!"
In the frenzy, people stumbled over themselves, half-blinded by fear. A man, clutching his child, collided with a wooden cart, sending it toppling. The horse bolted in terror, hooves echoing across the cobblestone like thunder.
The hound wasn't the only one. From the far end of the street, another howl answered, then another. The village was surrounded. The beasts were hunting, drawn to the panic, to the scent of fear.
A scream. High-pitched, desperate. A woman was dragged from her doorway by a hound's massive paw, its claws slicing through her skin like a knife through paper. Her cries were swallowed by the sounds of chaos, her life snuffed out in an instant. The villagers were no longer human—they were prey. Scattered, vulnerable.
Marko, one of the guards, had rushed to the gates. His heart pounded in his chest, fists clenched around the spear that felt suddenly too light, too weak. The hounds were relentless, charging through the alleys, tearing through any who dared try to resist.
"Jhon! Where are you?" he shouted, but the wind snatched his words away, and the howl of the hounds drowned everything else.
Jhon was ahead, pushing through the people, his feet slick with the blood and mud of the streets. He was no warrior, but a protector. He had to be. He gripped his sword with shaking hands, his gaze frantically scanning for his twin. He could hear the faint cries of his brother, faint, distant—but unmistakable.
As he ran down the narrow alley, a hound leapt at him from the dark. Its eyes gleamed with ferocity, its jaws snapping just inches from his throat. He swung the sword, barely grazing the beast, but the strike was enough to send it careening into the wall. The hound howled in pain, but there was no time to savor the victory. It was already retreating, as though the night had swallowed it up.
"Marko!" Jhon called again. The name seemed to fall into the shadows, unanswered.
Somewhere, amidst the frenzy, Raizen was shouting orders. His voice strained, but there was no organization in the panic. The village was lost. His spear felt like nothing more than a toy in the face of the monstrous creatures. Yet he fought, kept fighting, unwilling to let his people fall without some form of defense.
But the hounds were everywhere. They weren't just attacking—they were hunting, tracking down every last breath in the village.
From the riverbanks, the moonlight caught on something glinting in the distance—a shape moving. Was it another hound, or something worse? The village had always been cursed, built on the blood of the fallen, but tonight… tonight, it would be claimed.
A scream broke the night again.
It was a man—running for his life—when a hound, black as night, lunged from the shadows and seized him by the leg. He tumbled, dragged, his cries desperate as he was hauled into the dark.
Just as the last cry of a villager was silenced, the earth seemed to tremble, and a low thunder rumbled in the distance. It was not the storm the villagers had feared, but something much worse. Hoofbeats. Thousands of them.
The wind whipped through the streets, carrying with it the scent of iron and blood. The hounds halted their savage assault for a brief moment, their ears twitching as they sensed the shift in the air.
And then they came.
The Cathlic Knights burst through the eastern entrance, their horses kicking up clouds of dirt, their armor glinting like molten steel under the fading light. They were a force of nature—a storm on horseback. Clad in shining plate armor, their spears pointed forward, they rode as one, a singular wave of retribution.
The first hound was impaled on a spear before it even had time to react, the massive beast lifted off its feet and thrown to the ground with a bone-crushing impact. The knights didn't stop—they rode over it, a blur of steel and fury. Another hound lunged at one of the riders, its fangs bared in an attempt to rip through the knight's armor, but a swift strike from the knight's sword cleaved through its throat, silencing it instantly.
More hounds charged, but the knights moved like a well-oiled machine. Their horses darted in and out of the chaos, spinning, turning, and cutting down any hound that dared approach them. They were swift, brutal, and precise. The beasts had no chance.
One knight, his face hidden behind a gleaming helmet, raised his spear high. The long weapon was a blur as it pierced the skull of another hound with a single, clean strike. The knight didn't even flinch. The beast's body crumpled to the ground as the knight continued forward, leading the charge into the heart of the village.
The hounds began to scatter, but the knights were relentless. Every movement was calculated. Every strike fatal. The remaining beasts were picked off one by one, no matter how viciously they fought. The village square became a battleground—blood and fur mixing in the dirt as the knights swept through the hounds like a cleansing tide.
But amidst the brutal carnage, Raizen stood frozen at the gates, his eyes scanning the village for survivors. The chaos was slowly coming to an end, but the cries for help were still audible, echoing off the stone walls. He had to act.
A soldier, breathless and covered in blood, rode up to him on horseback. His armor was dented, his face streaked with grime, but his eyes were clear, urgent.
"Head Guard Raizen!" the soldier called, his voice barely heard over the still-clashing sounds of battle. "WE ARE THE ORDER OF ROSEMERRY CATHLIC,Leave these unholy creatures to us!" He gestured to the Cathlic Knights, who had taken control of the battlefield. "Help the people evacuate through the north gate. We will hold the line!"
Raizen's eyes flicked toward the soldier, then back to the knights as they methodically continued their slaughter. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing on his chest. The hounds were nearly vanquished, but there were still villagers to save.
His eyes hardened. "Get to the north gate," he barked at the soldier. "I'll lead the evacuation."
With a nod, the soldier spurred his horse into motion, racing off to relay the order. Raizen turned to his remaining men, giving them a sharp, commanding look.
"Form up!" Raizen shouted. "Get the villagers to safety. Move them north—hurry!"
The remaining guards scrambled to follow his orders, breaking away from the fight to usher the frightened villagers toward the northern exit. The hounds were nearly gone, but the village was still in ruins, the threat not fully extinguished. There was no time to waste.
Raizen gave one last look at the knights—at the ferocity with which they fought—and then turned toward the village, his heart pounding with the responsibility that weighed on him. The village had been a battlefield once before; now, it was a place of loss, of terror, and of survival.
CASTLE VENGIN:
The first light of dawn seeped through the castle's windows, stirring it from its slumber. The distant toll of the morning bell echoed through the halls, marking the start of another busy day.
In the kitchens, the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the air as servants hurried to set the day's meals. Pots clanged, flames crackled, and the head cook barked orders, urging the staff to move faster.
Outside in the courtyard, the guards practiced their drills, the sound of clashing swords ringing through the air. Their movements were sharp and disciplined, the morning mist still clinging to the stone ground.
At the gates, the night shift guards exchanged weary glances with the incoming shift, their boots scraping against the cobblestones. A young guard, clutching a sealed scroll, hurried through the busy courtyard, heading for the inner hall.
The castle, as always, was a hive of activity—blacksmiths hammering away at the forge, stablehands tending to horses, and servants moving in synchrony to keep the gears of the castle turning.
Up in her chambers, a maid knocked at the door, his voice nervous. "My lady, breakfast is served."
Lady Amane didn't turn from the window where she watched the courtyard below. "Very well".
The maid quickly left, and the castle continued its rhythm, its halls alive with the hum of purpose. The day was just beginning, and Lady Amane knew there was little time for rest.
The door to Lady Amane's chambers opened with a soft creak, and her son entered quietly, his small figure barely noticeable in the dim morning light. His movements were hesitant, as though the weight of the castle's silent, ancient walls pressed against his young shoulders. The room seemed to pause around him, the only sound the faint rustling of fabric as he crossed the floor, his footsteps barely echoing on the stone.
Lady Amane sat by the window, her posture regal and unyielding as she gazed out toward the distant horizon. She didn't turn to him, but there was an unspoken understanding between them, the quiet recognition of his presence. He lingered for a moment, the words he sought caught in the stillness, before he took a slow step forward, breaking the silence.
"Don't you have training with Master Bruno today?" she asked gently.
"Yes, Mother. Master will return this afternoon from his duties," Pluto replied.
"—I DON'T WANNA!!!"
Lunet's voice burst from behind the wall, followed by the unmistakable sound of a wooden cup falling to the floor.
Little Lunet never found interest in battle training. But as a VENGIN descendant, it was her duty to grow strong. Whether she liked it or not.
"Are you coming to watch, Mother?" he asked
"I'm so, so sorry, kids," she said with a smile full of apology. "My wheelchair is being repaired today."
Her smile faltered, just for a moment.
"Oh God, I really wish to walk..."
Amane had been unable to walk since birth. Through all her years, she had never once stopped praying for that miracle.
Not for herself.
But so she could walk beside the people she cares for.
The air that afternoon was cold and soft,
just enough sunlight slipping through scattered clouds to illuminate every quiet corner of the castle grounds.
Pluto and Lunet stood side by side near the front gate.
The wind tugged gently at their clothes and hair, and for a moment, it felt like the world was holding its breath.
"Hey, Pluto," Lunet called, hugging her arms to herself.
"Yes?" he replied without looking.
She narrowed her eyes, watching a flock of birds pass overhead before turning to him again.
"When do you think Master's going back to his work?"
He gave a slow shrug. "Probably after a month or so."
She scoffed. "How would you know? You haven't talked to him since the last time he came back. And I know that, because you were with me the whole time."
"I said probably," Pluto replied, not irritated, just calmly as always. "It's just a guess. He usually leaves again after a few weeks."
"You sound so sure of everything," she muttered. "Tch. As if you're his little assistant or something."
"He tells me things sometimes," Pluto said. "But not always."
Lunet rolled her eyes and kicked a small pebble off the path. "Of course he does."
Before Pluto could reply, the sound of wheels grinding over gravel caught their attention.
A carriage rolled up to the gate—dark wood, gold-trimmed, pulled by two horses clad in steel-plated harnesses.
The door swung open before the driver could even climb down. A tall, thin man stepped out. His long blond hair swayed in the wind, and his dark coat billowed around him like a cape. Two bodyguards followed him, one carrying an enormous wooden box that looked ready to burst at the seams.
"Ugh," Lunet whispered, folding her arms tighter. "Speak of the devil."
The man walked with elegance—too elegant, in Lunet's opinion—and came straight toward them.
"After fixing his sleeves, of course," she grumbled under her breath.
Master Bruno reached them with a wide grin. Without asking, he placed a hand on each of their heads and ruffled their hair like they were still toddlers.
"Oh my, my!" he exclaimed in his soft, cheerful voice. "Look at you two! I was only gone two weeks, and you've already outgrown me! So tall! So serious! It makes me feel old, you know?"
Pluto remained still, a slight nod acknowledging his presence. He behaved with a calm far beyond his seventeen years.
Lunet, however, grabbed his wrist and shoved it off with a scowl.
"You've been gone," she snapped, "not dead."
"Ouch," Bruno said with a mock-pained look, stepping back. "I deserved that, huh?"
"You think?"
He chuckled, brushing invisible dust from his coat. "Well, I brought gifts this time. And sweets. Even that weird book on bow techniques you asked for months ago."
That made her falter—but only slightly.
"Don't think a book's gonna make me forgive you," she muttered, though her eyes darted to the wooden box.
"Forgiveness is earned, not bribed," Pluto added.
Bruno smiled. "Wise as ever. No wonder Lady Amane trusts you more than me."
The guards began unloading the box as Bruno turned to the castle, sighing.
"It's good to be home."
Pluto watched him go with unreadable eyes, but Lunet kept staring at the box.
"...Did he actually remember the book?"
"I'm not sure," Pluto said. "But he did remember the sweets."
"...Fine. I'll check. But I'm still mad."
"You always are."
She smacked his arm without looking.
And just like that, the quiet afternoon continued, as the wind stirred the flags on the castle walls—like whispers returning to a home they hadn't seen in years.
She sat beneath the pine tree, quietly chanting her afternoon prayers, eyes following a group of birds weaving through the pale sky.
Then, footsteps.
She didn't turn—she already knew who it was.
Bruno.
He was a close relative of Lord Vardon Vengin, and once served directly under him. In his younger years, Bruno was trained by Vardon himself, and after the lord's death, he never turned his back towards castle vengin.
Instead, he stayed behind. Quietly. Faithfully.
Now, as always, Bruno stood silently in front of the doorway, waiting. He never entered without permission—not even after all these years.
When the woman inside gave a soft nod, he stepped forward.
"I have returned from work, my lady," Bruno said gently, bowing slightly. "May I ask how your health has been?"
There was no cheer in his voice, no friendly tone today—only calm formality. Pure loyalty. Deep respect.
She looked up from her chair by the fire, her gaze soft.
"Happy to see you again," she said with a faint smile. "My health has improved these past few days… far better than before."
Bruno's smile was subtle, almost invisible, but it was there.
"And your training?" she asked.
"Just after our talk"
"Did you meet them?" she asked, folding her hands together. "Did Lunet behave? Don't hesitate to report to me if she gave you trouble."
Bruno gave a small chuckle but said nothing at first.
"You know her better than I do," he said at last. "She's as sweet and angry as always."
The woman gave a tired sigh, though her eyes shimmered with something unspoken.
Bruno's reply was a silent smile—peaceful and unbothered, like someone used to both chaos and calm.
"Have you heard??" Her faint, crumbled voice was enough for Bruno to understand what she meant.
"Yes my lady, It's another HOUND attack" kinara village comes under hungmen land , we are trying to communicate, but they refused our every request"
" In past years hound attacks never been this intence cathlic knights has handled with ease, bruno keep your eye on kinara , doesn't matter it's land under vengin or hungmen they are all people of livonkis "
VILLAGE KINARA: Almost evening, that golden gaze of the sun turned red and dark—like blood. The village beside the river, near the Bentob castle ruin stood empty now.
"Have you heard?"
"hungmen didn't allowed vengins to investigate on kinara ."
"Yes! Everyone knows , people are saying belford will go for war , what's even the reason,"
"SILENCE!! BOTH OF YOU!"
The senior guard barked at them. "Your job is to guard the village entrance, not to prove your stupidity."
Just at that moment, a man appeared at the village entrance—wearing a black fur coat and a big red hat. The dim torchlight at the gate barely revealed his appearance.
"Whoever you are, you must go back. This village is not a safe place anymore—it's filled with wild animals," the head guard said.
"Oh no, sir. I have no intention of staying here," the man replied. "I'm just an adventurer. Wandering from place to place is my job."
"Then why here??"
"News about this village has probably spread across all of Livonkis by now,we barely managed to return today thanks for cathlic soldiers," one of the guards muttered.
Jhon never wanted to join the castle guard force. But family duty and lack of wealth could bend anyone's choice of action.Along with his twin brother, Marko, he had been a castle guard for nearly ten months. Under the orders of Lord Belford of Hangman Castle, they were assigned to guard the village under the guidance of Head Guard Rizen.
"I left some of my things here yesterday, but then I heard about the wildlife attack this morning…". "How unfortunate."
After a long sigh, he removed his hat.
His hair was crimson red, tied in a bun at the back of his head.
Rizen didn't even finish his sentence when Marko suddenly shouted:
"Your hair! It's red—bright red! Are you the red-haired adventurer who killed that hound on first attack??"
"Apologies, sir, but I have my orders," Raizen said firmly, standing tall at the village gate. "No one is permitted to enter the village without authorization."
The wind stirred the edge of his cloak. Behind him, the rooftops of the village glowed faintly in the last light of dusk, as shadows stretched longer across the cobbled path. Crickets had begun their evening chorus, soft but steady.
"I understand," the stranger replied, voice calm and deliberate. "But I do have permission—from Lord Belford himself."
He reached into his coat and withdrew a tightly rolled parchment. The leather of his gloves creaked slightly as he unfurled it.
Raizen's brow furrowed, his posture stiff. He remained motionless, unconvinced, until his gaze settled on the wax seal—unmistakably that of Lord Belford. Authority. Authentic. Irrefutable.
"...Very well, then," Raizen muttered. "It appears there's no room for confusion."
His voice was reluctant, a step behind his duty. He moved aside, his boots crunching on the gravel as the amber light of the setting sun cast long, fractured shadows through the gate's iron bars.
Ignoring Marko's silent question—a glance that spoke volumes—Raizen cleared his throat and called after the man.
"Before you proceed, sir..." he began, slower now, with a sharp edge in his tone, "may I at least ask your name?"
The stranger paused. The wind brushed against the hem of his coat, sending it fluttering slightly. His silhouette was framed in the dimming gold of twilight.
Raizen's eyes narrowed. His voice said little, but his face betrayed him. Doubt. Unease. The kind that settled in the bones. Too many questions. Too few answers.
"Do you not trust me?" the stranger asked, turning just enough to glance back at him. His expression remained unreadable, carved from calm.
"I do, sir..." Raizen replied, voice lowering, more to himself than to anyone else. "...But I believe it's only proper to know the name of the man who saved my people."
For a moment, silence reigned. A raven croaked overhead and flapped away into the darkening sky.
Then, a faint smile curled at the corners of the stranger's lips.
"Kel," he said simply. "And helping those in need isn't some praiseworthy act. It's the bare minimum one should offer as a human being."
His words carried on the wind, almost vanishing with the dying light.
Raizen didn't respond. He only stood there, watching the man's back as he walked away, his expression like stone.
Behind him, night began to fall.
John and Marko stood still, watching as Kel disappeared beyond the gate. The twilight wind drifted over the village path, carrying a hush that felt heavier than silence.
Rizen's narrow eyes remained fixed for a moment longer, more thoughtful than usual. Forty-six years he had spent in service to Hungman Castle, yet never—not once—had he seen a regular traveler carry a document marked with the royal seal. Not unless it involved the Vengin contract, which had been forged seventeen years ago in guarded ceremony.
And that contract had nothing to do with strangers.
His instincts told him to stop the man.
But instinct wasn't permission.
"May I?" Kel had asked, polite, calm, almost amused.
"Of course, sir. Be safe," Rizen had replied, words steady, even if his grip on his spear had tightened just slightly.
The forest dimmed further.
It was late evening now—the kind of darkness that changed the shape of familiar things. Trees no longer looked like trees; they loomed instead, like silent watchers draped in shadow. The leaves whispered to each other, their voices stirred by the wind.
The air had grown colder too, the warmth of day a memory. Lanterns flared along the castle walls. Torchlight flickered across the training grounds, painting the stone and earth in moving gold.
In the center, Bruno's voice broke the stillness.
"Try to focus the flow… let it move beneath the skin, navigate through it. Flow throughout your whole body. Let your sword take it all to light. Then—release."
He stepped closer, his presence calm yet commanding. The firelight glinted across his coat.
"Can you feel it?" he asked.
Pluto stood motionless, jaw tight, eyes locked on the ground. He didn't answer right away.
Bruno waited. The torches cracked beside them, as if echoing the tension in the boy's shoulders.
"…No. I can't."
His voice wasn't loud. Just honest.
Bruno nodded once, subtle and unreadable. His expression showed no frustration, only patience. Like someone used to waiting for storms to pass on their own.
Pluto had been struggling with his sorcery since day one. The magical current within him felt faint—sometimes completely absent. Even though he trained harder than anyone, it simply wouldn't respond.
Lunet, despite being two months younger, had already begun to shape wind magic with natural instinct. Her spells were messy and fueled by emotion, but they worked. She hated the training—but the power obeyed her.
Pluto's sword trembled slightly in his hand. He looked ahead, past the torches, toward the far trees beyond the walls.
The darkness beyond was growing thicker.
And in that darkness, something felt like it was waiting.
Bruno didn't speak again.
He simply stood beside him, letting the silence settle. The way a mentor does when he knows the answers aren't ready to be spoken yet.
After a long, drawn-out sigh, Bruno gently placed his hand on Pluto's head. His palm was calloused, steady—like stone weathered by years of storms. He looked straight at the boy with a short but calming smile.
"It's okay," he said quietly. "There's no need to rush."
"Exactly!" another voice chimed in, lighthearted but commanding. "No need to sprint toward something you're not ready for."
The voice came from the gate of the training ground, warm and filled with a certain familiarity. "There are no rules saying you must be a sorcerer. With your sword skill, I'd argue you're already beyond what most sorcerers could hope for."
Pluto turned toward the voice. A tall, grown man stepped into view, his silhouette cutting through the misty torchlight. He wore a faded but noble cloak that moved with the breeze, the folds catching firelight in flickers of gold and shadow.
It was Senko.
The fire from the torches crackled gently, casting long, writhing shadows against the training grounds. In the deep blue of evening, just before night would consume the sky, his arrival felt almost surreal—like the return of something long-missing.
Lunet's breath caught the moment she recognized him. Her eyes widened, and whatever composure she had vanished in an instant.
"Senko!!"
She ran to him, arms outstretched, her footsteps fast and frantic. Her joy overpowered her discipline—this wasn't a soldier's reunion, it was something more tender. The moment she reached him, she wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly as though fearing he'd disappear again.
Pluto stood frozen, watching quietly from where he stood. There was something in the air—a faint tightening in the chest, a quiet pull of memories. Even after so much time, Senko's presence hadn't lost its gravity.
"…Brother! It's been over a year."
Senko let out a soft laugh as he held Lunet, brushing his fingers gently through her hair. "Time flies, doesn't it?" he said, trying to sound cheerful.
But his voice cracked ever so slightly. Beneath the light tone was a weariness that no amount of smiling could hide. His eyes shimmered—not with tears, but with something more complicated: relief, guilt, longing.
Bruno stepped forward, his arms crossed, but the corner of his lips twitched with restrained amusement. "How was your journey, Lord?" he asked, adding a mock formality to his tone.
Senko raised an eyebrow. "Stop it, Uncle. I'm no lord."
The familiar teasing tone slipped from his lips, but his breath was still short—still recovering. The laughter that followed was soft, the kind that bubbles up but never quite escapes fully. Even so, it was enough to draw a smile from Bruno.
Their voices mingled with the crackling torches, the rustling forest, and the distant murmur of the village winding down for the night. Everything about the scene felt suspended—like time had decided to slow, just for a while.