In the late afternoon, the sky emitted a calm orange glow, stretching low across the western horizon. Meanwhile, the fading sunlight wrapped the buildings and streets in a warm radiance, as if burning the edges of the long shadows that stretched across the ground. Thin clouds drifted slowly, reflecting streaks of orange and pale red, marking the transition from day to night.
The air felt calmer, yet carried a somber undertone, a brief pause before darkness truly descended. At 18:30, Zavi had already returned home and was now inside his room, sitting on a chair while writing something.
This Saturday was no different from the previous ones. No one was at home. His younger sister often spent weekends at her friend's house, a place Zavi had visited before. His older brother, Ren, was somewhere unknown, and his mother had gone somewhere as well, still unaware that her son had regained consciousness, intending to find a specialist who could wake him up, but that was a lie.
The sound of the pen tapping lightly against the desk broke the silence of the evening inside the room. His thoughts kept returning to the earlier incident, a group of unknown people who had suddenly attacked him, and perhaps they would attack him again.
'What did I do wrong? Weren't they the ones who caused the commotion in the square, damn it.' he thought irritably, wanting to save his mother, yet he himself became affected by the greed of the sect.
That thought kept circling in Zavi's mind. He had not yet realized that the five people earlier came from one of the most famous hunter groups in the Kingdom of Norn, specifically in Havanuheta, who were hunting him under orders from a high-ranking figure of the sect, Conwuqoam.
There was not only one sect in the Kingdom of Norn. There were three, and each of them was hostile toward the others: Finiscya, Aperomodya, and lastly Jitzurzaku, which openly despised the other two.
Although the three followed teachings based on the three major churches in the three large provinces, derived from the main sacred scripture, they had separated themselves from the mainstream religion while still sharing several fundamental beliefs.
If those three sects were to go to war, each of them had dozens of members or even more, not ordinary individuals, but among them were mid-level Receivers and Hollow, powerful and certainly very cunning.
Just one heretical sect alone was already enough to threaten the existence of the Kingdom of Norn. Especially if all three clashed directly. Such a scenario was indeed possible, but the sect leaders were not foolish enough to allow it. Even so, the existence of individual Receivers and Hollow would still exploit chaos, throwing the entire kingdom into disorder, and creating opportunities to increase their levels.
Of course, King Mereyssa De Norn would not remain silent on his throne. He placed high-ranking guards and soldiers, supernatural authorities in seven cities including the capital, four major provinces, and occasionally ordered mercenary groups, one of them "The devil is here", under the leadership of the Church of Morotuane, to eliminate all disruptive groups that threatened the survival of the citizens.
However, they were not only dealing with disruptive organizations. "The devil is here" often hunted Hollow and Receivers as well, individuals who carried out their actions to increase their level. This made gathering information extremely difficult for them, including the mercenaries, because those individuals or groups moved across many places and used aliases.
...
In the province of Ninesorals, which was bordered by three other provinces, precisely in the capital Sarvena in the southern region of the Kingdom of Norn, stood a magnificent mansion with shining marble and walls layered with gold and black, a symbol of prosperity that its owner wished to preserve.
The mansion was surrounded by several large trees, gardens arranged with beautiful flowers, fountains, a training yard, including a horse stable located far from the mansion itself.
Meanwhile, the meeting room inside was illuminated only by three candles and the dim light of a chandelier above. The Duke, ruler of the Havanuheta territory, sat at the end of a long table, his fingers intertwined.
On his right sat a thin-mustached man, a Count, calm and fully in control. On his left, a Viscount and a Baron stood upright with faces almost expressionless.
Five guards lined the wall near the entrance, watching the important discussion taking place inside the room under a tense atmosphere.
Stolen novel; please report.
"The destruction of Eaurealis Castle and the two cathedral bell towers cannot be ignored," the Count said in a raised tone. "The people are beginning to question whether the place they live in is still safe."
"That is why firmness is necessary," the Duke replied calmly. "Doubt is an invitation. Other nations and Dukes out there are always waiting for an opening."
The Count fell silent, not because of fear, but because of a thought that never stopped haunting him: the safety of his people. Or perhaps, his own safety.
The Count stood and stepped half a step forward. "We have prepared follow-up measures. Increased surveillance in major markets, restrictions on distribution, and screening based on certain eye characteristics."
"That will not be necessary." The Duke hesitated for a moment, took a breath, then continued. "Is there a complete report?" he asked, crossing his arms before resting them beneath his chin.
A faint smile appeared on the Count's face. "Peace always demands sacrifice, Lord Duke."
The Duke nodded slowly. At that moment, the real decision had already been made, not by him, but in his name.
The tension eased, until the door of the meeting room suddenly swung open, instantly dissolving the atmosphere inside. A soldier wearing a military cap hurried in with a rifle hanging from his shoulder.
He knelt, one hand pressing against his chest, and spoke respectfully, "Forgive me, Lord Duke Mergane Tiaolani. Honorable Count, Viscount, and Baron."
The Duke straightened slightly, his eyebrows lifting a little as he stared at the soldier intently, as if he did not want to miss a single detail.
"What is it?" the Duke asked, his voice heavy and slightly hoarse.
The soldier raised his head. His expression was stiff, almost cold. "That group... has begun distributing threat letters. Addressed to high-ranking nobles and territorial rulers."
The Count, Viscount, and Baron exchanged glances. A brief whisper instantly arose in the hearts of the three of them. The Count showed no reaction, as if he had already anticipated this development and was already considering the next step.
The Duke exhaled. His voice remained controlled, yet firm. "Deploy the troops. Secure the major cities. The provinces. And make sure those letters do not reach the public."
'Who are they actually targeting?' the Duke thought, puzzled and uncertain.
"Yes, Sir."
The soldier saluted, then slowly stepped back before turning and disappearing into the long corridor of the mansion.
...
Still on the same day. In Sanerva, inside the residence of Duke Hamrautav Avvalen, who was currently holding a brief meeting discussing important matters with one of his subordinates.
However, without his knowledge, his wife and two children had already been killed by two mysterious individuals in the mansion located on the outskirts of Sanerva.
A beautiful young maid reported the incident, informing them that the lady of the house and the two young masters had been killed. She did not know the motive of the perpetrators, yet her attitude gave off a disturbing impression, as if she wished to hint at her own involvement.
Around ten servants, two male cooks, and five male guards witnessed the horrifying scene inside the luxurious bedroom, a room now filled with terror.
Three bodies were nailed side by side to the wall, their hands and feet pierced by iron nails approximately twenty centimeters long. Fresh blood still seeped from their palms, slowly flowing toward their necks, soaking the elegant gown and fine clothing they wore. Yet what left everyone silent was the fact that the three of them were still faintly conscious. Clearly the killers had chosen a method that was cruel, slow, and torturous.
Another strange detail soon appeared. No one had heard any screams or sounds at all several minutes before the maid reported the incident.
Strange. Yet undeniable.
Panic, confusion, and disgust filled the room. One of the male guards finally decided to leave the residence, rushing toward the palace to inform Duke Hamrautav Avvalen about what had happened.
...
The next day. Sunday. That morning felt different. The sky turned dark, as if mourning the horrifying event that befell Duke Hamrautav when he first saw his wife and his son and daughter killed in such a manner.
News of their deaths spread quickly throughout Sarvena, Monitty City, Blakkan, even reaching Moran in the eastern part of the province. However, some people in Moran felt a strange sense of satisfaction upon hearing the news.
The issue was not the dukes themselves. The issue was who held power at that time. Duke Hamrautav Avvalen, for instance, was known for his harsh political views, controlling Pavcihke Province, and ruling half of the Blacan territory located between the two provinces.
Another duke just as famous as Hamrautav, Milleonard Ahiston, was close to the king and controlled GreyHeaven Province, the central city with trade, factories, steam trains, and the main source of essential supplies for the kingdom and four other provinces.
Some citizens even thanked the killer who had carried out the act. However, such thoughts existed only among those who still harbored hatred; others simply did not care.
For them, living peacefully and being able to work as usual was more than enough. They did not care about political turbulence in distant cities, including the capital. Their attention was focused on far more immediate threats: supernatural phenomena, hidden heretical sects, terrorists, lurking monsters, and dangerous invisible creatures, anything that could take their lives and the lives of their families at any moment.
One of those people was Zavi Actitus, right now.
Right in the middle of the day, shortly after leaving the alley where his house was located, after a long sleep once again filled with nightmares, someone handed him a newspaper with a delicate sketch.
On the front page there were clear illustrations of the faces of ten murder victims, including entertainers and drunkards, along with news about the duke's wife and children who had been killed by someone suspected of harboring deep hatred toward them.
"Isn't this news horrifying?" Zavi muttered while frowning. "This could trigger unreasonable riots, and this city will definitely be affected. Even though it is far from the other cities and in a different province."
He turned his head back, looking toward the road where his house stood at the far end, realizing that he truly did not want to lose the people closest to him right now.
"Damn," he muttered irritably.
Zavi threw the newspaper into a trash bin and immediately continued walking.
A few minutes later, he arrived at a café owned by an old man whom he considered very meticulous in business matters, a place he had visited before.
Inside the café, unexpectedly, he sat calmly near a window decorated with a long pot filled with ornamental plants and decorative roots hanging downward while waiting for his order to arrive.
Across from him sat a man who had carefully read the instructions: Moreira Lounge, who had come alone as requested, sitting and waiting for the order to arrive before discussing the cooperation that had been proposed.
In both of their minds, this conversation had long been awaited, believed to be the only way for the goals they had held onto to be achieved more quickly.
Moreira wanted to eliminate the strange sensation every night that disturbed his sleep, while Zavi was trying to eliminate the influence of his nightmares, searching for memories, and at the same time uncovering the composition of that herbal potion so he could fully control the level one Prisoner ability, and planning to carry out the second stage after the ritual, becoming a true Prisoner.
