Night fell gently over the village of Rockville, wrapping it in a sky adorned with stars. The summer breeze carried the sweet scent of wildflowers and freshly cooked food, drifting through the lantern-lit streets of the village. Tonight was a special night — the night of the Aestas Festival. A celebration passed down since the days of the ancestors, to welcome the coming of summer, with its light, hope, and the fruits of tireless labor.
Adrian, Jerome, and the children from Eternal Sunshine Orphanage had just returned from the river, their clothes soaked and muddied, but their hearts light and full of laughter. Upon arriving at the orphanage mansion, they rushed to change into clean, tidy clothes. Tonight, they would join the village in a night filled with color and joy.
Before leaving, they said goodbye to Sister Nellie, who chose to attend the evening prayer at the village church. She simply smiled softly, gently patting each child on the head, then looked toward Shelly, who stood quietly at the back.
"Have fun tonight, Shelly," she said warmly. "Let your heart laugh tonight."
Shelly didn't reply, only gave a small nod. But her eyes were no longer frozen like before.
When they arrived at the village square, the atmosphere was already vibrant. Golden paper lanterns hung above fabric tents, and the tempting aroma of food filled the air. Wooden tables were adorned with various dishes: warm, steaming bread, creamy soups, summer fruits, and of course — grilled fish and roasted chicken, fragrant and crisp.
But though everything was ready, not a single villager touched the food. All stood in silence, waiting for one important moment.
The sound of Franz Erlbaum's footsteps echoed across the square. The village head — a middle-aged man with neatly combed silver hair and a modest blue robe — stepped onto the podium. He cleared his throat and then spoke in a calm yet charismatic voice.
"Brothers and sisters, dear citizens of Rockville…"
And so, his speech began.
Franz's words flowed like poetry, woven from wisdom and love for his homeland. He spoke of summer not only as a time of harvest, but as a season of hope — of hard work, of sorrow, and of unwavering resilience. He mentioned failed harvests, livestock diseases, harsh weather — but also the courage of the villagers who continued to stand and look ahead.
"…And tonight," he said, his voice rising a pitch, "let us sing the old songs, dance under the starlight, and taste the fruits of our shared love and labor. I, Franz Erlbaum, hereby declare the Aestas Festival… officially begun!"
Cheers erupted like fireworks bursting in the sky. The great bell rang out. A bonfire in the center of the square was lit, its flames dancing warmly as if welcoming all the joy that would fill the night.
The folk songs of Gorllewin began to be sung by the village women — old melodies that wrapped the night in the warmth of nostalgia. Soon, the men joined in, making the celebration even more lively and spirited.
The orphanage children, led by the ever-boisterous Jerome, ran straight to the food tables. They dug into the roasted chicken, feeding each other while laughing as though the world held nothing but joy and their shared laughter.
Adrian laughed along, but his eyes were drawn to one figure.
Shelly stood near the food table, frozen. In front of her sat a perfectly grilled fish, its steam rising softly, its aroma a gentle invitation.
But Shelly's hand trembled with hesitation. She only stared, unable to reach out.
Adrian approached slowly like someone not wanting to disturb a fragile dream. He greeted her with his usual warm smile. "Go ahead, Shelly. Tonight… we're meant to be happy — as much as we can."
Shelly turned to him slowly. Her face turned red. But it wasn't from anger or embarrassment — rather, it was the look of someone unaccustomed to being invited into happiness.
With slightly trembling hands, she picked up a piece of fish. She took a small bite.
And as the soft, savory flavor touched her tongue, her eyes widened. "It's good! This is… really good!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise.
Then… Shelly laughed. The first laugh that had escaped those small lips in what felt like forever. A quiet laugh burst from her chest like a wildflower blooming from long-frozen soil. Adrian watched her and laughed along. But deep down, he knew — tonight was more than just a festival night.
***
That night, the heavy clatter of carriage wheels echoed softly yet steadily among the towering trees that blotted out the sky. Magical lanterns on the sides of the carriage glowed dimly, casting a gentle light through the thin mist that hovered above the forest floor. But no matter how bright the lanterns shone, not one could pierce the thick darkness filling the silent corridors of Elderwood Forest — a name that sent shivers even down the spines of the kingdom's most hardened hunters.
This was no ordinary carriage. Its carvings were elegant, adorned with the famous crest of House Rothsbard: a winged lion with emerald-stone eyes. Inside sat Edmund Murray, a young noble dressed immaculately, though his face clearly betrayed no sense of comfort.
As one of Count Rothsbard's trusted envoys, Edmund had been sent from the northern city of Swancall to deliver a celebratory message to the remote village of Rockville. Though the mission sounded simple, the route he had chosen demanded unusual courage. This shortcut — through the heart of Elderwood — was much faster, but riddled with danger.
Edmund muttered under his breath, cursing silently. "Why me? Why not Joel? Or literally anyone else? Why am I the one sent into this... damned monster-infested place?"
He glanced out the carriage window. Outside, mounted knights flanked the carriage alertly. Their armor gleamed damply under the lantern light, their hands ever ready on their sword hilts. They all knew the forest's reputation — home to wild goblins, magical beasts, and—according to rumors—even demonic creatures from the Second Age.
Suddenly, the carriage stopped.
Edmund sat up straight, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He opened the small window and called out. "What is it!? Why are we stopping?"
One of the knights turned and responded in a flat voice. "Goblins, sir. Two of them. Weak ones. We'll handle it."
Edmund let out a small sigh of relief — somewhat. "Be quick. We don't have much time."
But minutes passed… and there was no sound. No report. No footsteps.
Then came a scream. "Who are you!?—ARGHH!"
And then — silence.
Edmund stood, heart pounding. "Hey! What's going on!? Answer me!"
No reply.
He began to panic. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"
The carriage door creaked open slowly, the hinges groaning like a whisper from death. A man stood there.
His hair was light blue, smooth like frozen crystal, flowing wildly like a mythical creature born from snow. His eyes were a glowing red—not an ordinary red, but blazing like embers in the night. His face was eerily calm… yet terrifying. The white robe he wore was stained with fresh blood, still dripping from the sleeve.
He looked at Edmund the way a predator stares at prey that's far too easy.
"Out," he said. One word—yet it made the air feel colder.
Edmund stammered, trying to mask his fear with false anger. "Who are you!? State your name! Or… or…"
His hand trembled as he reached for a small dagger strapped to his leather belt. He pointed it forward, though every part of him wanted to run. "If you come any closer, I'll… I'll kill you!"
The man smiled. A thin, terrifying smile — full of mockery. "Amusing," he whispered.
Then he stepped inside the carriage, his pace slow — like time itself had frozen.
Edmund instinctively backed away, pressing his body against the opposite door. He glanced outside — and saw corpses. Many of them. His knights — torn apart, dismembered, their blood soaking into the earth, flowing into the roots of ancient trees.
The man fixed his eyes on him.
"I want to ask you something…" His voice was like a deathly lullaby. "Tonight… is it you who dies? Or me?"
Edmund couldn't speak. His tongue was frozen. His chest shook, and his breath caught.
Then suddenly — without his consent — a voice from deep within him answered as if fear itself had hijacked his will. "...I-I die…"
He immediately covered his mouth, his face going pale. 'Why did I say that?!'
The man laughed. Softly. Casually — yet it shattered Edmund's soul. "Correct," he said, pointing at Edmund like bestowing a title. "One hundred points. You got it right."
For a moment, Edmund felt a flicker of hope. Maybe… maybe this man would spare him? But that hope lasted only a heartbeat. It all ended in a single flash.
Edmund saw himself — his body — still sitting upright, but now headless. His head… rolled away, and his vision began to blur.
The man stood in the doorway, smiling in satisfaction. "And I… merely fulfilled your answer."
In an instant, the world went dark for Edmund Murray.
***
Franz Erlbaum, the Village Chief of Rockville, stepped down from the podium with a sigh of relief. His speech was over, and for a moment, laughter and the sounds of celebration filled the night air. Warm colors from lanterns and bonfires danced across the joyful faces of the townsfolk. Yet deep within him, a small worry had begun to take root.
He walked through the crowd—people laughing, dancing, singing folk songs. His hand never stopped offering warm greetings, but his eyes searched for someone in particular—a boy with deep blue hair and eyes far too thoughtful for his age. Adrian.
At last, near one of the food tables, he spotted him. Adrian was laughing with Jerome and the other orphans, enjoying roasted meat and summer treats. For a moment, Franz simply stood there, watching from afar with a smile he couldn't hide. There was pride in his expression—but also a growing unease.
Adrian noticed Franz's presence and waved cheerfully. Franz walked over to him.
"Adrian," he said softly, "are you enjoying yourself tonight?"
Adrian shrugged casually. "It's not bad. The food's good."
Franz chuckled quietly and nodded. "Praise the Goddess."
But the smile didn't last long. Adrian, long used to reading body language back on Earth, tilted his head curiously. Franz's eyes looked uneasy—and not with the usual kind of concern.
"Uncle Franz... why were you looking for me?" he asked, his tone growing more serious.
Franz hesitated for a moment, weighing his words. Then, finally, he asked in a careful tone. "How has your body been… since your Mana Core awakened?"
Adrian's brows furrowed. The question came out of nowhere and felt… loaded. 'Why is he asking this now?' he wondered. Still, he answered. "There's been some improvement. Nothing major, but I can use Body Aura now to strengthen my body. Channeling Mana into my muscles and bones. It feels like… living energy."
Franz nodded, his face still serious. "I'm glad you're learning quickly. But, Adrian…" he looked the boy in the eye. "Can you keep your powers hidden for now? Don't let anyone in the village know that your abilities have awakened."
Adrian went silent, his mind swirling with questions.
"Why…?" he asked at last.
But before Franz could answer, a village guard approached in haste, slightly out of breath.
"Mr. Erlbaum, the envoy from Count Rothsbard has arrived!"
The guard's tone was… off. There was clear unease in his voice.
Franz narrowed his eyes. "Finally. Tell him to wait a moment, I'll welcome him by myself."
But the guard leaned closer, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. "B-but… his carriage arrived with no escorts. Not a single knight. None."
Franz froze. "What… do you mean? Elderwood isn't a safe route. How could he possibly make it here… alone?"
Before the guard could respond, two more guards came running over, their faces stricken with terror, their breathing frantic. "What is it now?" Franz asked, his voice still calm though his heartbeat quickened. He stepped forward, about to hear their report, when—
A scream.
Chaos erupted near the podium. Cheers turned to confusion, then to fear. The villagers clustered together, forming a tight circle focused on a single point atop the stage where the speech had just been given.
"Stay here," Franz said to Adrian, but his body was already moving, slipping into the crowd.
But Adrian didn't stay. He followed close behind, guided by curiosity and a growing sense of danger.
"Adrian! Where are you going?!" Jerome's voice called from a distance, but it went ignored."Dammit…" Jerome muttered, before giving chase. Now, not just one—but two people followed in Franz's footsteps.
After pushing through and pleading for a path, Franz, Adrian, and Jerome finally made it to the front of the crowd. And there they saw it—a sight that would never be erased from the memory of anyone who witnessed it that night.
Edmund Murray.
The esteemed envoy of Count Rothsbard. A trusted aide of the great noble from Swancall.
Now stood atop the podium… holding his own head.
Blood dripped from his severed neck, soaking his once-pristine royal attire—now torn, stained, and tattered. His trembling hands clutched his own hair and scalp as if his body refused to accept the reality of its own death.
Adrian froze. Even Jerome—normally clumsy and carefree—couldn't hide the horror on his face, which had turned ghostly pale. Adrian, despite having lived decades as Rafael on Earth, had never witnessed something so brutal—so real—with his own eyes.
But the most terrifying thing wasn't the headless body.
It was the voice.
A whisper crawled out from the severed head's mouth.
"Close the windows, snuff the flame,In the silent night they softly came.Their robes are black, their steps are still,Nox Crows dance beneath the chill..."
The voice was hoarse, strangled, yet disturbingly clear. A rhyme all too familiar.
'That song…' Adrian's memory jolted.
It was a children's rhyme—a dark folktale from long ago. A song he'd heard not long ago, like a quiet warning now made flesh in the form of a waking nightmare.
"Help me..." the head whispered weakly, before Edmund's lifeless body finally collapsed, crumpling to the ground in a sound that shattered the evening's peace into shards of horror. Several villagers screamed. Children burst into tears. Dishes clattered to the ground. Even grown men lost the color of their faces.
Franz immediately turned around, his expression darkening as he saw Adrian and Jerome behind him. He stepped close and gripped Adrian's shoulders firmly, as if grounding him in urgency.
"Adrian, Jerome… if I tell you to run, you run. As far and fast as you can." His voice was sharp, his eyes unwavering.
"Eh? What do you—"
But Adrian didn't get to finish his question.
A hiss.A blur of motion.A scream.
From every direction, hooded figures in black cloaks emerged from the crowd, wearing masks etched with a one-eyed crow on their foreheads. They moved like shadows—swift, silent, and lethal.
One by one, the village guards fell—their swords never raised, their defenses never formed. Blood sprayed through the air, staining the festive ground where laughter and dance once reigned.
In mere seconds, the assassins had formed a circle—a living wall that severed the villagers from any escape. It was clear—they intended for no one to leave this place alive.
Then…
Footsteps. Heavy. Commanding.
From the center of the podium, someone walked forward—stepping past Edmund's lifeless corpse.
A man, with messy pale blue hair like shattered crystal, clad in a long white robe stained at the hem with fresh blood. His eyes… glowed crimson, like rubies soaked in gore. His face was handsome—too handsome for this world—but that beauty felt like a disguise worn by death itself.
He wore simple black pants—not tight, but tailored enough to emphasize the firm, deliberate gait that declared pure dominance. He stood at about 185 cm tall—tall enough to make anyone before him feel small and exposed.
Adrian swallowed hard. 'Who is he…?'
But the answer came not from the man's lips—but from Franz's face. A man hardened by war and loss, now pale as a corpse, staring at the figure as if seeing a ghost that should no longer walk among the living.
The man stopped at the center of the podium. He cleared his throat and stretched out his arms, as if preparing for a grand speech.
And then he smiled.
A smile with no warmth. A smile that brought nothing but the scent of death.
"Good evening… beloved citizens of Rockville," he said, his tone cordial, but laced with a venomous sarcasm that cut like glass.
No one answered. Only the sound of held breath and the soft cries of children clinging to their parents.
"Seems I've entered your village uninvited… oh, how rude of me," he said, shaking his head with mock regret.
"Well then, allow me to introduce myself before we begin the show."
He gave a slight bow and spoke with a voice like the whisper of a devil:
"My name is Richard Theodore. The Crow of Wrath."
His eyes gleamed.
"And I have come… for one simple reason—to retrieve something that lies within this place."