At night, under the vast, uncaring sky, he sat by cold, crackling fires, sharpening blades he hardly needed. Ashen mist curled around him, responding to his will, breathing with him.
The magicules he absorbed through Ashen Soul fed him, strengthened him, and yet…
The more he killed, the stronger he became. The stronger he became, the more distant the world seemed.
What am I becoming?
Lucires didn't have an answer. Maybe he didn't want one.
---
Meanwhile, rumors began to root themselves in the nearby settlements.
Whispers of a silver-haired phantom lurking in the woods. Of a wraith wrapped in ash that devoured monsters and men alike.
A creature who left only silence and death in his wake.
Some said he was a spirit of vengeance. Others believed him to be a cursed,a damned to roam the earth.
The truth, as always, was far simpler and much uglier.
Lucires was just a man — broken, cold, and desperately clinging to the idea that he could still live freely in this brutal world.
He didn't correct the rumors. He didn't care.
If fear kept people away, so much the better.
---
One misty morning, Lucires found himself overlooking a crumbling village — Belhart. A pitiful cluster of wooden homes sagging under their own weight, clinging stubbornly to the edge of the wilds.
From his perch atop a cliff, he watched the villagers scurry like frightened mice.
Their movements were hurried, anxious.
The reason became clear when he spotted the approaching figures.
A procession of knights, armored in gleaming plate, their banners pristine, their faces smug.
Lucires narrowed his eyes.
Knights? Here?
Belhart had nothing worth stealing.
The knights rode into the square like they owned the ground, ignoring the wary, sunken faces that watched them.
The village elder, a bent man with skin like parchment, hobbled out to greet them, leaning heavily on a crooked staff.
The knights dismounted with the clatter of metal, and the one leading them, a man with a cruel sneer, spoke first.
"You know why we're here, old man," the knight drawled. His voice oozed disdain.
The elder bowed low, trembling. "My lord, please… we have nothing left to give. The last harvest was poor. The monsters—"
The knight cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Save your breath. Taxes are taxes. We're not here to listen to excuses."
The elder clutched his staff tighter. "If you take what little we have, the children will starve…"
The knight's hand lashed out in a blur, striking the old man across the face. The sound of the blow echoed across the village square.
The elder crumpled to the ground, coughing weakly.
The knight loomed over him. "Then die faster, old fool. You're nothing but rot clinging to the Empire's heel."
Lucires' hands tightened into fists.
Parasites. Just like back home.
He could walk away.
This wasn't his battle.
The memories clawed at him — the life he left behind, the betrayal, the blood on his hands.
This is not my problem.
He turned away.
Took a step.
Stopped.
The air was heavy again, thick with the sour scent of injustice.
Lucires exhaled slowly, the mist curling from his lips.
No. He would not be their hero. He would not fight for gratitude.
But he would not turn his back either.
Not this time.
---
The mist thickened unnaturally, swirling with life. The villagers sensed it first, backing away, clutching their loved ones.
The knights sneered and drew their blades.
"Another monster come to die?" the commander barked, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
A voice barked a challenge into the thick white air.
No response.
Only a soft whisper, dry and distant — like dead leaves scraping across stone.
The first knight jerked violently as a blade of ash pierced his throat, his blood sizzling into mist.
Panic exploded among them.
Lucires moved like a ghost — a blur in the fog.
One knight fell, his sword cleaved from his arm before he even screamed.
Another was dragged into the mist, vanishing utterly.
The commander shouted for order, voice cracking with fear, but the knights were already broken.
Lucires' ash coiled through the square like living tendrils, lashing out, slicing, strangling.
His face was emotionless.
This was not a fight. It was an execution.
I warned them, Lucires thought coldly. I exist only to live. They threaten that — they die.
The commander finally glimpsed his attacker through the swirling ash.
Silver hair that shimmered like moonlight. Eyes like molten silver, hollow and endless. A figure wrapped in the storm itself.
He froze, paralyzed by terror.
Lucires advanced without urgency, his steps silent.
The ash devoured the commander's scream.
---
When the mist cleared, only Lucires remained standing. The village square was a ruin of blood, broken bodies, and shattered pride.
The villagers peered from behind doors and broken fences, their faces pale and stricken.
Lucires met their wide, terrified gazes.
He could see it in their eyes: Monster. Demon.
And perhaps, he thought, they weren't wrong.
He had killed without mercy, without hesitation.
He wasn't their savior.
He didn't want to be.
Without a word, he turned and disappeared back into the mist.
The ash followed him, obedient and silent.
---
That night, the whispers spread like wildfire.
Around lonely campfires and crowded taverns alike, voices spoke in hushed, fearful tones.
"Did you hear? Belhart was wiped clean." "By monsters?" "No… by one. A silver-haired demon. They say he slaughtered a full company of knights alone."
"They say the mist itself obeys him."
"An omen of death. Ash and silence… that's all he leaves behind."
"I heard he was once human. But the forest cursed him."
"No, no, he's a demon lord in hiding, waiting to destroy the kingdom!"
No one knew the truth. But the fear grew all the same.
And Lucires' legend — the Ashen Phantom — was born in blood and misunderstanding.
---
Lucires traveled farther into the wilderness, the voices of the world growing quieter behind him.
He felt the hollowness grow deeper inside him with every step.
Not sadness. Not guilt.
Just… emptiness.
As if every life he ended took a piece of him that he hadn't noticed missing until now.
I didn't want this, he thought bitterly. I only wanted to live.
But in this world,his existence itself was a sin punishable by isolation.