The Mansion of Regulus.

The Archbishop of Sin sat in his chair, upholstered in deep burgundy velvet, which seemed even richer and more intense under the soft flickering light of the chandelier. His snow-white hair, like silver threads, cast faint reflections, creating an aura of mystery around him. The room was enveloped in an almost sacred silence, broken only by the faint crackling of firewood in the fireplace and the quiet, nearly imperceptible footsteps of the maid, who moved with the grace of a shadow.

Not far from him, in the corner of the room, stood Marilyn Eilish. Her green hair, like emerald waves, was neatly tied up in a high ponytail, and her hands held a broom, which she used to methodically sweep the floors. Every movement of hers was smooth and precise, as if she wasn't just cleaning but performing some kind of ritual, where every sweep of the broom had its own meaning.

"Could you make me, please…" the white-haired man paused, his golden eyes, half-closed, seemed to be immersed in deep thought. He tilted his head slightly, as if weighing each word. "…some pasta and bring me a glass of red wine," he finally said, his voice calm but with a faint note of weariness that seemed to permeate every word.

The green-haired maid nodded, her face remaining impassive, but her eyes showed understanding, as if she already knew what he would say before he even opened his mouth.

"Understood," she replied in a calm, almost mechanical tone, stopping her sweeping. The girl carefully placed the broom in the corner, as if it were not just a tool but some sacred object, and headed toward the kitchen. Her steps were light, almost silent, as if she were gliding over the floor rather than walking on it.

Regulus, now alone, leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on the window, where the first rays of dawn were already visible. He sighed, his fingers lightly tapping on the armrest, as if keeping time to some melody that only existed in his head.

"Here's your pasta and wine, dear husband," Marilyn said in a calm, almost lifeless tone, placing a plate of pasta and a glass of red wine on the table in front of him. Her green hair was slightly disheveled, but it didn't detract from her impeccable appearance. Her movements were precise and careful, as if every action she performed was part of some complex algorithm.

The Archbishop of Greed picked up his fork, his golden eyes scanning the dish, evaluating every detail.

"Carbonara," Regulus smirked, looking at the plate. His lips curled into a slight smile as he noticed the perfectly cooked spaghetti, coated in a thick sauce with pieces of bacon that glistened under the chandelier's light. He twirled the spaghetti around his fork and took a bite, savoring the rich flavor. Meanwhile, the maid resumed her cleaning, her movements smooth and graceful, as if she were dancing to music only she could hear.

"I didn't make a mistake with her,"* he thought, watching her. *"Not only does she have a cute face and a great figure, but she's also excellent at all the household chores."*

Regulus took a sip of wine, his lips lightly touching the rim of the glass. He smacked his lips in satisfaction, enjoying the rich taste of the scarlet drink, which left a faint aftertaste of oak. He looked back at the plate, twirling more spaghetti around his fork, his golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction, as if he had found something more in this dish than just food.

Dinner came to an end. Regulus finished the pasta and drank all the red wine, savoring every bite and sip. Marilyn, in turn, quietly cleared the table and washed the dishes, her movements precise and graceful, as if she were performing not a mundane task but some kind of ritual that required maximum concentration.

After that, the maid finally went to bed. She was wearing only lilac panties, long black gloves, and white stockings. Her green hair was slightly disheveled, and her face showed the fatigue of a long day spent in endless chores.

But just as she was on the verge of sleep, there was a knock at her door.

"Um… can I come in?" came a voice from behind the door, slightly hesitant, as if the person on the other side was unsure of their decision.

Marilyn sat up in bed, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.

"Yes, you may…" she replied softly, her voice sounding slightly drowsy, as if she had already begun to drift into the world of dreams. She glanced down at her chest, which was exposed, and her eyes widened even further. Marilyn wanted to say something, but she didn't have time. The door opened, and Regulus appeared on the threshold.

"Where are the damn…" he didn't finish his question, stopping mid-sentence.

The Archbishop of Sin, looking at Marilyn, let his gaze drop lower, directly to her chest. The maid's chest was of moderate size: not too large, but not small either. Her nipples were pink, and her figure was perfect, now accentuated by her near-nakedness.

At the moment when Regulus had pulled her out of the torture chamber, he hadn't paid attention to this. Because Marilyn herself had been dirty, wounded, and the circumstances hadn't been right for such thoughts. But now… now everything was different.

Remus and Leonhard were in a room where the windows were tightly closed with heavy curtains, so not a single ray of sunlight could penetrate inside. The room was dimly lit, with only the faint glow of a few candles placed in the corners. The green-eyed girl and the elderly swordsman had recently played a game of chess. In the course of a short match, Remus had defeated the old man without much difficulty.

"You're too strong at chess, though it's not surprising," Leonhard said, smiling slightly. His gray hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes showed a mix of respect and mild disappointment. "Are you younger than Lord Fo?"

In response, the auburn-haired girl simply nodded curtly, her green eyes flashing with a cold gleam, as if she were ready to continue the game at any moment.

"He's about fifty years older than me," she said in a calm, cold tone. "But I wouldn't say that's much. It's like a year's difference for someone like you."

"I see," Leonhard nodded, his voice thoughtful, as if he were trying to process this information.

At that moment, the door to the room was kicked open. Fomalhaut entered, dragging a corpse behind him. Judging by the armor, it was an imperial guard. The body left a bloody trail on the floor, and the dead man's face was twisted in the final moments of horror.

"This guy annoyed me. He tried to bribe me for some absurd crime," Fomalhaut said, throwing the corpse at Remus's feet. "He's yours."

Remus looked at the corpse and narrowed her eyes. There were two holes in the dead man's neck, about the size of a person's fingers. On Fomalhaut's index and middle fingers, traces of blood could be seen, already beginning to dry.

"Thank you," the girl said coldly, her voice almost emotionless. "I hope you didn't damage the heart?"

"Of course not. I know the conditions of your haorite," Fomalhaut replied, his purple eyes gleaming with a slight smirk, as if he enjoyed the situation.

Remus grabbed the corpse and dragged it closer, her movements sharp and confident, as if she had done this a thousand times before. Her green eyes flashed with a cold gleam, and her lips curled into a slight grin.

"Good," she said, her voice calm but with a hint of satisfaction. Her hand rose above the dead body and then descended with terrifying speed. Remus's fingers easily pierced the armor, skin, muscles, and ribs, as if they were made of paper. She grabbed the heart and pulled it out, her hand covered in blood, but this didn't seem to bother her in the slightest.

"Disgusting," Leonhard grimaced, his face showing clear disgust, as if he were ready to leave the room at any moment.

"You'll get used to it," Fo said, looking at him. His purple eyes gleamed with a slight smirk, as if he enjoyed the old man's reaction.

Remus smirked, looking at the heart in her hand. Her green eyes flashed with a cold gleam, and her lips stretched into a grin. A second later, her mouth opened wide, and she shoved the heart into it, swallowing it whole.

"Ugh," Leonhard grimaced even more, his face showing clear disgust, as if he were about to lose his lunch.

But a couple of seconds later, everything changed: the corpse opened its eyes and, despite lacking a heart, stood up as if nothing had happened. Its movements were slightly mechanical but confident. At this sight, Leonhard's eyes widened, and his hand involuntarily reached for the hilt of his sword.

"Welcome to my army of the dead," Remus said with a smirk, her voice cold but with a hint of triumph. The girl stood up, and the guard stepped behind her, standing directly in her shadow. A moment later, he seemed to sink into it, disappearing from view.

"I've been sitting around too long," Remus said coldly, her green eyes gleaming with excitement. "It would be good to stir things up."

Regulus slowly opened his eyes, his golden irises trembling in the dim light of the room. At the same moment, a dull but insistent pain pierced his head. He winced, feeling his temples pulse in time with the chaotic thoughts that seemed to be trying to break free.

On his chest, he felt the weight of someone else—warm, soft, alive. He lowered his gaze and was met with a sight that momentarily stunned him.

Marilyn.

She lay on top of him, completely naked, breathing evenly like a serene child, her pale skin glistening in the faint light that seeped through the cracks in the curtains. Slight, almost imperceptible goosebumps ran across her shoulders as she shifted slightly in her sleep.

"What the hell…?" The thought flashed but was immediately drowned out by another wave of pain.

He propped himself up on his elbow and glanced at the table nearby. An empty bottle of brandy gleamed ominously in the dim light, like a silent witness to the night's events, which he could barely remember.

"Did I get drunk again?" he thought irritably, rubbing his temple as if trying to erase the memories that refused to fade.

The memories slowly, reluctantly, emerged from the fog. Fragments.

Warm, pliable hands.

Muffled, stifled laughter.

Slender fingers sliding across skin.

Lips, hot and demanding.

And, of course, the moans—full of sweet depravity.

Regulus took a deep breath, closing his eyes wearily.

"How did this happen?" he thought with mild irritation, carefully moving the girl aside. Her body reluctantly obeyed, and she mumbled something incoherent in her sleep but didn't wake up.

He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed, ran a hand over his face, and finally sighed, resigning himself.

"Who the hell knows…"

The cool night air sobered him slightly. Still feeling the heaviness in his head, Regulus stood up and headed toward the table with the water pitcher. He mechanically placed his hand on his chest… and froze.

Dull, steady beats.

His heart was beating.

His golden eyes widened.

"The Lion's Heart is deactivated?" The thought flashed with a hint of irritation.

He rubbed his forehead, straining to recall the events of the night.

"So, I severed the connection between myself and Marilyn…" he exhaled heavily.

This damn lust. Apparently, for his organs to function again, Regulus had severed the connection between Marilyn's pseudo-heart and himself. And with that came the consequences—headache, hangover weakness, aching fatigue in his muscles. The effects of the brandy.

But a moment later—it was all gone.

His heart froze again, and with it, his body. Silence. Not a single beat. Not a single drop of blood flowing through his veins.

Regulus nodded in satisfaction. This was better.

"This is easier," he muttered, pulling on his pants. He followed them with his usual white T-shirt.

A sip of cold water refreshed him.

He lingered by the mirror in the hallway. His pale reflection stared back at him, lifeless and frozen.

But this didn't bother him. It was familiar.

He shrugged his shoulders, getting used to the frozen state, and headed toward the exit.

The quiet creak of the door. The cold night air greeted him, filling his lungs with frosty freshness.

He looked up at the dark sky, heavy with clouds. Somewhere in the distance, the faint light of streetlights flickered, cutting through the darkness.

"I need to get back to the Hyades soon…" the thought crossed his mind.

They might already be looking for him.

Remus smirked, her green eyes flashing with a cold gleam.

Her shadow, lying on the floor, suddenly lengthened, becoming unnaturally large, and from it, several imperial guards slowly rose.

Their eyes were empty, and their movements were mechanical, but there was a hidden power in them.

"Kill the imperial guards. Bring their corpses here," she ordered, her voice cold and commanding. Her gaze, as if burning, swept over each of them, and they nodded faintly, silently accepting the order.

The walking corpses headed toward the exit of the room, their steps heavy but confident.

The door creaked as they left, leaving silence behind.

"Hm. If you think about it…" Fomalhaut scratched his chin thoughtfully, his purple eyes becoming unfocused, as if he were lost in thought. "…they might run into their former comrades and fight them."

Remus sat down on the floor, her movements smooth and graceful, as if she were part of the shadows surrounding her.

"The probability of that is high," the girl said calmly, her lips curling into a slight smile. "That's why I brought them out of my spiritual domain."

Fomalhaut chuckled, his laugh light and carefree. He crossed his arms over his chest, his purple eyes gleaming with a mocking glint.

"You're such a cruel and nasty type," he said with a smirk, his voice slightly playful but with a hint of respect.

"Look who's talking," Remus shot back curtly, her green eyes flashing with a cold gleam.

Fomalhaut scratched the back of his head, his purple eyes gleaming with mild pensiveness.

"I can understand your desire for fun," he said, his voice slightly playful. "I think I'll head out after sunset, following your puppets. I'll cut down a few guards."

Remus clicked her tongue in disapproval, her green eyes narrowing, and her lips pressing into a thin line.

"You have vast reserves of Vital Energy, and your control over it is perfect," she said, her voice slightly irritated. "Don't blow up half the district while you're sending your cursed slashes at the guards."

"I'll try," Fomalhaut said guiltily, rubbing the back of his head. His purple eyes gleamed with a slight smile. "Really, I'll try."

Remus tilted her head slightly, her green eyes flashing with a cold gleam.

"I'll be watching you. Don't forget, everything my walking corpses see—I see too," she grumbled, her voice warning. "And also, you get to cut down half, and the other half is mine."

Fomalhaut smirked, his lips stretching into a wide grin.

"Deal," he agreed, his voice confident.

The walking corpses, obeying Remus's orders, took to the streets of the city. Their empty eyes stared forward, and their movements, though mechanical, were precise and confident. They walked, ignoring the passersby who fled in terror at the sight of them.

The first guard they encountered was a lone patrolman standing on a street corner.

He noticed them from a distance and grew wary, but before he could do anything, one of the corpses lunged forward with inhuman speed. Its hand, like a claw, plunged into the guard's throat, and he fell to the ground without even having time to scream.

The corpses continued on their way, leaving the bodies of slain guards in their wake. Their mission was clear: to kill and bring the corpses back.