For Remus, everything turned into an unexpected failure.

The appearance of Esdeath became a catastrophe for her. The general destroyed dozens, hundreds of walking corpses, leaving Remus no chance.

All her efforts, all her calculations crumbled to dust.

She had planned to gather an army of the dead, controlled by her will, but instead, she found herself at a loss.

As a result, she had to hastily leave the area, hiding in the shadows, while Esdeath, like an icy goddess of war, tore everything apart.

"You know, I was thinking..." Fomalhaut lazily stretched, glancing at Leonhard. "We left too soon. I could have fought Esdeath."

The swordsman winced as if from a toothache.

"Why do you crave these endless battles, sir?" A hint of irritation was audible in his voice.

Fomalhaut just smirked, tilting his head slightly.

"It's simple. I want to understand myself better," his voice became thoughtful, but a predatory glint flashed in his eyes. "You never truly know who you are until you face someone who can kill you."

He cracked his neck, as if preparing for another fight.

"A person's essence is revealed only in battle. True nature can only be seen when one stands before death. Everything else is just masks, cheap illusions people use to hide their weakness. Even they themselves can't remove them."

Leonhard sighed heavily.

"So, you want to put yourself in a situation where death stares you in the face..."

"Exactly," Fomalhaut scratched his chin, and then his gaze suddenly became strangely dreamy. His cheeks slightly flushed.

Fomalhaut grinned, tilting his head.

"By the way, I heard that Esdeath is not only strong... but she's also got a pretty face and a nice figure," he muttered with a satisfied smile.

Leonhard almost facepalmed. He could swear that his master was fully capable of flirting with Esdeath right in the middle of a battle.

Fomalhaut fell silent for a moment, then thoughtfully clenched his fist.

"Immense power..." he paused, his purple eyes gleaming. "...and along with it, loneliness."

He raised his head, confidently grinning.

"I'll show her what 'love' is!"*

(A reference to Yorozu and Sukuna from Jujutsu Kaisen)

The cigarette had almost completely burned out. Regulus flicked it aside, landing it directly into a puddle. The ember immediately went out, dissolving in the water.

"Let's go already," he said, glancing at Difda.

She nodded, repeated his motion, and, turning around, entered the Hyades hideout.

"I hope you keep your word, and you and Chelsea will become stronger," she said, walking ahead. "Otherwise, you and Chelsea will be killed in b..."

She didn't get to finish.

Regulus abruptly stopped. The veins on his face bulged, and his voice became low, filled with furious rage:

"If some SCUM dares to lay a finger on her..." he paused, and then continued, the oppressive tension hanging in the air. "I'll gut them and feed their INTESTINES to that SCUM."

His voice was so deeply saturated with malice that even Difda felt uneasy. A chill ran down her spine, and for a moment, something dark, almost physically tangible, hung in the air.

She blinked.

"I... didn't expect such a reaction," she said after a few seconds, clearly taken aback.

She was cold-blooded, but even she found it hard to hide her slight confusion.

Regulus, as if snapping out of it, slapped his cheeks, slightly shaking his head. His expression returned to normal, and his voice became calm again.

"Oops, I got carried away," he mumbled, as if nothing had happened. "Please forgive me."

Difda looked at him carefully.

"Alright," she said, still processing what had just happened. "I didn't think... you were so attached to Chelsea."

Regulus shrugged.

"So much? Come on, it's nothing."

Difda exhaled heavily.

"Yeah, right. And you almost burst a vein at the mere thought of her being killed in battle. That's not attachment, that's obsession!" she thought but kept it to herself.

Regulus leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. The room was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of a lantern outside casting a pale light on the wooden floor. Chelsea, sitting on the bed in loose pajamas, swung her legs, barely touching the floor.

"Kind of boring..." she drawled, glancing slyly at the Archbishop of Sin. "Let's chat?"

Regulus rolled his eyes, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Oh..." he slowly closed his golden eyes, as if savoring the moment, and then looked at her again. "Chat? I can do that."

"Great," Chelsea said contentedly, leaning back on the pillows. "By the way, while you and Difda were eating onigiri and smoking, Nembus mentioned that we might be assigned to take out someone. Doming Anterio. Ever heard that name?"

Regulus frowned, as if sifting through hundreds of names in his head, and then slowly repeated:

"Doming Anterio..." he paused, tasting the name. "Don't recall. Who is he?"

"An elite officer of the Empire," Chelsea replied, lazily running her finger along the sheet. "A man with influence, hindering the Revolutionary Army. Seems like it's time to remove him from the chessboard."

Corneas tilted his head, a smirk full of barely concealed arrogance flickering across his face.

"An elite officer? A big shot? How boring... We've already sent dozens like him to their graves."

Chelsea narrowed her eyes.

"This time it's a bit different."

That made Regulus raise an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," her voice became more serious. "Have you heard about the recent official killings?"

"Yep," he nodded. "Everyone said their bodies were riddled with perfectly round holes. As if they weren't shot by bullets, but by something... incomprehensible."

Chelsea leaned forward, her green eyes flashing in the dim light.

"All these killings are the work of one person."

She paused, deliberately maintaining a dramatic silence. Regulus watched her intently, waiting for her to continue.

"The Revolutionary Army found out that all the bodies share the same strange feature: either perfectly round holes in their bodies or other damage resembling the work of something... inhuman. And guess who was seen near the murder scenes?"

Regulus smirked and tilted his head.

"Let me guess. A white silhouette wrapped in bandages?"

Chelsea smiled contentedly.

"Exactly. A man dressed in white, with his body wrapped in bandages, like a snow mummy."

Regulus crossed his arms, staring intently at Chelsea, as if trying to see through her words.

A hint of suspicion mixed with irritation flickered in his gaze.

"Let me clarify," he said slowly, savoring each word. "And how is this guy connected to Anterio?"

Chelsea chuckled, her lips curling into a self-satisfied smile.

"Oh, it's simple," she made a theatrical gesture with her hand, as if explaining something obvious. "After his attacks, the Empire increased security. Not just for officials, but for elite officers too. Now everyone's on high alert, waiting for the next strike."

Regulus squinted. His golden eyes flashed for a moment, but then he exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face.

"Right..." he muttered, looking away. "Sorry."

Chelsea raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Sorry?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "For what?"

Regulus waved his hand, brushing it off.

"Nothing... Forget it."

But inside, something akin to guilt gnawed at him.

Though he rarely felt such things, it was clear now—this whole mess with Anterio had become much more complicated because of him.

His own bloody games, his desire to teach the Empire a lesson... had backfired on him.

"As always, everything's gone to shit," he thought irritably, clenching his fist.

But he quickly pushed those thoughts away. Right now, the main thing was to change the subject.

His face returned to its usual lazy expression, and a faint smirk touched his lips.

"You know, I was thinking..." he tilted his head slightly, as if pondering whether to continue. But after a moment, he smirked and added: "Let me ask you: how's your wound?"

Chelsea blinked in surprise, not expecting such a question.

"Huh?" A hint of confusion slipped into her voice, but then she shrugged. "It's fine."

She casually lifted the edge of her pajama top, revealing her side. A narrow silver scar ran across her skin—a silent reminder of the night when a shard of glass had pierced her body.

"It's already healed," she noted, running her fingers over the scar and smiling. "Though the mark will remain."

Regulus chuckled, looking at the scar with something resembling satisfaction.

"Good. I'm glad."

Chelsea took a deep breath, stretched with cat-like grace, and flopped back onto the pillow.

"Alright then..." she drawled, lazily yawning and snuggling under the blanket. "I think it's time to sleep."

Her voice sounded muffled, as if she was already half-asleep.

Regulus silently nodded, stepping away from the doorframe.

"Could you blow out the candle, please?" Chelsea asked sleepily, hugging the pillow.

"No problem."

He glanced briefly at the candle's flame and exhaled slowly. At that moment, the flame flickered and then went out, leaving only a thin wisp of smoke behind.

Darkness completely enveloped the room.

Regulus left, quietly closing the door behind him.

The room fell into silence, broken only by the occasional crackling of the cooling candle wick. Chelsea shifted, turning onto her side and clutching the edge of the blanket.

"What the hell..." she thought irritably, feeling an unwelcome unease stirring inside her. "Not only am I worried, but I also want to be near that white-haired idiot?!"

Her gaze fixed on the void, but her thoughts wouldn't quiet down.

"This is nonsense. Attachments and worries are just illusions, nothing more. How can I, a being without a personality, even be attached to someone?"

Chelsea pursed her lips, suddenly feeling a faint pang of frustration.

"And attachments don't exist for anyone. All these emotions are just a game, a social performance. We put on masks, play roles, and adapt to circumstances. Personality is an illusion, nothing more."

"Most likely, this mask I'm wearing now is just playing out an attachment to Regulus. Nothing more. And as for me..."

She pressed her forehead against the pillow, wrapping herself tighter in the blanket.

"I have no personality. No attachments."

Several hours passed. Regulus made his way to his mansion on foot, not hurrying, as if venting his irritation with every step. The night chill was barely noticeable, but somewhere deep inside, a vague discomfort smoldered.

Entering the living room, he immediately noticed Marilyn lying on the couch. The maid seemed to have dozed off, but as soon as the door creaked softly, she immediately opened her eyes and sat up abruptly.

"Huh?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

Regulus sighed tiredly and waved his hand, as if brushing away thoughts.

"Anyway, I'm back," he muttered, not really expecting a reaction.

Eilish stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded silently.

"Yeah. I see," she mumbled, clearly still half-asleep.

She reached for a small table, picked up a book, and began absently flipping through the pages. Corneas simply sank into the couch, crossing his legs and leaning back.

A few moments of silence passed before Marilyn finally spoke up:

"Oh, right, something happened while you were gone."

Regulus lazily glanced at her but furrowed his brows and straightened up.

"Well, let me hear it. What's this 'something'?"

The maid lowered her eyes, exhaled heavily, and hesitated, as if choosing her words.

"Well... how to put it..."

"Just say it," Regulus smirked, starting to lose patience.

Marilyn nervously licked her lips and finally spoke:

"I was looking out the window today," she began, carefully weighing each word. "And I saw some people... without hearts killing imperial guards."

Corneas squinted slightly, his posture becoming tenser.

"Without hearts?"

"Yeah. And then..." Marilyn took a deep breath. "A woman with blue hair appeared. She just froze them one by one. Literally."

Regulus slightly furrowed his brows, the corners of his lips twitching in a thoughtful half-smile.

"Blue hair... freezing," he thought. "Of course. General Esdeath."

He leaned back, tilting his head, and for a while just stared at the ceiling. Then his face twisted with slight irritation.

"I chose this area because it's quiet. On purpose. And now there are heartless guys wandering around, and the Empire's strongest is here too?!"

He exhaled, slightly shaking his head, as if brushing off the irritation.

"So? How did it end?"

Marilyn averted her gaze, clearly feeling uncomfortable.

"She beheaded some old man... but... he was resurrected."

Regulus sharply turned his head, his golden eyes flashing with interest.

"Resurrected?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly.

"Yeah..." Marilyn nodded uncertainly.

"Are you sure about this?" his voice sounded colder and more cautious. "Even the Taigu can't resurrect people. Tell me everything as it happened."

Marilyn nodded.

"That woman beheaded the old man," she repeated, as if making sure she was saying it out loud. "That old man, by the way, was quite strong. But, anyway... she left right after."

The maid took a deep breath, paused briefly, as if gathering her thoughts, and then continued:

"About two minutes passed. And then, a man approached his body. Calmly, without haste. He cut his wrist and let his blood flow onto the corpse..."

She hesitated, as if what she was about to say next made her doubt her own sanity.

"...and he came back to life."

Regulus slightly raised an eyebrow, looking at her intently.

"What?"

"He came back to life," she repeated more quietly but firmly. "His head... just reattached to his body. Vessels stretched out from it, like threads, and pulled the body back together."

Regulus remained silent, staring intently at her face, and Marilyn finally finished:

"And then... he changed. He grew younger."

The Archbishop frowned, interlacing his fingers in front of him.

"What kind of Teigu is this...?" he muttered. "Or... is it even a Teigu?"

Marilyn just shook her head.

"I don't know..."

Regulus thoughtfully lowered his gaze, but an uncharacteristic emotion flickered in his golden eyes.

"If this man can resurrect people..." the thought flashed suddenly, like lightning cutting through his consciousness. "Then maybe... maybe he can resurrect those who died years ago."

He lightly stomped his foot, mechanically, as if bringing himself back to reality.

"Though..." his eyes narrowed slightly. "The chance is far from a hundred percent. And who knows? Maybe Marilyn only thinks she's telling the truth, but in reality, she was hypnotized?"

Regulus exhaled deeply, suppressing his excitement.

"No. It's definitely worth a try."

He shifted his gaze from the floor to Eilish, his voice becoming firmer:

"Hey, what did this man look like?"

Marilyn thought for a moment, recalling:

"Black hair, slicked back... He looks young." She paused briefly. "But the most unique feature is his eyes. They're purple."

Regulus froze for a moment, repeating those words in his head. Then he slowly rose from the chair, and hope appeared in his gaze.

"Black hair... purple eyes..." he muttered.

Plans were already forming in his head.

"I'll find that bastard... and make him resurrect someone..."

And then, Oarburg flashed in his memory.

"And them too."

That night became catastrophic for the village of Hoffenheim*—a tiny settlement lost among the hills and dense forests of the Empire.

(*A reference to the real village in Germany.)

Just yesterday, life thrived here: children ran through the narrow streets, women exchanged gossip in the central square, men worked in forges and fields.

Now—only silence. Piercing, oppressive, dead silence, broken only by the crackling of burning houses and the faint whisper of the wind stirring the clothes of lifeless bodies.

The village was gone.

It had been wiped out completely.

They were killed by children.

Young soldiers of the Empire—ruthless machines, handed blades and ordered to carry out the will of their superiors.

In these lands, dissent, unreliability, and overly liberal views inconsistent with the Empire's doctrine were suspected.

No trial was needed. No interrogations. There was only one verdict—death.

"Pam-para-pam-pam..." a short girl hummed a melody softly, swinging her legs.

She sat right on a pile of corpses, as if on a pedestal, carelessly swaying from side to side.

Her silhouette seemed ghostly in the soft light of the pre-dawn sky, and her empty black eyes stared into nothingness.

The girl reached into a small leather pouch attached to her belt and pulled out a few chocolate chip cookies.

Seemingly an ordinary treat—but killers have their quirks. Or perhaps there was a secret to these cookies?

Taking a bite, she chewed slowly, savoring the taste. Then she swallowed and finished the rest, casually brushing the crumbs off her hands.

Light footsteps were heard.

"Ah, finally, you're here," she drawled lazily, not even turning her head.

A girl of average height with an unremarkable face emerged from the alley.

Her face was neither particularly beautiful nor ugly—small ears, thin lips, a straight nose.

Her features seemed cold, empty, like her golden eyes.

Her light hair reached her neck, her bangs were straight and neatly trimmed.

A black headband adorned her head, emphasizing her strict, almost ascetic appearance.

She was dressed in a long black dress with puffy sleeves that hid her wrists.

"The area is cleared, Kurome," the girl said clearly and emotionlessly.

Her voice was even, almost mechanical, as if she was simply reporting on her work.

Kurome finally raised her head and looked at her.

"Good job..."

The girl stood up slowly, shook off the bloodstains clinging to her, ran her hand over her belt, as if checking if all her weapons were in place, and calmly finished:

"Bellatrix Corneas."

Somewhere in the distance, a crow caw