Ian drowsily opened his eyes, his vision blurry as the golden rays of dawn filtered through the window. For a moment, his mind lingered in a dream-like state. He turned his head slightly and murmured, "Theoarize? Have you prepared the fire?"
Silence answered him. Only the soft chirping of birds reached his ears. Ian blinked, disoriented before the realization struck him like a cold wind. Theoarize was gone. That stupid God is gone to know where.
Dragging himself upright, Ian shuffled to the window and pushed it open. A deep sigh escaped him as he leaned against the frame, the fresh morning air doing little to lift the weight on his chest. Three years with Theoarize, and now, he felt the void more than ever. "That troublemaker," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Who knew I'd miss her this much?"
The sunrise painted the city in warm hues, but Ian's gaze fell on the small pile of coins on the table. He counted them silently: 40 gold coins, 200 silver coins, and 35 copper coins. The conversion swirled in his head—10 copper made 1 silver and 10 silver made 1 gold. He frowned. The 20 silver he'd paid for the inn was steep, especially for someone traveling light. Normal inns charged between 10 and 12 silver per night.
"Well, this one isn't normal," he murmured, glancing at the door. Having a retired underworld king as the innkeeper came with a cost, though at least it also meant a decent night's sleep.
Ian stretched, shaking off the grogginess, then washed and cleaned up. His reflection stared back at him from the cracked mirror. For a moment, he studied his own eyes, searching for something—anything—beyond the guilt that clung to him like a second skin.
After slipping into a clean shirt, he headed downstairs.
"Good morning, big brother!" Salvador's daughter greeted him with a bright smile as he found a seat at the modest table.
Ian nodded at her. "Good morning, kid."
Her cheerful energy was brightening the inn with a positive aura. "What can I get for you?" she asked eagerly, already bouncing on her feet.
"Some eggs and sausage. Do you have chamomile tea?"
"Yes! Coming right up!" She dashed off to the kitchen, her enthusiasm pulling a faint smile from Ian.
Moments later, Salvador approached, dropping into the chair across from him. His sharp eyes carried a quiet warning. "Be careful," Salvador muttered. "People have been disappearing in the past few days."
Ian met his gaze and gave a slow nod. "Thanks for the warning."
The innkeeper didn't press further, standing to rejoin his family as his daughter returned with Ian's meal. She placed the plate and tea in front of him.
"Thank you," Ian said, his tone softening as he watched her skip back to her parents. For a moment, he allowed himself to linger on the sight of the small family. Salvador's usually stern face softened as his wife handed him a bowl of soup. It was a quiet, simple scene, but for Ian, it was painfully foreign.
After finishing his meal, Ian stepped out into the bustling streets. The Camera was alive with activity—merchants called out their wares, children darted between stalls, and taverns bustled with early drinkers and travelers. Ian walked aimlessly, taking in the sights.
He stopped by a tavern, its worn sign swaying in the breeze. The sound of rowdy conversation and clinking mugs spilled out. Finding a quiet corner, Ian listened carefully to the chatter around him.
"Did you hear? Allen Winterbell wasn't chosen as Emperor," one man said, his voice hushed.
"What? But he's the genius of this era!" another replied, clearly shocked.
"Aye, but the Holy Empire's tensions with Glemaria are getting worse. I hear they're bracing for war," a gruff voice chimed in.
"And the demon invasion? I heard the magicians barely held the line."
"That's true," another said. "But the strangest news is this—both the neutral and aristocrat factions are hunting for someone."
Ian's attention sharpened as the man continued.
"They're looking for a child with a monarch's aura."
"A monarch's aura? Isn't that something from fairy tales?"
"Fairy tales don't spark rumors across empires," the gruff man replied, slamming his mug down. "Mark my words, whoever this kid is, they'll change the future—if the factions don't tear them apart first."
Ian leaned back in his chair, his mind swirling with the implications. He couldn't stay here long.
Rising from his seat, he bought an apple candy from a nearby vendor. It was far too sweet for his liking, but when he passed a group of slum children, he handed it to a young boy who hesitated before accepting it. The boy's wide-eyed gratitude brought a flicker of warmth to Ian's heart, but it was fleeting.
He wandered the streets for hours, observing, listening, and piecing together the city's undercurrents. The dungeon on the city's outskirts gnawed at his thoughts. The rumors of a sleeping monster weren't just stories. Ian knew what lay there—a vampire noble, sleeping, but far from harmless.
*****
Ian watched silently as the candy apple rolled away, disappearing into the alley's shadows. A faint, metallic scent teased his senses—blood. His body tensed as he followed the trace, each step pulling him closer to a scene he wished he could unsee.
Guards were hauling small, lifeless bodies into a cart. Ian froze, his breath caught in his throat. Seven children, their bodies seemingly intact but pale and still, lay scattered like broken dolls. Yet it wasn't the stillness of death that sent shivers down his spine—it was the gaping holes in their chests where their hearts should have been.
Among the bodies, his gaze landed on two faces he recognized. The boy he'd given bread to yesterday. The boy who had smiled brightly when Ian handed him the candy apple earlier that day. Ian's legs nearly gave out beneath him.
The sound of murmurs pulled him back to the present, as villagers gathered in the plaza, their eyes filled with fear and morbid curiosity. Ian knelt beside the children, trembling as he carefully turned one of their necks. His fingers brushed against a symbol carved into their skin—a serpent coiled in a circle—an offering.
Ian's chest tightened. He knew what this meant. This wasn't a curse. This was a ritual. Their hearts had been taken as part of a sacrifice—likely to summon a demon. The symbols were unmistakable. He clenched his fists. He shouldn't get involved. This wasn't his fight. Allen would handle it later. But—
"Is he one of your acquaintances?" a guard asked softly, noticing Ian's pale face and trembling hands.
Ian shook his head, his throat dry. "No… he isn't."
The guard nodded and reached for one of the boy's bodies, lifting it like a sack of grain. Ian's stomach churned as he watched them pile the children onto a cart, dousing them with oil.
"What are you doing?" Ian's voice cracked as he grabbed the guard's arm, horror spreading through him.
The guard frowned, his tone matter-of-fact. "Those marks. The children were cursed. We have to burn them to cleanse the village."
Ian's heart raced. "That's not a curse!" he shouted, his voice rising in desperation. "It's a mark of sacrifice, not some demonic curse. You can't—"
The guard scowled, brushing him off. "Step back, outsider. We know how to handle this."
Ian refused to let go, his grip tightening on the cart. "They need proper burials! They're not monsters. They're—"
A sharp pain shot through his skull as a stone struck him. Warm blood trickled down his temple, and he staggered, stunned.
"Witch!" someone from the crowd screamed. "I knew it! You're one of them, aren't you? You want my son's body! Burn him too!"
The shouting grew louder. More stones followed, striking his shoulders and back. Ian gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as he shielded the lifeless bodies with his own.
He could feel his resolve cracking, his heart twisting with guilt and helplessness. Is this what was happening while I was busy complaining about my family? Were children being mutilated and discarded like this while I lived behind gilded walls, blinded by my self-pity? What kind of crown prince was I? What right did I have to resent the world, when the world was crueler to the innocent than it had ever been to me?
Before he could act, a sharp blow landed at the back of his neck. Darkness swallowed him as he crumpled to the ground.
Ian woke with a start, his body aching and his head pounding. The memory of the children jolted him upright, but before he could rush out, Salvador appeared, blocking his path. Ian tried to push past him, but Salvador tripped him, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
"They're going to burn them!" Ian shouted, his voice raw with anger and grief.
Salvador's face was unreadable, his tone eerily calm. "It's none of our business. None of yours. It's tradition here. The snake mark means they're cursed."
"Cursed?" Ian barked, his voice cracking with emotion. "You—of all people—you believe that? You, the king of the underworld, who's seen more lies than truths? Those children's souls are still in their bodies! They're aware! They can feel everything happening to them!"
Salvador's eyes narrowed. "As expected, you know who I am."
"Move!" Ian roared, his desperation spilling over. "Can't you hear them? Can't you feel their screams in that fire?"
Salvador's expression flickered, but he didn't budge. "Are you a saint? An apostle of the Holy Empire, perhaps?"
Ian didn't bother correcting him. "Does it matter? Those kids… those innocent souls…" His voice broke as tears blurred his vision.
Through the window, Ian saw the pyre in the plaza. The crowd was gathered, praying and chanting as the flames roared. The bodies were burning. The children's screams—voices only Ian could hear through his skill, [Soul Contact Level. 3]—grew quieter. Weaker. Until, finally, there was nothing.
Ian sank to his knees, staring at the flickering firelight. His chest heaved as he tried to breathe, but it felt like the air had been stolen from him.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. I wanted to love humans. I wanted to believe there was still good in them. But is this… is this what humanity truly is?
The crowd cheered as the flames died down. Ian's shoulders slumped, his body shaking with the weight of what he'd witnessed.
He closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I should have done more…" he whispered to himself. "I should have saved them, not Allen"