In the dimly lit hidden hall beneath the earth, Kaisel stood motionless. Shadows clung to the stone walls like old memories, and the faint scent of dust and decay lingered in the air. The ancient records, yellowed and brittle, had revealed nothing. There was no mention of the seven sins — not in any scroll, not in any tome.
Frustrated, Kaisel closed the last book and let silence settle around him. Then, as if dragging the words from his chest, he finally spoke aloud.
"Hey... What are you?"
There was only silence. Long and cold.
Then, a voice — low, layered, unearthly — echoed in the chamber.
"We are the seven sins..."
"I know that," Kaisel said sharply. "You've told me before. I'm asking what kind of beings you are. You're not spirits… maybe demons? Ghosts?"
"We are the seven sins... nothing more," came a different voice, softer but just as unsettling.
Kaisel sighed and rubbed his temple. It was like speaking to smoke — the answers slipped away before he could grasp them. But he still had questions, questions that clawed at his mind.
"You said you were sealed in that cave. Someone put you there. Who was it? And why were you sealed?"
There was a pause. A static-like distortion seemed to ripple through the air.
"Them..."
Kaisel narrowed his eyes. "Them? Who is 'them'?"
A long silence followed. Then, barely above a whisper:
"...Don't... remember..."
Kaisel's breath caught. Whether it was a lie, a forgotten truth, or something they refused to speak of — he couldn't tell. But the weight of the unknown pressed heavier now. And the sins, for all their power, seemed just as trapped by the past as he was.
Kaisel felt the weight of disappointment settle in his chest once more. The sins gave him nothing—no clarity, no answers. Just riddles and silence.
He didn't push further.
With a weary sigh, he moved toward the bookshelf and slumped down beside it, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. The quiet wrapped around him like a shroud. He closed his eyes, hoping for a moment's peace.
But peace never came.
The memories returned instead—sharp and vivid.
The ambush.
The sickening scent of blood.
The screams of the dying.
The wet sound of swords tearing through flesh.
He remembered how helpless he had felt—how powerless. A boy trapped in terror, watching everything he knew be ripped apart.
Kaisel's eyes flew open. His breathing was ragged. Sweat trickled down his neck.
"If only Father were alive…" he thought.
"No… If only I was strong. If only I was powerful… Powerful…"
His breath caught.
Power.
The word echoed in his mind like a distant bell. A hunger welled up in him. He clenched his fists, driven by a sudden, desperate clarity.
He turned his head slightly, voice low but firm.
"…Hey. You said before… that you could give me power. Right?"
He paused, gathering courage.
"What kind of powers?"
A moment passed.
Then a voice answered, dripping with amusement:
"Powers… hehehehe..."
Before he could brace himself, agony tore through his skull. A searing pain erupted in his mind, like claws raking through his thoughts. He clutched his head, crying out. The pain was unbearable, like a thousand voices screaming inside his brain. His vision blurred. Darkness crept in.
He collapsed, barely conscious.
Soon, he understood many things he hadn't known before—things no record or scroll had ever revealed. He knew now what the Seven Sins truly were, and what they could offer him. He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm down. Slowly, he gathered his thoughts, assembling the fragments of knowledge that now stirred within him. The truth was overwhelming… but clear.
Greed.
It could grant me immense power and forbidden knowledge. The ability to lay claim to anything I desired—objects, places, even living beings—and turn them into extensions of my will. But in return… I must offer something of value. Wealth. Gold. Or perhaps… souls?
Gluttony.
It allows me to devour anything—flesh, magic, even souls—and gain its traits, abilities… and memories. It doesn't demand anything in particular. It only requires one thing: that I keep devouring. The more I consume, the more it gives.
Envy.
With it, I can steal and mimic the abilities and powers of others—even their very appearance—so long as envy burns within me. But the price… it takes a piece of my emotions.
Wrath.
Monstrous strength, born from pain and rage. The more I suffer, the stronger I become. The price it demands is terrifying in its simplicity—my lifespan. Every burst of strength comes at the cost of my life.
Pride.
A commanding aura that crushes the will of others. In its presence, no one can lie, and fear holds no sway over my mind. I become untouchable… unshakable. But for that, I must surrender a piece of my soul.
Sloth.
It grants me ghostly, invisible hands that act in my place, obeying my will without effort. It saps the motivation of those around me, even dragging them into unnatural sleep. In return, it takes something subtle, but vital—my will.
Lust.
It enhances my charm, wrapping my presence in a web of unnatural attraction. With a mere touch, I can amplify or manipulate the desires of others—twisting them, controlling them, even trapping them within illusions shaped by their own longings. It tempts… and corrupts.
In return, it drinks blood.
Kaisel tried to make sense of what he had seen, what had been poured into his mind—but most of it felt like smoke, slipping through his fingers the more he tried to hold it.
Piece of my will… soul… lifespan…
He let out a shaky breath.
It was dangerous. All of it. Gluttony was the only one that didn't seem to want something sharp and personal in return. The rest—each one carved a price out of him. A slow death in pieces.
Only fools chase power without counting the cost.
"Not everything is free in this world," he muttered to himself, his voice low in the stillness.
"Everything comes with a price."
Father's words. Echoing in the back of his mind like they always did when the path got dark.
Kaisel whispered. "I came for answers."
He stood, brushing the dust from his coat. His eyes lingered on the empty shelves, the dark corners of the room.
Without another word, Kaisel turned and left the hall. His footsteps faded into the corridor beyond—quiet, but firm. He didn't know where the next answer would come from.
But it wasn't here.
.....
Inside the study room,
Inside the study room,
Arthur sat in an ornate, red-clothed chair, his posture composed yet weary. Before him, a large wooden desk stretched out, scattered with open documents and scribbled notes. Across from him, two crimson couches faced each other, forming a comfortable but rarely used seating arrangement. The fireplace crackled softly, casting a warm glow that pushed back the lingering chill in the air.
The door creaked open as a butler stepped inside, holding a small stack of sealed reports.
"My lord," he said with a respectful bow. "These just arrived—from the Inquisitorial Vanguard Headquarters."
Arthur took the documents, eyes narrowing as he broke the seal and scanned the contents. A moment passed before he scoffed.
"Hmph. Useless," he muttered. "They haven't found anything. Even after we handed them a lead about the man with the birthmark on his face..."
His grip on the parchment tightened slightly.
"And now they're claiming the investigation is being postponed—due to lack of evidence," he added with contempt. "What a load of bullshit."
The butler remained silent, standing still with the quiet poise expected of his station.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, gaze darkening as he stared into the fire.
...
Midnight draped the sky in silence.
Kaisel slipped through the side gate of the manor without a sound. The guards didn't notice—none ever did when he wrapped himself in darkness. The magic clung to him like mist, blending his form with the night. No footsteps. No presence. Only the wind knew he was there.
He moved swiftly, following a narrow path behind the manor that led into the trees. The forest loomed, tall and solemn, the way it always had—but tonight, it felt different. He wasn't out here for a stroll. He was walking toward something.
The woods parted around him until he reached the edge of the old wall—mossy, cracked, and ancient, standing like a forgotten border between two different worlds. In its center, rusted iron bars formed a gate, curled with age and decay.
Beyond the wall lay Ebonvale.
A vast, forgotten stretch of land cloaked in thick fog and towering trees. A place whispered about in fear—where bloodthirsty beasts and twisted plants roamed freely. The forest devoured intruders, and few dared cross its threshold.
Kaisel stood before the rusted iron gate, staring into the shadowy wilds beyond. The forest pulsed with danger. The air was still, but heavy.
He felt it—fear, cold and real, pressing against his chest.
But beneath that fear was something stronger.
Resolve.
He knew he was weak. He had seen what that weakness cost.
And if there was any chance of finding strength in this cursed place…
He would take it.
A dark cloak hung over his shoulders, hood pulled low. At his side, a sword—plain, but sharp. His hand rested near the hilt, though he knew it might not help in what lay ahead.
Kraa...
He turned his head toward the sound.
A raven perched on a branch nearby. Its feathers were pitch black, its eyes just as dark—ordinary at a glance, but something about it felt different. It was smaller than most. Younger. But it didn't look away.
Kaisel stared at it for a moment, then spoke softly.
"Ragnar... Will you accompany me?"
The bird took flight, wings fluttering once before landing gently on his shoulder.
Kraa.
Kaisel nodded once.
"…Let's go."
And with that, he stepped through the gate—into the darkness of Ebonvale.
To be continued.