I opened my eyes feeling like a hammer was crushing my skull, my body aching with every movement.
I was lying in a large canopy bed, covered by a massive trapper's hide serving as a blanket.
"My… bed?"
Around me stretched a richly decorated room.
A glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a faint light over the rest of the chamber, powered by nylon stones—a rare mineral only nobles or wealthy merchants could afford.
To my left, a wardrobe bore engravings in Eudorian script. I couldn't read them; I never had time to learn the ancient language.
The familiarity of the place contrasted sharply with the lingering sense of danger in my mind.
I tried to sit up, but every movement seemed to awaken a buried pain.
A cold shiver ran down my spine, and a sudden realization hit me.
"Argg… what the hell was that?"
"And how the hell did I get back in my bed?"
My voice was hoarse, abrupt. My throat dry.
What had happened was still fuzzy, but I could remember the pain, the terror… and those shadows. They still hovered at the edge of my mind—indistinct silhouettes that seemed to watch me. What were they?
"Monstrosities?"
The monstrosities… beings, or things, spawned from the corruption of ancient idols: the continent's plague, the nightmare of children.
No one knows what they're made of or how they're born. We only know they appear in heavily corrupted zones, often heralding massacres and great disasters.
In theory, a corrupted person or sorcerer must lose all control and offer themselves to the old gods for a corruption strong enough to spawn these creatures.
Yet, nothing I knew could explain their presence here.
The only two people capable of summoning them in the manor were my father and my tutor. Neither had lost control…
"At least, not that I know of…"
Shaking my head, I slowly got up, struggling, and headed to my washroom: a basin, a wooden bucket for natural needs, and a bathtub. Enough to maintain decent hygiene in these troubled times.
"How the hell did I survive?" I murmured, splashing cold water on my face.
As I slowly raised my head to the mirror, my body froze.
Not because of my looks… but because of the small markings in my eyes.
"What the hell is that?"
They seemed alive, circling my irises with a golden gleam, like a serpent trapping its prey.
It wasn't the inscriptions themselves that were shocking, but where they appeared.
Normally, you can only get them through a voluntary ritual or a pact with an idol.
Everything must be done consciously, as you have to cut and engrave your own flesh and organs.
A painful… often deadly process.
Hence the existence of rituals to assist the knight through this ordeal.
Yet… I had made no ritual, no pact.
"Maybe—"
My heart stopped as the number VI appeared progressively on the mirror, as if written by someone.
It was blood red, dripping down the glass.
A faint metallic smell filled the room.
I slowly brought my hand near the number, hoping it was a dream, that it would disappear at my touch. Unfortunately, it was ingrained and radiated an icy cold.
My hands trembled as cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I was petrified, my gaze fixed on the number, not blinking once.
"What is—"
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
My heart sped up.
"Young master."
A servant knocked on my door, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Something was happening in this manor, something terrifying.
Maybe I should go see the oracle? Dangerous as they are, they made a pact with one of the most dangerous idols.
I struggled to keep calm, my breathing uneven, yet nobility obliged.
I took a deep breath, slowly regaining my wits.
The pacts…
Just thinking about them, an ancient instinct warned me to fear them like the plague. They're special, mainly used by sorcerers to gain the power of the idol they bind with. But it's far from safe.
Quite the opposite.
Idols are deeply vile beings, seeking only power and destruction. Luckily, they cannot enter the mortal world without a vessel. Hence the pacts, which must be agreed upon by both parties.
One gains power, the other a host.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
"The meal is ready, young master."
"I-I'm coming."
My gaze lingered a few more seconds on the number.
THUMP THUMP THUMP
My heart roared in my chest.
Nothing can happen to me with father in the manor anyway.
Reassuring myself as best I could, I left my room, my hands still trembling slightly.
An old servant awaited me: gray hair and beard, dignified appearance. You only noticed him by the long scar running from his left eye to his right cheek.
Emrich. A loyal servant.
"What day is it?" I asked, stepping two paces ahead of him.
"The 11th of the moonless month, year 162 of grace, young master."
Six days before my ritual.
"Did anything unusual happen last night?"
I probed cautiously. Emrich was just a servant, but he knew everything happening in the manor.
"Nothing to report, young master," he assured.
Strange…
My mind began to spin, searching for a flaw, a forgotten detail.
Had I really come back alone to my room? Washed myself as well? And without memory?
And that number in the bathroom?
"Send a knight to check my room," I said, voice slightly confused.
The servant looked puzzled but nodded.
From the hallway to the stairs, from tapestries to chandeliers, the manor gave an impression of incoherence.
Both luxurious and rough, a mix of nobility and barbarism.
The manor felt strangely empty today.
My steps halted: the dining room opened before me. A large rectangular table, twelve meters long, covered with a fine red cloth. The smell of food hung in the air, but it didn't awaken my appetite.
I sat alone, thoughtful. The meal was bland: rabbit and boar meat, white bread loaf, and some vegetables. Not worthy of a count's heir.
"The meal is humble today…"
"The harvests were poor this year, young master. The lands are dying and turning black everywhere, say the peddlers," Emrich commented, standing behind me, back straight. Perfect etiquette.
"Hmm."
The Empire is dying, they say. Famine already strikes the southern region. Famine and political chaos… a sad fate for our once-glorious nation. The corrupt, my father would say, are to blame.
"What are my father and Darius doing?"
"Your father and Sir Darius left this morning toward the capital. The emperor has summoned the assembly."
It seems the rising tensions between conservatives and reformists do not please the imperial family…
"By the way, young master, the count wishes you to prepare with the utmost care," he continued.
"… Understood."
Maybe I should drag this body to the training camp in the coming days.
A sigh left my lips.