When the day of the engagement arrived, the priest of the god Sangus came to the Douglas residence, which buzzed like a hive. Servants hurried back and forth, decorating carriages, preparing offerings, and arranging ceremonial garments. Sophia Douglas, impeccable and composed, personally supervised every detail. For her, perfection was not a choice—it was a sacred duty.
Lusian observed everything with a mixture of respect and apprehension. He had never felt the pressure of a vow so absolute, so irreversible. The temple awaited silently, solemn as if Sangus himself held his breath for the pact about to be sealed.
Every step toward the ceremony reminded him of the invisible chain binding him: a blood-bound engagement, sanctioned by a god, one he could not break… without condemning another.
Emily.
The divine responsibility fell upon her, yes—but the moral weight—that uneasy blend of fear, solemnity, and anticipated guilt—pressed into his chest like stone. He did not want to see her suffer because of him.
The sound of his boots against the marble echoed like a silent war drum. Lusian swallowed hard. A shiver—a mixture of reverence and fear—ran down his spine.
This was not just a ceremony. It was the first step on a path where every decision could trigger tragedy.
Standing before the mirror, Lusian adjusted his black suit, the golden embroidery catching the light as though it radiated its own glow. The white cloak fell over his shoulders like a mantle of authority and destiny; its threads formed the twin-headed wolf and crossed swords, the ancestral emblem of his house.
Yet neither the symbols nor the elegance could conceal the unease in his eyes.
"Are you afraid, Lusian?" Sophia asked gently when she noticed his tense shoulders.
He inhaled deeply, trying to mask the truth with composure.
"A little, Mother," he admitted. "I know the ritual is mandatory… but it's just tradition. There won't be any complications."
Sophia smiled with the composed pride that defined the Douglas lineage, though part of her knew her son did not fear the ceremony. He feared what came after. The future. Events pressing against the horizon like indecipherable shadows.
And Sophia, without fully understanding why, felt a faint shiver—as if she sensed that after this oath, something far greater than a simple engagement was about to awaken in her son.
When they reached the ceremonial hall, the Douglas family already stood before the altar.
Laurence Douglas towered like a marble statue—solemn, distant, unbreakable. Martha, beside him, wore a gentle smile, though her eyes betrayed a mixture of pride and melancholy. Caleb and Catalina maintained neutral, almost cold expressions; for them, this was mere political formality. No one seemed truly happy. In the duchy, even celebrations carried the weight of obligation.
The guests' murmur faded, as if a silent mist had settled over the hall, when Emily Carter entered.
Lusian lifted his gaze—and his breath caught.
Emily glided down the aisle as if floating, wrapped in a pale blue gown embroidered with flowers that seemed to reflect the first light of dawn. The temple's soft glow brushed the delicate lace, and every step she took echoed across the white marble with quiet, almost sacred grace.
The guests rose. Silence fell completely.
Only her footsteps—and those of her parents behind her—could be heard.
When Emily's eyes met Lusian's, warmth rushed to his face. She offered a serene smile, perfectly controlled yet almost unnaturally so. Lusian, who had seen fear in her gaze days earlier, sensed that calm was a fragile mask, as beautiful as it was temporary.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop. There were no gods, no destiny, no dark future. Only her. Only that suspended instant.
The high monk stepped forward, raising his hands. His deep voice echoed beneath the temple dome.
"We shall begin the oath ceremony under the gaze of the god Sangus."
He took a small silver puncture needle, pressed it to Lusian's finger, and drew a drop of blood onto a silver ring resting on the altar.
Then he repeated the gesture with Emily. Her blood fell beside his.
Both droplets shimmered—first separately… then fused into a faint crimson glow that coursed through the symbols engraved on the ring, as though the metal itself breathed.
A murmur of magic filled the hall.
"With this oath," the monk proclaimed, "the promise of union is sealed. May Sangus be witness, judge, and guardian of this sacred pact."
A wave of energy pulsed through the temple, raising goosebumps across the guests' skin. The air grew heavier, as though the god himself had turned his gaze upon them.
Lusian felt the weight of the pact sink into his bones. This is already out of control, he thought.
Emily lowered her gaze with a nearly imperceptible tremor, avoiding his eyes as though another second of contact might make her crumble.
The engagement was sealed. There was no turning back.
After the ceremony, the guests moved into the adjoining hall, where an impeccably arranged banquet awaited. The aroma of spices, wine, and roasted meats mingled with the murmured blessings of nobles. It was an evening of appearances—calculated smiles and promises no god would hear.
The blood rings on Lusian and Emily glowed faintly, a symbol of the pact now binding them. For many, a mark of honor. For them, a chain.
Emily unconsciously touched her ring, as if to confirm it was still there—or that it could never be removed.
The Noble Families Approach
First came the family of Count Noah Armett, accompanied by his wife and children. His daughter, Isabella Armett, with snow-white hair and deep blue eyes, resembled a winter flower blooming in the hall. Her ethereal beauty drew attention—especially from Caleb Douglas, whose wandering gaze Lusian did not miss.
So… this is where my tragedy begins, Lusian thought silently.
Next came the Kessler family, followed by the Macallisters from the Empire of Ithaca. Lusian remembered them from the game: a house with little military power but immense value—an ancestral affinity for spatial magic. Their artifacts were coveted across the continent.
As expected, they presented two enchanted bracelets capable of storing magical objects in dimensional space. Emily's eyes widened in amazement. Lusian maintained a polite expression, though inwardly he recognized the immense value of the gift.
The Stanley, Briggs, and Schneider families followed, each fulfilling protocol. The Mondring—Sophia's maternal family—offered a restrained bow before withdrawing quietly, like noble shadows always did.
The Bourlande: Strength and Fire
The atmosphere shifted when the Bourlande family arrived—natural-born warriors, obsessed with combat, and known for physical enhancement spells preserved in their grimoires.
Among them was Kara Bourlande Bekker, seventeen years old. Fiery red hair. Sky-blue eyes. A posture carved from iron. She was as lethal as she was beautiful.
Lusian recognized her instantly.
In the game, Kara was one of the main heroines—a woman literally impossible to defeat. Many story paths ended in battle against her, and most players died before ever seeing her smile.
She observed Lusian with a mixture of curiosity and challenge. He met her gaze. An invisible spark passed between them: respect…and warning.
The Denisse: Poison in Disguise
The Denisse family approached next, smiles diplomatic, expressions controlled. Lusian did not take his eyes off them.
He knew their true nature—rats of the Empire, conspirators willing to sell the kingdom to the highest bidder. Their presence was not courtesy… but a reminder that danger already lurked within the nation.
When he shook their hands, Lusian was flawless in politeness. In his mind, he saw only blood.
The Royal Family
The hall's murmur vanished when heralds announced the arrival of the royal family.
Everyone knelt. Only the three ducal houses bowed.
Queen Adelaine Erkhan Stanley moved with the elegance of one bearing an entire kingdom on her shoulders. At her side, Crown Prince Andrew and Princess Elizabeth silenced even whispers with their sharp, commanding presence.
Emily, nervous, attempted to kneel—but Sophia caught her arm, preventing a fatal mistake.
The queen offered measured congratulations, presenting a gift wrapped in crimson velvet before withdrawing with her royal entourage.
The Douglas Gift
Sophia raised her hand. Two servants stepped forward carrying a long chest draped in black cloth.
When the cloth was removed, the chest opened to reveal a dark glow.
The hall held its breath.
Lusian felt a chill.
There it was.
Dainslein.
A black-bladed sword, polished like a fragment of night, pulsing faintly with bluish light in rhythm with the surrounding mana. It radiated calm, not malice—a serene darkness that demanded silence.
An Ætherion.
An ancient weapon not for destruction, but for harmonizing mana and reducing the wielder's exhaustion.
Lusian recognized it instantly—not because he had wielded it—but because, in the game, it was the ultimate reward for defeating Dark Lusian—his fallen self—the destiny he was determined to avoid.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips.
"Dainslein… my warning."
That gift was no coincidence. The world itself seemed to show him the weapon that, in the original story, only appeared as the prize for taking his life.
The first act had ended.
The game… had just begun.