CHAPTER : 1 Melody
The scent of blood drifted through the moonless night. Mountains loomed like pale ghosts, their peaks veiled behind a shroud of blackened clouds. Above them, lightning flickered faintly — distant, soundless — painting the heavens with momentary veins of light.
At the heart of the forest lay a lake, still and silent, its surface mirroring the sky like a blackened mirror cracked by moonlight. In the midst of that stillness, two great rocks jutted from the shore. Upon one sat a lone figure — a silhouette — playing a flute.
The flute was black as obsidian, wrapped with a thin red thread that glowed faintly in the dark. The melody it sang was haunting — mournful enough to make one recall the saddest corner of their soul. The soft wind wove through the notes, mixing sorrow and serenity until the forest itself seemed to breathe in rhythm with the tune.
The man's face was hidden in shadow. Not a single feature could be seen, as though night itself had claimed him. Yet what the darkness could not hide was the horror that surrounded him — a wide pool of blood spreading from his feet, glistening beneath the pale light.
He was drenched in it, but there were no wounds upon him. That blood did not belong to him. Its metallic scent clung to the air, thick and heavy, seeping through every breath.
Around him fluttered black butterflies — their wings glistening like shards of midnight crystal. They danced upon the surface of the blood, sipping it gently, their thirst unholy and endless.
They sparkled faintly — as if even the darkness wished to shine, once more, before it died.
The black butterflies fluttered, leaving sparkling trails in the air as they flew.
A hand rose slowly — pale, gloved, and graceful — inviting one of the butterflies to rest upon it. The delicate creature landed softly on his long, slender fingers. The man's hands were covered in dark gloves, their surface gleaming faintly under the dim light.
He lifted his hand close to his face. The crystal-winged butterfly perched upon his finger shimmered like a dying star. His face, too, was hidden — concealed beneath a full white mask.
The mask was smooth and elegant, yet unsettling. Black and red curved lines ran across it like veins of ink, and upon its forehead bloomed a black tattoo of a rose — silent and cold.
From beneath the mask, strands of long cyan hair cascaded down, spilling over both sides of his face. It framed his temples and trailed to his chest, glowing faintly in the dimness. From the front, his bangs fell in gentle layers, curving from his forehead to his ears before tapering behind his head.
Beside him, resting across his lap, was the flute.
It was long and carved from a black stone that gleamed faintly, as though it absorbed the light around it. A thin thread of crimson spiraled along its length, pulsing like a living vein. Faint runes glowed along its surface — dim cyan in color, soft as starlight caught in mist. Roses and curling vines were etched delicately into the body, the patterns half-faded, like memories carved by time itself.
The flute seemed to breathe — each rune flickering faintly with the man's slow, silent movements. It carried an aura that felt ancient, sacred, and cursed all at once.
The man sat motionless, holding the black flute in one hand and the butterfly in the other. The scene possessed such quiet elegance that it seemed unreal — a vision that could make anyone stop and stare in silent awe.
Beside him lay an open book. Its pages fluttered lightly in the wind. A single quote was written upon one page, two words marked in red — words that bled into the parchment like a whisper from the past.
"If you cannot feel sadness,
how can you ever understand happiness."
The words were written in red — delicate yet heavy, like blood soaked into paper. Beneath them, more lines followed, their edges faded and trembling.
"Happiness and sadness — nothing but fragile emotions,
both destined to pull you down..."
The handwriting was uneven, as if carved by someone unsure of their own thoughts. The words bled across the page, merging with the next.
"Happiness... sadness... it's all part of nature —
a beautiful poison that slowly destroys you..."
He didn't even remember writing those lines.
For a long time, he remained still, the book open beside him — the wind turning its pages as though the forest itself wished to read them. Then, slowly, the man stood. His movement was quiet, almost reverent.
Turning toward the forest, he took a step... then another... until his figure began to fade into the mist.
The sound of his footsteps dissolved into silence.
Only the black butterflies remained, circling above the crimson pool, their wings glinting faintly in the dim air. They lingered for a moment — then, like a dying flame, vanished.
The blood disappeared with them.
The lake shone faintly once more, its surface untouched, reflecting only the thick clouds that still veiled the moon. The night returned to stillness, as if nothing had ever happened.
Far away, under the same clouded sky, people were gathering in a place known as "The Grand Hall."
That night, it was filled with the heads of several clans — some renowned, others barely known beyond their borders. All had been invited for one reason.
The topic of their gathering was grim: the mysterious disappearance of people from all around the world.
At first, no one had paid much attention. Isolated vanishings were not uncommon. But as the numbers grew — one by one, in every corner of the world — fear began to spread. What was once coincidence had become a pattern, one that could no longer be ignored.
This was not the first time such a thing had happened. Decades ago, people had vanished the same way — gone without a trace, never to be found again.
Years later, the government claimed to have uncovered the truth. The disappearances, they said, were the result of smuggling.
Yes — human smuggling. People were being kidnapped, their organs sold on the black markets of power and greed. The criminals didn't care about age or gender. Old, young, male, female — it didn't matter. The only thing that did was that the victim was healthy.
The reason such crimes thrived so easily was simple — corruption.
Many government officials were bribed into silence, helping the criminals operate freely behind the mask of law. Eventually, some of those officials were caught, and the smuggling rings dismantled. And soon, the smuggling was stopped.
There are still criminals in the world, of course — but they are not like the ones from back then. Times have changed. The rules have become stricter, harsher than ever before.
In those days, countless gangs roamed freely. They were ruthless, dangerous, and organized. Hidden lairs lay scattered across cities — secret chambers where their victims were bound, tortured, and left to die.
But the new ruler rose to power and crushed them all. Every hideout was discovered and destroyed. The criminals were either captured and condemned to live the rest of their lives behind bars... or executed.
Yet now, something far more terrifying has begun.
People are disappearing again — one by one, vanishing without a trace. No clues, no bodies, no patterns. Nothing about these disappearances resembled the crimes of the past.
Inside the Grand Hall, the atmosphere grew heavy. The heads of every clan sat in silence, their expressions dark and troubled.
Yes, they were concerned about the missing people — but that was not what truly frightened them.
Their fear was of something else.
Something far greater.
Because they were aware of something that others were not.
It wasn't a monster — it was worse than that.
It was something not known to mankind.
It was The Primeval Revenant.
They knew it wasn't this.
But even so, they couldn't help but be concerned.
They also knew that if The Primeval Revenant were truly out there... they wouldn't be sitting here in this hall. If the day ever came when that being was freed, it would be a nightmare — a nightmare from which no one could escape.
The very conversation about The Primeval Revenant was forbidden.
No one outside the circle of leaders knew of its existence.
What the world called a legend was, in truth, something far darker.
It was said that The Primeval Revenant was ancient — so old that its origin was lost to time itself. The only thing that survived was a faint legend whispered through centuries.
The story spoke of a monstrous being that once devoured hundreds of people every ninety-six weeks.
In desperation, all the clans united their forces to destroy it — but their efforts failed. The creature's power was beyond anything they had ever faced.
Somehow, through immense sacrifice, they managed not to kill it, but to seal it away — hidden somewhere in the world, where no one could ever find it.
Over the centuries, people came to believe the monster had died from starvation, nothing more than a myth lost to history.
But the leaders of the clans knew the truth — the terrible truth passed down from generation to generation: "The monster still lives... And one day, it will return".
Just thinking of The Primeval Revenant was enough to make one's soul tremble.
But that wasn't their concern for now. The only thing they could do was hope — hope for the best.
That fear didn't make them ignore the disappearances; instead, it gave them strength.
They wanted to prove that the fear was still sealed, locked away where it belonged.
They believed that if the cause behind these vanishings could be found, the fear would finally fade. They were certain — or at least tried to be — that this had nothing to do with The Primeval Revenant.
And yet... they couldn't help but worry.
"That's enough!"
A voice echoed through the Grand Hall, sharp and commanding — loud enough for everyone to hear.
"What's enough?" another voice shot back, quieter but filled with tension.
"Our suffering!" the first man shouted again, his voice cracking with frustration. "We've suffered enough! We can't tolerate this anymore!"
"You think you're the only one?!" another clan head growled, slamming his hand against the table. "Why do you think we're here?! To waste time?!"
Before he could continue, another voice rose from across the hall — cold and uncertain.
"What the hell is happening here?" he said. "Do you think it's that monster? The one that escaped...?"
The hall fell silent.
No one dared to speak the name.
This is the story of The Mawling.
Another monster, well known among both the clan leaders and the common folk alike.
The Mawling was not the most terrifying creature ever known — nor was it the most powerful.
It could be killed... if one could catch it.
But that was the problem.
It was fast — unnaturally fast — and dangerously clever.
Unlike other beasts, The Mawling rarely killed its victims outright. Instead, it captured them.
It would trap them in jars along with strange objects, pour water inside... and slowly cook them alive before devouring them.
Despite its cunning, The Mawling was sealed long ago — not as ancient as The Primeval Revenant, but old enough that its story had faded into myth.
No one knew where its seal lay. Only that it existed — somewhere.
Then, a voice broke through the tense silence of the Grand Hall.
"No! It's not possible! We sealed that monster! It can't escape!"
Another voice rose, sharp and accusing.
"We?! When did it change from 'him' to 'you'?"
He leaned forward. "I'm not taking his side or anything, it's just..."
"Not taking his side," the first man scoffed, "but you clearly are."
"Oh, really?! That's what you think?!" the other snapped, slamming his fist against the table.
"That thing is nothing but a piece of junk! I was about to say..."
He took a deep breath, trembling with anger.
"I think that monster — The Mawling — is actually his minion. He sealed it himself, just to prove his innocence. To win our trust. He freed that creature and sent it to destroy us... to get what he truly desired."
He spoke rapidly, barely pausing for breath.
"You all know what he's capable of — he can control beings... and things like that."
The hall went still.
No one dared to speak further.
All the people who were present were left speechless for a moment. After a while, they all nodded in agreement.
But still, that person was the reason for the empire's safety.
Sakuya was the first to break the silence. He sat forward and said firmly, "I personally think we should... form an alliance. All of us. To stop him before things get worse. He's dangerous—we can't just ignore it and pretend it'll go away. What if he holds some malicious intentions?"
Xu Min let out a short, sharp laugh. "What if? He clearly holds a grudge against us for that day! And it wasn't even our fault—it was an accident!"
Sakuya frowned, confused. "I know that, but accidents don't erase hatred. If he's angry, we should at least try to reason with him before he does something foolish."
Xu Min sighed and rubbed his temple. "You really don't think before talking, do you, Sakuya? Reason with him? He's not some village farmer, he's—"
Before he could finish, Gong Lu's mocking voice broke in. "He's what, Xu Min? Untouchable? Please. Every creature bleeds. Some just take longer to die."
Sakuya shook his head. "You're missing the point, Gong Lu. I'm saying we need to prevent bloodshed, not start it."
Gong Lu smiled thinly, clearly amused. "And how do you plan to do that? Offer him tea?"
Xu Min gave a low chuckle. "That actually sounds like something you'd try, Sakuya."
Sakuya crossed his arms, unbothered. "If it works, then maybe you two should drink some too."
Xu Min groaned. "You really are hopeless sometimes."
A tense silence followed, broken only by the faint rumble of thunder outside the Grand Hall.
Gong Lu leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Yeah! We just need to kill him..."
"K—kill him?!" Sakuya stuttered, alarmed. He swallowed and managed, "Isn't there a... different... way?"
"What do you mean, different way?!" Xu Min snapped, impatience clear in his voice.
"What I mean is that... I think we should avoid any kind of... killing," Sakuya replied, voice small but earnest.
"Didn't you just say to form an alliance so we could get rid of him? Huh?!" Gong Lu cut in, incredulous and mocking.
"Alright, alright! That's enough, all of you!" a deep voice commanded.
Every head turned toward the entrance. A handsome man had entered the hall. He walked in with a gentle, unsettling smile, moved up the stairs, and sat on the throne.
The room fell silent beneath his gaze. Even the thunder outside seemed to pause.
That man was named Tian Jun. Tian Jun was the Emperor of one of the richest and most powerful Empire, Eruna. He was unbelievably intelligent and cunning. Tall and strikingly handsome, his deep voice carried an authority that demanded silence the moment he spoke. His dark-brown hair hung loose, brushing lightly against his shoulders. He wore flowing robes of white and pale grey, embroidered with delicate grey flowers and black leaves that curled along the long sleeves. His face was smooth and free of any facial hair, giving him an ageless, almost ethereal look.
His exact age was unknown, but one thing was certain—he was well over a hundred years old. For those who could wield even a fragment of magic, such longevity was nothing unusual. Magic users did not grow old as ordinary humans did; time itself seemed to bend around them. Because of this, the world had long been divided into two realms—the Immortals' Realm and the Human Realm.
Ghosts, too, had a world of their own. But that didn't mean they couldn't cross into other dimensions. Even in the Human Realm, spirits could be found haunting lonely corners of the earth. Centuries ago, the magic users had sealed their own realm away from the non-magical world, separating themselves from those who knew nothing of their existence. Why they did so, no one truly knew.
Yet whenever ghosts or other dark beings attacked the Human Realm, the Immortals would intervene—quietly, from the shadows—slaying those creatures and then disappearing once again, hiding their true identities from ordinary people.
No one was allowed to reveal that they were magic users.
Emperor Tian Jun sat on the throne with such elegance and composure that he seemed born to it. His posture was perfect — regal, steady, commanding — and his calm gaze carried the weight of an emperor. And indeed, he was one. The moment he spoke, the whispers and murmurs in the hall vanished. His deep, resonant voice filled the air — powerful, yet graceful in tone.
"Your majesty ," said Gong Lu, inclining his head slightly, "we're here because you called us for an important meeting. How could we let go of such an opportunity to speak with you in person? Every clan, great or small, has answered your call."
"Yes, yes! Your majesty ," added Xu Min, smiling faintly. "Even minor clans like ours wouldn't dare miss this chance. The rumors were true — your voice and presence both carry power and elegance."
Tian Jun's gaze swept over the hall. His eyes gleamed with quiet authority as he leaned back against the throne. The air itself seemed to grow heavier under his presence.
Just his silence was enough to command them all.
Tian Jun let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle. He turned his head slightly, the motion smooth and unhurried, as his sharp eyes swept across the hall. Every flicker of torchlight danced in his gaze — calm, assessing, unreadable. His eyes finally stopped on an empty seat.
"The first to ignore my invitation," he said softly, his voice deep and composed, "was the one I most wished to see."
He paused, the silence that followed pressing down on every corner of the hall. "Not everyone is here," Tian Jun continued, his tone quiet but heavy with meaning. "That person did not come."
The air thickened instantly. No one dared to move. Then, whispers began to ripple through the ranks of clan leaders like a restless wind.
"Who dared not to show up?"
"Who is this person?"
"Is he even part of the clans?"
The murmurs grew until Tian Jun raised a single hand — and silence fell as if the sound itself had been cut apart.
With an effortless gesture, he summoned one of his servants forward. The man bowed deeply, leaning close as Tian Jun whispered something in his ear. Whatever the words were, they made the servant's face pale slightly before he bowed again and left in haste.
The hall waited. The tension was a living thing — creeping, pulsing, hungry.
Moments later, the rhythmic echo of footsteps returned. The servant stepped through the great doors, his hands trembling slightly as he carried something — a thick envelope sealed in crimson wax.
He knelt before Tian Jun and raised it with both hands. The envelope was dark, almost black, covered in faint white markings like veins of light. The crimson seal at the back bore an unfamiliar sigil, carved with impossible precision.
Tian Jun accepted it without a word. His expression remained calm, but a subtle shift in his gaze sent a chill through the room. He studied the envelope for a moment longer — then, with a flick of his fingers, summoned a tiny flame that danced at his fingertips.
The firelight painted his face in gold and shadow as he brought it closer. Without breaking his gaze, he let the flame touch the envelope.
It burned silently.
When the final ashes scattered into the air, Tian Jun rose from his throne. His presence filled the vast hall like a rising tide. Then, with a single clap of his hands — all light vanished.
Darkness swallowed everything.
The world turned pitch black, soundless and absolute.
In that suffocating void, only the echo of the burning flame seemed to linger — fading into nothing.
Everyone present was confused — utterly stunned.
In that pitch-black hall, where silence felt alive, a faint glow appeared. A hand — pale, ethereal — was illuminated in the darkness. Soft yellow light shimmered from both palms, the glow slowly circling through the air like a living ribbon.
The lights twisted and intertwined until, at the center of the hall, they collided in a silent burst. From that collision, countless golden sparks scattered — each spark transforming into a fine yellow powder that floated weightlessly.
The powder began to gather and shift, swirling until it took shape — first forming outlines of houses, then trees, then figures of animals. One by one, the shapes became clearer, glowing softly like spirits caught in a dream.
Every clan leader in the hall watched in awe, their mouths slightly open, the golden light reflecting in their wide eyes.
As the brightness steadied, they realized the glowing hands belonged to Emperor Tian Jun. His eyes were closed, his expression calm. When he finally opened them, his irises shone faintly gold — serene yet commanding.
He raised both hands gracefully, and the lights responded, swirling faster around him. Then with a snap of his left fingers, the golden dust burst outward — forming clouds that rolled across the floor, glowing faintly underfoot.
The clouds thickened, taking on shapes — first formless, then human. Slowly, one figure became clear: a man holding a small child in his arms. The child seemed unconscious, limp and silent.
The man's face was twisted with pain. His voice trembled as he spoke:
"He... he slaughtered all of us. My family... my people... everyone!"
He clutched the child closer. "My child... my wife... the one in my arms was the first to leave this world! Why?! What did we do?! Why did he kill us?!"
Tears of light streamed down his face as he looked toward the throne.
"Emperor Tian Jun, please... help us... avenge us. Only then... will we be able to rest in peace..."
The golden clouds dissolved slowly, disappearing into the air until the hall was once again dim and silent. Everyone stood frozen, uncertain of what they had just witnessed. Confusion and dread lingered in their eyes.
"He..." Emperor Tian Jun finally said, his voice calm yet heavy, "was also a magic user."
"The... message I received from him came a few days ago," said Emperor Tian Jun, his voice quiet, heavy with thought. "But... sigh..."
He paused, exhaling slowly before continuing. "When I got there, I didn't send anyone in my stead. I went myself — personally. The moment I received that message, I stopped everything I was doing and left at once. I didn't waste even a breath."
His gaze darkened. "It didn't take me long to reach the place... but before I arrived, someone had already slaughtered everyone in his village."
A silence fell over the hall.
"He worked as a general of an army there," Tian Jun continued softly. "It's... a pity. And I... sigh..." His voice trailed off, weighed down by unspoken grief.
"Who... killed him?" a voice called out, trembling slightly.
"I don't know," replied Emperor Tian Jun at last. "There were no clues left behind. Not a single trace to follow. I couldn't trail the culprit... not even once."
Gasps echoed among the gathered leaders.
Fear crept into their expressions.
Tian Jun — the most brilliant mind in the empire, unmatched in intellect and perception — unable to find a single lead?
That thought alone made their blood run cold.
Even he, who had solved countless unsolvable mysteries, had been outwitted. For the first time... the killer had escaped.
Tian Jun's deep voice broke the silence again. "But..." he said, his tone shifting. "Just yesterday, I found something — a clue. One faint thread leading to the killer."
He leaned back slightly on the throne, his eyes narrowing. "It wasn't easy. Finding that clue cost me time... and patience. But now, I've gathered you all here to share what I've discovered — and to ask for your cooperation."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"Together, we will find the one responsible."
"The killer?!" exclaimed Xu Min, his voice rising in disbelief. "I thought this meeting was about the disappearance cases! I never imagined... we'd end up dealing with something this big!"
"We must tread carefully while investigating this murderer," Emperor Tian Jun said, his deep voice echoing through the hall. "This man... he isn't ordinary. I'm certain you've already guessed by now — the killer is male. But make no mistake..." He paused, his expression hardening, the faint glow of the lamps reflecting in his sharp eyes. "He is not someone to be taken lightly. Every step we take must be with caution."