THE NIGHT OF SCARLET
NO!”
My eyes snapped open as the scream tore from my throat. I sat up violently, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Cold sweat drenched my clothes, and I was panting so hard my lungs burned.
'A nightmare,' I thought frantically, clutching my chest. 'It was just a horrible, twisted nightmare...'
But the warmth of my bedroom wasn't there. There was no smell of vanilla cake.
Instead, the air was freezing, thick with the scent of damp earth, moss, and decaying wood. I looked down. I wasn't on my soft mattress; I was sitting on a jagged, stone floor covered in a thin layer of dry straw. The uneven ceiling above me dripping water onto the rocks confirmed the terrifying truth.
I was in a dark, secluded cave.
It wasn’t a dream. My family was gone.
A sob caught in my throat, but no tears came. My eyes just burned with a hollow, empty ache. The world had shattered into a million pieces, and I was left sitting in the ruins.
Clang.
The sharp sound of metal hitting stone echoed through the cavern. I flinched, my head snapping toward the entrance of the cave.
Step by step, a tall figure walked out of the shadows. The dim moonlight revealed his face—and my blood turned to pure ice. It was him. The man from the grand hall. The man with the crimson eyes who had effortlessly choked the life out of me after butchering my parents.
He didn't look like an assassin right now. He wore traveling cloaks, and he was carrying a bundle of dry firewood. He stopped, looking down at me with a completely unreadable expression.
Without saying a word, he unsheathed a plain, steel sword from his waist and tossed it through the air. The weapon landed with a heavy clatter right at my feet.
“Pick it up,” the crimson-eyed man commanded, his voice cold and raspy. “If you want to live, you’ll have to kill me first.”
“You monster…” I growled.
The grief inside me instantly crystallized into pure, unadulterated rage. My hands shook as I gripped the hilt of the steel sword on the ground. I didn’t care who he was. I didn’t care why he did it. All I knew was that the blood of my mother and father was on his hands.
I’m going to kill him.
Channelling my abundant magical reserves, I forced my mana straight into the blade. The steel hummed, casting a sharp blue light against the dark cave walls. With a desperate roar, I lunged forward, thrusting the magic-infused blade straight at his chest.
Puchi.
The sound of tearing flesh echoed through the cave.
My eyes widened in shock. I expected him to block. I expected him to parry, to dodge, or to counter-attack. He was the monster who had wiped out our entire household guard, after all.
But he didn’t even raise his hand. He let my sword sink deep into his chest.
The crimson-eyed man stood perfectly still as his plain traveling cloak stained a dark, heavy red. He didn’t cry out in pain. Instead, a strange, hollow smile touched his lips as he looked down at me. He raised a shaky hand, gently placing it on my head, just like a father would.
“Fate… is always cruel… to those with happiness and dreams,” the man whispered, his voice trembling as a trail of blood ran down his chin.
His hand slipped from my head, and he collapsed heavily onto the stone floor. The crimson light completely faded from his eyes, leaving behind a cold, peaceful corpse.
I stood frozen in the quiet cave, his final words echoing in my mind. Why didn't he fight back? What did those words mean? A cold prickle of confusion washed over my rage, but the sheer panic of the situation overrode my brain. I needed answers. I needed to know what happened to my family.
Leaving the cave, I ran through the dark, rainy woods, gripping the bloody sword, and headed straight back to the one place I knew. My home.
The grand gates of the House of Novalanch were wide open.
Gasping for breath, drenched in rain and covered in blood—mostly that man's—I stumbled into the courtyard. The bright magical lights of the manor were blazing, casting eerie shadows across the stone path.
“Help!” I tried to shout, but my throat was raw. “Is anyone there?! Mother! Father!”
Suddenly, three household guards stepped out from the main doors. These weren't the loyal guards I grew up with. Their armor was stained with blood, and their faces held no grief—only a cold, malicious satisfaction.
Before I could even ask them what happened, the lead guard pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at me, his voice booming across the courtyard.
“There he is! The Young Master has returned!” the guard yelled, intentionally raising his voice so everyone inside could hear. “He went mad! He butchered the Lord and Lady in cold blood! We tried to stop him, but he slaughtered his way out! Look at the sword in his hand!”
I froze, the bloody steel blade slipping from my numb fingers and clattering onto the stones. “What… What are you talking about? I didn't—”
SLAM!
The grand double doors burst open completely. Standing at the threshold was my older sister, Erina.
She was still wearing her knight uniform. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and pooling with tears as she looked down at the courtyard. She looked at the corrupt guards playing the victims. Then, she looked at me—her 15 year-old little brother, standing in the rain, drenched in blood, with a murdered man's sword at my feet.
The trap had snapped shut perfectly.