‎"Sir Bethel, you really sent the overconfident nobody to his death. Although I respect your choice and support it with relish, may I ask why you did this? I do not mean to question your decision, but there are many cocky fools like him, so what was your true motive?" a lanky man clad in black armour asked with an intrigued tone, smiling somewhat mischievously as he fixed his gaze on Bethel, who stood facing a stained mirror that depicted a dying figure with a sword poised forward and wings reddened with blood.

‎Bethel remained silent for a while, averting his gaze from the stained glass before settling it on the quiet, spacious room, which contained only a single long table with four chairs along each side and a large bed against the wall. This served as both his chamber and the meeting area for his hunting party's core members.

‎After a stretch of the same silence, he smiled as he recalled the young man he had just sent to his death.

‎Then, calmly, he replied to the lanky man, his second in command:

‎"I felt hatred towards him the moment I saw him. I cannot say why precisely, but I simply wanted him dead. He made it worse by daring to oppose my order. Of course, I let him be, because I knew he would never—"

‎All of a sudden, a hesitant knock resounded on the door. The two men's attention turned towards it, and Marcus, the lanky one, commanded in a firm tone:

‎"Come in."

‎The opulent yet time-worn door opened gently, and a young boy hurried in, dressed in a white robe and clutching a staff. He gave a brief bow before delivering his message in a shaky voice:

‎"Sirs, the... the new hunter has returned from the hunting ground with... the Loderons' heads and other spoils from the hunt."

‎Bethel's eyes widened in disbelief, while Marcus flinched. He looked at his master with a trembling gaze, for Bethel already seemed to be seething with questions and a faint but unmistakable loathing that he barely attempted to conceal.

‎"...What? So he truly cleared the hunting ground? Remarkable. Take me to him, at once."

‎***

‎Kyle was seated calmly in the confessional room, with the bag filled with his spoils from the Glassfang rats resting beside him on the floor, while he had left the heads of the Loderons outside so as not to taint the room with their blood.

‎'Ugh. Is he ever going to show up?' he thought, rolling his eyes in boredom as he leaned back in the chair, staring at the door and waiting for it to open at any moment.

‎For the past five… or was it thirty minutes? He had lost count, but he was certain he had been there for quite some time without anyone attending to him.

‎While contemplating whether to leave and return later, since he supposedly had something "important" to do, the door finally swung open, and Bethel entered with a composed expression.

‎'Oh, thank the dead gods. He's here…'

‎The man walked past him, his eyes briefly glancing at the bag. Outside, he had already seen the heads of the Cursed rank Titan type creatures, but even with such undeniable proof before him, he refused to accept that the young man had accomplished this feat alone.

‎This seemingly weak and pathetic person… In truth, even Bethel knew that he himself could never have accomplished such a feat without assistance. The thought unsettled him. Could it be that this boy was hiding something?

‎Choosing not to dwell on it further, he seated himself and clasped his hands together, fixing Kyle with an intimidating gaze, clearly expecting fear. However, that reaction never came, largely because Kyle was not even looking at him; he was instead adjusting his bag after it had toppled over.

‎"Arrogant fool," Bethel muttered under his breath with a grimace.

‎Kyle glanced up with a raised brow.

‎"Umm… Sorry, sir, did you say something?"

‎Bethel shook his head slightly and gestured for him to finish, deciding to let the matter pass so they could move on to the real discussion. In truth, Kyle was deliberately toying with him. It served as a brief remedy for his boredom.

‎With a faint smirk, he finally turned his attention fully to Bethel.

‎"So, I successfully cleared the hunting ground. What's next? Am I accepted already?"

‎Bethel frowned.

‎"Alone?"

‎Kyle scowled, idly twirling a strand of his hair around his finger.

‎"Uh? Yes. Wait…"

His eyes brightened with a flicker of amusement as he paused, pointing a finger at himself.

"Do I really look like someone who has friends? Oh, my gods, I'm flattered, but truly, no one likes me. So, well, you can already guess the outcome."

‎The third leading hunting party leader said nothing. Inwardly, he agreed. There was simply no way someone like Kyle could have friends. Even from their brief encounter, it was obvious that Kyle possessed no social grace whatsoever, and to make matters worse, he carried himself with an almost infuriating indifference.

‎'Is he a machine? Like Officer Gerald?' Kyle wondered silently.

‎Although Gerald was far grumpier, there was something about Bethel's demeanour that reminded him of the man. Because of that resemblance, he felt an almost irresistible urge to taunt him further, but decided to restrain himself for now. It was already becoming dull.

‎The reactions he had been hoping for were absent. Bethel was clearly exerting effort to keep his composure, and that alone amused Kyle more than anything.

‎He scoffed under his breath and lifted his bag from the floor.

‎Bethel sighed, then spoke hesitantly, showing he truly did not want Kyle to join his party but, as a respected man in the Citadel, he had to honour his promise:

‎"You're now an official member of the hunting party. Tomorrow morning I will introduce you to the core members so you can be formally recognised among them. Once that is settled, you will be free to go on group or solo hunting missions. However, you must share the spoils with the party on a fifty fifty basis. Do you agree to those terms?"

‎Without a moment's hesitation, Kyle grinned.

‎"Of course, Sir! I will not let you down."

‎They held each other's gaze for a time as Kyle stood before Bethel with his hands upon his chest in a somewhat playful manner, attempting to make it look sincere while swearing an oath of allegiance.

‎'I'm obviously going solo and completing the mission without any thorn. I'm sorry, but your blood will be rewarded, Bethel...'

‎***

‎Kyle left the area and made his way to his room on the upper floor of the Citadel. Naturally, only those wealthy enough could afford a private chamber; most others slept on the cold ground in the communal hall, huddled together to endure the chill and other discomforts. At dawn, they were often roused in unpleasant ways and sent out to hunt, bringing back meat and Essence cores to sustain the Citadel.

‎Although life for the weak and poor within these walls was utterly hellish, they still preferred it to the horrors outside and praised the Citadel's leaders each day with genuine devotion, including the Lord of the Citadel. After all, these rulers had granted them refuge instead of leaving them to perish on the perilous island, where both the Red Cult and savage beasts roamed freely, some growing stronger and evolving at a terrifying pace.

‎As for the Lord of the Citadel, their gender remained a mystery, so everyone referred to this enigmatic ruler simply as they. Few had ever laid eyes upon them, and even fewer had lived to tell the tale. Most only knew the name through whispered stories that passed quietly from one survivor to another.

‎Kyle sat on the rusted bed in his room. The chamber lay deep within the Citadel, built from massive stone blocks whose surfaces had long lost their smoothness with age. The bed frame was made of corroded metal, and the thin mattress sagged heavily in the centre. A small wooden table stood by the wall, beside a chair with one leg shorter than the others. In one corner hung a tattered curtain, discoloured and frayed at the edges. It covered neither a window nor a doorway but had been placed there by Kyle himself.

‎He remained still for a brief while before standing and walking towards the corner.

‎When he reached it, he pulled the curtain aside. Behind it, the wall was completely covered in markings. Rough drawings and etched lines sprawled across the surface from top to bottom. There were circles, arrows, and uneven strokes layered over one another. Some sections were scratched out entirely, while others were redrawn in thicker, darker marks. Among the chaotic scrawl were a few roughly written words, nearly illegible.

‎Only Kyle understood the meaning behind these markings. Though he had never been taught to write, he had devised his own method of recording thoughts. Every line, curve, and symbol represented an idea, a memory, or a plan that he carried in his mind.

‎The drawings formed a map of possibilities, choices, and outcomes he had envisioned. Each mark held significance, and by merely glancing at one, he could recall its meaning with perfect clarity. It was his personal archive, the sole record of his ambitions, and the tool by which he shaped what came next.

‎He examined the wall attentively, his gaze tracing the rough drawings until it settled upon one that depicted three lines converging into a single arrow. Crouching down, he picked up a small stone from the floor and dragged it across the drawing until the lines were erased.

‎Kyle watched the marks fade, then murmured to himself in a low, detached tone:

‎"Alright, it's time to advance to level two."

‎He let the stone fall from his fingers and stepped back from the wall.

‎Drawing the curtain closed once more, he ensured the markings were concealed from view. The fabric hung unevenly, yet it sufficed. He turned back towards his bed and sat down in silence, his gaze fixed upon the window beside him.

‎'I should really try again tonight. Perhaps fortune might favour me if I use the Starred Lantern once more.'

‎Until the hour before entering the Citadel, Kyle had not given the Starred Lantern any real value. It had seemed like a useless item without much purpose. Now that he understood what it could do, he treated it differently. He waited until the last traces of daylight had vanished before preparing to use it.

‎When night arrived, Kyle stood and went to the window. The frame was rusted, but it opened with some effort. He climbed through carefully, descended the wall using a worn wooden ladder, and landed outside. He summoned the Starred Lantern, and it appeared in his hand with a steady light that was clear yet not bright. The glow responded to movement and revealed any living presence nearby.

‎Kyle held the lantern out in front of him as he began to move. The light exposed faint outlines of the creatures wandering the ruins even at a great distance. They appeared only through the lantern's radiance, visible for brief moments before fading again. Kyle observed their positions and adjusted his steps to remain out of their path. He continued moving along the outer edges of the Citadel, keeping the lantern raised and watching for any sign of motion.

‎When he was certain the area ahead was clear, he pressed forward into the darkness, guided only by the Starred Lantern's steady glow.

‎

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