A creak echoed through the room—Kreeeek!

The door swung open.

A man in formal attire stepped inside. Neat, composed, and moving with deliberate caution, he scanned the room—especially the grand table at its center. Earlier, it had been filled with the finest dishes. Now, all that remained were empty plates.

The one sitting in the chair had eaten everything. Every last crumb.

That man… was Cyn.

The newcomer took a few steps forward.

"That's him. You may leave now. His identity has been confirmed. We apologize—these are protocols mandated by Lord Kassal himself. I hope you don't mind, Sir Cyn."

A few hot-tempered guards exited the room, leaving behind a parting jab:

"Just so you know! We only take orders from Lord Kassal—not from you."

Cyn snorted, patting his full stomach.

"Yeah, yeah… Kassal takes orders from me. I'm your superior; without me, you're nothing—hahahaha! Now get out and shut the door!"

They cursed under their breath—damn him!—but could do nothing.

The door slammed, and their muffled swearing drifted away into the corridor.

The elegant man—Gilbert—spoke nervously.

"Sir Cyn, are you certain you shouldn't remain in bed? Wounds like those would leave anyone unable to move."

Cyn smiled. "Relax. Wounds heal with time."

Gilbert nodded.

"Even so, Sir Cyn, your sudden arrival without prior notice caused some complications. Especially since none of us have ever seen you or interacted with you before. I hope you didn't take offense… When that farmer brought you here in that condition, nothing he said made sense. That's why treatment was delayed."

Cyn recalled the man.

At the edge of the outer districts, he had found a farmer cleaning cow manure beside a horse and cart. Cyn told the man to take him to the northern branch of the Raven Bloodline, promising him generous payment if he complied.

The farmer had been terrified for his life, but greed had blinded him. Perhaps this stranger was wealthy, maybe even a noble—worth the risk.

There were problems—the farmer didn't know the roads well and got lost inside the capital—but eventually, he delivered Cyn safely. And the branch compensated him fairly.

Now Cyn sat here.

"What about Kassal? Did he say anything else?"

Gilbert smiled awkwardly. Now that those fools were gone, he could finally explain properly.

"Lord Kassal said he couldn't come due to matters of personal importance. He also said Sir Miguel had already done what was needed regarding your current state. So you should rest and return once you recover. There is nothing to worry about. Returning to the palace like this would only raise suspicion and questions. Focus on healing."

Cyn praised him.

"You really do deserve to be the branch leader of the northern side. You explained everything clearly. So… does this mean I'm on vacation?"

For a moment, Cyn wondered if this was freedom—time outside the palace to do whatever he pleased.

Gilbert quickly corrected him, voice tense.

"Not exactly, Sir Cyn. Please remember—you must heal quickly so you can return. Lord Kassal and Sir Miguel can't cover your absence for long. I'll summon healers to accelerate your recovery."

Cyn popped grapes into his mouth.

"Why the worry? It's not every day I get to leave the palace and ditch my responsibilities. Still… I didn't expect Kassal to tell his subordinates everything. We agreed this would stay secret."

Gilbert reassured him.

"Don't worry, Sir Cyn. Only a handful know anything—trusted individuals in the highest circle, barely enough to count on one hand. And if I hadn't known some details, we wouldn't have treated you at all, and you'd be in far worse shape. Consider it for the greater good. Lord Kassal is strict about such matters."

Cyn waved a hand.

"Fine, fine. I get it. Anyway, I'm still hungry. See if you've got anything else to serve."

Gilbert could only smile helplessly. After all he'd eaten, he still wanted more. But it couldn't be helped.

---

Meanwhile, in a crumbling house, an old man knelt on the floor, trembling.

The house was in ruins, the filthy ground stained with fresh blood.

The old man bowed, forehead pressed against the dirt.

"P-please, sir… forgive me, don't kill me! Maria… Emmy… you left before me… I—I'm sorry… please, sir!"

Two corpses lay before him—one elderly woman and a young girl.

Their blood coated the floor. The man begged, shaking uncontrollably.

Before him sat another old man on a chair.

Valgean.

Behind him stood Tristan, silent and cold.

Tristan spoke, voice like ice.

"I already told you—no need to lie. The blood trail leads here. So where are you hiding him?"

The old man wailed,

"Please! You killed my wife, my daughter—I really don't know! Please, I—"

A cold voice cut through his cries.

Crack. Fingers tightened.

"No need to scream. No need to beg. Your cries will only drive your wife's and daughter's souls away… and maybe even your son's. Your son isn't returning. So speak."

The old man froze.

"H-h-how did you—!? And why won't he—"

Valgean smiled faintly.

"Your son's soul left long before you. So talk. Maybe I'll let you live."

Despair crushed the man.

His only wish had been for his son to return—

to hear the screams,

to realize his mother and sister were dead,

to understand the danger…

and run.

But now, this stranger told him that his son had died long before any of this.

The old man had refused to reveal where the boy went—hoping his son had escaped.

But now that hope had crumbled.

He lifted his head with a sickly, defeated smile, as if offering his final will.

"T-the northern side… the Raven Bloodline branch… I hope you kill the man who did this to us."

Of course, he meant Cyn.

Tristan thought,

Kindness and greed… that's what destroyed you.

"Do we let him go?" Tristan asked.

Valgean smiled.

"First rule…

You don't let a vengeful old man live."

---

Several healers exited Cyn's room, carrying jars of herbal ointments meant to help the wounds close. Cyn could tell his injuries wouldn't heal easily.

He looked at himself in the mirror.

It was as if he were searching for something—something missing.

His scar was gone.

His healing had once been far faster than this, especially when the Pride Scar still rested on his body.

He tried recalling what happened in that strange space.

Everything felt dreamlike… yet it had been real.

The Scar of Pride would have devoured him one day—

No… perhaps it already had begun.

He'd left everything behind in that collapsed lab—

the jars containing its blood, and everything else.

But the raw source always came from him, so he wasn't too worried.

Still…

his scar was gone.

Questions swirled through his mind, but now wasn't the time for answers.

Cyn smiled faintly and looked at the table.

A shimmer caught his eye—

gold coins.

Grad, the primary currency of this world.

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