The overcast sky shrouded London that afternoon. A thin mist crept between towering buildings and narrow alleys. Charles's carriage stopped in front of a grand yet gaudy mansion—the residence of Lord Halberd, a nobleman rumored to be spreading the "Sun Religion."
Charles stepped down slowly, his movements graceful and deliberate. A black fur-lined coat hung over his shoulders, making him look like a king in a tragic play. Behind him, Vespera followed in the form of a maid—gentle in appearance, but her sharp gaze scanned every corner with deadly intent.
A servant greeted them at the front door with a practiced, hollow smile.
"Welcome, Lord Milverton," he said, bowing deeply.
"Take me to Lord Halberd. Tell him I wish to discuss... health matters," Charles replied, his gaze drifting through the doorway, noting the golden statues and expensive tapestries depicting suns and sacrificial offerings.
In a lavish sitting room adorned with a small golden altar, Halberd awaited them. The plump man with a well-groomed beard rose with a laugh when Charles entered.
"Lord Milverton! What an honor! I can't believe… you're alive!"
Charles offered a faint, loaded smile. "I can't believe it either, Lord Halberd. But then again, this world is full of surprises."
They sat. Charles observed the man closely, studying every flicker of his expression.
"How's your health these days?" Charles asked calmly, though his voice carried a distinct chill.
Halberd laughed nervously, a sheen of sweat glistening on his temple. "Excellent, of course! Thanks to the divine light of the Sun... ha ha."
"Ah yes… the Sun Religion," Charles nodded. "I've heard you're quite active in spreading it."
Halberd's eyes narrowed, his tone turning cautious. "We simply aim to offer hope to those in need. The commoners… they crave guidance."
"True guidance," Charles said softly, "shouldn't come at a price."
Halberd's smile stiffened. "Offerings, Lord Milverton. All faiths need support."
Charles held his gaze in silence for a long moment before finally leaning back in his seat. "Then allow me to tell you something."
Halberd swallowed hard, visibly uneasy.
"And what might that be, my Lord?"
Charles's smile faded. His eyes hardened. "We all must pay for what we've done."
Halberd froze.
"God may forgive," Charles added as he stood, "but the Devil… does not."
Without another word, he turned and left, leaving Halberd paralyzed in his seat.
Unbeknownst to him, Vespera had already slipped in through a back window. She quietly emptied most of the "offerings"—gold and coin stolen from the desperate poor. On the mirror above the altar, she left a single message in red lipstick:
"We know everything."
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Later that night, in the darkened streets...
Charles walked swiftly, following a figure cloaked in pale blue robes—the same person who had just denounced the "Sun Religion" in the middle of the crowd. He trailed her quietly through winding alleys.
The figure finally stopped in front of an old, crumbling chapel covered in moss and overgrown vines. Above its weathered door, the symbol of a crescent moon carved in blue stone glimmered faintly.
Charles followed her inside... only to be greeted by a sharp voice.
"Stop!"
A young woman in a nun's habit stepped out from behind a pillar. Her face was beautiful, though marred with small scars—marks of stones thrown by cruel hands. Her eyes were fierce and full of suspicion.
"You… you're one of those Sun worshippers, aren't you?! Get out of here now!"
Charles didn't retreat. He looked her in the eyes, his voice low.
"I don't follow anyone."
He stepped forward.
"I am... a devil."
The nun—Cantarella—froze. Her eyes widened, her lips trembling… then slowly, the tension melted into something older. Something wounded.
"…A devil, huh…" she murmured.
After a long pause, she sighed and sat down on an old wooden bench.
"Then you might understand."
Charles joined her.
Cantarella gazed at the empty altar before her. "Our faith… the Blue Moon… it was once respected. But now, we're seen as filth. As heretics. As traitors. They spit at us, stone us. They say we bring curses."
"What keeps you going?" Charles asked quietly.
Cantarella gave a small, bitter smile. "Because we're the only ones who don't beg for gold. We simply teach peace… and remember a world that once knew quiet. But people prefer shining illusions… like the Sun Religion."
Charles said nothing.
Within him, the flames of vengeance stirred again—but this time, they were mingled with something new: sympathy.
And purpose.
He stood.
"I'll help you—if you're ready to bear the consequences."
Cantarella looked up, her gaze steady. "Anything… for this church."
Charles smiled faintly. "I like your answer."
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