The man looked at Kael the way an old dog eyes a piece of meat it knows isn't his—but still wants to bite.
Kael lowered his head slightly, then stepped forward, letting himself seem frail and unsteady. A confused expression slowly took shape on his face—like wet thread teased apart with patience.
"I'm... from his mother's side," he said softly. "We... weren't very close."
The man squinted. Unconvinced. But also... not invested enough to argue.
Kael let out a sigh, the kind a child makes when trying to be polite, then added, "Webster once told me... you liked being alone. So I never really expected him to introduce us…"
He let the sentence trail off—half-formed, leaving space for the man to patch up the unfinished lie.
And just as expected, the man scoffed, hesitant. "Webster said that?"
"At the east port... they mentioned it briefly. Before they left."
The man's gaze softened, though it didn't quite change. "Left for where?"
Kael looked at him. His eyes seemed innocent. But in his mind, the flicker of a city guard's stolen voice echoed—fragments from a memory not his own.
"If you eat soulvine root, sometimes it awakens your core… but sometimes it melts your soul."
And there it was—the answer.
"They said... they got a job. Something important... to find soulvine root."
The man stiffened. His breath caught.
"Soulvine?" he muttered. "Those boys... went after something like that?"
"Yeah… that's what they said."
The man grumbled, his beard twitching like uprooted roots resenting the earth. "Weird. But... who knows. Maybe they really were that stupid."
Kael let the silence stretch long. He understood—adults don't really look for the truth. They just want a reason beautiful enough to stop being suspicious—and vague enough to blame someone else when everything falls apart.
"Damn kids..." the man muttered under his breath. He let out a harsh sigh, cursing himself—for believing his sons were dead. "I... I don't know whether to be angry or relieved…"
Before leaving, the man turned once more.
"You know the room in the basement?" he asked flatly. "Keep an eye on it. I don't have time. Got business with that bastard Mark."
"Mark...?" Kael repeated quietly.
The man was already walking away. But the name had lodged itself in his mind.
Maybe he was... the one who slipped away when I killed Bert and Webster.
Kael stood in silence.
Why did that man believe me so easily? he thought. Does he not know who his wife is? Or... was he never really their father?
His footsteps felt light as he made his way back to the house. But beneath that weightlessness was a strange burden clinging to his back—like a ghost's whisper that never knew when to stop.
Elira was already waiting by the door.
Her face was dark. She had heard everything.
She was angry.
But she couldn't be.
Not a single word left her lips when Kael entered. Not even when he walked down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen, where the scent of old wood clashed with dried flowers.
Kael closed his eyes for a moment.
In his previous world, he didn't need to touch walls to know where death lay. But now, even secrets had to be clawed out with his own nails.
"Elira," he whispered. "Do you know anything about the basement?"
The girl didn't answer. But she walked into the kitchen, pointing to a soot-stained wall—rough stone turned black by years of smoke. That might be it.
Kael touched one of the stones.
There was a faint resonance. Not from the stone itself, but from something behind it—as if... the wall was breathing.
He pressed it gently. The sound of an old mechanism echoed.
A gap opened in the floor.
Elira leaned forward, eyes wide. "A hidden door..."
Kael went down first.
The old wooden steps creaked like they could give out at any moment. At the bottom stood a large door—made of dark metal and carved with symbols he didn't recognize. It felt like it wasn't just meant to block bodies... but thoughts as well.
Kael tried to open it. But it wouldn't budge.
"Weird…" he muttered. "Feels like it's locked from... the inside."
Elira stared at it for a while. Then said, hesitantly, A magical seal. I've seen them before.
Kael turned quickly. "You're sure?"
Elira nodded slowly. "I've seen... a lot of doors like this. Back home. My father used to seal them the same way."
Kael looked at her. Long and deliberate.
This girl... he thought. She might be more than she seems.
He swallowed hard.
Back then… I didn't need mana to conquer the world. But now, the world demands things I no longer possess.
He stood. Left the basement without a word.
"Elira."
"Hm?"
"I'm stepping out for a bit."
"You don't want to rest?"
"Just for a moment."
His steps floated across Rosandale's dusty streets. He walked in silence. Without a clear path... but with solid intent.
He was looking for that man.
The father of Bert and Webster.
Night was falling like a wound left unstitched.
At night, Rosandale wasn't a city—it was a labyrinth.
The smell of sewage and charcoal crept through the cracks in the walls, and the sounds of insects whispered like secrets from the breathing bricks. Kael blended into the shadows, moving soundlessly across the damp stones.
He saw him.
That man.
Walking briskly toward the eastern part of the city—into the slums, into the narrow alleys.
He didn't chase—only drifted behind. Like a shadow too lazy to cling, but too restless to part.
At the end of a narrow alley, the man stopped.
Someone was waiting. Younger, with messy hair and a torn coat. His face was lined with fear.
"Mark?" the older man growled. "You said... my sons are missing? Killed?"
Mark stiffened, his body like a wet rope forced upright.
"Y-Yes!" he blurted out in panic. "They… they were slaughtered! I—I don't know by who, but… it's true!"
Silence fell.
Kael squinted from behind the wall, studying Mark's every move. His trembling fingers, the sweat trickling down his temple, and… his eyes.
"Hmph." The old man snorted. "If they were really killed… their corpses should've been found by other hunters by now. But no one's come back, Mark. Not a single one!"
His voice was low, barely a whisper. But the weight behind it made even the walls shiver.
"I… I'll look into it again. Maybe they were taken by a creature or—"
"Silence."
One word. Heavy. Final.
The man turned and walked off—cutting through the darkness like a broken spear that was still sharp.
He stood in silence,
absorbing everything : the tone of Mark's voice, his fear, his expressions, and… the faint hatred dripping between his words.
This would be the next memory he stole.
But not yet. Not now.
Kael knew—murder in this city couldn't be done carelessly. Not just because of laws… but because of sound. Because of rumors. And because the landowners were up to something unknown.
If I kill him now, it might confuse them. Mark isn't their target—and he's not an easy one, either.
He turned around. Headed home.
The door creaked softly as Kael entered. A dim lantern lit the main room—along with Elira.
She had just come out of the bathroom.
Her black hair was wet, dripping down her bare shoulders. She wore loose clothes, but too thin—far too thin to hide the curves usually veiled by her stern demeanor and flat voice.
Kael stared—direct, unblinking.
"You're more beautiful than I thought."
No awe, no hesitation.
To Kael, it was a simple observation—like saying water was colder than fire.
Elira froze. The ends of her hair still dripping, her usually pale cheeks now tinged with pink.
Why did her skin turn red? Was that some kind of human defense mechanism? Or a hormonal malfunction?
"W-What… did you just say?" Her voice was soft, nearly choked.
Kael tilted his head. His eyes were calm. Too calm.
"Was I wrong? I've never seen a woman that beautiful before."
Her face grew redder.
"You—! I—I… You're not supposed to say things like that…!"
Kael just shrugged. He didn't know what was wrong. He only said what he saw.
"Elira."
"What?"
"Your skin's really smooth, too."
"KAEL!"
She turned away, towel pressed to her face. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. Kael simply stood there, confused.
Why is she yelling?
In a calm but slightly shaky voice, Elira said, "Just… go shower. We haven't bathed since yesterday. You reek of blood."
Kael nodded. Showering… meant cleaning the body before resting. A biological ritual he didn't need… but he didn't mind trying it.
Steam slipped through the bathroom door as Kael stepped out.
His white hair dripped down his neck. He wore no shirt, just a pair of loose pants Elira had given him. His skin was pale, but not weak. His muscles were small, but defined. A vagabond's body, yes—but also that of someone stitched together by wounds and leftover courage.
Elira looked over.
And froze.
It felt like someone had slapped her heart.
Beneath that boyish face—was a firm jaw, sharp cheekbones, and dark eyes that stared without shame… but also without hope.
That's not a child, she thought. That's… a man.
She quickly turned away. But her chest had already stirred.
Night descended like a fog that had forgotten its path.
Elira laid out a thin mattress in the main room—the only place warm enough to sleep.
"Sleep here," she said. "We'll have to take turns keeping watch tomorrow morning."
Kael just sat there. His eyes empty. But his heart… curious.
He looked at the mattress placed far from him. "Why don't we sleep closer?"
"Huh?" Elira turned quickly.
"I'm not used to sleeping alone," Kael said plainly. "Back then… my parents and I always slept close. We shared body heat."
Her cheeks flushed again. "Y-You… that's not the point—!"
Kael didn't answer. He just looked at her.
And in the end… Elira gave in.
They lay down. Side by side. The space between them polite… but close enough for their shadows to touch.
Silence fell.
And in that quiet, Kael whispered.
"At night… humans usually do that thing, right?"
Elira turned sharply. "What?!"
Kael stared at the ceiling. His eyes innocent. "The thing adults do… that makes their bodies hot and their hearts race…"
Elira swallowed hard.
She turned slowly.
"…Do you want to teach me tonight?"
Elira didn't answer.
But her body was frozen like stone.
And Kael just stared blankly at the ceiling—unaware that next to him, a girl was silently struggling to keep her heart from crumbling under the weight of something she couldn't name.
Elira didn't move.
She couldn't.
Kael was still staring at the ceiling—until, slowly, he turned his head toward her. His voice was soft. Measured.
"Would it help... if we just tried it?"
Elira's breath hitched. Her heart pounded like it was trying to outrun her body.
Kael reached toward the blanket between them. He pulled it back—just a little. An inch closer.
"You're warm," he said quietly. "I want to know what that feels like. The heat people share... at night."
Elira's eyes widened.
Kael looked straight at her.
There was no lust in his gaze. No shyness, either. Just curiosity—sharp, pure, and impossible to read.
"Teach me, Elira."
Then—
He leaned in.
His face, inch by inch, moved closer to hers.
Breath brushed against breath.
A shadow crossed her lips.
His eyes didn't waver.
Not once.
Then—
End of chapter.