Zareth lay on the cold stone floor of the chamber.
The surface beneath his back refused to warm, no matter how long he stayed still. Bandages wrapped tightly around his chest and arms, restricting even the smallest movement, each shift pulling painfully at his skin. Every breath felt regulated like the chamber itself was deciding how much air he was allowed to take.
He tried to push himself up again.
Pain flared through his body.
Zareth stopped immediately, jaw tightening as he forced himself back down.
"Damn it…"
His voice came out rough, barely steady.
The chamber was silent. Too silent.
Even the faint glow of the seals beneath him seemed to have a rhythm like it was counting time he wasn't part of.
Zareth turned his head slightly, eyes scanning the room.
Stone walls. Marked seals. Pale chains of light hovering near the edges, suspended like they were waiting for something to respond.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to steady himself.
His chest ached with every breath.
A dull pressure lingered there neither pain nor exhaustion.
Something deeper. Something he couldn't name. Sitting just beneath
his thoughts, waiting for him to stop paying attention.
Zareth swallowed.
His throat felt dry.
His fingers shifted against the floor, trembling once before going still again.
"…What happened to me…"
The words came without clarity only fragments. Chains tightening. A voice he couldn't place. Something inside him reacting when everything else was supposed to be still.
His brows furrowed.
The thought slipped away before he could grasp it.
Zareth stared at the ceiling instead.
Another pulse moved through the seals beneath him.
Faint. Controlled. But closer than before.
His breathing slowed without permission.
Zareth didn't move.
He listened.
And in that silence, he realized something simple.
The room wasn't empty.
It was holding him down.
Zareth stayed still.
He tried to convince himself it was only the chamber the seals reacting, the aftermath of whatever had been done to him. But the longer he lay there, the harder it became to ignore the pressure beneath his skin.
It didn't leave. It waited. Patient.
His fingers curled slightly against the stone before he noticed it. He forced them open again.
"Get it together…"
The words were quiet. Only for himself.
Zareth slowly turned his head again, studying the chamber more carefully. The pale chains of light near the walls hovered without movement, perfectly spaced as if the room had been designed around him rather than containing him.
Like it already knew his limits.
His chest tightened.
Not from pain.
From something inside reacting.
Zareth exhaled slower.
The breath felt heavier than it should
have.
He closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
Even then, he could feel it the seals beneath him pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat that wasn't his.
His jaw tightened.
When he opened his eyes again, nothing had changed.
But something in him had.
A sharper pressure rose in his chest.
Zareth's hand twitched before he could stop it, fingers pressing hard into the floor.
"…No."
He didn't know what he was refusing.
But the seals beneath him flickered once.
Only once.
Zareth felt it immediately.
His breathing stopped for half a beat.
His eyes lowered slowly toward the glowing markings beneath him.
He didn't move after that.
Just stared at the floor.
Realizing, for the first time, that the chamber wasn't just holding him.
It was waiting for something inside him to answer.
A faint wind chime sounded beyond the sealed door barely reaching him through stone.
Zareth's eyes shifted toward it.
Not the door itself.
Just the direction.
The chime rang again softer.
Uneven. Like the air outside had shifted.
Something in him reacted before he could stop it.
His shoulders tightened.
Instinct, not thought.
The sound came again.
Zareth's jaw tightened.
"…Why"
He forced his fingers open again.
The seals beneath him responded.
His breathing slowed without permission. That unsettled him more than the pain.
Zareth slowly turned his gaze upward again, trying to shut it out.
But the awareness had already formed.
The sound outside. The pulse beneath him. And the growing realization that they were no longer separate. They were answering each other.
"I wonder if anyone is watching right now… or maybe Kageyuki."
"That bastard demon thing."
He stood and walked around the room, tracing the walls before stopping.
The system could help.
"System."
[System]
Greetings, Zareth Ashveil. Do you wish to see your status.
Host: Zareth Ashveil
Status: Active
Classification:
Shinma Vessel
Bloodline:
Ashveil Core (Awakened)
Level: 0
Core Attributes:
Strength: 0
Perception: 0
Agility: 0
Speed: 0
Bravery: 0
Intelligence: 0
Charm: 0
"Shinma Vessel?"
The words lingered longer than they should have.
Zareth stared at the floating screen, waiting for it to change waiting for it to correct itself into something normal. It didn't. The chamber stayed silent. The seals beneath the floor glowed faintly, heavier now, more deliberate.
Zareth swallowed.
"…Explain," he said quietly.
A pause. Then.
[System]
Accessing limited archive…
Authorization partially granted.
Zareth's eyes narrowed.
Limited archive.
That wasn't an answer. That was avoidance. Zareth stood still, unmoving, as the screen hovered in front of him. He didn't know what to do next.
"System," he said finally, voice low.
"Eliminate Shinma from me."
Silence. Then the system flickered.
[System]
Elimination of Shinma blood may be possible.
Warning:
Host survival probability during removal is extremely low.
Estimated outcome:
Host termination likely.
Zareth's expression tightened.
"So removing it means killing me too…"
The system did not deny it.
His breathing steadied.
"Then eliminate me," Zareth said quietly. "Before I slaughter someone."
His heart struck once. Hard.
Then again.
Zareth clutched his chest, bracing as something inside him surged. Veins rose along his neck.
"…GRAAHH!"
[System]
Elimination Confirmed.
Everything stopped.
The chamber went still in a way that felt final. Cold. Empty.
Zareth's body collapsed to the stone floor, motionless.
[System]
Shinma elimination successful.
Erased existence.
Footsteps approached outside the chamber. Ayame and Enji.
"How did Zareth get Shinma's blood? I wonder if they met," Ayame said quietly. "I hope Zareth is fine," she added after a pause. "What do you think, Enji?"
They stopped at the door.
"…The pressure changed," Ayame murmured.
"…It stopped," Enji replied.
Ayame pushed the door open.
It creaked. Inside, the chamber was silent. Too silent.
She stepped forward. Then stopped.
Zareth was on the floor still.
Ayame already knew before she reached him.
She knelt beside his body. Her hand pressed against his chest. No response. No pulse.
"…This can't be happening."
The next day.
Ayame arrived at the Byakuren Compound.
News had already spread through the entire structure like wildfire.
Zareth's sudden death was the only thing anyone talked about.
From trainees to senior Pillars, from the inner halls to the outer city routeswhispers carried his name everywhere. No one spoke loudly, but no one stayed silent either. The silence itself felt like hesitation, as if saying it too clearly would make it real again.
Even outside the compound, word had already reached nearby districts. The story changed slightly with each retelling, but the core remained the same: Zareth was gone, and no one understood how or why.
She entered the meeting room where the others were already inside.
Ayame looked around and gave a small nod in response to the
Byakurens.
No one returned it warmly.
The atmosphere in the room was heavy.
Not from anger but from uncertainty.
Some stood near the walls. Others remained seated without speaking.
Conversations started and stopped without direction, as if no one was sure what kind of discussion was even appropriate anymore.
Ayame took her place quietly.
Her expression remained controlled, but her eyes lingered on the empty space in the center of the room.
At the center stood Seigan Kurogane, the eldest like a brother to the Byakurens.
"Byakurens… yesterday did not go as we expected. We were hoping Zareth would grow stronger and be able to fight Shinma, but he failed."
A silence followed his words.
Not the respectful kind.
The uncertain kind.
The kind that made even breathing feel louder than it should be.
Ayame's fingers tightened slightly at her side, though her face remained composed. Around the room, a few of the Byakurens shifted uncomfortably. No one interrupted
Seigan Kurogane, but no one looked relieved either.
The name Zareth hung in the air like something unfinished.
Seigan Kurogane didn't react right away.
For a moment, the room seemed to reject the words like reality itself paused, uncertain whether they were meant to be believed.
"But I can feel that Zareth Ashveil will be reborn, not from Shinma's side or the demons, but far from here. God has given him a second chance."
Ayame gaze lifted to Seigan and Everyone does.
Silent followed.
A heavy silence.
Ayame's gaze lifted toward Seigan.
One by one, the others in the room looked toward him as well.
No one spoke.
Even the restless murmurs that had filled the chamber earlier disappeared completely.
Seigan remained still at the center of the room, his expression unreadable.
His eyes lingered on the speaker for a moment longer before lowering slightly, thoughtful rather than dismissive.
"…Reborn," he repeated quietly.
One year later.
Winter winds moved through the outer districts of Kurohana City, carrying snow across narrow streets and temple roofs.
The Byakuren Compound stood quieter than before.
Not weaker.
Changed.
The halls still echoed with training and discipline, but the atmosphere had grown heavier over the past year. Conversations were shorter.
Smiles rarer. Even the younger trainees had begun to understand that the peace they once knew no longer existed.
Because the demons had become more active.
Reports arrived almost every week now.
Villages disappearing overnight.
Travelers found dead along frozen roads.
Entire patrol squads returning wounded or not returning at all.
And behind every report, one name continued to spread like a curse through the country.
Shinma.
No one had seen the demon directly in months, yet its influence lingered everywhere. Fear traveled faster than truth, and the fear alone was enough to keep entire districts awake at night.
Far from Byakuren territory, there was the Seiryoku Region.
It was a place swallowed by endless forests and heavy mist, where sunlight barely reached the ground even in daytime. The air there always felt colder, quieter like the world itself had grown distant.
People rarely went there anymore.
Not because the path was impossible, but because those who entered often never came back. The villages near its borders lived cautiously, locking their doors at night and hanging charms over their entrances just to sleep in peace.
At the heart of Seiryoku lay the Mourning Veil Forest, a place feared even by those who lived nearby. No animals stayed within it for long, and strange lantern lights were sometimes seen moving between the trees when no one should have been there.
Recently, entire villages along its edges had gone silent. No warnings.
No survivors. Only empty homes left behind in the fog.
Now, even from a distance, Seiryoku felt like something inside it was beginning to wake up again.
A home that felt empty without a family.
A twenty-three-year-old man lived there alone, relying only on his axe and a small rice farm beside his house. His days were simple cutting wood, tending the fields, and selling what he harvested just enough to survive.
To others, it might have looked like a quiet, ordinary life.
But for him, it was never easy.
Especially at night.
Because when the sun went down, the world changed. That was when the demons came out to hunt.
Every month, someone from the village disappeared.
One person from each family would leave for a neighboring district to sell wood, charcoal, or farm goods like rice and corn.
Delivering supplies to other districts took hours of travel, and many returned home late at night.
But some never came back at all.
People no longer believed it was just thieves or accidents caused by the heavy winter.
Most had already begun to suspect demons were behind the disappearances.
The Byakurens used to visit the district often after demons began hunting in the area.
Until one day inside a home. A man opened his eyes, as if experiencing life for the first time.
He sat up from the bed, feeling disoriented as his body ached from the rough, old mattress beneath him.
The room was old cobwebs gathered in the corners, and shelves were filled with dusty books and yellowed newspapers.
Across the room, a table stood beside a window with a view of the forest. On top of it lay a bunch of written papers, likely tasks or notes, along with two ballpoint pens.
He yawned deeply after the long sleep, stretching, though the soreness in his body remained.
Looking around, the room felt completely unrecognizable.
"…Where am I?" he muttered, his voice dry and rough.
The room gave no answer.
Only the soft sound of wind moving through the trees outside the window reached him.
The floor creaked softly as he stood up.
Inspecting every corners, details and things inside the room, still unrecognizable.
His gaze lowered toward the papers on the table.
Messy handwriting covered most of them lists of supplies, farming schedules, wood deliveries.
One name was written repeatedly near the corner of a page.
[Yoruji Tsukigane]
"Who is Yoruji Tsukigane."
He reached for the paper slowly, fingers brushing against the rough surface before lifting it closer.
The handwriting changed from line to line. Some words were neat.
Others looked rushed, almost desperate.
Wood delivery. Rice harvest. Repair roof before winter.
A cold breeze slipped through the slightly opened window, making the papers rustle softly across the table.
The man had never known his name since then.
Still holding the paper, he stared at the name written on it.
He wondered who it might be.
"Maybe a neighbor," he thought.
The Seiryoku Region had few houses and was not as developed as it looked at first glance.
Not many people lived there. It was quiet and lonely compared to other districts. Kurohana, by contrast, was safer and more populated.
The next day, the man prepared his axe for another day of wood chopping and looked for his gloves and boots in the tool shed beside the house. After that, he stepped out into the cold morning air.
Mist clung low to the ground, wrapping around the trees like drifting smoke. The forest beyond the house looked quiet, but not empty too quiet, as if even the wind had learned to move carefully here.
He adjusted the strap of his gloves and rested the axe over his shoulder.
Same routine.
The man walked toward the edge of the trees where he usually worked. The ground was damp from last night's rain, soft beneath his boots.
A cold mist hung between the trees, making the forest feel quieter than usual.
He continued deeper into the forest, cutting wood one tree at a time.
Each swing of the axe echoed softly through the silence, then disappeared into the mist.
Chop.
A tree fell with a heavy crack, shaking loose snow and dead leaves from its branches.
He paused only long enough to wipe his forehead before moving to the next one.
He lifted his axe and moved to the next tree, cutting it down and stacking the chopped wood at a nearby makeshift station. A cart was parked beside it, already half-filled with logs.
One by one, he repeated the same work chop, carry, stack.
The pile slowly grew as the forest stayed quiet around him.
Hours past.
The light in the forest slowly changed, growing dull and gray as the day dragged on.
The cart beside the wood station was now full. Logs were stacked unevenly, tied together with rough rope.
He stopped for a moment, resting the axe on his shoulder.
"Time to go back," he muttered.
He looked back into the forest again.
Still nothing. Just mist between the trees.
He faced forward and checked the cart of stacked wood. Then he pulled it and started heading home.
On his way home, some nearby neighbors nodded and greeted him.
They waved and called out to him by a name though he was never sure if it was truly his.
"Hey, how are you?"
They greeted him normally, like he was a close friend.
The wind moved through the trees, rustling the leaves as they drifted down to the dirt.
"Hey, good day, Yoruji Tsukigane. Did you hear the news earlier about Rumi?"
One person made him stop walking and start a conversation. But when he heard the name Yoruji Tsukigane, he paused for a moment, thinking deeply before responding.
"Rumi? What happened to him? I haven't heard from him in three days."
He paused.
Took a deep breath.
Then the man responded.
"Rumi has been missing for two days now. His family is worried sick. They asked the others for help, and they searched all around the district, but they couldn't find him."
A cool gust of air brushed against their skin.
The man continued.
"Then another group decided to search deeper into the forest. At first, they still found nothing, but they extended the search longer this time."
He paused briefly.
"…That's when they found Rumi."
The wind rustled through the trees.
"They found him beside a tree. Dead. Blood everywhere. Flesh scattered across the ground. They said his neck was slit open, like something savage had eaten him."
The man's voice lowered.
"And that wasn't all. His body was torn apart. Pieces of his organs were lying next to him."
His eyes widened in shock at the news.
His stomach twisted like he was about to throw up.
"Oh sh…t…" he muttered, gagging in disgust. "I'm sorry, I can't listen to this kind of news."
He leaned against his cart, clutching his stomach tightly.
The man quickly raised his hands.
"Ah—sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that."
Yoruji stayed leaned against the cart, breathing slowly through his nose as he tried to settle his stomach.
The image alone was enough.
Even without seeing it himself.
The wind passed through the road again, colder this time.
The man looked around before lowering his voice.
"People are saying it wasn't an animal."
Yoruji stayed silent.
The air between them suddenly felt colder.
Yoruji lowered his gaze slightly.
"...A demon."
The word didn't fade from his mind.
It stays.
The man forced out a nervous laugh.
"Anyway, the elders already told everyone not to travel alone after sunset."
Yoruji slowly nodded.
The man looked at the forest behind them for a moment before stepping back.
"Be careful going home, Yoruji."
Without another word, he walked away down the road.
Yoruji remained beside the cart.
The wind moved through the trees again.
His fingers tightened slightly around the wooden handle.
Yoruji pulled the cart forward again.
The wooden wheels creaked against the dirt road as the stacked logs shifted slightly behind him.
The village was quieter now.
A few lanterns had already been lit outside nearby homes, their faint glow barely pushing back the growing dusk. Smoke rose from chimneys into the cold air while distant voices slowly faded behind closed doors.
He arrived at his home just as the last traces of sunlight disappeared behind the forest.
The house stood alone near the edge of the trees, silent except for the wind brushing against the roof.
Yoruji stopped the cart beside the shed and rested both hands on the handle for a moment.
His breathing fogged in the cold air.
Yoruji went inside the house and took off his boots, setting them beside the wall near the entrance.