Moonlight spilled across the Duke's study, slipping between the tall, arched windows and scattering silver light over stacks of parchment and opened files.
Duke Castorik sat behind his heavy oak desk, flipping through records of adventurers. His brows furrowed with every name he read and dismissed.
He sighed, finally setting the papers down.
"Did you cut their fingers — the spies who provided the intel?" His voice was calm, but the weight of it filled the room. "Tell them if they don't bring Jonah here by tomorrow morning… their heads are next."
Diana, standing by the candlelit corner, stuttered. "Y-Yes, sir. We had each of them lose one finger… They've gone to Portrident to get Jonah."
Castorik leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking. The flickering candlelight carved sharp shadows across his face.
Diana hesitated before speaking again. "Sir… I would never question you, but— it seems excessive. You're pressuring yourself instead of resting. You already have a tight schedule daily… Why go so far to find this person?"
Castorik lifted his gaze, a soft chuckle breaking through his fatigue. "Is it that weird?"
Diana nodded gently. "Yes… I mean, Jonah didn't perform anything grand. Even ordinary bishops across the churches can do similar healing. We checked the adventurers he treated — they still have scars left. There are bishops who could do better… well, not the same light Jonah did, but close enough."
Castorik rose from his chair, walking toward the window. The moonlight painted his figure in silver as he clasped his hands behind his back.
"Yes," he said, "Jonah certainly isn't the best healer. I could pay higher and get better ones. But, Diana… did you know there was a prophecy?"
"A prophecy?" she asked.
He turned slightly, eyes gleaming. "Yes. It was made the day the third prince was born — the prince of this very great empire we serve, the Empire of Warduica. It was made by the pope of the Trithron Church."
"Trithron?" Diana asked. "Wasn't't Trithron was the only church in Warduica? Until the emperor allowed different religions to spread their faith?"
Castorik gave a small nod, smiling faintly. "Of course. The emperor allowed it on the very day of the prophecy, you see." He paused, stepping closer to the desk again. "The pope stated that when the third prince was born, he would one day be throned as emperor. A golden boy, he called him. Someone who would take the empire to its greatest height."
"I see…" Diana murmured, listening closely.
"But," Castorik continued, "that same day, the pope saw something else. He realized the third prince was the devil himself — a tyrant who would take the empire through glory, but with an iron fist. Millions would die… billions would suffer."
Diana gasped, covering her mouth. "Then didn't they try to…kill the prince?"
Castorik chuckled darkly, resting a hand on the edge of the desk. "Of course. The dukes, myself included and ministers begged for his execution. But the emperor refused. He asked the pope what should be done."
He straightened, the candlelight glinting in his eyes.
"The pope said 'Preach him religion. Make him believe in good.' But the prince would never choose one. Why would the devil himself believe in goodness?"
Diana's voice softened. "So… the emperor—"
"Yes," Castorik said, finishing for her. "The emperor allowed all religions to flood into Warduica, each hoping to reach the prince's heart. He thought that, one day, his son might find a god he could love."
Castorik's eyes drifted toward the moonlight spilling through the tall window, his voice softening.
"That," he said slowly, "was the prophecy."
He turned his gaze back to Diana, the faintest smile curling at the edge of his lips.
"The prophecy of the tyrant who would love god… and become a wise king."
The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the whisper of wind against the glass, as though even the night itself was listening.
He smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "But the prince has reached nineteen, and still calls himself an atheist. He isn't a devil like people feared, but I've seen him — a cunning man. A man who sees benefit in kindness."
Diana lowered her gaze. "Even the other dukes say he isn't a bad person now… they don't realise he pretends to be good."
Castorik's tone deepened. "Exactly. And that's why Jonah matters. If Jonah is telling the truth about a new faith, a new God… if he can make the prince believe in something, then the prince will do anything for Jonah the Prophet."
He stepped closer to her, his voice lowering. "And if Jonah has always been supported by someone… who do you think Jonah will work for?"
Diana smiled faintly. "You, sir."
Castorik smirked. "Of course. If Jonah is mine, then the prince belongs to Jonah. And in the end…" He looked out the window again, his reflection cold in the glass. "The empire will be shaped by me."
Diana bowed her head. "I see, sir. I'll make sure we get to Jonah. But… isn't there an easier way? We could send Dilek to fetch him. And why by tomorrow? What's the rush?"
Castorik sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. "I'm going to the capital the day after tomorrow. As always, the third prince wants shining stars, people with potential from different regions annually. I already found a man worthy of that title, but…" He smiled thinly. "If I can introduce Jonah to the emperor before the prince even learns of it, the reward for our territory will be immense. That's why I need the whole day tomorrow to convince Jonah for myself."
The wind outside stirred the curtains, As a cloud covered the moonlight, Diana left the room for immediate orders as Castorik continued looking for jonah's existence
—
"Well, shit… I can't sleep," Dilek muttered, lying on the large bed in the guestroom of Duke Castorik's manor.
The bed was soft, and the silken sheets smelled faintly of lavender. The moonlight spilling through the tall window gave the room a pale glow, touching the edges of the furniture and casting long shadows across the floor.
Dilek sat up, rubbing his temples. He was wearing a dark blue nightgown provided by the servants.
"Of course I can't sleep," he grumbled quietly. "What if I wake up tied up… and he punishes me for lying? Should I run? But wouldn't that make me more suspicious?"
He sighed, his thoughts racing. 'But I'm already low on time. He'll find out I lied if he checks the guild and doesn't find a guy called Jonah…'
For a while, he just sat there, panicking in silence — before finally exhaling and steadying himself.
"…I'll take a walk. What's he gonna do, stop me?"
Dilek swung his legs off the bed and padded toward the door. When he opened it, he was met by two guards standing on either side.
He blinked. "I'm walking around… got a problem?"
The guards looked at each other, then shook their heads.
"Good." Dilek grinned and stepped past them.
The hallway beyond was dimly lit, with tall glass windows letting in streaks of silver light. The marble floor was cold beneath his bare feet. This place really is something else, he thought, glancing at the carved pillars and polished walls.
As he walked, the silence of the manor pressed down on him. He saw barely any servants, most had gone to bed. though there were plenty of guards standing still like statues. No one questioned him.
'Ever since I've come here it's always cold at night… Is it the season? Or is it the location?'
He was still thinking when he heard it, a loud THUD echoing from somewhere ahead.
He frowned. 'What the hell was that?'
The sound came from behind a large wooden door with no guards stationed nearby. Dilek hesitated, then shrugged.
"I'm entering," he said under his breath as he pushed it open. "Sorry if I'm disturbing youuu—"
The room inside was wide but plain, lit by a single chandelier swinging gently from the ceiling. A faint smell of oil and metal hung in the air.
On a couch near the far wall sat a man cleaning a massive hammer. The weapon's handle was nearly the length of Dilek's arm, and the hammerhead looked bigger than Dilek himself.
"Woah…" Dilek whistled. "Cool hammer, old man."
The man looked up. He had a slightly gray beard and mustache, and the same nightgown as dilek. A few silver hairs visible on his head.
"Old man?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. He stared at Dilek for a moment before saying, "Aren't you the guy who heal—"
Dilek darted forward and clamped a hand over the man's mouth. "HEY! Don't speak out loud!" he hissed. "Just call me Dilek. Don't say anything about me loudly, got it?"
The man blinked in surprise, then nodded. Dilek slowly released him.
"I see," the man said, adjusting his cloak. "Then call me Anton. Though… why would you hide your achievements?"
"Huh? Why are you prying, old man?" Dilek frowned. "What the hell's someone like you doing here anyway? Wait—" He froze. "Are you part of the Duke's army?!"
Does Castorik already know about me? Oh… ohhh shit.
Anton shook his head. "Not at all. Though I was approached by the Duke to go with him to the capital. Something about being chosen as the yearly candidate for a 'rising star.'"
"Rising star?" Dilek scoffed. "An old man?"
Anton sighed. "I'm in my forties."
"Pretty old, don't you think?" Dilek smirked, sitting down on the couch opposite him. "Can you even lift that thing?"
Anton looked down at his hammer, then back at Dilek. "Yes," he said flatly.
Dilek leaned back, grinning. "Sure you can."
The Chandelier above them flickered a little. Dilek leaned back, watching Anton polish the last bit of his hammer before setting it down beside him.
"Cool," Dilek said casually, stretching his arms. "Anyway… do you know how to get out of here?"
Anton blinked, caught off guard. "Why so?" He gave Dilek a curious look, eyes shifting from his face to the nightgown he was wearing — the same as his own. "Clearly, you seem to be a guest too."
Dilek scratched the back of his head. "Yeah… something like that."
Anton's gaze lingered on him. "Is it because Castorik is looking for you? To take you to the capital?"
Dilek went quiet for a moment. He looked down at the floor, his voice lowering. "That's true… I'm actually here for the second time."
Anton tilted his head. "The second time?"
"Yeah." Dilek's tone turned heavy, his expression dim under the lantern's glow. "Truth is, last year I was one of them — the rising stars. The only one chosen that year. I was taken there, treated well at first… until I saw the kind of work they made me do."
Anton's expression tightened as Dilek went on.
"All sorts of horrible things," he said quietly. "As a healer, I was forced to help with torture. The prince, the very prince I was introduced to would tell the soldiers to beat small-time criminals and poor residents. Beat them half to death. And every time they were close to dying, I had to heal them… just so they could suffer more."
The silence in the room grew heavy. The light flickered faintly as Anton's hands clenched.
"That's horrible…" he muttered.
"Truth is," Dilek said, eyes shifting away, "I tried to stay low. The prince warned me not to use my powers for good. But they don't know that during one of the raids… I helped everyone I could."
Anton nodded slowly, his face drawn in quiet anger. "I see. And the other rising stars? From different regions?"
Dilek looked down again, his tone almost a whisper. "Each of them lost their sense of morals. Each of them became evil... Murderers that were never punished, under the prince. I ran away… but I was caught again. Now they're taking me back."
Anton stared at him for a long moment, his eyes filled with pity and guilt. Finally, he spoke. "Let's escape together. I'll help you. I'll never use my strength for hurting others."
Dilek blinked, almost surprised, then a small, relieved smile crossed his face. "Thanks," he said softly.
This is perfect, he thought. Oh wow, he actually fell for that lie? It'll be pretty bad if he finds out I made it all up… but he seems convinced.
This'll work. An ally till we escape together.
Dilek smirked faintly in the dim light, the thought lingering in his head as Anton grabbed his hammer and gave him a firm nod.
—
The night was young.
The wind howled through the empty streets of Portrident. Above it all, on the highest point of the city's belltower, stood a figure cloaked in black — the Darkest Night.
Moonlight brushed against the edge of his elephant's skull mask as he gazed down at the guild hall from a distance. From somewhere deep within the tower came a sound, A long, shrill scream. A wraith's cry.
The Darkest Night didn't flinch. He only tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curling across his lips.
"Dilek…" he murmured, voice low and amused. "Already caught in Castorik's schemes?"
He let out a quiet chuckle as the wind tugged at his cloak.
"I suppose I should lend a hand to Iris. Well… seeing how she'll eventually be forced to take over the guild,
From vice guildmaster to guildmaster."
The wraith screamed again, its echo swallowed by the tolling of the great bell as the Darkest Night vanished into the air.
—
At the same time, In the tavern, Duja sat stiffly at a long wooden table. His hands fidgeted against his knees, eyes darting toward the ticking clock on the wall.
Across from him, Hela stood with her arms crossed, her heel tapping the floor in an impatient rhythm.
"Fifty minutes left," she said sharply, eyes fixed on the clock. "Duja — get ready. We're going to get each of them."
Her tone was firm, but Duja could sense the storm beneath it. Hela was angry, really angry and that alone made his stomach twist, Also because he was hungry, and hela didn't make any dinner since dilek and the others didn't return.
He swallowed hard, nodding quickly. "Y-Yes, ma'am…"
Even Duja, who'd faced monsters, dungeons, and blood-soaked contracts, found himself trembling from the anger of his wife. Because Hela wasn't just mad — she was concerned.
And when Hela was concerned, someone was going to suffer.