A group of people in black robes entered an old mansion in a hurry. They number about a dozen. One of them led the way while carrying the body of a shirtless young man. There were so many cuts on his body, his face looked lifeless, although only seen from the side because some part of his face was directed towards the chest of someone who was carrying him. His arms stretched downwards without the slightest bit of energy.

They arrived at a large hall. Many gargoyle statues stood firmly in the corners of the room. Old chandeliers with large candles lit up the hall. One of the shortest stature opened her head cover. She was a woman, her hair falling down to her shoulders as her arms lowered the cloak covering her head.

"Camille!" a man behind him quickly turned towards the woman.

"Is my face ruined?" the woman asked.

The man in front of him gaped at the torn cheek of the woman named Camille. The blood on her face had even dried.

"Your cheeks are torn!" The man looked panicked.

Suddenly one person from the group walked up to the two. She also took off her head cover. She looks like a middle-aged woman with a very arrogant face but still looks beautiful.

"Mother…" Camille greeted the woman in a half-whimpering tone of voice.

"Repario virutum…" The woman called mother by Camille caught the air right in front of Camille's face with one palm of her hand.

The lacerations on Camille's face slowly drew closer like invisible threads and needles were embroidering them.

"The scars are still visible but now you don't feel the pain anymore." The woman gently touched Camille's cheek which was already stitched.

"Merci beaucoup." Camille looked at her mother quietly.

"I will avenge that girl!" The man who had been looking worried all this time held Camille's hand tightly while looking at her.

"Don't be rash Bern, we're facing a monster." Camille's mother answered very casually.

"I'm fine Bernard." Camille chimed in on the man who was holding her hand.

The candles around the hall suddenly went out. The cold wind came in and penetrated inside slowly. From the far end of the Hall appeared a large tall figure in black robe that floated slowly toward the dozen people who had just gathered.

"Augusta…" A voice that sounded so old yet so terrifying heard from the floating robed figure who was already in front of the people kneeling before him.

"Pardon…" The one called Augusta answered, he was the man who had been holding the dying young man.

The robed figure moved its arms slowly up into the air and simultaneously, the dying young man was also lifted up into an empty air in a supine position.

"Santherum Virtus!" The figure chanted an incantation, in an instant, the young man floating in the air and open his eyes. He take a deep breath. His eyes widened as if he had just woken up from a long sleep and nightmare. The cuts on his body quickly closed one by one. The energy seemed to fill his body again.

The man named Augusta who was still kneeling quickly stand up and remove the robe covering his head, he stare in disbelief at the young man who still floating in front of him.

"Father..." The young man turn to Augusta in disbelief.

Augusta reflexively hug the young man who had managed to stand up straight and hit the floor after being unconscious for a long time.