"So?" Tobias's pale face contorted with indignation, his dark eyes ablaze. "He's meant to sell his products, not indulge in them! Look at me—I don't eat this pig meat, even though I produce it. A man must never consume what he creates; it's for others. How can anyone be so shamelessly indulgent?"
He turned sharply to the Task-Enforcer. "Enough! Get rid of that body. I won't have a notary from the Pure White Ministry sniffing out murder in my domain. Even if he's just a notary, those sanctimonious types always travel with at least two ordinary or advanced-class Sanguines. Pawns, I think they call them."
The Task-Enforcer ground his teeth, his eyes briefly flicking toward Astrid and her persistent, mocking smile. Gripping his iron-inlaid cane, he barked, "Get to work! Those who've finished here, go feed the live ones in the shed. Check on the Sanguine's progress and report back to me!"
He grabbed Volker's limp body and dragged it to the meat cauldron, tossing it in with little ceremony. "Smash it!" he commanded.
The beastmen moved without protest, their faces hollow and drained. They pulled at the ropes, raising the massive pillar.
Boom!
The pillar dropped with a sickening crash, pulverizing flesh and bone under its weight. Blood and meat splattered across the floor and walls. Yet, on the cauldron's edge, a severed leg twitched—a final, grim confirmation that Volker had been alive when the cauldron crushed him.
The beastmen clenched their cracked, bloodied lips but said nothing. Their suppressed whimpers were the only rebellion they dared muster.
This is all they can do, Karl thought bitterly. Strength equals freedom.
Karl adjusted his tail, propping it onto his back with a practiced motion. Without a word, he joined a group of beastmen, including Astrid, as they shuffled out of the cave after Tobias had left.
As he passed the remnants of Volker, Karl's jaw tightened. He held back a sigh.
This damned world.
Exiting the narrow mountain cave, Karl was met by the surreal beauty of the outside. The red hues of the sunset filtered into the cave's entrance, mingling with the darkness within. Outside, the sky was painted in shades of crimson and ash, swirling together like a chaotic storm of color.
The wind carried with it a gentle push, scattering the falling crimson dust into lazy, unpredictable patterns. Rays of pale white light pierced the sky from the setting sun, a stark contrast to the swirling red clouds that bathed the world below in conflicting hues of light and shadow.
Two bird-like creatures with long, ribbon-like tails soared gracefully across the sky. Their flight curled and twisted in a serpentine dance, evoking a sense of freedom—an existence removed from responsibility.
Memories stirred in Karl's mind. On a stormy, misty night, he recalled a man coughing blood. With a strained, pained voice, the man had said, "Build them utopia."
He closed his eyes, forcing the memory back into the recesses of his mind.
Before him stretched the vast, red-dusted cornfields. They seemed endless, spreading across the horizon and merging with the distant mountains. Their jagged peaks pierced the low-hanging clouds, standing as silent sentinels over the crimson landscape.
Karl's gaze dropped to the rocky switchbacks of the trail that wound down the mountain, disappearing into the cornfields below. This was a scene he had seen every day for two years. It was familiar yet oppressive. Though he didn't show it, a flicker of hope still burned within him—hope that one day he might leave this place, free of its chains.
He swallowed his sigh, stepping onto the dusty road, his feet crunching against the rock coated in red ash. The path felt endless.
---------
Farther down the mountain, Lord Tobias huffed as he descended, his heavy breathing punctuated by the rhythmic crunch of his boots against the rocky trail. Despite his superior physicality as an ordinary-class Sanguine, running down the mountain left him winded and drenched in sweat.
Ahead of him stood his mansion—a white stone structure now mottled with streaks of red dust. The spires of the roof stretched high, piercing the sky like jagged fangs. The roof, unlike the wooden ones of commoners' homes, gleamed with elegant black tiles—a fitting symbol of his noble status.
This estate had been his family's legacy, passed down through generations of lords. And yet, as Tobias stared at its grandeur, his anger simmered beneath the surface.
Passing through the vast cornfield stretching from the base of the mountain, Tobias finally reached his mansion. The ever-falling red dust coated everything—the cornfield, the distant horizon, and now even his once-pristine coat.
He paused to look up at the sky, a swirling crimson expanse that seemed to engulf the world. Only a few faint rays of the white sun managed to pierce through, casting uneven light across the land.
His coat was already stained by the dust.
I'll have the beastmen wash my clothes and clean the compound, he thought with a huff.
Behind him, his butler struggled to keep pace, his breath ragged from the descent. The man's age was evident in every gasp, the task of running down the mountain clearly too much for him.
In front of the mansion stood three abnormal horses. From a distance, they might have seemed ordinary, but as Tobias approached, the sheer magnitude of the creatures became apparent.
Each horse towered far above the height of an average man. Their legs were massive, the muscles bulging beneath their glossy coats, and their hooves were as large as a baby's head. The creatures' eyes were cold and piercing, glinting with an almost predatory hunger—a gaze Tobias had only ever seen in desperate beastmen making their final stand. But these were beasts, not men.
"This is a high steed," his butler whispered, awe-tinging his voice.
High steeds! Tobias marveled. So, these are the creations of the Sanitarium—beasts born of unique evolution. Their massive forms, monstrous and alien, looked like something conjured from a tale of giants. To ride one of these creatures would require both immense skill and courage.
Whoever dared to ride them, Tobias thought, must truly be a remarkable individual.
As he craned his neck upward to see the riders, the piercing light of the white sun and the swirling red dust forced him to take a few steps back for a clearer view.
Seated atop the high steeds were armored figures. Each was encased in thick, specialized armor. The design was intricate—a layered suit with sharp-edged segments that formed both an inner vest and an outer jacket. The entire ensemble was a gleaming silvery white, with cloth draping down from the waist like ceremonial banners, their edges embroidered with delicate silver roses.
The helmets were haunting—triangular slits for eyes revealed nothing but deep blackness.
Tobias's body tensed as he recognized them. "White-Blooded Knights," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
He could never forget them. Years ago, while tracking a merchant who had fled with his money, Tobias had stumbled upon a violent brawl between rival gangs. Such scenes were common in that region. But out of nowhere, these armored monstrosities descended upon the chaos.
At first, Tobias thought they were advanced Sanguines, legionnaires, or perhaps swordsmen from the Tower. But their speed, their unrelenting brutality—it was unlike anything he had ever seen. Even as a low-ranking noble, Tobias understood their significance. These were not ordinary combatants. They were from the special class—a rank above advanced and ordinary, just one step below Desolation.
But it wasn't their skill or rank that haunted him. It was what happened when one of the gang members, a Sanguine, managed to knock the helmet off one of the knights.
Inside, there was nothing. No head, no neck, no sign of life. The creature was hollow, made entirely of living metal. Tobias had also noticed a strange white liquid leaking from the knight's body when it was injured. Perhaps that was why they were called White-Blooded Knights.
"Mister?"
A voice snapped Tobias out of his thoughts.
One of the riders dismounted. A young man with grayish-black hair and piercing gray eyes climbed down with an easy jump. He wore a tailored gray-white suit, its silver buttons lining the right side of his chest. Red dust stained the fabric, giving him the appearance of someone returning from a battlefield. A small bag hung from his arm, swaying as he moved.
The man smiled as he approached.
"Sir Notary," Tobias greeted, bowing slightly. His eyes flicked nervously to the White-Blooded Knights. Their silence and stillness unnerved him, as though their swords might descend upon him at any moment.
The presence of these knights raised an unsettling question: Why would a notary be traveling with White-Blooded Knights? And two of them, no less?
These creatures were special creations of the Sovereign and the sanitarium. Their power made their presence here all the more troubling. Unless… could they be men wearing shard armor instead? Tobias doubted it. Even legionnaires wouldn't accompany a mere notary.
"Call me Marcel," the young man said, his smile widening.
"Of course, Sir Marcel," Tobias replied, straightening himself. As he raised his gaze, he noticed a small white dot near the corner of the notary's left eye.
A sign of a notary.
"Now, shall we go inside to discuss?" Marcel asked, his smile unwavering.
"Yes, of course," Tobias replied with a nod, reaching into his coat pocket to retrieve a small pocket watch. The cracked glass reflected a faint glimmer of light as he opened it. Peering at the delicate, worn mechanism, he whispered under his breath, "Check for any problems."
Before snapping the watch shut, a shadowy figure flickered across its surface, disappearing as quickly as it had come. Tobias relaxed slightly, his shoulders loosening as he gestured toward the manor. His eyes flicked uneasily between the notary and the White-Blooded Knights stationed nearby.
-------
Emerging from the surface of a full-body mirror that rippled like the surface of a tranquil lake, a figure stepped into view. Anette, clad in a midnight-black dress that flowed elegantly to her ankles, moved gracefully into the room.
The dress's high waistline was cinched with a brown leather belt, and the full sleeves adorned with delicate buttons added a structured sophistication. A ruffled collar encircled her neck, lending her an air of solemnity, akin to the nuns of the Dead Finality Temples.
Anette paused by the window, gazing at the mountain looming in the distance. The pig farm it housed was a dark, jagged monolith, shrouded in the constant drizzle of crimson dust that fell like petals from a dying rose. Her sharp eyes spotted small figures making their way down the mountain's winding trails.
One of them—a young boy with a stiff, furred tail—caught her attention. Even from such a great distance, she seemed to see him with clarity.
"I hope he is well," she murmured softly. Her gaze shifted to the three high steeds standing before the mansion.
The White-Blooded Knights remained motionless atop their massive mounts, their hollow visages inscrutable. Anette's expression darkened, her pale skin growing even more ashen. A subtle trembling ran through her body as her feet began to sink into the floor, like a figure being swallowed by the sea.
Without resistance, her legs, torso, and eventually her head disappeared into the stone pavement, leaving no trace of her presence.
--------
Lord Tobias stood on the balcony, overlooking the expansive cornfields below. The red-dusted skies hung low, clouds swirling darkly, bathing the fields in an eerie hue. Beastmen labored below, tending to crops and packing the endless layers of crimson dust into containers.
Even from this distance, it was evident that they were sluggish—worn out from their earlier work at the pig farm. Tobias observed with disdain, that was the way of their kind. Filth, barely deserving of the chance to repay their debt for the sin of existing in humanity's world.
Luckily, the Task-Enforcer was present. His iron-inlaid cane provided ample motivation for the lethargic peasants.
Tobias turned his attention to Marcel, who stood beside him on the balcony. The notary's calm demeanor and pristine appearance contrasted sharply with the grimy labor below.
"Why exactly did you come so early, Sir Marcel?" Tobias asked, attempting to mask his irritation with polite interest.
Marcel turned slightly, his gaze meeting Tobias's. From this angle, the small white dot near the corner of his left eye was more prominent. "It's merely a matter of how early I arrived. Nothing more."
Liar. Tobias clenched his jaw but nodded in feigned understanding. You're only in a rush to meet that whore Walter. Do you think I don't know?
Suppressing his thoughts, he asked, "So, what about the contract? Did Mario agree to the terms? Ten pounds of meat for one hundred ments?"
Marcel's expression shifted into a polite smile. "Ah, there seems to be a misunderstanding. I'm not here to discuss your contract with Mario."
Tobias stiffened, his apprehension growing. "Then what?" he demanded, his voice tense.
"Nothing of great concern," Marcel said evenly, his tone smooth as polished glass. "Just an imperial decree from the Empire."
"What?!" Tobias's voice broke into an incredulous shout. Realizing his mistake, he quickly composed himself, straightening his posture.
The words of an imperial decree carried the weight of the Sovereign himself—the absolute ruler of humanity. How could he, a mere noble, stand unperturbed in the face of such authority?
Tobias fell to his knees, bowing his head low. "I heed the words of the Sovereign,"