Sylvain lay on the top bunk of the servants' shared room, staring at the cracked ceiling above him. Sleep eluded him, as it had for most of the night. Part of it was Kseradyn—the man's presence was like a shadow that clung to the air, suffocating and inescapable. But part of it was something else, something deeper.
His sister's voice.
It had started as a faint whisper, barely audible over the hum of his thoughts. But now it was clearer, more insistent. "End him… end him… please, brother…" The words echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain that refused to fade.
Sylvain clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He didn't understand why this was happening now. Was it the chrono drug mixing with the copper serum? Had it triggered some kind of hallucination? It was too early to assume, but for now, the thought offered a sliver of relief. He couldn't afford to dwell on it—not here, not now. The mission came first. But the whispers lingered, a constant reminder of the past he couldn't escape.
Morning came too soon. The servants stirred, their movements mechanical and subdued. Sylvain slipped out of bed, his body heavy with exhaustion, but his mind sharp and alert. He joined the others in preparing breakfast, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he arranged plates and poured drinks. The long table in the dining hall was soon laden with food—roasted meats, fresh bread, steaming soups, and an array of fruits. It was a feast fit for a king, but the atmosphere was anything but celebratory.
Kseradyn entered the room, his presence immediately silencing the servants. He moved with an unsettling grace, his golden hair catching the light as he took his seat at the head of the table. His pale eyes scanned the spread before him, his expression unreadable.
The servants stood at attention, their eyes downcast. Sylvain positioned himself near the wall, close enough to observe but far enough to avoid notice. He watched as Kseradyn began to eat, his movements deliberate and almost reverent. It was strange, seeing him like this—so calm, so composed, as if he hadn't just murdered a dozen people the day before.
Then, without warning, Kseradyn paused. He turned to the servant standing beside him, a young man with trembling hands.
"Does this soup have peas in it?" Kseradyn asked, his voice soft but carrying an edge that made the servant flinch.
The servant's eyes widened. He glanced at the soup, then back at Kseradyn. "N-No, Your Highness," he stammered. "No peas."
Kseradyn smiled, a slow, predatory grin that sent a chill down Sylvain's spine. "I'm glad," the prince said, his tone almost pleasant. "I despise peas."
For a moment, the servant looked relieved. But then, in a flash of movement, Kseradyn's hand shot out. A food knife gleamed in the light before embedding itself in the servant's throat. The man choked, his hands clawing at the wound as he collapsed to the floor.
Kseradyn leaned back in his chair, his smile never wavering. "It's no use lying to me," he said, his voice calm, almost conversational. "I can see the truth in your eyes. Lies… they have a certain stench. And I despise liars."
The room was deathly silent, the other servants frozen in place. Kseradyn stood and walked over to the dying man, crouching beside him. He placed a hand on the servant's face, his fingers brushing against the man's cheek as if in a perverse caress.
"Do you feel it?" Kseradyn murmured, his voice low and intimate. "The fear, the despair… the pain. It's exquisite, isn't it?"
The servant's eyes widened, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Kseradyn closed his eyes, a shudder running through him as if he were savoring the moment. Then, as the servant's life faded, Kseradyn let out a soft sigh.
"Not as intense as I'd hoped," he said, his tone almost disappointed. "But a welcome occasion nonetheless."
He stood, wiping his hands on a cloth as if cleaning off a minor inconvenience. "Clean this up," he ordered, his voice sharp now. "And from now on, my personal servant will be the one called Azur."
The servants scrambled to obey, their movements frantic but silent. Sylvain remained still, his heart pounding in his chest. He met Kseradyn's gaze for the briefest of moments, and in that instant, he saw something in the prince's eyes—a flicker of recognition, of curiosity.
Sylvain looked away, his mind racing. This was no ordinary monster. Kseradyn was something far more dangerous, far more unpredictable. And now, Sylvain was being pulled deeper into his orbit.
Several minutes after being summoned , Sylvain stood outside the door to Kseradyn's military bureau, his hand hovering over the handle. The memory of the morning's events still lingered in his mind—the servant's lifeless body, Kseradyn's chilling smile, and the weight of the prince's gaze as he named Sylvain his personal servant. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and knocked.
"Come in," Kseradyn's voice called from within, calm and unhurried.
Sylvain pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was spacious but sparsely decorated, its walls lined with maps and tactical diagrams. Kseradyn sat at a large oak desk, his golden hair catching the light as he leaned over a canvas. His hand moved with precision, the strokes of his brush deliberate and unhurried.
Sylvain approached cautiously, his eyes drawn to the painting. It was a portrait of a group of people, their figures detailed and lifelike. They were kneeling, their heads bowed in submission, their hands outstretched as if in supplication. But the figure they were bowing to was… nothing. The canvas was blank, a stark white void where a ruler or deity should have been.
"Azur," Kseradyn said without looking up, his voice smooth and measured. "Do you know why I assigned you to be my personal servant?"
Sylvain hesitated, his mind racing. "No, Your Highness," he replied, keeping his tone neutral.
Kseradyn set down his brush and leaned back in his chair, his pale eyes fixing on Sylvain. "I felt something when I touched your shoulder yesterday," he said, his voice almost contemplative. "It sparked something in me. Something I've been searching for my entire life."
Sylvain's confusion deepened, but he kept his expression blank. Kseradyn's words were cryptic, almost poetic, but there was an undercurrent of something darker—something Sylvain couldn't quite place.
"I don't understand, Your Highness," Sylvain said carefully.
Kseradyn smiled, a faint, almost wistful expression. "Neither do I," he admitted. "But I know this: you're different. There's something about you that… intrigues me."
Sylvain's mind raced. Was Kseradyn toying with him? Did he suspect something? He forced himself to remain calm, his eyes scanning the room for potential weapons or escape routes. The bureau was well-guarded, but if he could find a way to exploit Kseradyn's arrogance…
"You know," Kseradyn continued, his tone light but carrying an edge, "I'm very sure you're lying about something. But I don't feel like hurting you. Not yet, at least. I don't want to kill the fun so soon."
Sylvain froze, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, his thoughts stopped entirely, replaced by a cold, creeping dread. Kseradyn's words were casual, almost playful, but the threat beneath them was unmistakable.
The prince stood, his movements fluid and unhurried, and walked around the desk to stand before Sylvain. He was taller, his presence overwhelming, and Sylvain had to fight the instinct to step back.
"You're wondering what I am, aren't you?" Kseradyn said, his voice low and intimate. "A monster? A god? Something in between?"
Sylvain didn't respond, his mind still reeling. Kseradyn's ability to detect lies, his complete disregard for human life, his physical and mental prowess—it was as if he were beyond human. And yet, there was something almost… fragile about him. Something hollow.
Kseradyn turned back to the painting, his gaze lingering on the blank space at its center. "I've always felt like this," he said, his voice softer now. "Empty. No matter how much I take, how much I destroy, it's never enough. But you… you sparked something. I don't know what it is yet, but I intend to find out."
Sylvain's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to remain still. Kseradyn's words were a warning, a challenge, and a confession all at once. Sylvain had faced dangerous men before, but Kseradyn was something else entirely. He was a force of nature, a predator playing with its prey.