Under a sky raining cold water, Erold and Gilgamesh stood before the great gates of Malakarsh, while Luce remained unconscious, carried on Erold’s back like a lifeless corpse.
A heavy silence prevailed, but it was not a natural silence. Suddenly, Erold’s body jolted with a cold shiver that ran down his spine, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Gilgamesh noticed his trembling and asked anxiously, narrowing his eyes: "What happened to you?"
Erold answered with a trembling voice, his eyes fixed on the closed gate as if seeing what lay beyond: "I feel a massive pressure... not a magical pressure, but... souls. There are thousands of souls screaming inside."
Gilgamesh asked him seriously: "What? Can you see souls?"
Erold stammered, trying to catch his breath from the weight of the foul air: "I don't see them... I feel them. There is a massive pressure of death inside. There is a strange smell, as if the air itself has died."
The rain stopped suddenly. Gilgamesh stepped forward with steady steps toward the gate and said in a tone devoid of hesitation: "I suspect... it has become a deserted kingdom."
Without warning, Gilgamesh raised his leg and delivered a booming kick to the iron-plated wooden gate. The lock shattered, the hinges gave way, and the gate fell with a massive thud, stirring up a thick cloud of dust and ash.
As the dust slowly settled, Erold took a step forward, then froze in place. His eyes widened in a shock that silenced his tongue, while Gilgamesh stepped beside him and whispered in a voice carrying a dark omen: "My God..."
It was not just a ruined city. It was an open grave. Before them, they found mountains of charred corpses piled on top of each other in every corner, filling the streets and squares. The bodies were not thrown randomly; they were stacked on the right and left like walls of burnt flesh, leaving a narrow passage in the middle leading toward the palace.
They walked through this hellish hallway, the smell of charred flesh stinging their nostrils. Erold was stunned by the horror of the sight until Gilgamesh called him in a calm but tension-filled voice: "Erold... look there. I think there is a special 'work of art' waiting for us."
Erold turned his gaze to where Gilgamesh pointed, and his eyes fell upon a sight that would haunt his nightmares. In the middle of the square stood a massive pillar composed entirely of intertwined corpses. And at the top of this hideous pillar, a single corpse was mounted in a terrifying display.
It was a charred body without features... without limbs. Its arms and legs had been brutally severed, and its body was completely burnt and blackened, except for one part: the area beneath its eyes. The skin there was intact and clean, as if the killer had intentionally left a path for its tears, or wanted it to clearly witness its end until the final moment.
Erold shouted, his voice trembling with anger and disgust: "What cursed demon did this?! This isn't killing... this is mutilation!"
Gilgamesh approached the pillar, examining it with an expert’s eye, and said: "I think it’s Ashura... this destruction carries his signature."
Erold shook his head in denial and said in a calm, terrifying voice, staring at the mutilated corpse: "No... from what we saw of Ashura, he destroys and moves on. But whoever did this..." Erold pointed with his trembling hand toward the limbless body: "Whoever did this was enjoying every moment of agony they provided. This isn't destruction... this is absolute torture."
Erold did not know, as he uttered these words, that the "demon" he was cursing... was the very friend he was carrying on his back right now.
As Erold walked amidst the corpses, he felt a strange coldness creeping into his bones—a coldness unrelated to the weather. Pale wisps of smoke began to rise from the burnt bodies, gathering and swirling around him as if pleading for help. They were the souls of thousands who had perished by betrayal, hovering in the void without a home.
Erold looked at them with eyes full of pain and heartbreak, whispering in a choked voice: "I’m sorry... I’m so sorry for what happened to you."
Suddenly, a mocking and harsh laugh rang out in the depths of his mind, breaking the majesty of death. Dante said in a taunting tone: "Another treasure... how lucky you are, you bastard! Death follows you, and you harvest the spoils."
Erold stopped and clenched his fist, shouting internally with anger: "Stop this, Dante! Respect their death at least! These were people with lives and families, not fuel!"
Dante replied with icy coldness: "You know the rules... you shouldn't be emotional now. Do you want their energies to go to waste? Do you want them to vanish into the void for nothing?"
"Dante!" Erold shouted sharply.
Dante interrupted with a louder shout that shook his inner being: "What?! Do you want to miss an opportunity like this for your ridiculous tears? Make their death useful! Carry their power to avenge them, or to prevent this from happening again. Weakness won't help the dead!"
Erold stood rooted to the spot, torn between his humanity and his need for power. In that moment, Arthur’s voice intervened, unusually calm and sad: "Erold... I know this is hard for you, and it makes me nauseous too... but Dante is right. We need this power to protect those who remain."
Erold lowered his eyelids and let out a long, heavy sigh, as if surrendering his soul to reality. "So be it..." he whispered in surrender.
He opened his arms slightly, and the pale phantoms began to gravitate toward him like a silent storm, flowing into his body, granting him a massive power mixed with their final screams. Meanwhile, Gilgamesh scanned the surroundings
Erold’s body began to tremble violently as if thousands of voices were screaming inside his veins at once. The burden of the souls was heavier than his exhausted body could handle; he swayed and nearly fell face-first amidst the ash.
Gilgamesh caught him quickly, his strong arm preventing him from falling, and asked in a faint tone of concern: "Are you okay?"
Erold replied, panting, sweat pouring from his forehead: "Just... a little tired. The energy is very dense."
Gilgamesh raised his head, looking sharply toward the royal palace whose walls were eroded by fire. "Then let us head there. Perhaps we will find a place to rest, or a survivor to tell us what happened."
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Gilgamesh carried the unconscious Luce on his broad shoulder with ease, while supporting Erold with his other hand. He walked them through the ruins, but his eyes never stopped scanning the area; he was analyzing every inch, looking at the corners of houses, the cracks in the walls, and the distribution of corpses with extreme precision. Gilgamesh whispered, narrowing his eyes: "It is impossible for someone to commit this massacre without leaving a trace behind... no matter how careful they were."
Erold wondered at this side of him and said in a tired voice: "Are you skilled in investigation too, Gilgamesh?"
Gilgamesh replied in a surprisingly tender tone: "Yes... Elia and I used to investigate crimes in Uruk during our free time. She enjoyed establishing justice, and she saw what others did not see at a crime scene."
Erold smiled a faint smile despite the pain: "So you are a Royal Investigator... can someone really erase their trace completely?"
Gilgamesh replied with an increasingly serious tone: "Yes... if they were a demon." Gilgamesh stopped for a moment, looking at the sand and the surrounding surfaces, then whispered with apprehension: "There are no footprints... does this mean they were flying? Everything here is illogical. The chaos is total, but there is no trace of an army... all this destruction was caused by the act of just one person."
They reached the palace gate. With a single strike of his foot, Gilgamesh shattered the remains of the charred door. They entered the great hall. The darkness inside was thick, and the smell of stagnant ash was suffocating. Gilgamesh shouted, his voice echoing in the dark void: "Is anyone here?!" Only the echo of his voice and the sound of the wind blowing the ash answered him.
They continued walking through the burnt corridors until they reached the vicinity of the throne room. Suddenly, Gilgamesh stopped. Amidst the blackened walls and furniture turned to coal, there was one thing that broke the rule of destruction.
A painting. It was hanging on a charred wall, but it was perfectly intact. Its golden frame shimmered, and its colors were vibrant, as if the fire that devoured everything around it had stayed away out of respect.
Gilgamesh whispered in daze: "How strange... the kingdom burned completely, and stone turned to ash, but this painting... not a single spark touched it." He approached it, feeling its canvas cautiously, then said: "It’s an ordinary painting... there is no protection spell on it."
"Strange..." Erold said in a tired voice, staring at the stark contrast.
Gilgamesh rubbed his chin, his eyes gleaming with analytical intelligence, and said seriously: "There are only two possibilities for this anomalous scene. Either someone entered after the fire and hung it here amidst the ruins..." He paused for a moment, then ran his finger over the dust surrounding the painting and completed in a more suspicious tone: "Or the perpetrator who caused this massacre possesses a terrifying control over fire... a control so precise that he commanded the flames to burn the entire palace, excluding only this piece of art."
Erold looked at Gilgamesh and felt a cold shiver run through his body, realizing that the second possibility was the closest to the terrifying truth.
Gilgamesh stepped heavily toward the charred throne room. He found nothing but blackness and ash; no treasures, no survivors, not even corpses. Only the black throne sat in the middle as a silent witness to the massacre. Gilgamesh sat on the throne, dusted off its armrest, and said in a hollow voice: "So... we shall spend our night here."
In this moment, Karl’s voice rang out in Erold’s head, not as a usual whisper, but as a scream of panic: "Your Highness! I remember! My God... I remember everyth—"
Suddenly... the voice cut off. As if a thin thread had been cut by sharp scissors. But no response came. The silence that followed that scream was heavy, desolate, and more terrifying than any noise. It was the silence of death.
Erold shouted in his depths, addressing his soul companions in a panicked tone: "Arthur! Dante! Did you hear that? What is happening inside?! Where did he disappear to?"
Arthur’s voice came, tinged with confusion and tension unlike his usual self: "We don't know, Erold... the connection was cut suddenly! Have you forgotten? That world... 'The Farm'... is a place isolated from our void. We don't see what goes on there unless you are looking at it!"
Erold struck the ground with his fist and shouted in a voice full of helplessness and anger: "Damn! Damn this helplessness!"
Gilgamesh looked at him with surprise and asked: "What? Is it one of the spirits?"
Erold replied in panic, striking his chest with his hand: "No... no... his voice suddenly vanished! How can I enter my world? I must know what happened!"
Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes and said seriously: "The world inhabited by your spirits? I don't know how your magic works... but have you tried meditating?"
Erold didn't wait; he sat immediately on the charred floor and closed his eyes, focusing all his will to dive into his depths.
The atmosphere was turbulent. The sky above the peaceful farm was overcast with unusual black clouds. Karl was standing in the middle of the field, trembling hysterically, turning right and left as if pursued by a ghost.
"I must warn him... he must know who that person is!" Karl muttered in terror.
Suddenly, he felt a familiar presence behind him. He turned quickly to find Erold standing with his back to him. Karl shouted at the top of his lungs, his veins bulging from his neck: "Your Highness! Listen to me well! Beware of Luce! During our fight, when you entered and were surprised... it wasn't just because of his power... but because he showed me his true face for one second!"
Karl took a deep breath and shouted the terrifying truth: "Your Highness! He is the disciple of Lucifer! He is the current Devil himself!"
A terrible silence prevailed. "Erold" did not move, nor did he show any reaction. Karl approached him with trembling steps and reached out to touch his shoulder: "Your Highness... did you hear me?"
"Erold" turned around slowly. But the face that turned was not Erold’s face.
It was a face with calm, cold features and a wicked smile that knew everything. It was Luce’s face.
Luce raised his index finger and placed it slowly on his lips: "Shhhhh... you’re not good at keeping secrets, little Jinn."
Karl retreated backward and fell to the ground from the intensity of the terror, crawling away while screaming: "H-how... how did you enter here?! This is Dante's world!"
Luce laughed a calm and confident laugh and said as he dusted imaginary dust from his shoulder: "When Erold carried me on his back... I transferred a small part of my consciousness inside. I knew these spirits might be a problem, or as you said... 'strengthen his mind'."
Luce began to clap slowly, the sound of the clapping echoing like execution sentences in the farm’s space: "I congratulate you, Karl. You are the only person I’ve had to break the 'Memory Shackle' for twice."
Karl froze in terror: "Memory Shackle...?"
Luce approached and leaned down until his face was opposite Karl’s terrified face, and said in a voice dripping with cunning: "You do not know... that the 'Luce' you see on the outside is but a mask. I manipulate my own memory, Karl. I erase my memories and my truth to make 'Luce' believe his innocent ambition, and believe that he is your friend. In this way... even the most formidable sorcerers, and even the strongest instinct, will not suspect him. How do you expose a liar... if he himself believes his own lie?"
Karl shouted in terror and daze: "You... you manipulate yourself?!"
Luce exploded in a demonic laugh and said with dark wisdom: "Boy... the world bows to the one who changes his skin according to the situation. If I kept playing with one face, the world would have memorized this face and known my intentions. But in this way... when I deceive myself, I deceive the world itself."
Luce continued his speech with a tone overflowing with arrogance and lethal calmness, looking at Karl: "Even the Star Lady will not be able to detect me, thinking she succeeded in imprisoning me... truly, I offer my thanks to the 'Memory Shackle'; for you do not know, you fools, that this shackle can plant a false memory in the head of the entire world at once—a memory that imposes itself as a reality beyond doubt, and it does not break until I return..."
Luce advanced with slow steps and looked at Karl, who was trembling like a prey cornered in a dark alley, and said in a calm voice dripping with poison: "Do you think, Karl, that my meeting with Erold was a coincidence?..."
In that moment, Karl realized that his end had come. He tried to flee, rushing toward the fields, hoping to find an exit in this spiritual world, but Luce appeared before him in the blink of an eye and clamped his hand over Karl’s face with a force that crushed his skull. Luce whispered in a lethal voice: "Nothing remains of you but a soul... and now, even this soul will disappear."
Luce pressed with his hand, and Karl let out one final muffled shriek before his body exploded and turned into black smoke that vanished into the void.
Luce stood alone in the farm, drew an innocent smile on his face, then said as he faded away, returning to his hidden consciousness: "Ah... and now, 'Little Luce' can return to sleep in peace."