Three days had passed since the funeral.
The guests had long since departed. The once-crowded halls of Ravengard Duchy were now quiet, draped in a heavy, suffocating silence.
Kaisel remained in his room, never stepping outside. The meals brought to him were left untouched. The servants and his siblings grew uneasy, but Arthur's words were firm and final:
"Let him be. He will come out when he is ready."
Inside the room, darkness ruled. No candle was lit; the curtains remained drawn.
Kaisel lay on the bed, eyes open, his gaze indifferent as it pierced the darkness.
His injuries had already healed. The severest wounds had been mended the moment the Seven Sins took root within him, restoring his flesh as though nothing had happened.
But what lingered was far more troublesome.
The ambush. The scene replayed endlessly in his mind. No matter how he tried to push it away, it returned again and again—vivid, sharp, like a dagger twisting in his chest.
Hatred.
Pure, corrosive hatred.
But that was not all.
During these three days of isolation, he had been calmly observing the Seven Sins that now resided within him.
He quickly discovered something crucial:
They could not hear his thoughts.
This was a vital piece of information.
However, their influence remained undeniable. They had left their mark within his mind, subtle but persistent.
He noticed it first through the faint bloodlust.
At times, while reflecting on the ambush and the identities of the culprits, his mind would suddenly be thrown into chaos. His thoughts would turn violent—filled with an uncontrollable desire to kill, to slaughter, to rip apart every last enemy.
It was not rational revenge.
It was instinctual, like a beast driven by hunger.
This was a new experience for him.
Though he was not yet ten years old, Kaisel had long been regarded as a prodigy. He was the youngest in his generation to sense mana and had wisdom far beyond others of his age.
But even with that knowledge, he knew such thoughts were not his own.
"They are the source."
He understood this clearly. Every time he gave in to those thoughts, the craving grew stronger.
It was not hatred alone.
It was the influence of the Seven Sins—tempting him, eroding his reason, urging him toward a path of blood.
The terrifying thing was…
Part of him did not resist.
The feeling of power, the clarity it brought, the sharp focus when surrendering to the madness—it was intoxicating.
A dangerous seed had been planted within him.
And now, in this cold darkness, Kaisel calmly realized one thing:
Whether it was blessing or curse, it no longer mattered.
The only path before him was to walk forward, using everything at his disposal.
Kaisel lost in his thoughts , these things.... They are dangerous. It's a good thing that they can't hear my thoughts.
"These things… are truly dangerous," he mused inwardly, his thoughts as calm as still water.
Suddenly, there was a sound.
Someone was knocking at the door.
"Brother… please come out."
It was Anton's voice—soft, yet carrying a trace of urgency.
Kaisel remained silent, unmoving.
He had no intention of answering. He disliked disturbances, especially now.
But since it was Anton, and hearing that familiar voice tinged with worry, Kaisel could not ignore it entirely.
He slowly rose from the bed, his movements calm and deliberate. Walking to the door, he paused for a brief moment, then exhaled lightly and opened it.
Outside stood Anton.
His mismatched eyes—one red, one green—stared straight at Kaisel's thin, pale figure.
"Brother… you haven't eaten anything for three days."
Kaisel remained quiet. After a brief pause, he spoke, his voice indifferent and calm:
"I'm not hungry."
"You're lying."
Tears slid down Anton's cheeks, his voice trembling despite his efforts to remain composed.
"You haven't eaten in three days… how could you not be hungry?"
Without another word, Anton wiped his tears roughly and grabbed Kaisel's arm, dragging him down the corridor.
Kaisel was caught off guard. His eyes narrowed slightly as he stumbled along.
"A-Anton… what are you doing?" His voice held a rare note of surprise.
Anton, usually quiet and composed, was dragging him down the hallway without hesitation.
Such behavior… was unlike him.
Anton dragged Kaisel by the wrist, not roughly, but firmly enough that Kaisel didn't resist. He led him to the dining room like an older brother trying to coax a wounded cub out of its den.
The table had already been set — a bowl of warm soup steamed gently, the scent of herbs and broth hanging softly in the air. A basket of freshly baked bread sat beside it, its golden crust still warm. Standing beside the table was a young maid with striking red hair that fell in gentle waves and eyes the color of deep ocean — Melvia.
She had placed the dishes with quiet care and now stood respectfully aside, her gaze briefly meeting Kaisel's before dropping.
Anton nudged him toward the chair. "Sit," he said softly. "Eat."
Kaisel didn't argue. He sat and picked up the spoon, not because he was hungry, but because Anton's presence was a silent plea. To ease his brother's worry — if only for a moment — he forced himself to eat. Anton, as if in solidarity, joined him, sipping from a second bowl.
The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but heavy, like the hush that follows a storm.
Anton didn't take his eyes off him. Not even once. Not until the bowl was empty.
When Kaisel placed the spoon down, he looked at Anton and managed a small smile — fragile, but real.
"…I'm sorry for making you worry," he said, his voice hoarse. Then, after a pause, he added, "And… thank you for the meal."
He turned toward Melvia. "Thank you."
But she was more than a maid. Melvia was Kaisel's childhood friend — a girl of his age who had grown up within the duchy's walls. An orphan taken in by the former Duke, raised among nobility yet never quite of it. Still, she stood by Kaisel's side, unwavering.
She bowed her head with a gentle smile. "You don't need to thank me, young master."
.....
After dinner, Anton refused to leave Kaisel's side. The younger boy hovered nearby with stubborn eyes and quiet concern. It took effort—and a tired smile from Kaisel—for Anton to finally let him return to his room with the promise that he would rest.
But Kaisel had no intention of sleeping.
The moment the corridors fell into silence and the candles dimmed to embers, he slipped out of his chamber like a ghost. The air outside was cool, laced with the faint scent of stone and old wood. His footsteps were soundless on the ancient flooring as he moved toward the lower levels of the manor.
His destination: the Main Library — but not for the books it displayed.
The library sat deep in the manor's foundations, a vault of knowledge and legacy that few outside the Ravengard bloodline had ever laid eyes on. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, ceiling lost in shadows, and the quiet air hummed with an almost sacred stillness. Dust hung like mist in the lantern-light, and the weight of history seemed to press on his shoulders as he entered.
But Kaisel did not pause to read.
He passed five rows of towering shelves, the titles unread in the darkness, and turned right at the end of the aisle. A wall shelf stood ahead, unremarkable compared to the others — but Kaisel remembered.
There were twelve levels to this particular shelf. He reached for the fifth from the bottom, his fingers finding a leather-bound volume worn soft with age.
He pushed.
A faint click echoed. With fluid silence, the bookshelf slid inward, revealing a narrow stone staircase coiling into the earth.
Kaisel stepped in without hesitation, and the entrance sealed behind him like the turning of a forgotten page.
The stairwell was colder — far colder — than the library above. The walls were built of smooth black bricks, damp with age. Small crystalline lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a dull, bluish glow that flickered like breath. The air smelled of earth and iron, and every footstep echoed as if the stones were listening.
This place — this path — had been shown to him once before.
By his father.
"There are places only Ravengards may walk," his father had said. "And truths only we are burdened to carry."
Kaisel's hand trailed the wall as he descended. The stairs ended in a dead-end — but not for him.
He pressed three bricks in precise order.
The stone wall slid aside with a smooth, grinding sound that seemed to come from within the earth itself, revealing a hidden chamber beyond.
And what lay within was nothing short of a buried sanctum.
The Hidden Hall of the Ravengard family stretched wide like a cathedral sealed beneath the world. The vaulted ceiling curved overhead, shrouded in shadow, and the walls were lined with more shelves—though not all held books. Some contained relics. Sealed scrolls. Weapons mounted in rows, their metal dulled with time. Maps curled over the tables, stained with ink and something darker.
Glass jars glimmered faintly in the corners — some filled with pale blue liquid, others black and still.
Kaisel stepped forward slowly, breathing in the musty, mineral-tinged air. It smelled of dust, oil, old parchment… and memory.
"It's a good thing Father once showed me this place…" he murmured, half to himself, half to the silence.
He approached one of the cluttered desks and picked up a thick, leather-bound tome lying open. The page it rested on caught his eye immediately:
"From flesh to flame, from bone to breath
I call not to serve, but to bind
Let soul touch soul, and shadow merge with form
I open the gate with blood, and seal it with will…
Bound by blood, sealed by soul"
Kaisel's eyes narrowed. His heart thudded, slow and heavy.
He recognized it instantly.
It was the same chant—an ancient ritual used to form soul-bound contracts with spirits. He had seen it once before, years ago, when his father first brought him to this hidden hall. He had read this very page, studied its words, and remembered them.
When he made the contract with the Seven Sins, it was this very chant he used—fully aware of its purpose.
And yet now, standing before the book again, he searched for more—anything that might explain the nature of that contract, or the Sins themselves.
But the pages offered no answers.
He turned to the next book on the table — and then another. Still nothing.
He crossed to the shelves, scanning spines, pulling volumes free one by one, but the result was always the same: silence.
It was as if they had never existed — as though the Seven Sins were never part of history to begin with.
He stood still for a moment, surrounded by ancient echoes and secrets long buried.
To be continued.