The name echoed like a curse across the halls of the Blood Kingdom.
General Arthur Veron.
A man cloaked in myth and blood, his reputation walked before him like a shadow too large for any mortal to wear. Even among the elites, he was feared—not merely respected. He wasn't a man you greeted. He was a storm you endured.
Ashen stood in the hallway, eyes slightly narrowed as the group moved ahead. He had asked a simple question. Why did everyone tense up when Arthur appeared? Why did it feel like the air itself recoiled in fear?
"I don't get it," Ashen muttered under his breath, "Why does everyone look so… uneasy around him? It's like they expect him to kill someone at any moment."
Kerr scratched the back of his head with a wry laugh. "You really don't know much about the noble houses, huh?" he asked, grinning weakly.
Ashen gave a bitter smile. "No… not really."
Kerr looked around before starting to explain, voice quieter now, more cautious. "In the Blood Kingdom, nobility isn't just about gold or status. It's about blood. The purer your bloodline—the closer it traces to the throne—the higher your rank."
Ashen's eyes wandered forward, landing on Sera. Her crimson red hair glistened like a river of blood beneath the pale corridor lights. Her skin was almost ghostly white, as if all the color in her body had concentrated in her hair.
"The royal family," Kerr continued, "they say their blood holds the essence of the Blood God himself. That's why they have that color—crimson, like burning blood."
Ashen glanced again at Sera's hair. The way it glowed under the light made it hard to look away.
"Some noble houses gain rank through power—through military feats or service to the kingdom. But House Veron?" Kerr's tone darkened. "They've been around since before even the oldest history scrolls were written. They don't rise by strength alone… they endure by shadow."
Ashen raised an eyebrow. "Shadow?"
"Yeah," Kerr nodded. "Whispers say House Veron has always been the kingdom's left hand—the blade that works in darkness. No one really knows what they do, only that they take direct orders from the throne. Some say they're the Blood King's personal executioners."
"And Arthur Veron?" Ashen asked.
Kerr's voice lowered further. "He's different. He doesn't just obey. He enjoys it. They say he's a talent born once in a hundred years—a monster in human flesh. He became a general at twenty. His temper is brutal, and he never spares anyone weakness—not even his own men."
There was a pause, heavy with the weight of unspoken fear.
"They say," Kerr whispered, "he once killed a hundred ancient dream eaters… with one swing."
Ashen blinked, his breath catching in his throat. A hundred dream eaters? That wasn't strength. That was something else. Something unnatural.
"And just like that," Kerr said, "we're back."
Unit 9 had reached their dormitory. The group slowly dispersed, still buzzing with tension from the presence of Arthur. Ashen stepped inside his room, the heavy wooden door creaking shut behind him.
As he moved to sit on his bed, Elira's voice called out softly.
"Ashen."
He turned.
She stood in the hallway, expression solemn. "The man you saw… General Arthur. You need to be careful around him. Avoid drawing attention. And… if you can… hide your weapon's true name and class."
Ashen nodded slowly. "I will. Thank you."
Elira's gaze lingered a moment longer—filled with concern—before she turned and entered her room, the door clicking shut quietly behind her.
Ashen sat in silence, staring at the ceiling. Elira's words echoed inside his head. That man… Arthur Veron. The way his bloodlust pierced through the air like invisible knives. The way his presence twisted the room itself.
"Damn… damn it… DAMN IT ALL!" Ashen hissed, slamming his fist into his mattress.
"Why is it always like this?!" he shouted to no one.
"First, those hellish trials… then this cursed weapon… and now a bloodthirsty noble who might kill me the moment he sees The One Who Remembers?"
His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. He could still hear the divine hum of the dagger in his mind, the faint silver glow it gave off in that dream-like world.
Would he even survive if Arthur ever found out?
Could he run?
Could he fight?
Could he win?
A sudden, deafening noise rattled the dorm walls.
BOOM.
Ashen shot upright, eyes wide. The entire building shook as if something massive had slammed into it. He dashed to the window, peering out into the night-lit courtyard.
And then he saw it.
A monster—no, a shadow given form.
It had no defined shape, its black mass pulsing like liquid smoke. Eyes—dozens of them—blinked across its body, glowing with malevolence. Its presence oozed death and despair. Ashen felt it immediately. The bloodlust.
His legs froze.
He couldn't breathe. The sheer pressure made his chest feel like it was caving in.
The monster let out a low, gurgling screech. Soldiers nearby shouted and scrambled to draw their weapons—but none of them moved. They were paralyzed.
And then—
A figure moved.
A single man walked through the courtyard like he owned it, completely unfazed.
Arthur Veron.
His cloak barely moved with the wind, and his eyes were as cold as a winter moon. In one hand, he held a massive black sword with red runes glowing faintly along the blade.
In a blink, he vanished.
And then, in the next moment—
SLICE.
The monster's body split in two.
No sound. No resistance. Just a clean cut.
Its dark mass sizzled in the air before dissolving into smoke.
The soldiers stood in stunned silence. One of them muttered in awe, "That was an ancient dream eater…"
Another whispered, "He really is death in human skin…"
Ashen's heart pounded as he stared at the man—the legend—who now sheathed his sword like he had simply brushed away a fly.
Arthur turned to someone.
Raynar.
Ashen blinked. The usually arrogant noble stood rigid before the general. Gone was the loud mouth. Gone was the smug expression. In its place stood a silent soldier, eyes lowered in respect. He listened intently to every word Arthur said, not daring to interrupt.
Ashen watched the interaction, stunned.
This Raynar was completely different. He wasn't pretending. He wasn't showing off.
He was simply a younger brother before a man who could kill gods.
Then, Arthur turned.
Just for a moment—a single second—his cold eyes swept across the courtyard… and stopped.
On Ashen.
Their eyes met.
Ashen felt his heart stop. It was like being seen by something beyond human. Something that judged your soul and found it lacking.
The moment passed.
Arthur looked away and walked off, disappearing into the shadows.
Ashen stumbled back, breathing heavily.
Kerr appeared beside him, sweat still dripping from his brow. "What the hell was that thing?"
Ashen shook his head. "I… I don't know. But how did it get in here? Isn't this place supposed to be protected?"
Kerr glanced around and whispered, "I heard some soldiers say it escaped from the lab."
Ashen blinked. "The lab?"
Kerr nodded grimly. "Yeah… One of those 'classified' places no one talks about."
Ashen looked once more in the direction Arthur had vanished.
The man who could kill dream eaters like slicing paper.
The man who had now seen him.
And maybe, sensed something.
Ashen's hands curled into fists.
Would Arthur be the one to end him?
Would he even survive if the truth was exposed?
Ashen's thoughts drifted once more to his weapon… to the divine mark it carried… and the silent voice that always lingered in the back of his mind.
The One Who Remembers.
What did it remember?
And when the time came… would Ashen be strong enough to face him?
The night deepened, silence blanketing the courtyard again.
But in Ashen's heart, the storm had only just begun.