"Painful…"
"So painful… why does my neck hurt in such a strange way?"
Faithless was groaning from the horrific pain surging through his neck. It was so intense that he couldn't open his eyes. His fingers reached for his neck, where his head was severed from his body.
The shock made him gasp loudly. His head was detached, yet somehow, he could still feel his body. He tried to open his eyes, but it was impossible.
It was as if his eyelids had been tightly sewn shut. Faithless moved his fingers toward his mouth and felt an odd texture—uncertain whether it was saliva or blood.
"How can I move my body… when my head is separated from it?"
He spoke with a frightened tone, as if begging for death to escape the unbearable pain. He moved his fingers once more toward his eyes, trying to force them open—but failed again.
"Why can't I open my eyes? As if something had sewn them shut tightly…"
In this miserable state, a strange idea struck his severed head. He placed his hand atop it and pushed it down until it connected with his body.
"Why do I feel such heat inside my neck? What is happening to me right now?"
The heat inside his neck was terrifying, as if flames were burning within him… and then, threads emerged from his neck, expertly stitching the wound. A black choker with an inverted cross appeared, fastened around his throat.
He gasped again, this time opening his eyes to see a ceiling adorned with strange carvings. A vase shaped like a clock was attached to the wall.
He rose partially while lying on the bed, but a sharp pain in his neck made him clutch it tightly, his eyes still shut.
Gradually opening them, he looked around. The room was extremely simple. The walls were partially ruined, decorated with unfamiliar symbols and eerie drawings.
Faithless glanced at his bed and saw that it was nothing more than basic wood with a thin, poor-quality cloth covering it.
"Where am I? Why am I sleeping in a room that's not mine?"
Suddenly, a surge of memories hit him like a thread passing through a needle… He held his head in agony, eyes widening in shock. He spoke with a tired voice:
"Damn it… I remember now. The imperial palace—my father's palace—was attacked by the kings, those so-called servants under his command."
"They killed my father using a forbidden sword… and they slaughtered my mother in a grotesque way. Damn my father, I never cared for him anyway. But those bastard kings… they cut off my mother's head and laughed without a shred of mercy."
"As for my brother… they kidnapped him. I don't know if he's alive or not."
He held his temples in pain. His eyes shed tears of blood, though not too visibly. He looked around again and questioned aloud:
"But the real question… how did I end up here? What exactly happened to me?"
While looking around, another wave of memories struck him—stronger and more vivid than before. He panted heavily from the pain.
He spoke in a deep voice, struggling to form words:
"Now I remember exactly what happened… King Jin Li, that bastard, cut off my head because he was afraid—afraid of what he saw when he looked directly into my heart. Then he threw me off the peak of the Emperor's Mountain."
And then, in that same grim tone, he added:
"But what did he see inside me that made him slice my neck so quickly? And even more bizarre… how am I alive with my head separated from my body?"
As he pondered this, he turned to face the mirror directly… It was an ordinary mirror, cracked in several places. Faithless stared at his own reflection—his face cold and elegant. His eyes were a deep brown, and his short black hair was messy and untamed.
He touched the choker around his neck and tried to remove it, but the sight of the black threads made him stop. He pulled his hand away and muttered deeply to himself:
"It's better to keep the choker on… I don't want anyone to see the threads."
As he gazed into the mirror, someone slowly opened the door. Faithless looked toward it immediately, spotting a sword leaning beside the door.
A tall man entered. His long blond hair reached his neck, and his green eyes sparkled. His face was strikingly handsome, with a faint beard and a mysterious, unsettling smile.
The stranger spoke with a calm tone and that eerie smile:
"Oh, it's a miracle you're alive… Falling from the Emperor's Mountain and surviving—it must mean there's something extraordinary within you."
Faithless gripped the sword tightly and spoke with a sharp tone:
"Who are you? And what do you want from me?"
The man chuckled softly and replied calmly:
"Easy, boy. Is that how you greet the one who brought you here in such terrifying condition?"
"I asked—who are you?"
The man walked over to a bookshelf and leaned against it, his tone deep as he spoke:
"I'm just an ordinary man. I rule a small village under the Kingdom of Lucia… and I despise the kingdom's system—its wars, its pointless slaughter."
Then, continuing with the same tone, he said:
"My name is Isaac Luenza. I was out gathering herbs outside the village when I saw you falling from the top of the Emperor's Mountain. Your head was detached, but I saw it breathing. So I brought you here."
He smiled oddly and added with a deep tone:
"And if I'm not mistaken, you're the son of the fifth Emperor—Syron Rosenfeld?"
"That's right. I'm the son of that bastard. What's it to you?" Faithless replied sharply.
Isaac closed his eyes and responded calmly:
"Calm down, boy. I don't want anything… I'm just someone who wants to destroy the cruel rule of the Lucia Kingdom. And it seems you're someone who despises both the crown and the emperor as well."
"I don't care about any of that. I only want the kings who murdered my mother… My father? I couldn't care less." Faithless turned his head toward the mirror, his voice cold and emotionless.
Then he stood up, gripping the sword, and spoke with the same detached tone:
"Thanks for your hospitality—but I have a mission to accomplish."
Faithless wore a crimson coat, open at the front, revealing his sculpted six-pack abs.
He reached for the sword's hilt, but before he could grip it, Isaac placed a firm hand on his shoulder and spoke in a deep tone:
"Do you truly intend to face the kings in this miserable state?"
"And what business is it of yours?" Faithless glared at Isaac with piercing eyes. "I'm going after the ones who murdered my mother."
Isaac smiled calmly and spoke in a composed voice:
"It would be best if you stayed here——"
Before he could finish his sentence, Faithless swung his sword with the clear intent to decapitate him.
But Isaac stopped the blade with just two fingers… and snapped it instantly.
"With that level of strength, you plan to fight the kings?"
His tone was cold, and the air around him turned unnervingly still.
Faithless's eyes widened at the sheer power radiating from this man.
'He shattered my blade… with two fingers? He's no ordinary man.'
Faithless clenched his jaw. "What are you trying to do? Recruit me into your rebellion against the kingdom?"
Isaac smiled again, then calmly raised a finger, pointing to the number six on the wall behind him.
"Just six months. Stay here and train. After that, you can march toward the kingdom. But you won't be alone.
A group will accompany you — they'll help dismantle the kingdom's infrastructure piece by piece. Only then will we strike at the kings."
'Training here for six months? That's actually not a bad idea… especially since I used to train intensely with my brother.'
Faithless thought to himself, the fire of vengeance still burning in his chest.
"Fine. I accept your condition. But I prefer to fight alone. I don't like being held back by others."
Isaac chuckled, his tone deep and enigmatic:
"You're stubborn, aren't you? Very well. But if something happens to you — if you're gravely wounded or worse — I will send The Six to rescue you."
Faithless raised an eyebrow. "The Six? Who are they? And how would you even know if I'm in danger?"
With a mysterious grin, Isaac replied:
"The Six are my personal students — warriors I've trained to crush the Kingdom of Lucia and bring down the corrupted regime.
As for how I'll know if you're in trouble… let's just say it's a teacher's instinct to watch over his disciples."
Then, in that same quiet, commanding voice, he added:
"Get some rest. Tomorrow, I'll introduce you to The Six. Your training begins at dawn."