Bam—

A heavy sword crashed to the ground in front of the boy. For a ten-year-old, it was far too large and sharp to handle safely.

His black eyes trembled at the sight of the terrifyingly gleaming blade, and a shadow loomed over him.

When he looked up, he saw a noblewoman standing above him, her black hair tied up in the same way as his. Her red lips moved with cold firmness.

“This is the end of your clumsy wooden sword duels. No matter how many times you swing a wooden sword, it will never pierce an enemy’s heart like real steel can.”

With those words, she pressed the heavy hilt firmly into his small hands.

“Kylance, starting today, you will learn to wield a real sword. Do not hesitate to cut down your enemies.”

Kylance flinched at the coldness of her tone when she spoke his name. He gripped the thick handle tightly, trying to hide his fear.

The scene shifted.

The boy, who had once had to look up at the lady, had grown tall enough to meet her gaze. The long sword that had once felt awkward and heavy now moved naturally, as if it were an extension of his own body.

And yet—

He never truly became accustomed to taking lives.

Although Kylance was physically larger than his peers, he had not yet reached adulthood.

Thirteen.

Had he been born into any other noble family, he would now be learning how to handle a wooden sword. Instead, however, he was already being trained to wield a blade meant for k*lling.

Kylance’s gaze shifted to the criminals kneeling before him.

Their hands were tightly tied behind their backs and their mouths were gagged with thick rope. They looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes, silently begging for mercy.

The desperation in their eyes was too much for his young heart to bear. Overwhelmed by fear and shame, Kylance took an instinctive step back. However, a cold hand clamped down on his shoulder, holding him firmly in place.

“They are worthless. Do not hesitate—kill them.”

The lady blocked his retreat, pushing him forward towards the condemned.

Her piercing gaze bore heavily into his back. There was no escape. He had no right to refuse.

“Be strong. Only by becoming strong can you take revenge on those who killed your parents.”

These were the words his aunt repeated whenever he faltered or wanted to run away.

With his eyes tightly shut, Kylance stepped forward. He couldn’t bear to look. Avoiding eye contact, he raised his sword and swung it.

The sharp blade tore through flesh, sending a sickening sensation through him.

When all movement had disappeared before him, Kylance finally lowered his gaze.

The lifeless bodies of those he had just killed lay before him — men who hadn’t even been able to scream.

He had truly killed someone.

Even though they were criminals, the chilling sensation of taking a life sent shivers down his spine.

A killer.

His bloodshot, bulging eyes seemed to scream at him.

“No… I…”

Kylance’s hand trembled as he gripped the hilt of the sword.

His first kill.

Taking a life was far more terrifying and brutal than he could ever have imagined. Especially for a thirteen-year-old boy.

Thud.

His grip on the sword weakened and it fell to the ground. His legs gave way and he fell to the floor. His palms were smeared with thick blood.

“Ah…”

It was terrifying.

The sticky blood on his hands felt as though it would never wash off. The pungent iron smell made him feel sick. His vision blurred.

For the first time since his parents died, tears welled in his eyes.

He desperately wanted to see them again.

He longed to bury his face in his mother’s embrace, to laugh and play with his father again and leave all this behind.

Instead of warmth and comfort, however, he heard a cold, sharp and merciless voice.

“Tsk! How can you be so weak? Just like your brother, always wasting your emotions on useless things.”

Melish Viasteus’ voice was like ice.

“You will not grow up like your brother. You will become strong — so strong that insignificant matters won’t bother you, and you won’t lose sight of the bigger picture. I will make sure of it.”

Melish whispered those words like a solemn promise as she pulled Kylance to his feet and took hold of his arm. Looking down at his tear-stained face with cold eyes, she dragged him away.

To the place she had prepared for him: the training room.

It was a cold, empty room. There was no furniture. Only small, barred windows.

Melish shoved Kylance inside and tossed a tattered piece of clothing at his feet while he silently wept.

“This is…”

Although the clothes were mouldy and stained, Kylance recognised them immediately.

“Whose clothes are these?”

His breath caught.

‘Mother and Father’s…’

They were the same clothes that his parents had worn on the day of the carriage accident.

“You haven’t forgotten, have you? How your parents died?”

How could he forget?

The memory was still vivid: the sharp scent of the wind and the cold air as he stood before the wreckage.

“Aunt…”

Kylance’s voice trembled pitifully, barely audible.

But Melish’s expression remained cold and unmoved.

She showed no mercy as she pushed the orphaned child closer to the brink of despair.

“Look at your parents’ blood on those clothes and think about it. Think about how weak you were today.”

“…Aunt…”

“And grow stronger.”

Her voice was low and venomous, like a whisper crawling into his ears.

“Bite down on the evil that stole your parents from you. Nurture your hatred. One day, you’ll be able to drive your sword through your enemy’s heart without hesitation.”

A brief silence followed.

“I’ll give you two days.”

Bang!

The heavy door slammed shut and Melish’s cold voice faded away.

The small, windowless room was instantly swallowed by darkness.

Clank!

The sound of the lock clicking echoed through the pitch-black space, sealing him in. There was no escape.

But Kylance made no move.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream or pound on the door, begging to be let out. Instead, he simply stood there like a statue, clutching his parents’ bloodstained clothes in his trembling hands.

Blaming himself for his weakness, Kylance did as his aunt had taught him. He swallowed his grief, chewed on the hatred that had stolen his parents and prayed endlessly for strength.

For the thirteen-year-old orphan trapped in the North, his godmother Melish’s words were absolute.

And so, little by little…

Kylance became a monster. He became a creature so consumed by darkness that he could no longer see the light that might once have saved him.

***

“Don’t ever forget this moment until the day you die. Me… dying in front of you.”

The moment Ariel jumped from the cliff, Kylance’s subconscious shattered.

“Ah!”

Kylance’s eyes snapped open, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

The frigid northern wind bit into him as soon as he caught his breath.

Another dream.

Another terrible nightmare.

But this time, he had woken up much sooner than usual.

It was strange.

Whenever his nightmare about Melish ended, his survival instinct would kick in and his mind would seek refuge in happy dreams about her — about Ariel.

It was as if even his dreams were desperate not to be consumed entirely by darkness.

But tonight was different.

This nightmare took him somewhere even more terrifying than Melish could ever have managed.

It took him back to the moment Ariel vanished before his eyes.

“Are you telling me to let you go now? Even in my dreams?”

“Are you telling me not to use you as my reason to keep living?”

A bitter laugh escaped him.

“I suppose… I don’t even deserve that.”

He looked around, his gaze tracing the endless white mountains that surrounded him.

The snow-covered landscape stretched as far as the eye could see — the snowy mountains of the north.

The habitat of the White Dragon.

Ten days had passed since Kylance left for the Monster subjugation mission.

Although the scenery remained unchanged, today’s cold felt far more bitter and piercing, mirroring the emptiness gnawing inside him.

Was it because of the terrible nightmare he had had?

Or was it because he was afraid that he wouldn’t dream about Ariel anymore?

Most likely, it was the latter.

Kylance slowly opened the small leather pouch hanging at his waist. His hollow eyes gazed down at its contents — eyes that had once gleamed with light, but were now dulled by longing and despair.

Most knights would carry dried rations or emergency supplies in such pouches.

But Kylance carried neither.

Instead, his pouch contained nothing but sheets of parchment and sharpened graphite.

Parchment instead of food…?

Anyone else would have called him insane.

But for Kylance, these worn sheets of parchment were his only lifeline. His elixir of survival.

Ever since he left the capital and travelled north, whenever the weight of longing threatened to overwhelm him, he would write and rewrite letters that he could never send. He would pile words onto parchment in an attempt to fill the void inside him.

I’m sorry. I love you.

He had written those words hundreds of times.

Each time, they eased his pain, if only slightly.

Without this ritual, he feared he would lose his mind entirely.

Kylance pulled out the final sheet of parchment.

When he first set out on this mission, he had packed over ten sheets.

Now, only this single piece remained.

With a heavy swallow, he steadied his hand and began to write.

As his pencil traced his deepest, unspoken feelings onto the parchment, thoughts of Ariel swirled through his mind.

***

[I guess I really am nothing but a miserable fool. I miss you so much, Ariel. Now, I’m even afraid that you won’t appear in my dreams anymore. I’ll probably be missing you like this for the rest of my life.]

Kylance stared down at the letter, his dark gaze fixed on the illegible words.

Then, as he had done countless times before, he folded the parchment in half.

With practised ease, he struck a flint to ignite a small flame and held it to the letter.

As always—the letter that could never be sent turned to ash and vanished into the cold northern wind.

The sharp scent of black ash and smoke stung his nostrils.

It was this that finally brought him back to reality.

No matter how much his heart yearned for Ariel, he would never reach her.

As the longing in his throat gradually faded, a deeper emptiness took its place.

But this emptiness was preferable.

At least in this state, he could think clearly.

He could make rational decisions.

Kylance slowly rose from beneath the large stone that had offered him meagre shelter.

Now that the last of the parchment had gone, there was no reason to pause any longer.

Before the gnawing hunger for her returned to consume him, he had to complete his mission.

Without hesitating, Kylance set off for his destination.

He was heading for a place steeped in the smell of blood.

This was the battlefield that suited his new form best.