Gulgaltha was ablaze.

In that small town, young men and women danced courtship rituals, celebrating the season of revelry. But the sudden invasion of the Holy Kingdom’s army caused the small town to collapse in an instant.

The village burned, people fell dead. Festive excitement turned swiftly into a horrific tragedy.

The shattered festival, the blood-drenched village, the overwhelming stench of gore, the crackling sound of burning corpses…

The unbearable smell of death pierced the skin.

The woman stood amidst this tragic scene.

In the depths of winter, a butterfly, forgetting the season, fluttered weakly towards the flames licking hungrily like blunt tongues. After struggling mournfully amid the tragedy, it finally rested its wings upon the woman’s shoulder.

“Your Highness.”

The knight calmly observing this scene murmured resolutely, his hand already resting on the sword belted at his waist.

“Please, escape with your nanny.”

The woman slowly lifted her head, locking eyes with her knight. Her jet-black hair, glinting with a crimson glow from the flames, fluttered softly around her face. Her red lips moved quietly.

Are you telling me to run away with my nanny and leave you behind?

Instead of speaking aloud, she communicated her thoughts silently. The knight skillfully read her lips.

“My duty is to protect you, wherever and whenever. I will buy you as much time as possible. Please, leave Gulgaltha quickly. You must return to Belphegor as fast as you can.”

From Gulgaltha to Belphegor—it wasn’t a particularly great distance, but the problem lay elsewhere. After considering the knight’s words, the woman firmly shook her head.

“It’s impossible.”

“You say it’s impossible without even trying? That’s unlike you, Your Highness.”

“ Baal, you already know.”

“But if not you, then who will inform the Grand Duke of Belphegor about what happened in Gulgaltha?”

“She’s right, my lady. Please hurry—go to the Grand Duke at once.”

The nanny, appearing strangely restless, anxiously stomped her feet. Horrifying screams echoed from all directions, steadily drawing closer. Ruthless killers were approaching them.

Meeting her sorrowful crimson gaze, Baal, the knight, offered a faint smile. Just as he had done when they were children, he knelt before the woman, gently taking her delicate hand. Slowly, he pressed his lips to her fragile knuckles.

Recalling that distant past, when he swore eternal loyalty to the woman standing before him.

The little princess of those days no longer existed. Instead, before him stood a beautifully grown woman, her eyes glowing with sorrow.

“Your Highness, if I may humbly request…”

Within her gaze, Baal daringly saw someone else overlapping. He opened his mouth and barely managed to murmur:

“Please tell my wife…that I love her deeply, and that I’m sorry I can’t stay with her until the end.”

“Then survive.”

Her silent resolve was clear and determined. The quietness made her command even more potent.

“Survive and return safely, and deliver those words yourself. Tell her that you love her, and that you’ll remain with her until the end.”

“…Your Highness.”

“That is an order.”

Knowing it was an impossible task, Baal did not dare make a promise. He merely offered a gentle, liberated smile and softly released her hand.

Soon after, he stood and turned away from her, signaling an end to their conversation. The flames devouring the forest grew fiercer with each passing moment.

“Princess Protogenoi Chronosa.”

Baal’s back was firm as he spoke her name. Standing resolutely, he gave his final farewell:

“Even in death, I shall never forget the time spent by your side.”

“….”

At those words, the woman—Chronosa, the sole princess of Belphegor’s Great Fortress—hesitated briefly. Tears welled up in her scarlet eyes.

“This is how you all…make me a sinner.”

But Baal, unable to see Chronosa’s tears, merely murmured resolutely once more.

“Thank you, for everything until now.”

For some reason, Chronosa felt certain that Baal was smiling brightly.

Soon after, gripping his sword tightly, Baal charged fearlessly toward the flames. Chronosa helplessly watched the figure retreating into eternity, a silhouette she would never forget. Her darkened crimson eyes grew bitter.

“My lady, hurry! Quickly…!”

The nanny urgently wiped her tears away and grabbed Chronosa. Carrying Chronosa upon her aged back, the nanny dashed desperately through the thick forest.

However, before they could even fully escape the forest where they’d been hiding, the soldiers of the Holy Kingdom were already hot on their trail.

The two women instinctively knew that Baal had nobly met his end.

With this realization, they couldn’t even manage a sorrowful cry.

Whoosh!

A sharp sound tore through the air. A spear flew toward them, grazing the nanny’s clothing and embedding itself deeply into the ground.

The nanny lost her balance, tumbling to the earth. Chronosa, who had been riding upon her back, was thrown off, landing heavily a short distance away.

Blood flowed profusely from the nanny’s leg, clearly cut by the passing spear. Yet, she desperately crawled across the ground to embrace Chronosa.

“My lady, are you alright?”

Her instinct was first to check Chronosa’s condition. Covered in dust, Chronosa gave a faint nod. In that instant, a huge shadow loomed over the two.

Like a hunter cornering prey, the man sharply reined in his horse. The massive steed raised its front legs high in the air before coming to a gentle halt in front of them, snorting softly.

The man’s pure white hair and silver-plated armor gleamed fiercely red in the firelight. Bright golden eyes coldly stared down at Chronosa as she gasped for breath on the ground.

Their eyes met, and for that split second, it felt as though time itself had stopped. Chronosa involuntarily held her breath.

She felt like prey trapped helplessly before a predator. Like a mouse desperately searching for a place to hide after being cornered by a cat, Chronosa knew instinctively.

This man was dangerous.

“So there were still two left.”

“Danger.”

The instinct etched into her bloodline whispered urgently. She fully realized who he was.

“Silver hair… golden eyes… pink hair… Arvoos’s Regalia…”

The nanny muttered disconnectedly, biting her lips tightly. It seemed she recognized the identities of the two who led the approaching army.

The man, who had been silently looking down at the two, suddenly leapt off his horse. His sudden action caused the pink-haired woman who had followed behind him to gape incredulously.

“Anankeus? What are you doing now?”

Ignoring the pink-haired woman, Anankeus strode forward. The sword hanging at his waist was swiftly drawn with a sharp hiss.

“You two.”

His emotionless voice resonated. Without hesitation, he thrust his sword downward, slicing through the nanny’s skirt and embedding the blade deeply into the ground. The startled nanny gasped sharply.

“Who are you, and where are you from?”

“…What?”

At this strangely intense reaction, the pink-haired woman also jumped off her horse. She quickly approached Anankeus and stood by his side.

The nanny desperately pulled Chronosa tighter into her embrace, lifting her chin defiantly. Her dark-red eyes were determined.

“My name is Beroe. I plead with the Holy Kingdom’s High Priest—please, at least spare my young lady.”

“Young lady?”

Anankeus carefully repeated the nanny, Beroe’s words. His eyes slowly scrutinized Chronosa, held like a doll in Beroe’s protective arms.

Her jet-black hair, evenly cut in a straight line from eyebrows to ears and jaw, down to her waist. Skin as pale as snow. Eyes as red as blood, gazing indifferently back at him.

And clearly visible beneath the rare golden silk skirt—her swollen ankles. Not a fresh injury, but an old one.

Anankeus knelt on one knee and reached out swiftly. He ruthlessly seized Chronosa’s swollen ankle, causing her body to flinch and tremble uncontrollably. Her lips quivered, silently emitting a scream unheard by anyone.

“..…!”

“What are you doing right now!”

“Have you lost your mind? Hey, even if it’s the season of revelry, are you seriously going this far?”

This female had no tendons left in her ankle.

Tears quickly filled Chronosa’s previously indifferent red eyes. As she began panting silently, a dizzying fragrance overtook the surroundings. A scent that was potent enough to pierce through the stench of blood and burning—the irresistible aroma unique to the season of revelry.

Even the pink-haired woman instinctively covered her nose, retreating a few steps backward. This scent bewitched the senses.

Slightly furrowing his brows, Anankeus brushed away Chronosa’s jet-black hair this time, exposing her pristine white nape and revealing a vividly prominent red scar.

The scar was far too neat. Someone had deliberately inflicted this wound—to render her mute.

And then,

“I smell scented oil.”