Drip~
Clack!
Ron entered the room, lit the oil lamp, and locked the door. Leaning his back against the wood, he gently touched his neck.
RIP!!!
A sound like tearing cloth echoed from Ron's position. He had ripped away a portion of his own face, peeling it off like a paper mask.
Disgusting—that was the only word to describe what Quân would have seen had he witnessed Ron's face right now.
Staggering, Ron carried the patch of his own flesh and skin toward the desk.
This was an office, yet it contained nothing but books, notebooks, an oil lamp, a desk, and a chair. Nothing hung upon the walls, as if reflecting the utterly bland nature of its master.
Ron sat down on the worn wooden chair, rummaging through the desk drawer to pull out a silver mirror.
The very moment his hand brushed against the silver mirror, his flesh suddenly turned mushy, dissolving into a sickening, charred mess of rotten meat.
Yet Ron didn't care. Even if the sky were to collapse, his expression wouldn't have flickered—assuming a facial expression could even help him look more human.
Ron stared into the mirror, looking at his utterly repulsive face.
It could be said that this face was downright grotesque, resembling the creation of some cosmic horror.
His face was drowned in an inky blackness, looking like melted cream dripping down from the crown of his head. His sparse, falling hair was matted with a black, tar-like sludge.
The pale skin had been blackened by a thick, dark blood that was gradually drying up. His nose had almost completely rotted away, making it impossible to identify any spot untouched by the blackness.
However, the most horrifying part was the worms.
Worms wriggled out from the punctures across his face, gnawing on the thick black fluid as if it were food.
They were everywhere the fluid touched, a literal nest of maggots. On Ron's hand, where the flesh was still burning away, the blood-red bone lay completely exposed.
That very hand placed the mirror on the desk, then slowly reached up toward an eye socket that had been eaten clean; even his signature golden iris had been gnawed to near ruin.
Yet in Ron's eyes, what he saw wasn't disgust, but hundreds of deep crimson ribbons of color drifting about the room.
This was a hallucination—a specific illusion that only Ron could see within his bleak, gray room.
Up until now, everything to him had been a strange monochrome.
Ron stared at those ribbons of color, which looked like fractures in his field of vision. He brought his hand to his mouth, using his remaining intact hand to prop up his body, covering his lips to prevent the worms from spilling out of his throat.
Aside from the sounds of his physical movements, not a single noise could escape his throat, for his vocal cords had been eaten completely clean.
Ron brought his hand to the mirror, trying to look deep into it.
But the longer he held it, the faster his hand was burned away by an invisible force, the collapse visibly accelerating.
By this point, Ron's eye had rolled down his face—the nerves clearly bitten through—falling right into his mouth, which was punctured by hundreds of holes. From both of his ears, tiny perforations bubbed up alongside writhing worms.
It was utterly hideous. Within mere minutes, Ron had lost nearly all five bodily senses, and even his hair had almost entirely fallen out. He could only desperately halt his body from falling apart by controlling black monofilament threads, binding his flesh together like a retaining wall, but even that was not enough.
Ron remained slumped over the mirror. He wasn't even sure if he was holding it correctly because he could no longer feel a thing. It could be said that Ron using mana to control those black threads was the only thing separating him from a vegetative state.
Ron collapsed onto the desk, plunging into an everlasting darkness, yet he still feebly attempted to guide a thread toward the mirror.
Just a little more, just one moment...
And then, the thread made contact. Ron's entire body jolted as if struck by electricity, though he wasn't even aware of it.
The demon-reflecting mirror had fulfilled its purpose...
Ron slipped into a deep coma, like a vegetable with no telling when he would ever return.
...
Three years prior.
"Hello?"
A young maiden walked through the pouring rain, holding a small black umbrella to shield her voluminous golden hair beneath the light spring downpour.
She strolled across the old, damp stone tiles smelling of mold, looking up with an unreadable expression.
Before her eyes lay a rather peculiar sight: dozens of men and women were hoisted into midair by something unseen, suspended upon thick lines strung densely throughout the entire street.
It resembled a public execution, with the executioner being a small statured individual standing right in the center of the ordeal.
That person carried no umbrella, yet not a single drop of rain seemed to touch him, almost as though he had constructed that gallows canopy specifically to keep the rain off.
"..."
Ron Irus turned his head, slowly shifting his gaze toward Janeus.
"Oh... little lady, what brings you here? Walking alone at night is hardly a wise choice."
Ron smiled brightly, slipping his hands into his pockets as he casually walked toward Janeus.
"Ah, this scene creates quite a misunderstanding, doesn't it? Worry not about it, these are simply models I purchased to take photos with."
Ron extended a business card toward her, upon which two large words were written: One Line.
Yet before he could hand it over, Janeus spoke.
"Are you Joe?"
Ron halted in his tracks, assessing the girl before him from head to toe. He remained silent, allowing Janeus to continue.
"In Jinlus Province, Jinlus Village, a certain individual replaced the former Black Lord to usurp the title of the new Black Lord through numerous schemes, claiming the name Joe Jothane. The one who annihilated the One Night gang, establishing One Line from there under the Level 0 title: Joe Jothane."
She tilted her umbrella, inviting Ron Irus inside to shelter from the rain alongside her, seemingly ignoring the fact that the rain had never once managed to wet his clothes.
"Are you Joe Jothane? Level 1 Ron Irus?"
Ron looked at her nonchalantly. Since she had spoken to such an extent, whatever he did now meant he had already fallen into a trap; furthermore, with that pile of corpses behind him, had he been caught red handed?
Ron drew a cigarette from his pocket, placing it gently between his lips, yet no lighter was to be found.
"Through various means, the local lords nearby have confirmed you are Joe Jothane; hiding is utterly useless. Yet I find something peculiar... You seem to have deliberately left openings. Perhaps for a kid who is merely thirteen years old, that is quite normal, hardly as impressive as I imagined."
Flick~
Janeus casually retrieved a lighter from her skirt pocket, one intimately familiar to Ron, and sparked a flame for him.
Ron's face remained utterly motionless. He had known early on that the lighter was a dangerous item from the moment he received it as a gift from a subordinate.
Yet he had never feared death, at least not right now.
"You are quite tall, about half a head taller than me. I estimate you are around fifteen or sixteen years old."
Ron smiled, yet that smile held not a single trace of emotion, like the smirk of a man who cared nothing for life or death.
"Yet strangely enough, you lack the essential features of a mature woman."
Ron directed his gaze down her upper torso, then raised his eyes to meet hers.
They were quite beautiful, peculiar only in carrying a chill as cold as ice, yet that aura was something impossible to replicate.
"You know? Girls at this age usually have that feature scale proportionally with height; exceptions are rare."
Ron rubbed his chin, speaking like a lecherous fool, yet his indifferent gaze seemed to behold a lifeless object.
He awaited a furrowed brow, but was met only with silence.
"Wearing a dress in the rain, and silk fabric at that, which resists mud quite well. Is this not flaunting authority through expensive attire? A face developing youthful traits, long legs yet lacking a chest, a type that falls outside popular preference. You are strangely adept at avoiding both major forms of physical scrutiny at your age, not developing a mature body to draw the gaze of those who prefer older women, yet developing just enough to deter pedophiles. I believe that is far from natural, because for young maidens like you, when donning such a lovely dress, wouldn't one naturally add a bit of padding?"
Ron rambled on continuously, observing her unchanging expression before shifting his focus to her hair.
"Hair reaching down to the waist, wavy and well maintained, tied in a bun for easy movement. Wearing neither high heels nor expensive shoes, but rather refined boots. Hands bearing no rings yet remaining open, not acting defensive out of instinct, are we? Or do you simply place little faith in it?"
Ron let out another smile. His sole motive for speaking so much was to bide time. Being in such close proximity to her naturally meant she had permitted it with absolute confidence, yet tying monofilament lines around someone's neck was a different matter; there had to be at least some preparatory sound before approaching the lines.
His hearing was unreliable, so he was awaiting the vibration of the monofilament lines upon his fingertips to act, yet it seemed this girl's accomplices were either flying or as light as falling raindrops.
The girl realized this; it was hardly difficult to notice Ron's hand remaining motionless like a statue.
WHOOSH~
Ron took a deep puff, exhaling a plume of smoke into the rain to let the falling water cleanse it away.
"So, what do you need from me?"
Ron asked, yet the hand holding the business card had already moved; a single split second would prove sufficient for Ron to kill the girl.
"You need not trust me."
She spoke softly, just loud enough for the two of them to hear.
Ron said nothing more, simply observing this stranger with utmost caution as she spoke.
"I am the Third Princess."
Hearing that, Ron froze briefly, staring intently into her eyes.
"That is hardly a funny joke, my lady. Whatever the case may be..."
Before Ron could finish his sentence, Janeus extended her hand, her palm open as if offering a handshake to Ron.
"Become my butler, Ron Irus. Anomaly Number M36. If things continue like this, neither of us shall survive, and death will come knocking at the door. It is simply..."