Raul POV.
I'm staring at myself in the mirror.
All I see is a man carrying deep sorrows, a young face crammed with centuries-old regrets.
Even though I took Marcus and Noah's souls through a deal, I feel rotten.
In short, I feel like shit…
But I can't quit this job because it was the only entertainment in my life.
There was a time when I took souls to strengthen myself, but I've long passed that phase.
Right now, I'm staying at an inn in the Dragnar Empire.
The Traveler's Hearth is a warm, spacious inn squeezed into a crowded corner of the capital's old district.
The street outside never sleeps.
Lanterns sway in the night breeze, their soft light spilling onto rain-soaked cobblestones.
The air carries the scent of fresh bread from the neighboring bakery, roasted chestnuts from a street cart, and the laughter of distant night wanderers.
The world doesn't care how much pain you carry; it's just like a man slaps money in your face, saying, "Take it, bitch."
