"What a person faces in daily life leaves marks on them. Repeated marks turn into wounds, and when wounds heal, they leave behind scars."
———
Cyn stood before the grand, ornate doors leading into Xyrene's wing. Days had passed since that incident. Today, he had come for her. He waited outside for someone to announce his arrival, and then for her approval before entering.
The corridor was lavish, decorated with the finest candelabras and chandeliers, red-and-gold carpets beneath his feet. Everything exuded a regal, almost divine grandeur. Enormous wealth had been poured into maintaining this place. More than thirty wives and concubines enjoyed the same level of treatment. Not every wing was identical, of course, but the palace was vast, almost like a small city.
Cyn idly tapped the helmet of the guard standing before him. The man was fully armored, frozen in place, unable to speak or react. Cyn outranked him by far inside the palace.
"What a job… ten hours of standing in front of doors without speaking or doing anything. What a miserable life," Cyn muttered with a mocking sympathy.
A creak cut through the silence.
Keek!
A maid bowed. "Honored Consort Cyn, my lady awaits you in her study."
Cyn knew the wing well. He didn't need a guide, but protocol demanded it, so he let the maid escort him until they reached the entrance of Xyrene's study.
He walked in without greeting her. Xyrene was at one of her shelves, searching for a book. She wore something resembling a mistress's attire, her hair tied in a side ponytail, thin-framed glasses resting on her face. She looked stunning, alluring, and commanding all at once.
"You look better than I expected. I thought you'd lose your mind when you woke up," she said with a teasing smirk.
Cyn knew exactly what she meant, but he ignored it. He wasn't here for banter. He got straight to the point.
"I came to take it back. Where's the key?"
She bit her lower lip, annoyed. Her mood darkened instantly. "Are you insane? I'm not giving it to you. I can't cover for you anymore. Suspicion is already spreading. Even if you were the king himself, you can't just kill whoever you want. People from the Temple and the Church are already watching the palace. Servants disappearing every other day needs an explanation. These are lives vanishing, and you're butchering them in your lab."
Cyn insisted, but his tone stayed calm. "I need the lab. I have work to do. Give me the key."
Xyrene refused. "I can't. The last time you were there, you cut apart one of the consorts tasked with caring for Qurah. The investigation is still ongoing."
Cyn gave her a choice. "Just give it back. I promise I won't kill anyone from the palace for now. If I wanted to kill someone, I'd do it even outside the lab. Just give me the key. I need it."
"Do you really mean that promise?" she asked, uncertain.
He simply held her gaze. Xyrene wavered. A helpless expression crossed her face, but a smile slowly curled on her lips. His eyes cornered her with no escape.
"…Fine. You win. But if you break your promise… something bad will happen."
She walked toward her desk and bent slightly to reach a drawer. Before she could even touch it, someone pulled her back.
Cyn wrapped his arms around her from behind. She could feel his hardness pressing through her leather skirt, threatening to tear right through it.
He licked her ear. Strands of her hair dampened under his tongue. Xyrene gasped softly, pleasure rising inside her.
"Mmh~~"
Something shifted behind them. The maid had stumbled backward. They had forgotten she was still in the room. Cyn's mind spun.
He looked at the poor girl. Her soul nearly left her body. The man before her clearly intended to kill her. Should she run? Scream? Who would save her? No one.
Xyrene's voice descended like mercy. "Don't worry. She's trustworthy. She already knows too much. For now, focus on me. This body hasn't gotten what it deserves for days. You owe me that, after all. It's your primary duty."
Cyn turned away from the maid. She exhaled in relief and fled, closing the door behind her.
Inside that study, two hungry creatures waged their own private war.
---
Later that night, deep in the black silence, Cyn made his way toward the outskirts of the royal capital. He followed the shoreline near an unrefined dock. Crude wooden ships rested there, enough for the simple fishermen who used them.
This remote area carried hatred, hunger, rot… poverty wrapped in misery. People here survived on scraps of fish. Crime haunted the nights, and blood was spilled every evening.
Cyn had a laboratory in the palace, but he also had another one hidden here, behind the port structures. The port itself was guarded by knights under the command of a general. Cyn, however, headed elsewhere.
He walked along the coast, heading behind a cluster of salt-whitened hills. Ocean waves crashed violently. Tonight would likely bring a storm.
Behind those hills lay a pit descending into darkness. It was nearly impossible to find, concealed with extreme care. Cyn pushed aside a massive boulder, revealing a narrow opening leading downward to a hidden cave with branching tunnels. Only one path led to the lab, and it was hard to locate without knowing it beforehand.
The door was iron and steel. Only his key could open it.
The cave was dark, but Cyn had long grown accustomed to darkness. He walked as if he could see perfectly. Only his footsteps and the occasional drip of water echoed around him.
Minutes later, he reached the metal door. A faint glow came from stones embedded in the cave walls. He removed the key hanging from his neck and unlocked the lab.
Keeek!
Cold air rushed outward like the breath of a morgue. A mist of pale frost drifted from within.
He shut the door behind him. The lab lights flickered on. They weren't electrical—this world wasn't advanced enough and never would be. At least, that was Cyn's belief. This world was different. Advancement here was always tied to war. Whenever a kingdom reached progress, a new conflict arose and destroyed it.
In his old world, wars existed too. But here… here the cycle was absolute. Once a civilization peaked, it collapsed. Everything built over a thousand years was rewritten within decades. Then they climbed upward again, slowly, toward another brief golden age.
Only for it to be shattered once more.
Progress fed on destruction. Without the pressure of war—without the need to innovate for survival—civilizations stagnated.
This was Cyn's conviction.
The lab was entirely steel, though rust was beginning to creep in from the salty ocean air. It didn't matter. This wasn't his main facility. It was a secondary one, used only for crucial tasks.
Beds, tools, instruments, capsules, gloves, white coats—everything was in place.
Cyn removed the upper half of his clothing. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and tried to empty his mind. He was good at that. The pain and shock he had suffered from the mist had solved many problems for him.
Focus. That was what he aimed for. He began regulating his breath. In… out… but his breathing soon turned erratic.
His heartbeat surged. His blood pumped wildly. Heat flared in his core like a rising flame.
His nerves tightened. His Scar began bleeding.
He collected a small sample of the blood seeping from the Scar, then pricked his own finger to gather a second sample. He placed both onto a smooth ceramic plate. He added diluted vinegar, then drops of saltwater. The Scar's blood coagulated instantly, turning into dark clots. His own blood remained liquid longer and did not coagulate the same way.
He repeated the experiment on a strip of white cloth. The Scar's blood left a grayish-black stain. His remained a vivid red.
The results were undeniable.
The two bloods were not the same.
Cyn thought, There's no match. The blood in my veins isn't the blood in the Scar. Then where does the Scar get its blood?
The knights captured me ten years ago… but before that, in my earliest days here, when I first entered this child's body, I remember the other children in the river. They wondered when I got that tattoo or scar.
Which meant the boy's original body did not have it.
So the Scar came with me? Did I have it in my previous world without noticing?
Cyn remembered the voice of the Scar, the one that told him scars are born from what a person suffers in life.
He sank deeper into thought. From the cells at the end of the lab, faint voices rose—fearful whispers, trembling breaths, desperate pleas. His test subjects.
Cyn ignored them.
He continued his tests, and then began practicing what the voice had instructed him, training to control his Scar more precisely.
---