The scenery rolled and twisted, shifting with a speed that made me dizzy and nauseous. The forest filled with hanging corpses vanished, replaced by an even deeper darkness.
I was inside a room. No windows. Only the stench of iron, sweat, and something rotting. My arms were stretched upward, wrists bound by cold iron chains that bit into my skin, leaving red circles and torn flesh. My body hung there, only the very tips of my toes brushing the wet, sticky stone floor.
Drip… drip…
The sound fell in a steady rhythm, maddening. Liquid dripped from the ends of my toes. Not water. Thicker, darker. Blood. Mixed with pus and something else. Where was it coming from? I couldn't see. But the pain was everywhere—my back felt flayed open, my legs crushed, my chest tight. Every breath tugged at the wounds, making the liquid fall faster.
Drip… drip…
.
.
.
And suddenly, the pressure vanished.
My knees hit the ground, but not cold, bloody stone. Beneath them was something soft and cool.
Grass.
I lifted my head, gasping. In front of me, that radiant figure still stood.
I had returned to that place. Or maybe it was only my perception, but everything seemed dimmer now, paler—as if the world had been washed with too much water until the colors bled away. Even the cathedral in the distance looked faded.
Tears still streamed down my cheeks. My body trembled with that deep, soul-rotting exhaustion after being forced to see and feel those memories again.
Then the radiant figure spoke. His voice was gentle, unbearably gentle, like a feather brushing the inside of my ear, slipping directly into my head.
"I saw everything…" he whispered, as if sharing a secret. "Every wound on your body… every tear in your soul… I felt it. I know how agonizing it was. I know how broken you are."
His words dripped over me like warm balm poured over an open wound. After years of carrying it all alone, to hear someone say they knew… that they understood… reached straight into the most fragile part of me I had buried deep.
My heart trembled, nearly opening. My mind, spinning between memories of torture and the image of my sister hanging, turned chaotic. A stupid, naive yearning to be understood, to be forgiven, almost sent me collapsing.
But then I clenched my teeth and bit my tongue until it bled.
Stay sane. This wasn't compassion or salvation. This was a trap. The feeling rising in my chest was… wrong.
Like maggots crawling across a wound, claiming they were there to cleanse.
Before I could fully shut it out, that soft voice returned—more insistent now, more persuasive, like silk wrapping around my throat.
"Look… all your suffering… all your losses…"
He paused, letting space for hatred to bubble.
"All of it… every wound carved into your flesh, every scream you swallowed alone… every ruin in your life… You know who caused it, don't you?"
"That woman," he continued.
As if triggered by his words, a blurry image surfaced. A woman with red hair. Her face… unfocused in my memory. But one thing was clear: her smile. Back then, that smile was only for me—warm, bright, full of light, as if the world spun around the two of us.
"Hate her, as everyone else does. Don't doubt the truth. Look at how your life crumbled because of her. Understand… that hating her is not a sin."
He paused again, giving weight to the final word.
"It is a necessity."
I couldn't hold it back.
"SHUT UP! Before I rip out your rotten tongue and feed it to the dogs!"
My furious scream echoed, then dissolved into the false meadow's quiet. But the reaction I received was not anger, not retaliation. The radiant figure simply stood still, watching me calmly.
I drew a deep breath, forcing my racing heart to slow. My mind worked fast, sorting deception from truth.
The creature before me… was cunning. It didn't attack the body. It struck at the soul, touching old wounds, offering poison disguised as medicine. And the worst part, I had no idea how to escape this place.
"You possess immense potential," he said, offering a sincere compliment.
"Your wounds are deep, but that is what makes you strong. I understand your refusal earlier. It's natural. But allow me to offer once more… true salvation. Not illusion. Not a salvation like the one that man received. A real chance to be forgiven… and freed from the burden you've carried for so long."
This time, I didn't reject it instantly. By now, I had realized something. He couldn't—or wouldn't—force this "salvation" without consent. If he could, why talk so much? Why dig through memories? Why persuade? He needed something from me: permission… or sacrifice.
This radiant monster was intelligent. So maybe… I could negotiate.
"What kind of salvation are you offering? Is it the same as what you gave that man?" I asked, letting a hint of sarcasm slip. "And isn't it unfair? He sacrificed five hundred lives for your 'blessing.' And I offer nothing. Would you give it to me for free?"
My intention was simple: pretend interest, trick him into thinking I'd pay some price, and find a way out.
The radiant figure smiled, even without a visible mouth.
"Oh, no," he said softly. "The salvation I offer you far surpasses that. For you, I offer something more precious. True freedom from suffering… and forgiveness."
He paused again, weighing his next words. Then they rang out like a bell.
"I can bring your sister back to life."
Thud.
A hammer blow straight to my chest. Air stopped. My heart froze. My eyes widened, staring at the figure with disbelief tangled with a wild, dangerous hope.
"She died still suffering from memory loss, didn't she?" he continued. "You never got to apologize to her, for trying to strangle her. Her amnesia began after that incident. And she died… before you could tell her the truth. Before you could admit that you killed your mother, and beg for her forgiveness."
Every word he spoke struck the deepest, most forbidden wounds I had hidden.
"…That's impossible," I finally whispered, hoarse. "Bringing someone back from the dead… is impossible."
"Impossible?" he echoed. "Do you believe in an afterlife?"
I shook my head.
"In that case," he continued, voice both questioning and certain, "where do you think all the souls of the dead go? If there is no afterlife, then why do ghosts, spirits, and malevolent wraiths roam the world?"
I shook my head again, confusion and doubt seeping past the walls of my skepticism.
The radiant figure lifted his face slightly, as if giving a signal.
Suddenly, hundreds of faceless souls drifted closer, forming a circle that trapped both of us within the meadow.
Then something changed. Their blank faces slowly took shape. Features emerged—noses, mouths, eyes. And I recognized them. Many were my subordinates who had just died. Most were our enemies. And among them was one familiar face: Collin.
They all looked peaceful. Calm. As if pain no longer existed for them.
The radiant figure noticed my gaze fixed on Collin. The boy's spirit drifted forward, leaving the crowd. As he approached, the peaceful expression faded, replaced by confusion. He blinked, looked around, then down at his floating form. Finally, he looked at me and at the figure beside me.
"C… Captain?" his voice echoed, distant yet real. "What… what's happening? Why am I… floating?"
Then, in his trademark cluelessness, he asked, "Am I dead?"
I nodded slowly.
Collin's face changed instantly. His eyes widened, and in a heartbeat he burst into tears. He rambled exactly as he did in life.
"But… but I have a pretty girlfriend waiting back home! We were gonna get married! I promised her I'd return with cool war stories, not news of my death! THIS ISN'T FAIR, CAPTAIN! I STILL WANNA LIVE!"
The scene should've been tragic, yet… it was so very Collin. Watching him, I turned back to the radiant figure.
"Then… can you bring him back to life?" I asked, more as a test than out of hope.
Collin fell silent instantly, staring at me with raw expectation.
"Yes," the creature answered plainly. "With the proper cost. Your life in exchange for his. Do you want that?"
I frowned immediately.
"No," I refused without hesitation.
Upon hearing my rejection, Collin's expression shifted again. His tears stopped. Regret washed over his face. He drifted closer, speaking in a trembling whisper far more serious than usual.
"Captain…" he said. "I… I'm sorry. It was me. I was the one who poisoned you earlier."
My face darkened. I narrowed my eyes at him. From the start, I had found it suspicious that Collin even had an antidote.
He nodded, frightened but determined to continue. "I was forced. Someone… someone made me swear a soul contract. I had to poison you, or I'd die. And I wasn't allowed to tell anyone."
"I poisoned your lunch… then planned to give you the antidote afterward. I swear I didn't want you dead! I didn't want to betray you. But… the contract only broke once the poison fully spread through your body."
He paused, looking at me with eyes full of regret. "And I swear, Captain… I had no idea the Mordune troops would ambush us right after we arrived and finished eating. I was only ordered to poison you, not lure you into a trap… I'm really, truly sorry, Captain…"