Chapter : 3 Symbol
After leaving the palace, Arata headed straight to the marketplace. He was starving — he hadn't eaten all day, thanks to the mountain of murder cases that had kept him busy.
Arata was young, but unlike many youths, he wasn't arrogant. His fame had come early; he could accomplish things most people his age couldn't even dream of. A genius, through and through. Yet despite his reputation, very few people had ever actually interacted with him face-to-face.
There were reasons for that.
First, Arata was too straightforward. He said whatever came to mind without sparing a single thought for who he was speaking to. Emperor? Elder? Stranger? Didn't matter. If it was in his head, it was coming out of his mouth.
Second, his punishments were brutal. If someone failed to complete the punishment he originally assigned, he simply gave them another — harsher, longer, and far more embarrassing. And everyone knew he meant it.
On top of that, Arata was ridiculously strong and frighteningly clever. He had won countless battles and had never lost a single one. Many people were terrified to even approach him, the risk of being humiliated in public was simply too high.
The last person who dared to talk back to Arata had been so thoroughly embarrassed that he couldn't show his face in public for almost a year. And the funniest part? Arata hadn't even been serious that time — he had humiliated that man casually.
If that was his casual attitude, then what would his seriousness look like? No one wanted to find out.
Arata was also mischievous; at times, downright childish. His temperament shifted too fast for anyone to keep up. One moment he would be laughing, carefree, and the next moment he could be on a killing spree. It was impossible to predict which version of him would appear.
No one dared to be casual with him. Even the sect leaders feared him—though they masked it well behind calm expressions. There were also people who respected him deeply, but in Arata's eyes, those who feared him were easier to accept than those who respected him. Fear lasted; respect could vanish in a single moment.
Arata's good side was like that of an angel, but his bad side surpassed even the worst devils.
He wasn't shy, nor was he an introvert. He simply didn't enjoy interacting with others unnecessarily. And above all, he hated formality--hated offering compliments without reason even more.
Usually, Arata was the one who came up with battle strategies, and every one of them led to victory. He didn't trust easily, and hardly anyone had ever earned his trust.
A few people had—just a handful—but even then, Arata didn't consider them too close. Still, he trusted them, and in his own way, they were like friends.
As Arata rode his horse, he hummed the traditional song of his homeland, Kagero.
Kagero was a country of delicious food, joy, and laughter—a place where people lived in harmony. It was ruled by the Kurogami family.
And Arata?
Arata was the youngest prince of Kagero.
Arata halted in front of the inn and motioned for his soldiers to leave. He dismounted with a fluid grace and strode toward the entrance. As he lifted his leg to step over the threshold—he realized there was none.
Typical.
Inside, the inn buzzed with life far more than the quiet street outside. The air was thick with chatter, the clatter of dishes, and the frantic dance of waiters weaving between tables, trays piled high, nearly tripping at every turn. Every seat seemed claimed—except for one small, secluded corner table that looked as if it could barely accommodate a single person.
Arata didn't hesitate. He slid into the space with the calm authority of someone who always belonged.
Three people were already seated.
The first, swathed in nature-colored robes with soft green hair that caught the light like leaves in a breeze, waved a folding fan lazily and spoke in a gentle, knowing tone.
"I knew you'd come."
"Of course he'd come. He's here for payback, right?" The second interjected. His blazing red hair and matching crimson robes made him look like a living flame, his voice cutting through the din like sparks.
"According to my calculations," the third said, voice calm and precise, his long purple hair falling over sea-colored robes, "your payback should equal approximately 529.00019... twice."
All three were striking—very striking. Of course, none were quite as striking as Arata.
"I don't understand a single word of your calculations, Loki," the red-haired one grumbled, exasperation dripping from every syllable.
"Why? What's wrong? Wait—let me redo it. Five years ago, on August 11... then September 8, at dawn, and again at noon the same year—"
Before he could even finish the first sentence, the red-haired man groaned loudly, flopping back in his chair. "Okay, okay! It's not wrong! Just—stop! If he recounts everything, we'll be stuck listening to hours of nonsense. My brain will be fried before he even reaches the second year..."
He let out a long, dramatic sigh, resigned to the inevitable flood of calculations.
The one in green chuckled softly, folding fan tapping lightly against the table. "You really don't like studying at all. All you care about is food and foolishness, aren't you?"
The red-haired man leaned back, stretching with exaggerated laziness. "Of course. What's the point of studying? Nothing at all."
Loki, the self-proclaimed genius, leaned forward, eyes glittering with mischief. "I predict that in exactly three hours, the sky will darken, and a thunderstorm will strike. Care to bet?"
The red-haired man yawned, voice dripping with mock concern. "And what if your grand predictions fail, hmm?"
"Then I'll..." Loki began, brimming with dramatic flair.
"Then you'll have to run through the crowd shouting, 'I am Loki, and my greatest achievement in life was eating porridge with chopsticks!'—all while flapping your arms like a chicken. Deal?"
"Deal," Loki said without hesitation. "But if you lose, Balder, what's in it for me?"
"Hmm... how about ya—"
"Enough." Arata's voice cut through the banter like a blade. "What are you? Children?" He turned his piercing gaze on the green-haired man. "I'm here with serious information, Luka. Tell your spy to keep an eye on the prisoner. He's far craftier than you think."
"...Yep, I know," Luka said calmly, snapping his folding fan shut. "I already placed an array around this table. No one can see us, hear us, or sense us. So go on, Arata."
Arata nodded once. "Alright then. As you all know, the killings these days... aren't ordinary. Someone unknown is behind them."
"Yep." Balder leaned forward, crimson hair brushing his shoulder.
"The common folk keep calling it 'The Mawling'—as if that creature would even bother showing up here. We all know that's wrong. It's a masked man." His tone dripped with disdain.
"A masked man?" Luka and Loki asked in perfect unison, one raising his brow, the other adjusting his expression as if taking mental notes.
"Yep," Balder continued. "I had someone tail him. And according to my informant, the killer wears a mask—an elegant yet chilling mask. My guy caught a clear glimpse of him and said he looked... hauntingly beautiful." Balder grimaced as he said it, as if beauty made the whole thing more disturbing.
Arata hummed thoughtfully. "A killer who wears a mask... Since it's a serial killer, the mask must be unique. Or..."
"Exactly."
Balder reached into his sleeve, pulled out a folded sheet, and tossed it across the table. It glided smoothly, guided by a flicker of his spiritual energy, and landed right in front of Arata.
"I have a sketch."
The atmosphere sharpened. The other three leaned in slightly—not too obviously, just enough to show interest.
Luka's fan paused mid-wave.
Loki adjusted his posture, calculation visible in his eyes.
Arata's expression remained unreadable as he placed a hand on the sketch, ready to unfold it.
"To be honest... it is really beautiful," Luka admitted, tilting his head as he examined the sketch.
"I've never seen anything like it," Loki added, his tone unusually serious.
"Yeah. Weird," Arata murmured, narrowing his eyes. "Makes me wonder where he even got something like this."
Luka glanced at Arata, mischief flickering in his green eyes. "Could it be that you like this mask? I mean, it's beautiful enough."
Balder snorted into his tea, nearly choking. "Like I said—it's not made by anyone in Eruna. I sent my people everywhere to trace its origin. Came back with nothing. No maker, no matching style, no clues."
"Wait, let me examine it properly," Loki said, suddenly intrigued. He leaned closer, tapping the sketch with his finger. "Oooh... the material. The craftsmanship. The structure. These don't look like materials easily found in our realm. Very interesting..."
Balder: "..."
Luka: "..."
Arata: "..."
"That's a freaking sketch, you idiot!" all three of them shouted in perfect synchronization.
"Duh. I know," Loki shrugged, completely unbothered. "But I can still analyze it. My brain is built different."
The others stared at him as if witnessing a rare form of stupidity.
"Sometimes," Luka muttered under his breath, "I genuinely think he has some kind of mental problem."
Arata didn't comment—but his silence said enough.
"...He's crazy," Balder whispered under his breath.
"Or he's a genius—which is impossible," Arata muttered, arms folded.
"I think it's made from titanium," Luka said suddenly, still staring at the sketch with deep concentration.
"...Yep. He's crazy," Balder whispered again, louder this time.
Arata blinked. "How can you possibly tell that?"
Luka and Balder both looked at Loki.
Loki shrugged lightly, unfazed.
"Obviously it's not a cheap material. If it were plastic, it would crack. If it were glass, it would shatter. If it were steel, it would be too heavy and disrupt balance. So the only logical choice is titanium."
A long, painful silence fell.
The expression on all three faces—Arata, Luka, and Balder—clearly said: How is he even alive?
Arata dragged a hand down his face and sighed. "Whoever this mask-wearer is... he's committed a string of crimes. He leaves no traces—not footprints, not spiritual residue, not even the faintest aura drift. Even the Emperor struggled to find a lead. We don't even know his name..."
"I do," Balder interrupted quietly.
Luka slowly turned his head toward him. "...You ... What?"
"An idiot. That's what he is," Arata laughed, shaking his head.
"I know his name... the name of the masked guy," Balder said, pointing at himself with a thumb, fangs flashing in a smug grin. "Figured it out. Not hard, really. It's Izzy." Pride dripped from every word.
"Masters, do you need anything?" a nervous waiter approached, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Yes," Luka said casually. "We need something very important."
"And that is—?" the waiter stammered, his hands trembling.
"Information," Arata answered, his voice cold enough to freeze the room.
Before the waiter could react, Balder grabbed the hem of his robes, and Loki's fist shot forward. The waiter flew through the air, slamming against the wall with a sickening thud.
Panic erupted. The other patrons formed into a chaotic formation, ready to attack. But with a single swish of Arata's arm, a dark, tangible mist surged forward, curling and crashing into the crowd.
When the shadow dissipated, the truth was horrifying: the humans had been monsters all along. Their eyes were huge and unblinking, their mouths impossibly wide, fangs jutting from jaws that could never close. Saliva dripped from cracked, gnashing teeth, and their skin had turned a filthy mix of brown and sickly green.
But even in their grotesque forms, they were no match for Arata and his companions. With lethal precision, Arata, Loki, Luka, and Balder tore through them. The battle was over in moments; the floor was littered with their broken, monstrous bodies.
"Wo! That was... surprisingly easy," Balder said, brushing imaginary dust off his robes, a grin spreading across his face.
"And quick," Arata added, brushing off his sleeve.
"They were really weak puppets," Luka said.
"Shells," Loki corrected immediately, pushing up his sleeves. "They're not puppets. Shells. Not puppets—shells. Look!"
He pointed toward one of the fallen monsters. "See? Empty. No blood. Nothing inside."
They crouched beside the corpse—if it could even be called that—and examined it closely. A strange tattoo marked the side of its neck, mostly hidden beneath long collars and hair. Every single one of them had the same eerie symbol.
"This tattoo..." Arata murmured, eyes narrowing. "I've seen it before."
"I haven't. I'm confident this is my first time," Luka replied, folding his arms.
"Not just that. Look here." Loki jabbed a finger at the dried, cracked skin. "These marks. These wounds. These are corpse marks—decay. But then why don't they have blood? Or organs? If they're shells, they shouldn't be decaying. And if they're corpses, why are they empty?" His voice trembled with excitement.
Balder sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. "No wonder I smelled something familiar."
"I remember!" Arata suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening. "I know where I've seen this tattoo before—but this isn't the place to talk about it. Let's move. Now."
Before they left, Luka snapped his fingers. Thick branches burst from the ground, curling like serpents and dragging the hollow bodies beneath the earth until nothing remained.
The four of them slipped out of the ruined inn and headed toward their usual hidden meeting place—the one where they discussed the things best kept far from curious ears.
They sat in a circle, the moonlit silence wrapping around them like a cloak. Arata exhaled and finally spoke.
"In the Imperial Library... the last time I went there, I found this new book. Weird-looking, but honestly? Kinda cool." He gestured dramatically, reenacting the moment. "So I picked it up from the shelf and guess what?"
"What?" they all said at the same time.
"The book was empty," Arata said mysteriously, lowering his voice for effect.
"Empty?" Luka frowned. "Then what about the tattoo—?"
"Let me finish," Arata snapped in a childish tone, waving a finger. "No interrupting."
Everyone fell silent.
"Right. So... I was about to put the book back," he continued, moving his arms the same way he had in the library, "and when I closed it, I started looking at the cover again.
That's when I noticed it—on the spine, at the bottom. A tiny symbol." He paused, letting the words hang. "The same tattoo those corpses had."
Silence blanketed them for several seconds.
"...Nothing?" Arata finally said, looking around. "Nothing at all?"
"Oh, so you're done?" Luka asked, sounding unimpressed.
"Of course he's not," Balder drawled, flopping back with a sigh.
Arata squinted. "How so?"
"Because you are you and he is he," Loki concluded as if he'd just revealed the secrets of the universe.
Luka: "..."
Arata: "..."
Balder whispered, "Wow."
Arata stared at Loki, expression blank, thinking, Did he escape from a madhouse?
"No, I didn't escape from a madhouse," Loki said brightly.
Arata blinked. "But I didn't say anything."
"Of course you didn't. In fact, I didn't hear you. Or anyone else," Loki replied with absolute confidence.
"How—" Arata helplessly exclaimed.
"How? How would I know?" Loki shrugged casually.
Arata didn't know whether to laugh, sigh, or simply give up on logic forever.
Sensing the rising chaos—and the awkwardness—Luka cleared his throat and smoothly shifted the topic. "You didn't tell us the whole thing, right? Come on. Finish it." He offered Arata a warm, encouraging smile.
"Right." Arata straightened. "As you know, I don't let go of anything that catches my interest. And... that book definitely caught it."
He lifted his right hand, palm facing upward. A faint cyan glow flickered to life, swirling softly around his fingers. In the next moment, the light vanished—and a pitch-black book materialized in his hand.
He held it out for them to see. On the spine, at the bottom right corner, a small symbol glowed faintly in light cyan—the exact same tattoo they had found on the shells.
"Ooo! Looks like a snowflake," Balder exclaimed, leaning closer with wide eyes.
"Yeah... but on those corpses it looked eerie," Luka added, brows furrowing. "Wait—wasn't it black on the corpses? Why is it blue here?"
He pointed at the glowing mark.
"It's light cyan, not blue," Arata corrected immediately.
"Blue, light cyan—same thing. That is—wait... why do you have that?" Loki suddenly pointed at the book.
"Have what?" Arata blinked, genuinely confused. Then realization hit. "Oh, this."
He lifted the book casually.
"Because I... took it." He said the last two words very deliberately, as if they weighed a ton.
"Took it? Took it?!" Luka nearly screamed. "How can you just take it?!"
He stood up, pacing in panic.
"You said this came from the Imperial Library—the one inside the Emperor's palace! No one—literally no one—is allowed to take anything out of there. Not even you! So how—? W-wait..." Luka gasped, clapping both hands over his mouth. "Don't tell me... you stole it!"
The accusation echoed around the room as Luka stared at Arata, horrified and dramatic enough to pass out.
"Stole it?! I borrowed it!" Arata snapped back at Luka.
"Borrowed? Please," Balder said, stretching his legs like he owned the place. "That sounds exactly like stealing, but with extra steps."
"Shut up, you walking Red Pepper!" Arata shot him a glare.
"Red Pepper?" Balder gasped dramatically. "Oh that's cute. Then what does that make you, huh? A Black Crow! Loud, annoying, and impossible to shut up!"
"Noisy? I'm noisy?" Arata pointed at himself in disbelief. "You're a smug-faced tomato!"
Silence.
Then Balder's chair screeched back.
Arata's did too.
They slammed their hands on the table at the exact same time, like two idiots magically in sync.
Now they were practically climbing across the table, faces so close they could count each other's eyelashes.
"You dare call me a smug face?!"
"I double dare!"
"You're dead!"
"You've been dead since the day you were born!"
"Oh really? Come and try me!"
"You first!"
"I'll show you who you're dealing with!"
"Show me? You can't even show basic intelligence!"
"Come at me then!"
"You come at me!"
"I'll kill you!"
"I'll beat you to death!"
Off to the side, Luka and Loki sat completely expressionless, watching the chaos unfold like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
"To be honest, both of them are noisy," Luka said dryly.
"Yeah. That's right," Loki replied with a nod, as if observing a nature documentary.