“That answers my question sufficiently. You may go.”
Relief spread across the healer's face as she rose.
After she left the room, his gaze drifted back to the desk.
The vial she had brought shimmered softly beneath the lamplight.
He picked it up and examined it for quite some time before removing the stopper.
The bitter fragrance of herbs brushed against his nose.
Without hesitation, he emptied the contents into his mouth.
Not long afterward, the medicine slowly began spreading warmth throughout his body.
Feeling the fatigue of travel gradually melt away, he leaned back against the armrest of his chair.
Through his slowly blurring vision, he saw the bluish glow of the full moon.
The same moon had hung in the sky on the first night they had fallen asleep in the same bed together.
The memory surfaced without warning.
A sensation like being cut by a blade swept across his chest.
He rose, tugging impatiently at the collar tightening around his throat.
For a brief moment, the thought crossed his mind of going to see her.
Not because he intended to do anything.
He simply wished he could quietly hold her beneath the moonlight and fall asleep together.
Just as they once had...
Lost in those thoughts, Varkas eventually let out a hollow laugh.
She no longer needed him.
And he had no desire to disturb the peace his wife had finally managed to regain.
Turning away, he headed toward the bedroom adjoining his study.
The servants had apparently cleaned it in advance.
The room was immaculate, without a speck of dust.
Releasing a bitter sigh, Varkas collapsed onto the bed without even changing his clothes.
He was utterly exhausted.
* * *
Once again, he was sifting through fragments of the past.
At some point, dreaming had become nothing more than reliving old memories.
Occasionally impossible fantasies became intertwined with them, but every dream he had was rooted in the recreation of the past.
This time was no different.
His younger self sat rigidly in a hard chair, staring at something before him.
Ancient documents lay neatly spread across a long, simple table of the kind commonly found in clergy residences.
Standing behind him, a priest pressed a large, calloused hand firmly against the back of his head, forcing him to keep looking.
“Look carefully. These are the atrocities committed by the ancient Khan people.”
A horrifyingly detailed illustration covered the parchment.
An altar built from piled human heads.
Corpses hanging upside down above it.
Black-haired priests collecting blood flowing from the necks of decapitated bodies...
In an unnervingly emotionless voice, the priest continued.
“For countless years, the ancient people of the East enslaved other races and offered their lives to the spirits. After severing the victims' heads, they hung the corpses upside down until every drop of blood had drained away. They believed that when the Earth Spirit, Tiramer, drank fresh human blood, its divine power became even greater. Until they were absorbed into the Empire, they slaughtered tens of thousands of sacrifices in these horrific rituals. Through those evil ceremonies, they obtained powers that stood in defiance of the divine order.”
The priest continued in the same chillingly indifferent tone.
“That impure energy flows through your own blood. That is why you feel no guilt after harming another human being.”
“I didn't do anything wrong.”
He roared like a cornered beast.
“That bastard dared to touch me. He deserved to die.”
“If what you say is true, then my brother's soul will undoubtedly burn in the fires of hell for all eternity.”
The priest answered calmly.
“But that does not absolve you of murder. Young Master, you crushed Brother Dreyvan's head so brutally that it could no longer even be recognized. No ordinary child could have committed such monstrous cruelty. As His Grace the Grand Duke feared, the savagery of the Khan people lies dormant within your blood.”
He bit down on his lip.
He couldn't remember that moment clearly.
The instant the priest's rough hand slipped beneath his clothes, his vision had turned blood-red with rage.
The next thing he remembered was standing over the fallen priest, gripping a blood-soaked candlestick in one hand.
Perhaps the man was right.
Perhaps there truly was something monstrous lurking inside him.
But he refused to accept it.
He repeated the words over and over.
“I did nothing wrong. And if anyone ever tries to do that to me again, I'll crush their head too.”
“...Then I suppose there is no helping it. Until you sincerely repent your sins, Young Master, you will not be permitted to take a single step outside this place.”
The man violently dragged him out of the chair and forced him into the punishment chamber.
He struggled desperately, but there was no defeating a man who had once served as a Paladin of the Holy Order.
After shoving him into the narrow stone cell, the priest spoke in a coaxing voice.
“If you confess your sins even now, I'll let you out.”
Keeping his mouth tightly shut, he stared at the priest with brilliantly shining eyes.
For the first time, a tiny crack appeared in the expressionless face that had resembled a mask.
“What exactly are you looking at?”
Carefully, he chose his next words.
Then, at last, he found the one sentence this man would fear most.
“Your fate.”
The priest's hollow cheeks twitched almost imperceptibly.
A smile slowly spread across his lips.
“I can see you hanging upside down with your head cut off... bleeding until you're empty.”
As though confronted by a demon itself, the priest slammed the iron door shut with a deafening crash.
Left alone in the darkness, he let out a cold, dry laugh filled with triumph.