Chap 5

This was my right face, always hidden by my half-mask.

A small half-mask, likely from my teenage years, lay on an old table in front of the mirror.

Duke Rahert had said,

"The left is your real face, and the right was altered with the help of a sorcerer. The left is real, the right is fake. Only because he was a great magician could he fix half of your face. Be grateful and serve my daughter."

To that, I had replied,

"I engrave this kindness into my bones. Thank you, Your Grace."

That Duke killed my mother and father?

Shaking, I reached out to touch my face in the mirror.

"Fake."

Which side is the real me?

"Fake."

The voice I uttered echoed in my ears.

My life was a fake.

A groan escaped through my tightly clenched teeth.

All the pain felt so vivid. Is this really the world after death?

Then,

Thud.

The wooden door beside the straw bed flung open. A young maid with an unfamiliar face stood at the door.

What is this reality-like hell?

As I stared blankly at her, she grimaced at my appearance. Instinctively, I picked up the mask and covered the beautiful side of my face. It was a reflex too familiar.

She said,

"Lord Black Beetle is looking for you. Come to the training ground right away."

She slammed the door and left.

I was stunned.

Why does this situation feel so familiar?

Is this the grudge I couldn't let go of even in death?

Black Beetle.

The fencing master I killed long ago.

As I stood there dazed, someone else burst through my door.

'You are…'

A boy with yellow, curly hair and freckles all over his face.

A trainee assassin who died at the hands of Black Beetle when I was twenty. He survived with difficulty but was eventually defeated and discarded by me and another boy.

For over a decade, we were trained together as assassins, but even after his death, I never knew his name. We were raised without ever knowing each other's names.

"Hey, monster. Are you coming quickly? If we have to train all night because of you, are you going to take responsibility?"

Startled by the boy's shout, I mindlessly followed him.

Outside, it was winter. The wind that brushed against my cheeks was so cold it felt like it was biting my skin.

Arriving at the training ground, I saw Black Beetle from a distance, glaring at me with his sharp eyes. Instantly, I felt the blood in my body turn cold.

A man with long black hair tied back, looking younger than his age, with a cold heart and a smooth face.

An assassin, a trainer of assassins, secretly raised by the Duke's family, teaching potential assassins and killing them if deemed useless – a teacher and an enemy.

He approached me with his black eyes shimmering and grabbed my silver hair, clenching my scalp.

"White larva, if you don't give your best, today will be your last day."

I looked at him expressionlessly. Sparks seemed to fly from his eyes.

Black Beetle pointed his exceptionally long sword at my neck. I quickly stepped back, and his eyes lit up. He then began a series of more sophisticated attacks.

Maintaining my expressionless face, I narrowly dodged his attacks.

I didn't want to die again, whether this was hell or a realm of the dead's lingering spirits. More importantly, his quick movements that I couldn't see when I was young were now all visible to me.

'Slow.'

I became a Sword Master at 22. An honor that, as an assassin, I couldn't reveal.

And Black Beetle never reached the level of a Master until his death.

Suddenly, he stopped attacking and said, "How are you so different from yesterday? Your skills are quite impressive. On the day the Northern Duke comes, I'll give you your first mission."

"!"

At his words, I froze momentarily.

"Is this in my memory? What year is it now?"

He tilted his head at my question.

"Talking back, huh. Ha-ha. It's the year 1,110 in the Delpast calendar, the 30th year of Emperor Dimitus's reign."

I was nineteen at that time.

"The Northern Duke is coming?"

At my question, he frowned. Then he swung his long sword at me, close up. Reflexively dodging, I wasn't quick enough as his sword grazed my twisted cheek.

The dripping blood was warm. Such vivid sensations, almost like reality.

"Snap out of it. The Duke has invited the Northern Duke in return for defeating the barbarians in the south of the Empire."

My hand holding the sword started to shake.

That winter when I was nineteen, an unforgettable winter.

Six years ago, I staged the suicide of the right-hand man of Northern Duke Sion Belpast, Arcadia Nugent. It was my first assassination and the event that led to the downfall of the North.

Why have I returned to that time?