Chapter 277: The Birth of a Madman

Deep within the prison, the damp and frigid air reeked of rust and decay. Darkness engulfed the surroundings like an abyss, broken only by the deafening clang of metal striking metal, tearing through the silence like a death knell from the depths of hell. The prisoners confined here screamed in agony day after day, their wretched cries echoing off the cold stone walls, weaving a requiem of despair.

Hayado knelt on the filthy, freezing stone floor. His body was soaked in a mixture of blood and sweat, his tattered clothes clinging to his torn flesh. Every breath he took felt like a knife slicing through his lungs. His wrists, bound in metal shackles, had been gnawed raw by countless struggles. The wounds were deep, and the dried blood had formed grotesque scars.

Lowering his head, his lips trembled as he bit down on the feather pendant hanging around his neck, now stained with sweat and blood. It was his only anchor—his only faith—the one thing keeping him alive. Even after countless electric shocks, even as the ants gnawed at his brain, even when his mind teetered on the brink of collapse—he held on. Desperately. As though the pendant alone could provide him with the last scrap of reason to keep going.

Suddenly, he ripped the pendant from his neck and slammed it into the stone floor. The sharp sound of metal striking stone echoed through the cell. The feather pendant remained unbroken—it was, after all, the symbol of the Aka family. Such an important relic could not be destroyed so easily.

In that instant, Hayado's expression turned ice cold. The exhaustion in his eyes was overtaken by a burning, almost manic obsession.

He slowly closed his eyes and began recalling every path, every symbol, every minute detail of Setia's map in his mind. He couldn't forget—he dared not forget. But the more he forced himself to remember, the more violently the ants in his mind thrashed and chewed at his nerves, like thousands of molten needles twisting through his brain. Every act of recollection was torture beyond measure.

Under the unbearable pain, Hayado's body began to tremble violently. A stifled, broken moan escaped his throat, but he gritted his teeth and reached for the pendant. His trembling fingers dragged it toward his back.

He was going to carve the map.

His back was already covered in old wounds, but he showed no hesitation. He pressed the sharp tip of the pendant against his skin and began etching the map of Setia—stroke by stroke.

Even though he couldn't see it.Even though it was reversed.Every single line was precise.

Blood oozed from the wounds, trickling down his spine and soaking into the tattered fabric of his clothes. Sweat streamed down his forehead, mixing with the blood. Every stroke burned like fire across his skin, each line of the map feeling like knives carving into his flesh. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every line, every symbol, every detail had to be flawless.

Time blurred in the midst of the pain. Blood and sweat dripped from his chin, forming a crimson puddle on the floor. His hand trembled uncontrollably—but still, he carved on.

In this moment, he was no longer a prisoner being tortured.He was a madman driven by obsession—a lunatic recording the truth with his very flesh and blood!

His lips twisted. A froth of blood formed at the corners of his mouth. His eyes rolled upward, pupils dilating as his expression warped into a crazed smile.

Finally—

The map was complete!

And at that moment, Hayado's consciousness shattered completely.

His mouth parted. First came a soft chuckle, which quickly spiraled into full-blown, hysterical laughter.

"Ahahaha… hahaha… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—!!"

His maniacal laughter tore through the prison's oppressive atmosphere, echoing like a forbidden incantation—a sound so deranged and despairing it could chill the bones of even the cruelest demons.

He had finally gone insane.

The prison remained steeped in its deathly chill, the air stagnant and oppressive. Faded bloodstains clung to the cracked walls. The stench of rust mixed with the acrid smell of chemicals, as though time itself had stopped here—leaving only pain and madness to fester in the shadows.

And yet, a cold, terrifying laugh cut through the silence.

Outside the cell, a boy with bright orange hair stood quietly. His crimson eyes were deep pools of emptiness—cold, merciless, with a hint of something sick and twisted. His lips curved into a faint smirk—a cruel, mocking smile that sent shivers down the spine. He said nothing. The slender scalpel twirling between his fingers gleamed in the dim light. He handled it with the grace of a predator toying with wounded prey.

The next second—

Shing!

A flash of silver light!

With a metallic crash, the cell door shattered. The rusted bars fell to the ground in a deafening clatter.

The boy stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the filth and blood without the slightest change in expression. His eyes finally settled on the twisted, trembling figure curled in the corner.

Hayado.

Hayado, at this moment, was no longer the same person.

Saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth as his empty eyes stared blankly into the darkness above. His mouth remained curved in a chilling smile—madness, despair, and cruelty woven into an expression devoid of humanity. A fractured mask, hollow of fear or pain.

The boy showed no reaction. He didn't even spare Hayado a second glance as he casually stepped forward. Without hesitation, he knocked over the basin filled with electrically charged liquid. The acrid solution splashed across the floor, releasing a sharp, corrosive hiss.

Yet Hayado continued laughing—a broken, ragged sound, as if his very soul were cracking apart.

"Heh… hehe… hehehe…"

The boy chuckled faintly, tilting his head as his crimson eyes narrowed.

And then he moved.

The scalpel in his hand flashed through the air—silent, fluid, terrifyingly precise. The blade danced over Hayado's body as though it were carving a masterpiece. His movements were fast—impossibly fast. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. It was a performance of lethal elegance.

Shlick—

The sound of flesh being cut was quiet yet chilling.

He didn't give Hayado any anesthesia. He didn't need to. What was terrifying was that Hayado didn't even flinch.

Hayado simply kept smiling—his empty gaze locked on the darkness above.

The boy's eyes flashed coldly. He guided the scalpel to Hayado's head, slicing open the skin with precision. One by one, he extracted the writhing ants from Hayado's brain—cleanly severing them.

Not a drop of excess blood spilled.Not a single nerve was damaged.

Finally, the boy's scalpel closed the wound with surgical precision. The thread glinted in the dim light as he stitched the flesh back together—flawless and smooth, as though no wound had ever existed.

And the pain—The soul-tearing, mind-breaking pain—Vanished.

Hayado's trembling gaze slowly focused. A flicker of light returned to his dull eyes as he stared at the figure standing above him.

The boy's scalpel twirled idly in his hand. His bloodstained fingers curled as he smiled faintly.

And then—

A soft, seductive voice whispered:"Hello. I'm Akane."

Followed by a cold, androgynous voice:"And I'm Akari. Who are you?"

They were the same person—yet two souls existed within one body.

Hayado's throat trembled. His hoarse voice rasped through bloodied lips:

"…Hayato."

In that moment, a madman was born.