༺ I'm Not Dreaming (3) ༻

I've seen brutal things before.

I wasn't good with horror games, but my sister, Hana, loved them. She always dragged me into watching her play, no matter how much I protested.

I still remember one game—the first real horror game I ever saw.

A dark, blood-soaked corridor. Bodies hanging from the ceiling like slaughtered pigs.

The sound of something crunching underfoot, like bones breaking.

And then, the worst part—Hana turned a corner, and there it was.

A mangled corpse, guts spilling out like someone had just scooped them out with bare hands.

The screen flashed red, the music screeched, and I remember throwing up everything in my stomach.

Since then, I couldn't handle the sight of blood. Even the smallest cut made me queasy.

So why?

Why the fuck was I seeing something just like that here?

In a romance fantasy game.

I stepped forward slowly, my boots pressing into the sticky, blood-smeared floor. The air was thick with the metallic stench of death.

The Imperial Security Department was supposed to be a government building, a place of law and order. Not this.

The flickering chandelier above barely lit the hallway, but it was enough.

Enough to see the dark red streaks on the walls. The smudged handprints. The claw marks.

Signs of struggle.

I swallowed hard.

The reception area had to be ahead—at least, I thought it was. I couldn't think straight.

Every step forward felt like I was walking straight into something I wasn't supposed to see.

Then I tripped.

My foot caught on something soft, something warm—yet cold at the same time.

I fell forward, my face landing on something wet.

I froze.

Slowly, shaking, I lifted my head. My hand reached up to touch my cheek.

It was wet. Sticky. Thick.

I looked at my palm under the dim, flickering light.

Red.

So much red.

I turned my head to see what I had landed on.

A woman.

Her black hair, tangled and spread out like a mess of silk. Her lifeless eyes, wide open and staring at nothing. Blood pooled beneath her, soaking into the floorboards, still warm.

I couldn't breathe.

But then I saw it.

Her stomach was—

I choked.

Her stomach was cut wide open, her intestines spilling out like a pile of ropes, glistening under the dim light.

The scent of iron hit me so hard I thought I was drowning in it.

"AAAGGHHH!"

I scrambled backward, my hands slipping in the blood, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. My heart was pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

I tripped again.

This time, I landed directly beneath the chandelier.

I couldn't move. My entire body shook as I stared at my hands.

They wouldn't stop shaking.

My vision blurred.

Then it hit me.

I lurched forward and threw up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

It felt like hours. My stomach clenched until there was nothing left but dry heaves. But the smell, the sight—it made me gag all over again.

I clenched my head, digging my fingers into my scalp.

What the fuck is happening?!

I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I wanted to wake up.

An assassination? No, this was beyond that.

This wasn't clean.

This wasn't precise.

This was butchery.

Who did this?

Why?

Why the hell was this happening here?

Why was I here?!

The pounding in my head wouldn't stop.

My thoughts were spiraling, crashing into each other like a hurricane.

Why?

Why?

Why?!

I slammed my fist onto the ground, my entire body trembling.

Nothing made sense.

This world. This situation. This insanity.

And then, suddenly—

A sound.

A slow, wet dragging noise.

Somewhere, deeper in the building.

I wasn't alone.

"..."

Move.

Move, you bastard!

My body wouldn't listen.

I told myself to move forward, but my legs felt like they were sinking into the ground. It was too much. The smell of blood, the corpses, the weight of reality crushing down on me—I never thought I'd ever be in a situation like this.

But I wasn't me.

I was in Noel's body.

And somehow, that made it easier.

His body wasn't stiff. It wasn't shaking as badly as I expected. He had seen things like this before. He had lived through things like this before.

Maybe that was why I could move at all. Maybe that was why my hands weren't trembling like they should have been.

Or maybe it was just his character traits.

A somewhat police officer, huh? It made sense.

At some point, I realized my clothes were drenched. Blood soaked through my coat, clinging to my skin. The letter—it was probably ruined by now.

But did it even matter anymore?

What good would a letter do now?

I took off the coat, letting it drop to the ground with a wet slap. Rolling up the sleeves of my white shirt, I exhaled shakily.

Just got back from the military, and this is what I return to?

I kept moving.

Each office I passed looked the same—blood everywhere, shattered glass, broken furniture. And bodies. So many bodies.

I wasn't even thinking about where I was going anymore. My head turned left, then right, taking in everything.

The burn in my throat returned.

I could feel it—vomit creeping up again, making my stomach twist painfully.

The only sound was the crunch of glass beneath my boots.

Then, I turned a corner.

And I heard it.

The noise from earlier.

Footsteps.

A woman.

Her brown hair was tied into a ponytail, though strands had fallen loose, sticking to the sweat and blood on her face. She was walking toward me—stumbling, really.

"Sir… Grenn…"

Her voice hitched. It was shaky, weak, barely holding together.

I knew her.

Claire von Clay.

A junior manager in the sector I was assigned to before heading to the military.

I opened my mouth—wanted to say something.

I wanted to ask her a thousand things.

But at the same time, I didn't want to ask her anything at all.

She collapsed forward.

I caught her.

That's when I noticed.

She was missing an arm.

Her remaining hand pressed against the wound, desperately trying to keep the blood in—but it was useless. It just kept pouring, drenching her entire side.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Apart from her arm, she looked fine.

Her breathing was uneven, her body trembling. But she smiled.

"Sir Grenn… you finally came back… A lot of us… had missed you…"

That was the first thing she said.

Not help me. Not I'm dying.

She smiled.

"...Claire," I managed. "I need you to tell me what happened here."

She didn't answer.

Instead, she forced another smile.

"Congratulations… for passing the military."

Why…?

Why was she saying that now?

Why was she acting like we weren't standing in a goddamn graveyard?

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

Her body was getting colder by the second.

And then—

Squelch.

A sickening sound.

Blood sprayed into the air.

My vision shifted.

Suddenly, I was looking up.

My head hit the ground, and my gaze turned sideways.

Huh?

My vision blurred—turning red.

Before everything faded, I saw—

My body.

Still holding Claire.

But… how?

How could I see myself in third person?

That's when I noticed.

The body holding Claire—

It was headless.

My vision was drowning in red, but before it fully went dark—

I saw them.

A figure.

Standing behind Noel's body.

Behind my body.

Then—

Nothing.

——————

A sharp, shrill whistle.

My eyes snapped open.

Hhhhaaah—!

I fell forward, gasping for air like I had just clawed my way out of drowning. My hands flew to my neck—no, my head. Was it still there?

It was.

I exhaled shakily, hands running over my face, my throat, my scalp—checking, double-checking. I was alive. I was alive.

And then it hit me.

A violent heave tore through my body, and I lurched forward, vomiting onto the floor. My stomach twisted, rejecting everything inside me, over and over until I was dry-heaving, my throat raw. Then—splatter.

Blood.

I had coughed up blood.

People around me recoiled. Some gasped, others whispered, but most simply moved away.

I was trembling, my limbs weak as I wiped my mouth with my sleeve. My breathing was erratic, my chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow.

A dream…

I wanted to believe it was a dream.

But then I looked around.

The train.

It was made of brass and iron, pipes hissing as steam curled from unseen valves. Steampunk. The lighting flickered with an eerie yellow glow, casting long shadows across the polished metal interiors. The passengers—

Their clothes.

High collars. Corsets. Coats with intricate embroidery and golden buttons. Men with cravats, women with layered skirts and lace gloves. 17th-century fashion.

Not modern. Not a dream.

My body tensed.

I was just in the Imperial Security department… right?

And yet—now I was here. Back on a train. My fingers clenched around my knees as I tried to steady my breathing.

"Are you alright, sir?"

I turned my head.

A man sat beside me, watching with a mix of concern and discomfort.

My lips parted, but no words came out at first. My head was still spinning. My stomach twisted again, but I forced it down.

"…Just travel sickness." My voice came out hoarse, strained. "No need to worry."

The man nodded slowly, as if deciding whether or not to believe me. I barely noticed him after that.

Because inside—I felt like I was going to explode.

I died.

Didn't I?

I felt it. The cold seeping into my limbs. The wet heat of my own blood leaving my body. The way the world shifted—the way my vision faded.

And yet—here I was.

Why?

I ran my hands over my chest, my arms, my legs—making sure everything was real. My breathing was still too fast, my heart hammering so hard I thought my ribs might crack from the pressure.

Then—

My fingers brushed against something inside my coat.

I froze.

Reaching in, I pulled it out.

A letter.

I stared at it.

It was crisp. Clean. Not a single stain on it. My breath hitched.

This was the letter I had before…

The one confirming my return as a civil servant in the Imperial Security Ministry. But it was supposed to be ruined. Drenched in blood.

Yet here it was—untouched.

Brand new.

I swallowed thickly, my grip tightening.

Was it a dream? A hallucination?

I had no answers.

I forced myself to look away, my gaze shifting to the seat beside me.

A black case.

And a walking cane.

My fingers hovered over the cane. The wood was smooth, the grip well-worn. Did the original Noel leave this for me?

Even I didn't know.

My hands trembled as I rested my head against the cold glass of the window. Outside, the world blurred past in streaks of green and gold. I had no idea how to process this.

What if it was real?

What if—

I could still prevent it?

I sucked in a sharp breath.

It was still early. If I made it in time to the Imperial Security department—maybe, just maybe—I could stop it from happening.

The attack.

The massacre.

Before, I had wasted time at a tavern, lost in my own thoughts. It delayed my arrival.

This time—

I wouldn't make that mistake.

I glanced at the window again. The scenery had changed. Buildings loomed in the distance. The sky stretched in hues of copper and deep blue.

Then—

"[Stop – Elyndral.]"

The train announcement confirmed it.

The capital.

The train slowed, metal screeching against metal, before coming to a full stop.

I stood up—legs still weak, but steady enough.

This time, I took the case with me. And the cane.

The original Noel had needed it—his body was fragile, unpredictable.

And now—I was Noel.

So I needed it, too.

Yet my body felt wrong.

Too warm. Then too cold. A feverish sensation creeping beneath my skin. Was it because of what I had seen?

What I had lived through?

Blood.

So much blood.

Fuck.

Should I go back?

Could I even go back?

I didn't know.

But I did know one thing—

I had promised.

I promised I would live through this.

No matter how much my thoughts spiraled, I couldn't let them paralyze me. If I wasted time again—if I hesitated—then what I had seen before would happen again.

Even in my mental state—even as my body screamed at me to stop—I hailed a carriage.

"Imperial Security Department," I ordered. My voice was steadier than I expected.

The ride was quiet.

But my thoughts weren't.

At some point, I turned to the driver. "Do attacks happen often around here?"

The driver looked at me through the mirror.

"Rarely."

Then he went silent.

I frowned.

Rarely?

That wasn't what I saw.

That wasn't the truth.

My fingers curled around the head of the cane, my grip so tight my knuckles turned white.

The moment the carriage pulled to a stop, I got out.

The Imperial Security Department stood before me—tall, imposing.

Knights were stationed at the gates.

And the moment they saw me—

"Sir Grenn."

They gave a small bow.

Relief crashed over me so hard I nearly collapsed.

They were here.

They were still alive.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and smiled.

For the first time since waking up—

My breathing finally slowed.

My lungs no longer felt like they were caving in.

And my organs didn't feel like they were about to burst.

I smiled back at them.

Then, gripping the cane, I stepped forward.

I smiled back and walked past the knights, the cane tapping against the stone path.

Then—

Bang.

Their heads exploded.

Blood. Bone. Pieces of flesh splattered across my face. The warm, thick liquid dripped down my cheek, seeping into my collar, staining my coat.

Their bodies hit the ground with a sickening thud.

My breath hitched. My vision blurred. My ears rang.

I ran.

Faster. Faster.

I burst through the doors.

"NO. NO. NO. NO. NO—"

It was the same scene.

The same blood. The same shattered glass. The same bodies lying in pools of red.

What the fuck was happening?!

My stomach lurched. I vomited—violently. Again and again, until my throat burned raw. Until there was nothing left. Until blood came up.

I wiped my mouth, only for my hands to smear red. My fingers trembled, coated in the sickly warmth of it. I couldn't stop shaking.

No. I couldn't go further. I knew what was ahead.

Claire.

The missing arm.

The empty, lifeless eyes.

The smile—why was she smiling?!

I dropped to my knees, the case and cane clattering to the floor beside me. My vision swam. My mind was breaking.

How long had I been here? The blood on the walls darkened with time. The air reeked of rot.

Was this real?

I hugged myself, my fingers digging into my arms, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows through the broken windows.

Then—

Creak.

The front doors opened. Sunlight spilled in.

I turned my head slowly.

A silhouette stood in the doorway.

Then—

Shhk.

A flash of light.

Pain.

My arm was gone.

I screamed—agony ripping through my body like fire.

I clutched at the stump, blood spurting between my fingers. My breaths came in short, panicked bursts. I was dying.

Then—

A voice.

A woman's voice.

"Wind Blade."

I barely saw the strike.

Then the world turned upside down.

My body. I saw my own body.

Headless.

I hit the ground, rolling a few feet away. My vision dimmed—blood filling my eyes.

Darkness.

Then—

---

The train whistle.

I gasped and shot upright, hands flying to my neck. Intact.

I fell forward, heaving, my chest rising and falling so fast it hurt. No blood. No pain. But my body still trembled.

A hand touched my shoulder.

"Are you alright sir?"

The same voice. The same man from before.

I didn't answer.

I just sat there, head down, hands clutching my hair.

My eyes wide.

What the fuck was happening to me?