Act 3: There is no name on the grave.
"There is a terrible monster lurking inside my son's body."
His father spoke in a somber tone.
Eyes stained with fear and anguish glanced over his face, then returned to the robed old priest.
“You know very well, don’t you? The curse that flows through my family.
Suddenly, a deep disgust appeared in his father's voice.
"My grandfather possessed the 'Evil Eye.' He could see into people's hearts and even their destinies. Everyone revered and feared him, but I knew the true nature of that power. It was a sinister and evil power that had departed from the providence of God."
Father's gleaming eyes turned towards the prayer room sedan.
The pure white marble pedestal was engraved with the heroes who contributed to the founding of the Roem Empire and the cultists who fought against them.
His father, who had been staring intently at it, continued speaking as if confessing.
"In the past, our ancestors tried to use that power to conquer the nations. They trampled other races with the power of evil sorcery, and by shedding their blood, they offered the life force to the spirits of the earth. They believed that the land dyed with blood would forever be the territory of our clan."
His father paused in the room for a moment and looked up.
The light streaming through the window added a strange gleam to his father's eyes. He looked as if he were possessed by something.
"But the ambitions of our ancestors were cruelly crushed by the apostles of God. Considering the sins committed by the Khan people, we should have become slaves to the victors. However, the merciful Creator God freed our sinful people as His people. In return for that mercy, the Sheerkhan family swore loyalty as members of the Empire."
His father's eyes fell on him again. He could tell that this whole story was directed at him, not the priest.
His father, who had been looking at the group with eyes filled with anguish for a long time, continued to ramble.
"Until now, we have kept that oath and fulfilled our duties as believers of the Imperial Orthodox Church and loyal subjects of the Imperial Family. However, the heretical spirit flowing in the blood of the Sheerkhan family has not been completely eradicated even now. To my grandfather, and now to my son."
His father's thin lips twitched slightly. It was a day when he desperately suppressed something rising within him.
He was curious about the identity of the emotion his father had swallowed.
Is it disgust or sorrow?
His father, who had been silent for a while as if trying to calm down something that was stirring in his chest, finally brought up the main topic with a determined look on his face.
"I want to weed out this child's savage nature and reshape him into the perfect successor. I hope your school will help me with this."
No old priest, who had been listening silently, opened his mouth with a look of embarrassment.
"Young Master is still too young. It would be better to wait until he grows up a little more before being educated, as has been the case until now..."
"That's not enough."
The father interrupted the priest nervously.
"Many Easterners still haven't completely abandoned their past beliefs. If I allow my son to grow up among them, he will completely lose his identity as a citizen of the Empire. I must remove him from this land as soon as possible."
The priest looked down at him with a suspicious gaze.
He seemed to wonder what it was about a child barely reaching his waist that had caused such anxiety in the ruler of the East.
He, too, was curious. What on earth did his father see in him that made him so certain?
As he stared up at him, his father's eyes became as dark as the abyss.
"I know. Something that once resided within my ancestors resides within this child. If my son were to grow up according to his nature, this land would be thrown into great chaos."
As he finished saying those words, which were almost like a prophecy, his father's figure melted away like wax in a grotesque way.
The brilliant light that once surrounded the prayer room faded to gray in an instant. The world turned upside down, accompanied by a buzzing sound.
From somewhere, a slamming sound was heard as an iron door closed.
The next moment, he found himself locked in a bone-chilling cell.
He was often brought here because he disregarded all the rules of the monastery and questioned the teachings of the priests.
He couldn't understand why he continued to resist so pointlessly. The only reward for his foolish resistance was harsh punishment.
He knew in his head that it would be wise to at least pretend to obey, but something in his heart refused to give in.
Perhaps something cruel that his father had said was driving him to continue his abuse.
Because of this, he was forced to suffer endlessly. Unless he corrected something within him, he would never be able to escape this place.
He resisted his own resistance to breaking. He fought against his own urge to fight fiercely. He vowed that if there was a terrible monster lurking within him, he would destroy it with his own hands.
The fierce wind unfolded a strange vision before his eyes.
One day, he encountered a giant monster in a frozen space. This monster was the source of his suffering.
Every time he was locked in a small, dark room, every time he suffered a brutal beating, he approached the prisoner to put into practice the resolution he had repeated.
He suddenly found himself clutching a pure white blade in his hand. He plunged it into the chest of the beast, gazing down at him.
The massive, throbbing body writhed violently. Within the massive, violently trembling body, he repeatedly swung his sword. Finally, the massive body, covered in black bees, collapsed helplessly.
But six red eyes still stared at him. He reached out and touched the bloodied body. His cold, hardened heart no longer beat.
Will this free him from his suffering?
He felt something flowing down his face, riding the scent. He touched his face and saw that it was covered in tears.
He couldn't even figure out why he was crying. He looked down again, his eyes filled with confusion.
Where was the monster with six eyes, and a blond boy was lying there.
He turned the prone body over. He saw his own face, frozen white. Cold drops of water dripped down onto it. But the tears of mourning dried in an instant. The illusion soon dissipated.
When he opened his eyes again, he realized that something about him had died forever.
The smell of blood was coming from somewhere.
Waking from a light sleep, Barcas cast a dry gaze beyond the entrance to the barracks. The pale morning sun, just beginning to rise, cast a cold light.
He watched it, trying to pass the time, then stood up, picked up his scabbard, and went outside. The sight of neatly arranged military barracks and makeshift military bases filled his view.
He cut through the throng of soldiers and approached the defensive line.
On the fence the soldiers had set up, hung the heads of traitors he had personally executed a few days earlier. He briefly gazed at their empty eye sockets, pecked out by birds, before climbing the ladder and surveying the occupied territory.
The walls of Verdis, one of the northern military strongholds, and the plains stretching out to the west unfolded before his eyes.
Due to the rugged terrain and numerous valleys in this land, Verdis was one of the few open areas where large forces could gather and engage in a proper battle.
Most of the large-scale supplies and troops heading to the southeastern region of Balto had to pass through this area. In other words, capturing this area effectively isolated Balto.
'I guess we can push for a peace treaty soon.'
He leaned against the railing and opened the water bottle tied to his waist to kill his thirst.
The nobles of the Northern Alliance, realizing that they were cornered, would soon turn their backs on the forces that had led the rebellion.
They will try to cover things up by electing a new ruler with pro-imperial leanings.
If they could persuade the imperial family to sign a peace treaty at that time, they could end this tedious war of attrition.
'I can return to Kalmor within two months at the earliest, or three months at the latest.'
He exhaled deeply and roughly ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
Two years had already passed since the civil war broke out. During that time, he visited Raedgo Castle whenever he had the chance, but now that the war was in full swing, he had no choice but to rely on messengers to monitor the situation within the territory.
It's been half a year since he last saw her.
Even that was only to observe the situation from a distance. This was the first time the castle had been left empty for so long, and he was extremely anxious.
Although he received regular reports of her well-being from the maid and his subordinates, he was not reassured by the mere words written on paper.
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