The city of Keighbridge was never as quiet as it seemed.
Beneath the cobbled streets and behind the crumbling walls of old houses, something moved in the darkness—an ancient force that had slept for years.
The winds that blew through the narrow alleys carried not only the evening's chill but also the faint whispers of secrets older than the city itself.
Lucifer stood at the edge of the old bridge, staring at the dark water below. It had been three days since he received the letter—the one with no name or address. The message was short, powerful: "Don't die"
To understand what happened here, we need to go back a week, to the night everything began.
It started with a strange and painful dream that left him struggling to breathe.
In the fog of sleep, he began to have memories that weren't his—broken images of a life he hadn't lived.
Each one was filled with deep emotions, a sense of loss and longing that felt too real.
The dream was about Arthur, the tyrant emperor feared by all—both within his empire and beyond.
It followed his journey, starting with brutal street fights and leading to wars against entire empires.
The dream grew darker as it went on, showing Arthur's rise to power through violence and domination. But the ending was the most chilling, as Arthur was betrayed by those closest to him.
His so-called "friends" turned on him, backstabbing him when he least expected it.
It wasn't that Arthur was gullible—far from it. In fact, he was cunning and intelligent, shaped by years of experience in a world where betrayal was common, having both been betrayed and betrayed others just to survive.
But for once, Arthur allowed himself to believe that he could live a happy life. Maybe. Just maybe it could've been possible, but that dream of his was destroyed.
In the bleak world that Emperor Arthur lived in, there was one thing he cherished above all else—novels.
Especially fantasy ones, where magic and swords existed, much like in his own reality.
He read countless novels, some were masterpieces, while others were absolute trash.
Yet, one novel stood out above the rest, not because it was great, but because of how frustrating it was.
The plot was so realistic that it felt like he was living inside it. The challenges the protagonist faced, along with the struggles of the side characters and even the villains, irritated him.
He hated it, yet he couldn't stop reading.
Arthur had many regrets in his life, and one of the biggest was never finishing that novel.
Back in the present, I was confused—both by the dream and the letter. I had no idea who wrote it. Was it a prank? Who would dare to prank The Great Count?
As for the dream, I gave it a lot of thought. At first, I considered the possibility that a dark magician had mind-controlled me into having those dreams.
As the Count, I was aware that I had many enemies, but I quickly pushed those thoughts aside. While my hypothesis might have been true, I still couldn't fully convince myself.
Then, was it real? I didn't know, so I played the dream back in my mind. Suddenly, I realized that the novel Arthur had read was eerily similar to the world I lived in.
For instance, some of the key figures in the kingdom had names that were strikingly familiar.
I then recalled an important piece of information from the dream: it stated that the Grand Duke would be assassinated.
How ridiculous! The Grand Duke, who was guarded 24/7 by the Imperial Guards, being assassinated?
But then, the day the Grand Duke was supposed to be assassinated actually arrived. I waited for the news, thinking it wouldn't happen but ooh was I wrong.
"The Grand Duke is Assassinated"-8th March 1025
I was utterly shocked. A small fear crept up my spine.
If the novel was real, then I—who was nothing more than an "extra"—was caught in the middle of it all.
At that moment, I knew I couldn't ignore the dream anymore. It was real, and I needed to stop my impending doom.
"Master, the carriage has arrived." I turned to see where the masculine voice came from. A knight stood tall, wearing shiny armor that gleamed in the light.
He held a large sword, its hilt worn from years of use. The aura around him clearly reflected all the experiences he had lived through.
I walked past the knight and entered the carriage, eager for some time to relax and reflect. I had come to the bridge to think about the past week.
With two weeks off, I knew I would have to return to Horizon next week. Horizon isn't a school or academy; it's more of an institution where graduates from the Academy can join.
The limitations there are few—there's no homework, for example. Most people go to Horizon to hone their skills or to conduct research.
But before I go back, I need some quality time with my family, especially my son. Oh, I can't wait!
The knight moved with purpose, his steps deliberate as he approached his horse. His armor gleamed in the fading sunlight, reflecting years of battle and struggle.
He mounted the horse smoothly, settling into the saddle with ease.
The horse stood calm, showing the bond between them. Turning to the coachman, the knight said firmly, "You can go now."
The coachman, used to the knight's commands, nodded without hesitation. He cracked the reins, and the carriage began to move, its wheels creaking as it rolled toward the House of Fateweaver.