He dug until the faint sun gave way to night, and eventually, to dawn.
When he was done, he returned to the storage building and carried the corpses one by one, placing them in the hole he had dug, then covering it with snowy dirt.
He couldn't identify most of the bodies. Their structures were almost identical, and most had no clothing. Only a few did, and among those, the clothes were so similar that only two stood out to Faust. The village's butcher—he still wore a bloodstained white apron. And a hunter—dressed in black. Sometimes the world likes to play jokes: he had come so far, survived so much, and yet when he arrived, he couldn't even recognize his own parents. The villagers' clothing was plain, most wore the same styles. His mother and father were no exception.
When humans die, their flesh decays, their clothes wear out, and only their bones remain—indistinguishable from one another. In death, every human looks the same.
Faust thought about this. His heart struggled to accept it, but his mind resisted and was beginning to win. His thoughts were shifting, changing—even if he hadn't noticed.
Sure, when alive, humans could claim greater worth than goblins or other animals—but in death? What difference remained? Just as wolves served as food for humans, humans served as food for nature. The same nature that, in turn, would nourish the wolf. It was all part of a cycle—unchanging and eternal.
He finished burying the dead. In the end, he couldn't recognize his parents. He couldn't recognize anyone important to him.
"Everyone looks the same... I hope you're resting in a better place—Mom, Dad. You too, Carl, Mickella… all of you," he mumbled, staring at the filled graves without blinking.
He returned to his ruined house, turned the bed back upright, and laid down.
His mind was in turmoil—he couldn't think straight.
He hadn't slept during his journey to the village, nor while burying the dead. Dark circles had already formed beneath Faust's eyes.
He was exhausted. The moment his body relaxed, he fell asleep.
***
Strands of fiery hair flutted in front of his eyes. Faust sat on the back of a giant bird, its feathers vibrant and colorful. As it flew, it sliced through the heavens and clouds.
Below him stretched a desolate land. Massive bones jutted from the sand, forming a natural arc. Ahead, a floating castle loomed—dark, black, and immense. Shadows danced and leapt around it. Thick, heavy chains anchored its enormous form to the earth.
Standing atop the bird, Faust stared at the castle.
"All preparations are complete. I have everything in order to fight the Gilded One. I just hope my body can hold on…"
He looked down at his hands—gray, thick veins snaked across them like tentacles.
The bird accelerated toward the castle. Faust reached for a sabre at his waist. Its blade was white, exuding a chilling cold.
"If I can create even one rune from its essence… then it's worth it. There's no turning back now." He inhaled deeply.
The bird slammed into the castle's outer wall, shattering it. Faust leapt from its back at the last moment and landed inside. The bird was crushed—reduced to paste.
Inside, the castle was dense with shadow. The air was heavy. His sabre gleamed, sharp and frigid, as he charged down its vast halls.
His slashes were rough, but they cut through the shadows. Each time one drew near, ethereal chains appeared, tearing the creatures apart. He slew thousands, but the cost showed. He was breathing hard, his sword chipped and worn. He sheathed it, dismissing the chains. From that point on, he fought with his bare hands.
Eventually, he reached a grand double door. It was made of gold, with handles crafted from countless jewels.
He pushed it open.
Inside, the floor was golden with intricate jade patterns and had treasures scattered around. The walls were platinum, embedded with diamonds. The ceiling was a dome of rubies. At the center sat a thick shadow on a throne made from jewels and metals beyond measure.
The shadow laughed.
"HAHAHA! Tell me, human—what is the treasure you seek? Money? Fame? Everything?"
"None of those."
"Don't be a fool!" the shadow roared. "Your kind lives and dies for greed. No mortal is without desire for wealth. No mortal dies without possessing some. Hypocrites like you disgust me. You want something—speak it! You've come this far. Are you afraid now?"
Faust's body was drained, but his mind was calm.
"I seek none of those things. What I want, you would never give willingly. So, I'll take it forcefully instead. Your riches mean nothing to me, I've already surpassed greed. My dream needs no wealth."
"You lie! Meaningless words! There is no other reason you'd come here! Everyone I've faced sought my treasures. You're no different—but you irritate me, you are a liar."
"Wealth is meaningless. Gold is no different from stones. Diamonds, from sand. What I seek is greater—but there's no point explaining it to you. It wouldn't change anything."
He drew his sabre, it was sharp and undamaged.
"Let's stop talking and kill each other. That's simpler."
"Hahaha! Alright, annoying human. I was thinking the exact same."
The shadow leapt from the throne. While still in the air, it suddenly changed direction toward Faust.
He raised his sword in defense. The shadow struck it with immense force, sending him flying toward the golden door.
***
"AHHHGGG!"
Faust screamed loudly as he woke up, blood spilling from his facial orifices. His brain burned—an intense, searing pain assaulted his head and entire body. He trembled violently, passing out and regaining consciousness multiple times. Over two hours later, the pain finally began to subside.
He breathed heavily, his body drenched in sweat.
Rolling off the bed, he collapsed to the ground. His bear lay nearby.
Slowly, he stood up on shaky feet.
"Red… what the hell… was that…" he muttered, his breath still unsteady.
No answer came from Red.
"These dreams… they're becoming more vivid. Who the hell was Red? He invaded a flying castle? How is that even possible? First of all, a flying castle existing, and second, him invading it..."
Faust stood confused. Thinking about the dreams momentarily made him forget the situation he was in. It was still night when he left his ruined home. He searched the village once more but, again, found nothing of use. His entire journey to the village had been a complete loss. He couldn't recognize his parents' and friends bodies. He hadn't found anything useful. Instead, his mind had only become more fractured.
He was furious as well. He was certain travelers had passed by the village, yet no one had the decency to bury the dead—not even the kingdom.
"Thinking about it… I remember, before everything happened, a caravan was supposed to pass by the village. Didn't they notice it?"
That thought only deepened the anger in his heart.
He ordered the bear to go through the woods while he took the road back to the previous village. He didn't want to spend another moment there—the more he lingered, the worse he felt. He carried his cleaver, journal, and pencil with him as he began his walk. Walking calmed his mind. In the cave, it was almost all he had to do.
Due to the winter, he rarely encountered anyone on the road—but he did, a few times. It confirmed that people had indeed passed by the village. They simply didn't care. In fact, judging by the missing clothes and belongings of the corpses, they may have done more than nothing—they had looted the dead.
It was night when his path was blocked by two people—two men. Both had straight swords at their waists.
"Hello there, kid."
Faust remained silent.
"Look, no need to be afraid. Times are tough for everyone, you know? Winter's too harsh. We need help. You understand?"
Still, Faust said nothing.
The man smirked and stepped closer to him, while the other stood behind. Judging by their appearance, they were either vagabonds, or bandits.
"It's too tough… too tough! Well, no point in talking to myself—just give me your stuff. It'll be better for both of us."
The one behind sneered. "Don't you think we could fetch a good price for him too? They pay well for kids. They work better."
They ignored Faust entirely, talking among themselves.
"True, that's true. Forgive me, kid. I'll hav—"
Before he could finish, a black shadow lunged from the woods, tearing his torso open and nearly ripping him in half. His body slammed into a tree and crumpled to the snow, staining it crimson.
The other man was still smirking—until he realized what happened. He fumbled for his sword, but before he could unsheathe it, his head was already inside the bear's mouth.
With a swift movement, the bear clamped its jaws shut. A red liquid, reminiscent of watermelon juice, began to drip from its maw—along with chunks that resembled shattered fruit.
Faust didn't flinch. He didn't vomit. He didn't cry or sob. He felt no sadness.
He took their swords and placed them in the bag, then checked their pockets and found four silver coins. Without hesitation, he ordered it to eat both bodies, clothes and all—leaving no trace.
"They also look the same..."
He watched with a detached expression as the bear devoured the corpses. When it was done, he sent it back into the forest and continued his walk. The only sign that anything had happened was the blood-stained snow—and even that would vanish under fresh snowfall.
"Red, I need to learn new runes," Faust muttered as he walked beneath the starry winter sky.
He was heading toward the village again—this time, searching for a different kind of information.