By the time Luka and Saki returned to Dreikheim the next morning, the snowy country was just beginning to stir. Nestled against the base of the mountain rage, the village exuded a quiet serenity, as though unaware of the chaos brewing in the continent. The towering silver peaks of the mountains blended seamlessly with the dark timber of the houses, their slanted roofs blanketed in fresh snow. Chimneys puffed out soft tendrils of smoke into the fresh morning air, carrying the comforting scent of burning wood.

It was a stark contrast to the dark, ashen wasteland of the Ark they had left behind. As they made their way down the snow-packed streets, the faint crunch of their boots echoed softly in the tranquil village. Residents busied themselves with their morning routines—shoveling snow from their doorsteps or chopping firewood to stave off the cold. Warm smiles and cheerful greetings passed between them, the kind of casual camaraderie born of a tight-knit community.

Luka slowed his steps, watching the scene unfold with quiet astonishment.

This place feels far warmer than the Vale, he thought, his gaze lingering on a pair of villagers sharing a hearty laugh. It was such a stark contrast to the shallow, self-serving interactions he had witnessed among the succubi.

“You’re awfully quiet again,” Saki commented, breaking the silence between them.

Luka glanced at her, startled. “Just... thinking,” he muttered, his tone distant.

Saki raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Thinking, huh? You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Care to share what’s rattling around in there?”

He hesitated, his hand unconsciously tightening on the strap of his bag. “It’s nothing,” he replied curtly, turning his gaze back to the path ahead.

They were headed toward the village chief’s mansion, a sturdy structure nestled against the mountainside, where Luka hoped to gather some much-needed information.

“Nothing, huh?” Saki sighed. “You know, we’re traveling together, right? At least you could talk a bit more. I don’t even know where we’re going.”

“I’m looking for a cave around here,” Luka replied, his mind returning to the contents of the books. “It’s supposed to be around Dreikheim, where a certain ritual takes place.”

Saki’s steps slowed slightly as she processed his words. “A ritual?”

“You know of one around here?” Luka asked, glancing at her.

“Well…” Saki held her chin, deep in thought. “I think this region is known for the Dragon Master. It could be connected to that.”

Luka nodded slowly, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. “That’s right… I read something about the Dragon Master in that book. You know a lot about Tamia.”

A smirk tugged at Saki’s lips as she placed her hands on her hips, puffing her chest out with exaggerated pride. “Heh, of course! I’ve been around a long time, remember? You can ask me anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luka replied, shaking his head with a faint chuckle. “Let’s talk to Draai first. They might actually know what we’re talking about.”

The stone stairway leading to the mansion creaked faintly underfoot as they ascended. Luka stepped up to the heavy stone doors, raising his hand to knock. Moments later, the doors groaned open just enough to reveal a crack of the warm, inviting room inside, as if beckoning them to enter.

Exchanging a glance, they stepped through the threshold, leaving the cold, snowy streets behind.

“Well, well,” a familiar, booming voice greeted them as they entered. “What do we have here? Our courageous travelers who braved the Ark! Glad to see you safe and sound!”

The tall figure of Jarl Härvaar Draai stood near the hearth, his long dark coat of fur and leather armor lending him an imposing presence. His arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture, the scar on his weathered face wrinkling as he smiled warmly.

“Jarl Härvaar Draai,” Luka greeted, offering a slight bow of his head. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, boy,” Härvaar replied, stepping closer and clapping Luka on the shoulder with a firm, friendly hand. “I see you’ve returned in one piece. How was the Ark?”

Saki sighed, her arms crossed. “Not good, unfortunately.”

“Let’s just say…” Luka scratched his head. “My objective fell flat.”

Härvaar’s expression shifted subtly, his brows knitting together in a blend of concern and curiosity. “Fell flat, you say?”

“It’s… complicated,” Luka admitted, avoiding the Jarl’s piercing gaze. “We found what we were looking for, but it didn’t go as planned. And now…” He trailed off and glanced at Saki. “Now, I’m searching for a cave—a place tied to the Dragon Master and some kind of ritual.”

Härvaar’s brows arched at the mention of the Dragon Master. He stood in thoughtful silence for a moment before speaking again. “Ah, so that’s what brings you back. You’ve chosen quite the path, boy. Let’s discuss it over a proper meal. Come, both of you. You look half-frozen.”

With a wave of his hand, Härvaar gestured toward a long wooden table laden with food, the fire crackling warmly nearby.

Luka hesitated, his instincts prickling. Something felt off—Härvaar’s warm hospitality seemed genuine, yet an inexplicable unease gnawed at the edge of his thoughts.

Still, he nodded and followed the Jarl to the table, Saki trailing behind. As they settled into their seats, Luka cast a quick glance around the room, his senses on high alert despite the comforting atmosphere.

Something’s off… he thought, his fingers unconsciously drumming against the table as Härvaar began pouring ale into wooden mugs.

Luka’s eyes lingered on the amber liquid sloshing inside his mug, his nose wrinkling slightly at the sharp scent of alcohol. He wasn’t fond of drinking; the bitter taste and burning sensation never sat well with him. Yet, refusing would seem ungrateful, especially after the Jarl’s warm welcome.

With a small nod of thanks, he accepted the mug, his fingers tightening around the handle as Härvaar settled into his seat.

“I know of a cave like that,” Härvaar said, his deep voice resonating in the cozy room. “Not long ago, Wrimbo managed to accomplish the trials to become Dragon Master.”

Luka’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Wrimbo. “The trials…” he echoed, leaning forward. “What kind of trials are we talking about?”

Härvaar took a slow sip of his ale before responding, his scarred face illuminated by the firelight. “It is a test of strength and resolve,” he began, his tone solemn. “The first challenge is traversing the Valley of Mist. It’s said to disorient even the most seasoned travelers, playing tricks on the mind and feeding on their doubts.”

Luka’s brow furrowed. Perhaps it had a lingering illusion spell linked to the valley that caused this disorientation.

Härvaar continued, his voice steady. “The second challenge lies within the Cave of Gülmundd. It’s home to traps and beasts of the old world. Surviving there was the test.”

“And the final trial?” Luka prompted, his fingers tapping the wooden mug in thought.

Härvaar’s expression grew darker. “The last two candidates are pitted against one another. A fight to the death to claim the Amulet of Dreikheim—the symbol of the Dragon Master. Only one can emerge victorious.”

Luka’s gaze flickered toward Saki, who was unusually quiet, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable.

Härvaar chuckled heartily as he saw the faces of the two travelers decomposing. “Ahaha! Do not worry, as long as you don’t ask to become Dragon Master, nothing will happen. You just need to go to the cave, right?”

Luka nodded.

“Well, you’ll have to at least traverse the Valley of Mist,” Härvaar continued, his tone turning serious again. “It is not an easy journey, even for those who know it well. The valley is known for turning people with deep regrets crazy.”

“Sounds tough…” Saki muttered.

Härvaar’s smile faded, replaced by a dark, contemplative look. "You could say that. The valley feeds on the regrets of those who pass through, twisting their minds, making them see things that aren’t real. But if you survive it, you’ll find the cave you seek."

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Luka’s brow furrowed, his hand tapping absently against his mug. "Where is this valley?"

Härvaar leaned back, the firelight casting shadows across his face. "The Valley of Mist lies to the northeast, hidden deep within the mountains. It’s veiled in a fog that never lifts, a constant shroud that distorts everything around it.”

Sounds like the Crimson Garden… Luka sighed internally.

“Well, thank you for the information,” Luka said, standing and brushing off the lingering unease. “We’ll head out there as soon as we’ve finished eating.”

“Eh? Already?” Härvarr shot him a surprised look. “Wait, don’t you want to rest here first?”

Luka’s eyes met Saki’s for a moment, considering the offer. “No, thank you. We’ve already abused your hospitality last time.”

Luka’s eyes flicked toward Saki, silently assessing the offer. He could see the concern in her gaze, but he was already determined. “No, thank you. We’ve already overstayed our welcome.”

Saki shot a quick glance at Luka, her eyes narrowing with silent questioning. Luka responded with a grimace, a quick flicker of unease crossing his features before he turned back to the Jarl.

There was something about Härvaar's offer that didn't sit right with him. Something that gnawed at his instincts. The fact that he offered them to stay even though he definitely knew Saki was a succubus.

“By the way, I haven’t seen Granbell around here. Where is he?” Luka asked, attempting to keep his voice casual.

Härvaar’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and he seemed to hesitate before his gaze darted to the left and right, as though searching for an answer. “Granbell?” He cleared his throat, the tension in his posture suddenly palpable. “Oh, he just left. He had to… um… to…”

Luka’s brow furrowed. “To what?”

“Right, he said he was going to Sora,” Härvaar replied quickly, his tone slightly off, as though he were trying to cover something.

Luka’s gaze remained steady, probing. “Oh, right, this place is known for its magic,” he said, trying to make sense of the odd situation.

“Right, a mage like him must be thrilled to go there,” Härvaar said with a hearty laugh, but there was something forced in it. “Still, I insist. Why don’t you stay here for the night, hm?”

Luka’s expression didn’t change, but his mind sharpened. “Granbell is a dragonkin who wields a sword, not a mage.”

Härvaar blinked, his smile faltering for just a moment. “Ah?” he muttered, as if the idea hadn't quite settled in. “Well, perhaps I was mistaken. Still, it’s a long journey ahead. Don’t you want to rest before you head out?”

“How could you be mistaken? He was your guard for a while here.”

Yeah, this guy is definitely off. Something weird is going on.

“Besides,” Luka continued, his gaze steady. “You were wary of Saki the first time we arrived here, and now you don’t seem to care. Why is that?”

There it was—the flicker of discomfort that crossed Härvaar’s face for a brief moment, before he masked it with another forced smile.

“You’re reading too much into things, boy,” Härvaar said, his voice still warm but strained. “Nothing has changed. I’ve just gotten used to your... companion.”

His manner of speech also changed.

Luka didn’t buy it. The shift was too abrupt, the inconsistencies too clear. Something wasn’t right here, and Luka was determined to get to the bottom of it.

This wasn’t right. Luka’s instincts were screaming at him.

“Let’s go, Saki,” Luka said, his tone now firm as he turned toward the door.

Saki followed closely, her eyes flickering between Luka and the Jarl, but she said nothing.

“Wait a second.” the voice of the Jarl grew colder, almost threatening as he stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Where do you think you are going?”

Luka stopped in his tracks, his body tense as every muscle braced for what might come next. He turned around slowly as the Jarl’s footsteps grew closer, until he reached a desk near the wall.

Saki’s hand subtly drifter toward the handle of her whip, her posture alert.

Härvaar’s expression twisted into something dark, his lips curling into a sneer. “You think you can just walk out after questioning me like that?” His voice had changed, now carrying an edge that wasn’t there before. His hand twitched toward the massive axe mounted on the wall, the twin blades carved with ancient runes that seemed to glow with a strange, sinister pale white light.

“Saki,” Luka called out, his stance shifting. “This guy is not normal.”

“Oh? No shit!” Saki watched intently as the Jarl seized the heavy axe, its weight seemingly no burden to him despite his previously jovial demeanor.

As he gripped the weapon, a dark, ominous vein snaked along his face, spreading across his skin like creeping ink. His eyes glowed a menacing shade of red, and the muscles in his arms bulged with unnatural tension.

“I wanted to kill you in your sleep,” Härvaar sneered, his voice now guttural, his tone unrecognizable. “But looks like you were too nosy for your own good, kid.”

Luka’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing as he analyzed the shift. This wasn’t the man who’d welcomed them with open arms, who’d shared his food and drink.

Is that a demon?

Saki shifted her stance, her whip ready to strike, but Luka raised a hand, signaling for her to hold back—for now.

“So you’re the kid who stood up to lord Kaeris, huh?” the Jarl continued, his teeth flashing a devious grin. “Kiku told me a whole lot about you.”

“I knew it, you’re a demon, aren’t you?” Luka took a step back, his hand ready on the knob of the door.

“Let me do the introductions,” the demon sneered, stepping closer, the massive axe resting casually on his shoulder. “Name’s Araka, fourth general of the demon army.”

Luka’s eyes widened, the weight of the revelation sinking in. He exchanged a glance with Saki, her expression darkening.

“Shit,” Saki cursed under her breath, her fingers tightening around her whip.

Araka’s grin widened, the malice evident. “You think you can just eliminate an entire race of demons without facing consequences? Or that you can do anything to save these pathetic humans? Well, you’re dead wrong.”

Luka’s gaze didn’t waver, and without another word, he threw open the door, the cold air of Dreikheim hitting him like a slap in the face. He darted outside, the chill biting at his skin, but as soon as he took a step, a sharp whoosh cut through the air, a glint of metal grazing his cheek.

His heart skipped a beat as he jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding the fork that had been thrown at him, the cold steel whizzing past his ear. Luka’s breath came in short gasps as he took in the scene before him.

A pack of villagers, their movements slow and vacant, climbed the stairs toward him, blocking his path. But it wasn’t their gait that chilled him—it was the black veins snaking across their faces, twisting under their skin like dark tendrils of a living thing. Their eyes were hollow, lifeless. The villagers were no longer themselves.

Luka froze for a split second, his hand darting inside his pockets. What in the world…?

“Surprised?” Araka’s voice boomed from behind. “I’m a parasitic demon. I took over this whole village yesterday.”

This guy… Luka’s fists clenched in anger. The man he was looking at was not the Jarl himself, but a parasitic demon that took him as his host.

“Luka, we need to run.” Saki urged him as she flicked her whip toward the Jarl to keep him at a respectful distance. “We can’t handle this many people.”

“I know.” Even if he wanted to go to the bottom of this, he knew it was impossible to save anyone right now. In fact, was it even possible to save the villagers? Were they even alive right now?

Without dwelling on the question for too long, he grabbed Saki by the neck and used magic to reinforce his legs. With a single jump, he passed through the mass of villagers blocking the stairs, and landed on a soft spot of snow near a house below.

“Run!” he cried out as he pushed his legs forward.

The only question left was: where to go? The next settlement was far from there, at least a day of walking, and their supplies were already short.

There was no way they would survive in this harsh environment without taking a break here.

"We'll need to find shelter, but we can’t stay here," he muttered, eyes scanning the land for anything that could offer a moment’s respite. The village was out of the question and the parasited villagers were closing in with each passing second. It was a chance that they were slow.

“Ice spears!” an incantation echoed behind them, and multiple icicles flew straight toward them. With sharp reflexes, Luka pulled out a talisman which, upon activation, created a storm of hot flames, melting the ice in an instant.

“Not bad!” Araka grinned as his piercing eyes glared at Luka. After this little demonstration of power, the general was sure of it. “But what can you do without those talismans?”

Before Luka could respond, the demon leaped into the air, his muscles coiling like a spring. He crashed through the roof of a nearby house with ease, sending bricks and debris flying. The force of his landing shook the ground, and he stood tall, his battleaxe resting casually on his shoulder. A dark energy pulsed around him, and his hand began to glow again.

Another set of jagged stalactites materialized in the air, pointed and sharp, and were sent hurtling toward them.

Luka’s heart raced as he quickly assessed the situation. He couldn’t keep up this defensive strategy for long—he needed to find a way to take the demon down. Fast.

He hurled another talisman at the incoming wave of ice, and it exploded in a burst of heat, melting the stalactites into steam. The fog quickly thickened, swirling around them in a dense cloud, making it difficult to see anything beyond the immediate mist.

But that only gave Araka an advantage.

With a heavy thud, he felt the foot of the Jarl stomping on the ground, and his axe split the fog in half with brutal strength, its glinting edge aiming at his neck.

He’s fast…!

Luka’s instincts kicked in. He ducked just in time, feeling the wind from the axe’s blade graze the top of his head, a hairsbreadth from decapitating him.

With a reinforced leg, he then kicked Araka’s left leg, but the man didn’t even budge.

And strong too!

“Move!” Gritting his teeth, he felt Saki tug on the collar of his neck, pulling him back just in time before another swing of the axe came crashing down on him, the blow splitting the earth below.

Saki’s grip tightened on his collar as she pulled him further away from the blast zone, her whip lashing out to keep any of the villagers that had been slowly approaching at bay.

There was no way to escape. From all sides, they were surrounded, and the parasited Jarl was far faster than both of them.

“Damn it…” Luka muttered, his fists clenched.

Perhaps…

“Perhaps this was meant to be…” Luka muttered as he stood back up, his eyes locking onto Araka.

Perhaps this was his punishment, what he deserved after becoming a murderer.

"Perhaps... yes."

The voice, foreign and chilling, echoed through the air like a haunting whisper carried on the wind. It was soft, yet carried an unshakable coldness, like the sharp mist of dawn that chilled the bones. Luka turned, but before he could even register the source, a sudden sting shot through his chest, as if frozen needles had pierced him from within.

A sharp, agonizing cold spread throughout his body. The air around him grew frigid, and his limbs grew stiff, as if encased in ice. Luka gasped, his vision blurring, his breath turning to frost in the air as his body began to freeze.

The world seemed to slow. His heart raced, but it felt distant, muffled, as if he were drowning in ice-cold water. And then, through the haze, he saw her.

A woman. Her form materialized from the frost that had enveloped him, a specter born from the cold mist itself. Her eyes gleamed blue like ice, her skin pale as snow, and her presence felt like the bite of winter itself. Without warning, she thrust a dagger—gleaming cold as the moon—directly into his heart.

The pain was sharp and blinding. It felt as if warm blood seeped through his clothes, agonizingly warm as his whole body felt encased in ice. But there was nothing.

His heart ceased beating, the world frozen around him, as the woman’s cold gaze lingered on him for a long, quiet moment. Her voice was a ghostly whisper, muffled by some sort of mask covering her mouth and nose.

“Your judgment is served, monster,” she whispered, her voice like the winter wind. “Plunge in the depth of hell.”

“LUKA!”

Saki screamed out in fury and pain. Her voice cracked as she watched Luka crumple to the ground, his face drained of color, life slipping from him. The woman before him—a ghost, a nightmare—had struck him with one of her daggers, the blade now buried in his chest.

The woman’s form was ethereal, a specter cloaked in tattered rags that clung to what was once her skin. Her boots and belt seemed to float while being attached to her, and a scarf tied around her neck drifted in the air like a silent will-o-wisp.

Saki’s heart twisted as she rushed forward, her body fueled by a surge of adrenaline and despair. The sight of Luka, lifeless on the ground, was unbearable. She swung her whip, aiming it at the ghost, but it passed right through her, as if the specter wasn’t even there.

The woman’s icy eyes turned to meet Saki’s, her gaze filled with no emotion but cold finality.

“GIVE HIM BACK!” Saki cried out in fury as she hurled wind blades at her, but again, they simply passed through her.

“You should leave now, succubus,” the ghost whispered as if her voice was muffled by the mask she was wearing. “This is not your battle. Besides, he is already dead.”

Saki’s chest tightened. She refused to accept it. Luka couldn’t be gone. Not like this. She wasn’t going to let some specter decide his fate. The mark on her body was still faintly giving hints of life, meaning he wasn’t completely dead yet. She must have done something akin to death, but not death itself.

With clenched fists, she unfurled her wings and pushed with all her might the wind around her. An aura began to form around her as she unleashed her sealed power just a bit, making the ghost and Araka flinch for a second.

She wouldn’t let him die now. Otherwise, she wouldn’t forgive herself.

“What the—?” Araka shielded himself from the burst of wind, his feet planted firmly on the ground. The ghost, on the other hand, found herself pushed back by Saki’s aura, making her slip through the ground and disappear without a trace.

She’s gone… Saki gritted her teeth before flying toward Luka and grabbing him with both her hands.

Saki cradled him close, her wings lifting them both as she darted away from the village. She headed far away from there, up in the mountains with the hope that maybe getting away would bring him back.