“You have been assigned to the lower halls,” said Servitor Stewaris, a hawkish man in flowing blue robes.

What? Wazed blinked rapidly as he heard the words. He was sent to kill the Duke, and this announcement did not bode well for his plans.

He had scrubbed latrines, scraped carpets, washed clothes, and cleaned rat-infested cellars—all so meticulously for the past three months in hopes of being stationed in the upper halls.

Sure, it had not earned him any points with his fellow brown-robed servants, as indicated by the dead mouse someone had planted on his plate of food once, and that one other time when he’d entered his little room to find his belongings strewn across the floor, his clothes torn into rags.

But it did earn him praise from the Servitors—blue-robed high servants. Wazed presumed that being in their good books would lead him to the upper halls.

He was wrong.

“I really wanted you with us at the upper halls. You are clearly made for it. But, since all the good browns are being relocated to the upper, the other blues argued that at least one competent brown should remain here. A mighty competent one. And clearly, you are the winner at that.”

And loser in every other way.

Wazed cursed inwardly. His plan to outperform every other servant had backfired. He had done his job a little too well, it seemed.

Some of the other brown-robed servants standing in line beside him snickered as he stood frozen.

The once-comforting sound of the fire crackling in the firepit no longer soothed his ears and instead added to the overwhelming feeling of dread.

The stone walls of the kitchen seemed to press in, becoming smaller and smaller as he fell deeper into a state of disbelief. The Servitor was saying something. Something to do with his assigned duties but the words became like background noise and were mostly lost on him.

“That’s all! You are all to immediately get to your assigned tasks,” Stewaris bellowed. “The Duke would not take kindly to any of you screwing up his grand feast. Master Maradin returns at dawn, and we, servants of House Bargunri, must be prepared to give him the grandest welcome. Glory to House Bargunri!” said Stewaris, thumping his fist onto his chest.

The room reverberated with the chorus of “Glory to House Bargunri!” as Wazed and the others mimicked the gesture.

As soon as the Servitor shuffled out of the room, murmurs broke out amongst the Browns, like a swarm of bees buzzing in unison, filling the air with a low, constant hum.

“Well, well, well, look who’s still slumming it with us,” Jan taunted, his lanky frame towering over Wazed. “All that hard work for nothing! We were expecting you to be the talk of the upper halls today, raking in tips left and right. But I guess fate had other plans for you, eh?” Jan cackled, his cronies joining in with their own snickers and jeers.

Wazed did not react. He stood still like a statue, his eyes fixed on the ground. He was lost in the thought that he might not be able to reach the Duke and execute his mission. And if he failed, he would be subject to the harshest punishment by his employer.

Memories of the last time he had failed flooded his mind, and he shuddered at the thought. For seven days, he had been denied food and locked in a minuscule cell with no windows. The experience had been a living nightmare, one he had no desire to relive.

The others filed out of the room one by one, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Wazed did not follow them; he remained immobile. Eventually, everyone had left, and he was alone.

“Kier…” came a girl’s voice.

Well, maybe not everyone. He turned to face Selena, a young brown-robe with dusky skin and deep, soulful eyes radiating sincerity. At first glance, she appeared reserved and timid, but once you got to know her, she was anything but. She was a girl whom he frequently found himself engaged in conversation with, though not by his own initiation.

The edges of her lips curved up like the sunrise. "I'm glad we'll be working together," she said, her eyes sparkling. "And don't worry. You’ll make Servitor someday. I know it. And when you do, the others will regret treating you the way they have.”

She gently grasped one of his hands and placed an object within it.

As her hand smoothly slid off his, a half-circle wooden pendant came into view, a popular trinket among the youth, especially couples.

Wazed stared at it, puzzled.

He had overheard the servants gossiping about them. Half-circle pendants were sold in pairs, with one half completing the other, symbolizing the Union—a spiritual process through which a male noble could bond with a female noble, allowing the male's magic to be shared with his partner.

Commoners found the idea of Union romantic, even though the technique was exclusive to the nobility, as was magic in general. Merchants capitalized on the public’s fascination with it and developed trinkets like these to sell.

Selena's eyes locked onto his, the other half of the pendant dangling from her neck, silently beseeching Wazed to speak.

"What is this?" he finally asked.

"Just a little something I picked up while shopping for the feast at the thoroughfare."

"Why give it to me?"

"I…I wanted to thank you for being so patient with me and enduring my constant yammering," she admitted, her eyes flickering between the floor and Wazed's face, a blush staining her cheeks.

Then, without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heels. "Anyways!" she said briskly as she strode toward the food trolley, "we should get started with our duties!"

Wazed couldn't fathom why Selena had always been so kind to him. Why she prattled on with him more than anyone else, and even went so far as to offer him her share of meat at times.

He gazed upon the half-circle pendant in his hand.

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Could it be?

She was one foolish girl if that were the case. Wazed was a Faceless, the last of his kind, he was told. A Faceless had no agency of their own, not even in matters of reproduction; they existed solely to serve their masters.

She truly was a fool.

Though he couldn’t deny the gesture warmed his heart for some reason. An unfamiliar warmth, one he’d briefly experienced when he was twelve, when he was held in the embrace of his mother.

Before they pried him away from her.

“I wonder how Lord Maradin has changed over the past four years. The last I saw him, he still had a boyish charm about him. All the girls at the orphanage dreamed of marrying him. They especially loved his striking blue eyes, which he inherited from Madam Duchess…” Selena prattled on while she arranged the dishes on the trolley.

Wazed tuned out of whatever she said and closed his eyes to access his status.

[Name: Wazed Van Tallan]

[Class: Faceless]

[Health: 870/870]

[Stamina: 1600/1600]

[Mana: 10,000/10,000]

[Skill(s) active: Necrofusion]

{Time Remaining: 1:29:48}

About an hour and a half before Wazed’s soul gets pulled back into the phylactery, his plans were already in disarray due to the sudden revelation that he wouldn’t be placed in the upper halls. Not a good sign.

"...and to top it off, he cleared the 5th layer of the Avernium, which no one else in history has ever achieved. He's probably the strongest in the entire kingdom right now. What do you think, Kier?"

Wazed snapped his eyes open at the mention of his fake name.

“Yes, yes, you’re right.”

Selena finished setting up the food trolley with precision, ensuring everything was in its proper place. As they made their way out of the kitchen, they entered a narrow hallway, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Wazed took charge of the trolley, carefully navigating it through the confined space, as the clink of glasses resonated through the air. Meanwhile, Selena held onto the jug of the finest wine, delicately cradling it in her grasp as they made their way towards their destination.

The corridor wall was adorned with an array of picture frames. The first frame showcased Bartrem, the current Duke, proudly donning his regal attire. Beside him, Dolores, the Duchess, stood with elegance, exuding an air of grace and poise. Maradin, the firstborn and heir, followed suit; he stood tall and confident, his portrait reflecting his adventurous spirit. The second son, Novic, was shown with a serious demeanor. The third son, Tyrel, was captured with a smile, his youthful exuberance shining through the canvas. And then there was the empty frame, a blank canvas eagerly awaiting the addition of a new member.

He had two targets for tonight’s assassination: the Duke and one of his sons.

What puzzled Wazed was that the son he was sent to kill wasn’t Maradin, for whom the grand festivities, in part, were being arranged, celebrating his return from the Avernium. It was baffling, for Maradin was widely considered the most formidable threat arising from House Bargunri, and his absence would undoubtedly cripple their power.

Maradin Bargunri was the only noble in history to possess three different classes of magic. Not only that, he also cleared the 5th layer of Avernium—the only magic school in the continent, with six ominous layers filled with monsters lurking at every turn. The lower you descended, the more likely your chances of survival dwindled.

Despite the risks, many chose to delve deeper and accept the challenge of the Avernium, all in pursuit of the promise of wealth, status, and power within the noble society.

Wazed couldn’t comprehend why the King of Antiochia would require nobles to send their offspring to such a dangerous place? From what he heard, it had something to do with the royal house Luther's belief in favoring the strong and purging the weak. And the Avernium was the best tool for separating the wheat from the chaff, and ensuring that only the strong survived.

A strange kingdom, this was. Where Wazed was from, the elders ensured that youngsters were sent to learn in safe environments, rather than places where the threat of death loomed around every corner.

Even stranger was that the son he was sent to assassinate was a newborn, the other reason for the grand festivities. According to his employer, the infant was a reincarnated soul from a realm called Earth, and the threat the newborn posed was “insurmountable.” To stop it, he’d have to nip it in the bud.

But…reincarnation? An alternate realm? Wazed couldn’t wrap his head around these ideas.

He halted before a pair of imposing double doors on which the motto of House Bargunri, "Death before dishonor," was etched.

Selena gently placed the wine jug on the food trolley before grasping the door handles and pulling them open slowly. A vision of pure extravagance greeted them - a vast stone chamber, filled to the brim with over a hundred revelers. The room was alive with the sound of music, as drummers pounded away at their drums with frenzied energy. The air was thick with the heady scent of wine, and people danced, sang, and cheered with reckless abandon.

This was the lower halls.

The Antiochians were a striking sight to behold. The men exuded an air of strength and power with their imposing height and robust frames. They wore opulent silk coats, with the flickering flames from the fire pits dancing upon the fabric, casting a warm glow that illuminated the stunning detail of the designs. The women were even grander, dressed in sumptuous silk gowns that hugged their every curve, exuding an aura of elegance.

Wazed listlessly pushed the trolley past the revelers and made his way towards the host's table, typically presided over by the Duke’s wife.

In one corner, a young boy sat confidently at the head of a table, with piercing blue eyes and lustrous blond hair cascading down his back in waves, perfectly complementing the rich blue silk coat he was wearing. The Bargunri house insignia glimmered proudly on the breast pocket of his jacket.

Novic Bargunri was his name, eleven years old. He had a smug air about him, one that was even worse than the typical arrogance of a noble. Accompanying him were the children of the retainers who no doubt were taught by their parents to suck up to the young lord.

Rumors circulated that once a child from the court refused to play with him in favor of playing with her new puppy. The following day, the puppy was found hanging from a pike.

“The Duchess looks so beautiful!" Selena said, with a glint in her eye.

She certainly was right about that. Duchess Dolores wore a snowy white gown, expertly tailored to fit her tall and slender frame, hugging her curves in all the right places before cascading out behind her in a train of glittering fabric. The gown was fretted with glittering thread, creating a shimmering effect. As if that weren't enough, she also wore a magnificent necklace of enormous stones, each one reflecting the garish light of the fire pits that surrounded the room.

Wazed had to admit that although he’d been working here for three months, he still couldn't get accustomed to the wasteful lifestyle. Today, in particular, the extravagance around him bothered him. The sheer amount of food that would go to waste tonight was enough to feed his entire tribe in Yoden for months. If any of the village elders, who preached austerity at every turn of life, had witnessed what Wazed was seeing, they might have fainted in disbelief.

"You know, they say that Duchess Dolores is the most beautiful woman in the realm. The king's sons at the time all wanted to marry her, but she was only a viscount's daughter, so they couldn't. But, that didn’t stop the princes from making unwanted advances. Her family was so afraid that she would lose her chastity to one of the princes at the Avernium that they married her off. Can you believe it? All the eligible nobles in the realm, from viscounts to dukes, asked for her hand in marriage. There was even a fight between the Bargunris and the Amstrels over her! Crazy, right? and the Amstrels are the second most powerful house in the realm, so people are still puzzled about how the Bargunris managed to win her over…"

Selena prattled on incessantly, while Wazed kept his gaze fixed on the eastern door, knowing it would lead to the hallway and the staircase that ascended to the upper halls—the Duke’s banquet.

Suddenly, a shrill cry tore through the air, jolting Wazed out of his reverie. He quickly averted his gaze from the door.

The duke’s wife stood merely three strides away, her once-pristine dress now stained red. For a moment, Wazed thought it was blood, but closer inspection revealed it to be wine - and not just any wine, but wine from Selena's jug.

Duchess Dolores's lips trembled with fury, her eyes bulging with a piercing glare that left Selena quivering and shrinking back in fear.

Wazed held his breath. This wasn’t going to end well. No, this would not.