Chapter 14 Bound by Mask and Barriers
Aizen slowly released Cynthia’s hand, his movements deliberate and unnervingly precise. The air between them thickened, as though the room itself were holding its breath. He stood still for a moment, his gaze fixed on Cynthia, unblinking, as if weighing her very soul before choosing his words.
“You know,” Aizen began, his voice calm but with an edge that sent a chill down her spine, “I don’t care much about people seeing my face. But... they often don’t react well. They tend to stay away.” His tone carried a quiet finality, the kind that made it clear he wasn’t talking about mere discomfort.
Cynthia, steadying herself, forced a half-smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not one to judge... unless—” she hesitated, then continued with a faintly forced laugh, “—you’ve got something criminal to hide.”
Her words hung in the air like a fragile thread, and for a moment, it seemed Aizen might snap it. He tilted his head slightly, the shadows around his mask deepening.
Robert’s eyes widened, darting nervously between Cynthia and Aizen. His fingers twitched, gripping the fabric of his sleeve tightly.
“Well,” Aizen finally said, his voice unnervingly light, almost mocking, “it’s not like I have anything to hide under here.” His hand rose slowly toward the mask, the movement deliberate and calculated. “But if you insist...” suddenly a cold dreadful air washed all over Cynthia's face, as if she just released something dark and evil upon the world.
“NO! WAIT!” Robert burst out, grabbing Aizen’s wrist just as his fingers touched the mask. “You can’t take it off! I told you—it’s dangerous! The air might infect your skin!” His voice trembled, a mix of anger and fear.
Aizen blinked, then let out a soft laugh. “Oh, right. I almost forgot. Guess old age is catching up to me.”
Robert quickly stepped in to explain, his voice calmer but still tense. “My father... he had an accident a few weeks ago. His face was badly burned, and the doctors insisted he wear a mask to protect it.”
Cynthia blinked, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the situation. “I see,” she said softly, her tone cautious now. “That explains it. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Cynthia, that was insensitive,” Viktor interjected sharply. “I apologize on her behalf.”
“There’s no need for apologies,” Aizen said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “My memory’s not what it used to be anyway.”
“Well then,” Aizen continued, turning to Robert, “we should get moving. These criminals aren’t going to catch themselves. Let’s go.”
The two walked toward a nearby carriage, Aizen climbing in first. Viktor lingered for a moment, turning to Cynthia.
“Cynthia,” he said quietly, “I know you’re worried about me meeting strangers, but trust me on this—I think they’re good people.”
She gave him a faint smile, though her eyes betrayed lingering doubt. “I hope you’re right. Just... be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”
Viktor nodded, climbing into the carriage. Before disappearing inside, he called out, “I’ll send you letters when we get there!”
Cynthia waved after him, forcing a faint smile. She stood still, watching as the carriage rolled away into the distance. When it was finally out of sight, her smile faded.
The suns rise bathed the horizon in crimson, casting long shadows across her face. She stared at her trembling hands, cold sweat forming on her palms.
Cynthia stood motionless, staring at the road long after the carriage disappeared into the horizon. The crimson hues of the rising sun painted the world in shades of foreboding. Her trembling hands betrayed the unease that gripped her heart, her breath quickening with the weight of unspoken fears.
“That man…” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the early morning breeze. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself. “That man is no man.”
The air seemed to thicken around her, each step back toward the city feeling heavier. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, and the lingering chill of Aizen’s presence gnawed at her thoughts. She could not shake the feeling that he carried something ancient, something far beyond her understanding. Her mind wandered, chasing the fleeting fragments of unease he had left in his wake.
one thousand, eight hundred years ago years ago the year of the "Great Leak"…
Long before the kingdoms she knew were even conceived, a man stood at the edge of an ancient, forgotten world.
Three hundred years had passed since he first entered this strange, unforgiving realm.
Now, he stood at the barrier marking the edge of the Dark Forest. Crossing this threshold meant true freedom. His figure was imposing—clad in tattered armor forged from the remnants of beasts he had vanquished during his long, arduous journey. In his hand, he held a glistening white spear of unknown origin, its red gem pulsing faintly as if alive. Behind him lay the colossal corpse of the Frost Centipede, Astan—a monstrous creature of eternal frost that embodied treachery and envy, and had guarded the forest's outermost rim.
For fifty-six relentless years, he had battled the cunning beast across its frigid, mountainous domain, enduring countless revivals until, finally, he emerged victorious.
The man’s ragged breaths fogged the icy air, mingling with the faint scent of blood and frost. "Hah… hah…" he exhaled, green blood and snow clinging to his battered armor. His lips curled into a faint chuckle. "Finally..."
For the first time in centuries, there was hope—a fragile ember glowing in the vast darkness of his existence. Salvation seemed within reach, and with it, answers. Who was he? What was his purpose? Was there meaning in the endless cycle of suffering, or would freedom bring clarity at last?
The man’s ragged breaths . "Hah… hah…" he exhaled, green blood and snow clinging to his battered armor. His lips curled into a faint chuckle. "Finally..."
For the first time in three hundred years, there was hope. Salvation was within reach and most of all answers to who he truly is in this world what his role is and what is his purpose.
He stepped forward, expecting to pass through the barrier, but instead, his momentum halted as if hitting an invisible wall. "Huh?" he muttered, confusion etched across his face.
The realization dawned slowly, and with it, a fury born of centuries of torment. He raised his spear and slammed it against the barrier with a thunderous roar, unleashing a blast so powerful it shattered nearby mountains. The force echoed through the forest, sending creatures fleeing in terror. Here, he was the undisputed apex predator.
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As the dust settled, the man clenched his jaw, forcing himself to calm down. His crimson eyes fixated on the glowing runes etched into the barrier’s surface. Hours passed as he scrutinized their patterns, his mind racing to decipher their meaning.
For an entire day, he stood unmoving, analyzing the intricate magic. Finally, the solution revealed itself.
"I see," he murmured, lifting a hand and focusing his mana. A golden dome-shaped barrier materialized around him, its radiant glow illuminating the dark surroundings. Moments later, he conjured a smaller, dark-hued barrier in the palm of his hand. As he pressed it against the golden barrier, the smaller one dissolved into it, puncturing a basketball-sized hole through the shimmering surface.
A triumphant grin spread across his face. "A negative barrier… equal in frequency and value." His voice trembled with excitement.
The man’s stomach growled, and he glanced back at the massive corpse of the centipede. "Guess I’ll need some snacks for the road." He set to work, harvesting and drying the beast’s meat and scales.
Six days later, he was ready. Standing before the barrier, he summoned the dark energy once more. Purple runes swirled around him as he channeled his power, shaping a dome of darkness. Slowly, he pushed it against the golden barrier.
The clash of opposing forces erupted into a storm of light and mana, the air itself vibrating under the pressure. The barrier pushed back with immense weight, threatening to crush him, but he roared in defiance. "I’M GETTING OUT OF HERE!"
As he pushed forward, a familiar voice whispered in the back of his mind—a voice urging him onward.
Step by agonizing step, the barrier began to crack. With a final, earth-shaking burst of strength, it shattered. The man launched himself forward, landing meters beyond the now-broken boundary.
"Thank you," a strange voice murmured, faint but clear.
The man froze, spinning around. "Hello?" he called out, his voice echoing in the silence.
A feeling of dread crept over him, like a shadow looming just out of sight. Something was wrong.
Krrk-krk.
The sound of cracking glass drew his attention. He turned back to see fractures spreading across the remnants of the golden barrier. The sight sent a chill down his spine.
"Welcome back," came a voice dripping with malice.
The man’s eyes darted around, searching for the source. "Jeffry!?" he whispered, startled to hear the hallucination’s voice after so long. But there was no one there. Shaking off the unease, he focused on his goal: finding people. Civilization.
Not long after, he spotted smoke rising in the distance. His heart raced as he sprinted toward it, moving with inhuman speed. Emerging from the forest, he stumbled upon a paved road lined with footprints and carriage tracks. Tears welled in his eyes as he knelt to touch the marks.
"I’m not alone…" he whispered, overwhelmed by emotion.
Following the road, he reached a village surrounded by tall brick walls. People moved behind its gates. His chest tightened with joy, and laughter burst from his lips. "HAHA! HEY! PEOPLE!" he shouted, waving at the guards stationed above.
The guards turned, their faces quickly twisting in horror. One clutched his stomach, vomiting on the spot, while the other frantically blew a horn.
TOOOOT!
The blaring sound echoed through the village. Moments later, the gates slammed shut.
"What… what’s going on?" the man muttered, his joy giving way to confusion.
Guards swarmed the walls, armed with bows, ballistas, and cannons, all aimed directly at him. An older man, clearly their leader, stepped forward, holding a crystal artifact glowing with mana.
"Al hue sonda le toemonde!?" the leader demanded in a foreign tongue, his tone sharp and commanding.
The man blinked, stunned. He had never heard such a language. "I don’t mean any harm! I just want to enter your town!" he shouted back.
"Al hue sonda le toemonde!? Ordo gis tros mende!" The leader’s voice grew angrier, his patience thinning.
Desperate, the man reached into his bag, pulling out dried centipede meat and scales. "I even brought gifts!" he called, holding them up.
But instead of easing their fears, the sight of the centipede remains sent shockwaves of terror through the crowd.
"ROKRUTA!" the leader bellowed.
Arrows rained down this caught the man off guard he deflected most of them and he tried to run away but an arrow glowing with green light struck the man's head. His body hit the ground as more projectiles pierced him.
"Who am I? what am I here for? am I just here to suffer?" he thought looking at his blood dripping on the pavement then darkness consumed him once again.
-Break-
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In the present day...
Somewhere in a dimly lit hallway of a grand castle, a man clad in a white, elegant robe walked with deliberate grace. The intricate patterns on his attire shimmered faintly under the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the tall windows, creating an image of refined beauty. He moved with an air of authority, his steps echoing lightly against the stone floor.
Abruptly, he stopped. Without turning, he spoke in a calm, commanding voice.
“You may reveal yourself now.”
From the deep shadows cast along the hallway, darkness seemed to coalesce unnaturally. It twisted and thickened until it solidified into the shape of a man in a tattered dark robe, a red mask obscuring his face. The masked figure emerged from the gloom and immediately knelt before the man in white.
“Speak,” the man in white instructed, his tone measured and unyielding.
“My lord,” the man in the red mask began, his voice steady and formal, “I bring an urgent report. Two of our members were attacked in the city of Terramill just a day ago. Ten civilians were caught in the incident—one member was killed, another was captured, and two remain unaccounted for.”
The man in white’s hand tensed slightly, his fingers curling into a fist. A flicker of irritation crossed his otherwise composed face, but he quickly exhaled and restored his calm demeanor.
“Did the captured one reveal anything regarding the association?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of restrained impatience.
“No, my lord,” the masked man replied. “It appears that whatever attacked them that night inflicted severe mental trauma. The captive’s mind has shattered—he is unable to speak coherently.”
“I see,” the man in white mused, his voice soft yet contemplative. “Their intent, then, is not just concealment but also erasure. They wish to leave no trace of their identity, that works great for us as well.”
“Indeed, my lord,” the red-masked man confirmed. “The city’s officers found no witnesses, no murder weapon, and no discernible evidence left behind.”
The man in white robe raised a hand to his chin, pausing as his sharp gaze swept the corridor before him. “Hmm... Whoever they are, they will not act so boldly again for some time. The investigators will be closing in on their trail, and so shall we. For now, they are likely to play it safe.” He turned to face the masked man. “We must prioritize the investigators searching for the missing civilians. What is the current status of their efforts?”
“Yes, my lord. A new investigator has taken over the case left behind by Detective Harrold Dolron. His name is Viktor Volcas, a recently graduated scholar from St. Reyhaeart Academy,” the red-masked man reported with precision.
“And who accompanies him on this case? Does he have guards or a cooperative investigator assisting him?”
“The investigator is traveling to the sunken city of Thalmyra. He requested an escorting party, and we have already identified each member of that group. However, there is no cooperative investigator assigned to him.”
“Is that all?” the man in white asked, his tone indicating he expected more.
“No, my lord,” the masked man replied. “He is accompanied by an older man wearing a white mask and a young boy, who appears to be the masked man’s son.”
“A man in a mask, you say?” The man in white paused, a glint of curiosity in his otherwise calm expression. “Did you uncover his name?”
“Yes, my lord. He calls himself Aizen Deathblade Wolfraven. He is a writer from the village of Catleas and seem to be acting as their guide to the sunken city.”
At the mention of the name, the man in white chuckled softly, the sound light yet carrying an unsettling undertone. “Aizen... How amusing.”
“Is something the matter, my lord?” the red-masked man asked cautiously.
“Nothing of concern,” the man in white replied, turning toward a tall window. His gaze drifted to the sprawling city below the castle, bathed in the pale light of the moon. “It simply reminded me of something. Pay it no mind.”
He allowed a moment of silence before continuing. “Keep following them. Report any significant developments immediately.”
“Understood, my lord,” the masked man said, bowing low.
“And inform the other heads that I will be convening a meeting soon. We may have a ‘visitor’ on our hands.”
“As you command,” the red-masked man responded. He melted back into the shadows, his presence vanishing as if it had never existed.
Left alone, the man in white gazed down at the city, his expression inscrutable. The moonlight framed his figure as he stood there, seemingly embracing the view with quiet contemplation.
“This world is becoming far more interesting,” he murmured to himself before resuming his elegant stride down the corridor, the faint echoes of his footsteps disappearing into the night.