The forest on the edge of Valerion was not a place of peace; it was a cathedral of indifference.
Only the dry, skeletal leaves of the ancient oaks rustled in the night breeze, a sound like a thousand whispers mocking those who failed.
Beneath the shadow of a massive, gnarled oak tree, a young boy sat slumped against the bark.
His crimson hair, which usually caught the light with a fiery ambition, looked dull and matted beneath the cold, uncaring moonlight.
His eyes—once bright as rubies—were now lifeless voids, empty of the hope that had sustained him through years of struggle.
Blade Lunaria.
His fists were clenched so tight that his fingernails bit into the dirt, drawing a thin line of blood that went unnoticed. He was trembling, not from the cold, but from the crushing weight of reality.
"Why… why do I keep failing?" he whispered, his voice cracking.
"Four times. No matter how much I sharpen my blade, no matter how much mana I pour into my soul, I fall every time. No matter how much I smile for my parents, no matter how much I pretend to be the 'light' of the group… nothing ever changes."
Tears threatened to spill, hot and heavy, from the corners of his eyes. He forced them back with a jagged sob. His parents— Marcus and Elara's neighbors in Valerion—believed he was their cheerful, resilient son.
His friends thought of him as the unbreakable sun that kept them moving. No one saw the decay beneath the surface. No one saw that the "Perfectly Average" life he was failing to achieve was becoming his tomb.
But tonight, the mask did not just crack; it shattered.
Suddenly, the forest went silent. It was not the absence of sound, but the presence of something that sound was afraid to touch.
The night grew impossibly heavy, the air thickening until it felt like liquid lead in Blade's lungs.
The silver moonlight was not merely blocked; it was devoured, as if the world itself were being pulled into a lightless chasm.
Blade's head throbbed with a violent, rhythmic pressure.
Fear, ancient and primal, crawled up his spine like a frozen hand. A crushing presence wrapped around him—a suffocating cold that made the winter air feel warm by comparison.
A figure emerged from the absolute blackness between the trees.
The entity did not walk; it materialized as a concentrated ripple in the fabric of the night.
Clad in garments of light-swallowing obsidian, his gaze burned from behind a mask like a living, violet flame.
Shujin. The Lord of Darkness.
Blade's breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs with a desperate, frantic rhythm.
"Shu… Shujin? The Master of Shadows? What are you doing in a place of failures?"
Shujin stepped closer, his footsteps echoing with a deliberate, silent authority that vibrated in the marrow of Blade's bones.
His aura did not radiate anger, but the cold, clinical inevitability of a verdict.
"So, Blade Lunaria," Shujin said softly, his voice a resonant, chilling bass that seemed to come from the earth itself.
"A young man who dreams of becoming a legend, yet finds himself chained to the dirt by his own limits. He struggles. He perseveres. He pours his blood into a vessel that will never hold it. And yet, fate continues to reject him with a smile."
Blade trembled, every word striking him with more precision than a master's blade. He felt his secrets being peeled away, exposing the raw, bleeding core of his despair.
"…That's… true…" he gasped.
Shujin's eyes—piercing violet stars within the narrow slits of a porcelain mask—narrowed.
The mask itself was a work of dark art: featureless, dark-violet porcelain etched with intricate, vein-like engravings that pulsed with a ghostly violet light.
"Tell me, Blade… when all your efforts become meaningless, when the 'True Justice' you seek is revealed to be a lie told by the strong, what will you do?" Shujin asked.
"That smile of yours is not a sign of strength. It is a pathetic mask hiding the rot of your own insignificance."
---
The Offer
At last, Blade spoke, his voice a trembling thread in the darkness.
"Lord of Darkness… what do you want from me? Why have you come to witness my death?"
Shujin's expression behind the mask softened slightly—a flicker of something that resembled pity, though it was tempered by the cold desensitization of his first life as Kiyoshi Ishida.
"A deal," Shujin said, crouching down so that his glowing purple eyes were level with Blade's dull ones. As he did, his aura dimmed, focusing into a tight, controlled point.
"I can make you what you desire. I can grant you the power to become a Rank-S++ adventurer—fame that echoes across the five kingdoms, honor that wipes away your failures, authority, wealth, and the freedom of the sky. The entire world of Velgrith will bow to your name."
Blade's eyes widened, his heart racing as a spark of hope—dangerous and volatile—ignited in his chest.
"…That sounds too perfect. It sounds like the lies the 'First Hero' wrote in the books. If I accept… what is the cost? What do you want in return for a life like that?"
A faint, shadowed smile curved Shujin's lips beneath the porcelain.
"Smart boy. You understand the law of utility." He stood up, his high-collared black overcoat flaring out to reveal a royal purple lining that looked like a spill of dried blood against the night.
"What I want is your body," Shujin stated, his voice flat and absolute.
"Your soul… and every single emotion you possess. Your joy, your sorrow, your love, and even this delicious despair you are currently drowning in."
Blade's blood ran cold. He stumbled backward, his back hitting the rough bark of the oak.
"What…?! My soul? My emotions?! That's… that's everything! I would be nothing but a puppet!"
Shujin lowered his head slightly, the metallic silver V-shaped plate on his chest gleaming with a cold brilliance.
"But without me, Blade, you are nothing. You are a failure who will be forgotten before your body is cold. So tell me—will you live a life of quiet, smiling despair… or will you take my hand and become the vessel of a power that can rewrite the stars?"
Blade clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He wanted to scream, to refuse this monster, but the words stuck in his throat.
The memory of his fourth failure—the laughter of the guild members, the disappointment in his father's eyes—rose up like a tide.
"How… how can I trust you?" he finally asked, his voice weak yet desperate.
---
The Oath
Shujin straightened, his silhouette resembling a dark fortress against the moonless sky.
He reached up, the heavy purple and gold mana bands on his wrists glowing as he adjusted the position of his cuffs.
"A fair question for a student of psychology," Shujin replied.
"Then how about this—I swear upon the name of the Goddess Elmyria."
Blade's eyes widened. Even in his despair, he knew the cosmic laws of Velgrith. An oath sworn under the name of the World Goddess was absolute.
It was woven into the very fabric of mana that sustained the world. To break such an oath was to invite the total erasure of one's existence.
Not even a Darkness Lord could defy the weight of that name.
Shujin's gaze pierced straight through Blade's chest, as if looking at the Shadow Core that did not yet exist there.
"If my plans for 'True Justice' succeed, your body, your soul, and your emotions will be returned to you intact. This is my vow, sworn under Elmyria's name."
The weight of the oath pressed down on Blade's heart, a physical resonance that settled his trembling. His mind, exhausted by failure and desperate for escape, was finally drawn in.
"…I can't refuse," Blade whispered, the words sounding like a surrender and a prayer.
"If I don't accept… I'll just be the boy who failed under an oak tree forever."
At last, he reached out a trembling hand.
"…Alright. I accept the pact."
---
The Pact
Shujin's expression remained impassive, but his mana responded instantly.
"Good. From this moment on, you belong to the shadows."
He stepped forward and placed his right hand upon Blade's chest. Instantly, the violet-black shadow flames erupted around Shujin's arm—a cold, light-swallowing energy that didn't burn, but instead consumed the space it occupied.
Shadows poured into Blade's body like ink into clear water, twisting and reshaping his mana circuits from within.
Blade gasped for breath, his back arching as he felt the "Dark Psychology" of Shujin's core begin to overwrite his own personality.
His emotions—the agonizing pain of failure, the hollow despair, the fake smiles he had practiced for years—were stripped away one by one, pulled out by the roots and stored in the Abyss. His mind went cold. His heart became a calculated machine.
Before Blade completely lost consciousness, Shujin leaned closer, his porcelain mask inches from the boy's face.
"Don't worry about your family, Blade. I am a master of masks. I will take better care of them than you ever could."
For a brief moment, as his consciousness faded into the violet void, Blade saw something behind the narrow slits of Shujin's mask.
It wasn't cruelty. It was a deep, hidden sorrow—a pain greater than the death of a single boy. It was the cracked heart of Kiyoshi Ishida, mourning a world that never existed.
Then, the darkness consumed him entirely.
---
A New Stage
Shujin rose, his presence calm and silent as he examined the body before him. The crimson hair of Blade Lunaria began to glow with a new, artificial vibrancy.
The boy's eyes snapped open—now a sharp, burning red that masked the violet void beneath.
"Not bad," Shujin muttered, testing the motor functions of the new vessel.
Beside him, another figure appeared from the swirling shadows—a perfect duplicate of Shujin's original "Kuro" form, dressed in the Academy uniform, wearing the same cold, unreadable smile.
Through the Personal World Creation of the Death Clock Chronael, Shujin could now occupy two spaces at once.
Now, as Shujin walked within the physical shell of Blade Lunaria, the world would still see the Lord of Darkness standing on his throne, while the "Heroic Adventurer" traveled the kingdoms to dismantle the First Hero's web.
"This is the beginning of the next step," Shujin murmured, looking at his new crimson hands.
"Through Blade's eyes… I will move freely within this world. I will see the rot that even the Master of Shadows cannot reach."
The forest wind stirred once more, carrying away the final remnants of the pact. Within the deep shadows of the oak tree, fate had been twisted into a new, lethal shape.
---
✦ To be continued...