Cassian Nocturne walked toward the outer area of the Valenor Grand Auditorium, a faint panic stirring in his fragile heart.

  His heart sank even further when he saw roughly twelve dead bodies surrounding a tall, muscular man with grayish hair and golden eyes, sharp and predatory.

  “Who are they…” he murmured, observing the people clad in blood-red attire. He understood their identity without needing an answer. “The cult that always uses fire-based abilities.”

  “You are finally here.”

  Kasturi glanced at him from the corner of his eye, making Cassian jump in fright.

  “Eh—hey, not my fault. You left me behind while I was storing some time,” Cassian protested.

  Kasturi ignored him, knowing this was his usual behavior. Instead, he asked, “How much time have you stored?”

  Cassian fell into an awkward silence, the kind someone has when their broke friend asks for money, and they can’t say ‘I don’t have any’ because their friend has already seen their wallet.

  Cassian sighed. “Not much… around two days. But you can’t use all of it.”

  Kasturi narrowed his eyes, making Cassian pause mid-protest.

  “What do you need it for? As long as he has a mind-soothing headband, he shouldn’t be taking much psychological damage. Not the kind that can’t be fixed by a good psychiatrist.”

  “He is not alone,” Kasturi said, his tone unchanged.

  “Not alone?” Cassian looked around again. His slow mind finally caught up. “Eh… don’t tell me…”

  “There are six Librarians of the Pyric Covenant with him. And a strange item,” Kasturi said.

  “Eh? What do they want here? Aren’t they only interested in fire-element abilities?”

  “Most likely, they’re here to experiment with that item,” Kasturi replied, his eyes glowing unnaturally.

  “You can see that? Shouldn’t we be helping him?”

  “No. It’s a test. Although he does have some trauma related to fire.”

  “What? And he’s fighting them? Have you never heard of psychology in your life before? Poor kid, he has to stick with you of all people.”

  *****

  In pure astonishment, the scared, scar-faced man stared at Lucian’s twisted right arm. Then he burst into laughter, utterly amused.

  “Hahaha… just your luck.”

  Wide-eyed, Lucian looked at his right hand. It was twisted like a sugarcane bent over itself again and again, but instead of sweet juice, crimson blood dripped onto the dusty auditorium floor. It was broken to the point that he hadn’t even felt the immense pain that was surely meant to come.

  “Hehehe…”

  Lucian began to laugh as well, like a madman, whether from pain or from the absurdity of his luck, even he himself didn't know.

  Then he stopped and looked at the scar-faced man. His gaze passed over him to the other four, who were no longer in any condition to fight: one was pinned to the ground as if crushed by gravity, another bound tightly by his own hand, one standing frozen mid-motion, and another slammed helplessly against the wall.

  With amusement in his tone, Lucian said, “I still have my left hand.”

  Although Lucian didn’t know much about the Codex and its properties, he assumed a Librarian needed their left hand to use their abilities. Judging by the scar-faced man’s expression, his assumption was spot-on.

  Even though Lucian himself possessed no ability, the man in front of him didn’t know that. And Lucian’s statement made him hesitate, giving Lucian precious time to adapt.

  “Very well,” the man said. “Just remember, you were killed by Thren Vox of the Pyric Covenant.”

  Lucian gritted his teeth as he picked up the old kitchen knife he had kicked away earlier. Gripping it with his indomitable left hand, he steadied his stance.

  Thren dashed toward him faster than Lucian could move, his palm opening as fire suddenly engulfed it.

  Lucian panicked at the sight and leapt backward.

  Thren closed the distance instantly and struck with his flaming palm. Fighting through fear, Lucian blocked the attack with his foot and jumped back again.

  “Silent Canon of the Pale Hand,” Lucian said.

  “Oh? You know my martial art’s name?” Thren replied.

  “My sister was a prodigy in all kinds of martial arts,” Lucian said quietly. “I was her practice dummy.”

  The memory carried a trace of melancholy in his voice.

  Thren laughed, closely observing Lucian with his single open eye.

  “She may have been. But I use this technique to enhance my own ability.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  From his left hand, his Codex appeared, opening to a page on its own before slamming shut. His hand ignited once more.

  With one eye completely closed, Thren had lost half his vision, resulting in unfamiliar, erratic movements. Lucian had noticed this easily, three years of fighting thugs had taught him better. But his own condition was far worse.

  With his right hand gone, his balance was ruined. Though he used the kitchen knife to offset the strain on his dominant left hand, his attacks were slow and easily dodged.

  But winning a fair fight had never been his intention.

  “I see now,” Thren said after a realization struck him. “You don’t have any story in your Codex, do you?”

  Lucian smiled crookedly.

  “This will be easy,” Thren said, dashing forward at extreme speed.

  Lucian held his ground, gripping the knife in reverse as he slashed toward Thren’s neck.

  The scar-faced man ducked beneath the blade and slammed his fiery palm into Lucian’s wrist before jumping back.

  The strike left a burning palm print on Lucian’s waistcoat. Suddenly, his neck tingled, a warning of imminent death.

  He tore off the waistcoat and threw it away. Before it could hit the ground, the palm print flared brightly and exploded.

  Lucian, still within the blast radius, was hurled backward and growled in pain.

  “Hehehe… your intuition isn’t bad,” Thren said, approaching slowly as he saw Lucian could no longer stand.

  Lucian had taken the blast with his left side. His clothes were in tatters, his shoulder and arm burned red. He stopped trying to rise, as if all hope had left him.

  Thren reached down and hauled Lucian up with brutal strength.

  “What’s wrong? Can’t use your left hand either?”

  As he spoke, Lucian suddenly collapsed again despite Thren’s grip. Thren looked down at his own hand lying on the floor, no longer attached to his body.

  He wanted to scream.

  Instead, he heard laughter.

  “What’s wrong?” Lucian said, standing up, half his face stained red, with laughter covering all his pain. “You don’t have a hand now, do you?”

  “When you saw me retreat, you thought I was a weaker martial artist. When you realized I had no ability, you believed yourself invincible. When you saw this old kitchen knife, you assumed it couldn’t possibly harm a Librarian, especially not one in my condition. You thought it would be amusing to watch me struggle, even though you knew I’d already killed your friend.”

  Lucian’s smile widened.

  “My sister had a name for people like you. What was it again… ah. A piece of shit.”

  Thren fell to his knees.

  In a swift motion, the old kitchen knife severed his head. As it rolled across the floor, the remaining Librarians screamed in panic. Unable to move, they were beheaded one by one.

  Lucian then walked toward the weakened Unread, still playing its violin with unwavering devotion.

  He smiled, his eyes shifting to a color like an approaching storm.

  As he drew closer, his left hand rose, and an ancient Codex materialized. Its dark leather cover twitched as a crimson line connected the Unread to the book.

  In that moment, knowledge flooded his mind, information he had never possessed.

  “So this is the ritual of sacrifice,” Lucian murmured.

  The Unread stopped playing and stared at him with hollow eyes, its golden hair making its presence even more terrifying.

  Remembering Kasturi’s words about a Librarian’s vitality, Lucian nodded.

  “So be it.”

  The grimoire opened to a blank page as symbols appeared, writing themselves like a contract.

  “From this moment forward,” Lucian said, “your story belongs to me.”

  He plunged the knife into his own chest. He felt it crack against his ribs before dropping it. With trembling fingers, he reached into the wound, grasping something that beat rhythmically, vibrating his entire body.

  He pulled.

  The blood-soaked knife slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. His right arm hung twisted and broken. Where his heart once was, a gaping hole remained, blood bubbling freely.

  In his left hand, Lucian held his heart.

  Still beating vigorously.

  The auditorium, once filled with stale dust and dry air, now reeked of metal and blood. The empty hall was drenched in red stains and shredded flesh, yet the music continued.

  Before him lay the Unread’s dying form, once a terror incarnate, now withered and frail like a lotus abandoned by beauty and grace. It crumbled to dust, unmoved only because the sealed hall held no breeze.

  Lucian spared it only a passing glance. Its essence now resided within the Codex.

  He released his heart.

  It stopped beating.

  From his left palm, something stirred.

  His Codex hovered before him, its black leather cracked and weathered, as if long forgotten.

  The once-empty pages were no longer blank.

  Across the first sheet, dark ink formed elegant words:

  Chapter One: A Song of Love and Sorrow

  As Lucian stared at them, understanding dawned.

  “How pathetic,” he whispered. “We were meant to be masters of these puppets, yet we are no different, vessels without souls. Humans without faces. Names without identities. Characters without a story.”

  His voice trembled with both awe and despair.

  “Even so,” he murmured, “no matter how cruel our existence is… the moment we accept these stories, we gain a soul.”

  He paused.

  “Which is not our own.”

  *****

  From the shadows of the grand, empty hall, two figures walked slowly.

  The first was Kasturi, observing everything with an indifferent gaze, followed by Cassian, who watched the scene with barely contained panic.

  “You said it was his first hunt, right?” Cassian asked in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Kasturi replied, his gaze fixed on the vanishing body of the Unread.

  “And it was the first time he had killed people.”

  “Yes.”

  This time, Kasturi said it with a smile.

  “How terrifying.” Cassian watched the death heart fall from Lucian’s blood-soaked palm. “I can’t believe a human-born Unread has such a brutal ritual. And a loose page at that.”

  “No story is better than another. Their value is merely determined by the readers,” Kasturi said in a hoarse voice.

  “What might this ritual mean?” Cassian asked.

  Kasturi didn’t reply immediately. He took his time observing the Unread, contemplating the reason. Then he chuckled.

  “It was love.”

  “Eh, love?” Cassian was flabbergasted. He had never imagined hearing such a word from a man like Kasturi.

  Ignoring the fool’s reaction, Kasturi began his analysis.

  “This Unread was born from the story of Aurelia Weiis, a famous violinist of her era. However, she hanged herself right in front of the audience after a performance many believed to be her greatest. A play so profound it felt as if time itself had stopped, for two minutes and thirty-two seconds.

  “Further investigation reported that she did it after separating from her husband, following the mysterious death of their daughter.

  “Her earlier records suggest that her life was a living hell, abusive patrons, a hostile environment. Throughout her entire life, she searched for love and gained only betrayal. All she ever wanted was love. Even after death.”

  Cassian frowned upon hearing Kasturi’s theory.

  “Then, by asking for Lucian’s heart, she was asking for his eternal love.”

  “No.” Kasturi flatly rejected the idea.

  “It was not love she asked of this kid. She was…”

  A smile crept onto Kasturi’s lips.

  “She was puzzled.”

  “Puzzled? By what?” Cassian asked.

  “She couldn’t comprehend how a man could be so full of love, yet so distant from it. In a way, by asking for his heart, she wished to live a new life through the eyes of such a strange creature.”

  “Ah, wait. I’m confused.” Cassian scratched his messy hair.

  “You don’t need to understand. Just write what I said in the report.”

  “What? Why should I write your report? I must tell you, I really don’t have the time.”

  Ignoring Cassian, Kasturi leaned closer to Lucian, who lay dying on the floor.

  As he did, he heard a faint chuckle.

  Lucian, with a hole in his chest, was laughing.

  “Mr. Tigerman, this knife is really sharp.”

  “Mr. Tigerman?”

  [End of ARC 1(Shattered Illusion) of volume 1, I Wear A Faceless Mask]