When night fell, And darkness ruled ... Only blackness remained.
A lone figure ..
Walked silently through the back alleys and darkened corridors.
The silent assassin—
Ghost Umbra.
Eyes closed ..
He followed a specific path. Winding through back streets ...
Twisting through hidden corridors until eventually ..
He descended into the filthy sewers beneath the capital city of Belgrad.
Ghost finally arrived at a wide, open clearing.
A clearing covered in white flowers.
He stared at the scene before him—
Then looked up.
At the pipes above, dripping steadily.
At the crumbling, rotting walls.
A sight that made him wonder ..
How could such flowers grow—
In a place so desolate?
Step by step, Ghost walked forward, Heading toward the center of the white garden.
After a few paces—
Two others silently followed behind him.
Ghost didn't turn to look.
He simply continued forward ..
Until he stood before a man clad entirely in black, standing alone at the garden's center.
The man wore a black mask shaped like a skull.
The two behind him wore the same attire,
Though their masks had different designs.
Ghost smiled bitterly—
Recognizing them immediately.
"I didn't expect them to send The Numbers… for someone like me."
In response to his words ..
The three men removed their masks.
Each bore distinct features ..
The man directly before him, Looked strikingly similar to Ghost himself,
save for a long scar across his face.
"Kneel, Ghost Umbra."
The silent assassin obeyed without resistance ..
Lowering himself onto one knee.
"You accept your fate, then…"
"…"
Silence settled over them.
Each stared at the other.
Especially Ghost and the man standing before him.
"Everything has a price in this life, Ghost Umbra.
You know how things work.
You know the rules that must never be broken."
"Any last words?"
The two men behind him spoke in turn.
Ghost's expression remained utterly unchanged.
"Did… my father say anything?"
Any words?
Anything at all?
"We are nothing but killing tools.
Weapons, forged perfectly for a purpose.
The Leader of the Court is no different."
"He stayed true to himself to the very end, huh?"
The man before Ghost .. His elder cousin ..
Was the first to draw a sword—
A short, deadly blade black as night.
Ghost knew exactly what was coming.
"Before I die i wanted to know…"
"How far the elders had reached."
He asked ..
Not really expecting an answer.
Yet, unexpectedly—
All three replied without hesitation.
"Seventh Court."
"Seventh Court."
Both men behind him spoke together.
Only the man at the front answered differently.
"Eighth Court."
They spoke in terms only assassins could understand.
"You?"
Ghost replied—
His face as vacant as ever.
"Tenth Court."
Those faint words ..
Made even these seasoned killers—
Visibly react.
They couldn't help it.
How could they when they realized the frail-looking young man kneeling before them—
Had reached the very final Court.
Having walked the same hellish path themselves ..
They understood each other without needing further words.
There was nothing but respect—
And mutual acknowledgment between them.
You could even glimpse hesitation in their eyes ..
A flicker of doubt ...
As to whether killing this talent was truly the right choice.
Because Ghost represented their peak.
The very pinnacle of their struggle.
But orders ..
Were orders.
Both men behind drew their blades.
Ghost lowered his head.
He had known from the start—
That escape from the shadow Court was impossible.
Facing the Numbers head-on—was a foolish notion.
And so ..
Waiting for the end,
Ghost muttered softly:
"I have no regrets."
He had trained harder than anyone else.
He had stained his hands with blood ..
Endured every savage training ..
Watched others die while he survived ..
Climbing higher and higher .. Until he reached a level no one else had.
But ..
Even he had limits.
The expectations placed upon him—
Had always been sky-high.
After all ..
He was the son of Mist Umbra.
But as a man who had walked through the darkness, he had seen it ..
he had seen, with painful clarity, the limits of his potential.
That level had not satisfied the silent assassin.
He wanted more.
He wanted an ending worthy of all he had endured throughout his life.
And it was then he understood .. that darkness was nothing without light.
In the end, he had risked everything for his beliefs, fighting against Snow Lionheart.
To die now, after fighting for what he believed in...
that was simply his fate.
"I have no regrets."
He had come so close...
so close to discovering the answer...
But what awaited him in the end was the executioner's blade.
The assassins raised their swords.
Their reflections gleamed across Ghost's face.
And without warning ..The white flowers were dyed red.
Blood gushed forth, staining that isolated place.
Ghost stared, wide-eyed, as two heads rolled past him.
Still unable to grasp what had happened, soaked in the blood of those men...
The leader spoke, after cutting down his companions:
"Ghost Umbra… The Shadow Court has judged your actions.The verdict blood must be spilled."
The leader gripped his sword and raised it high.
"You once asked about your father's words.
Very well .. listen carefully."
"What you did is a debt. A debt that must be repaid .. and the price is human lives."
The man laughed bitterly as he stared at his blade.
"But not your life... It seems your soul is far too valuable.
Instead, three other souls have been offered to settle the debt."
"W-What?!"
The grim assassin drove his sword violently into his own throat.
"Your debt has been paid, Ghost Umbra."
A fountain of blood sprayed across Ghost's face, painting it crimson red.
Three corpses now lay around him.
Ghost sat there in shock for a moment.
His eyes stared into emptiness.
He had expected death.
But he had been naive.
"What I do from now on...
will decide whether others live or die?"
Mist Umbra's message had been cruel this time...
By breaking the Shadow Court rules, Ghost's actions had doomed others to die in his place.
The silent assassin stood up and wiped his face.
He gathered himself .. as he always had.
With his bare hands, he dug and dug.
He dug three graves, and buried those three who had once been like brothers to him ... men who had endured the same suffering he had.
After covering them with earth, the silent assassin stood once more and walked away.
"May you find peace…"
Slowly, Ghost disappeared back into the darkness.
...
...
...
Two days left until the final battle.
As night fell, everyone else slept soundly in their beds, away from the chaos of the world.
But the young man with golden eyes and brilliant white hair drifted far away in his dreams.
Snow Lionheart, summoning memories of a past long buried.
...
On the outskirts of the Empire.
Far away from the noise of the great cities — far from the turbulence of life.
Amidst a lush green plain, a beautiful place that lifted the heart...
There stood an orphanage.
A massive orphanage crowned with a sign depicting a white dove soaring into the sky ...
a symbol of hope and freedom.
Yosefka Orphanage.
Inside the walls of that orphanage, built of black stone...
A boy with golden eyes, white hair, and pale skin often played.
He was an exceptionally beautiful child ...
a sight that lifted the spirits of all who saw him.
He often played with his friends all day long until exhaustion took over and they collapsed into sleep.
From time to time, he would cling to the skirt of the orphanage's deputy director, laughing along with everyone who saw him.
The director himself would occasionally visit to check on them ... a frightening man, silent, with three red scars across his face, and golden reading glasses perched on his nose.
Clad in the robes of a clergyman, he looked terrifying to the children ..
yet he was extremely kind to them.
That was why everyone loved him too.
As time passed, Snow was forced to say farewell to many of his friends as they left to continue their lives elsewhere.
He often said "goodbye."
One day, he was warned not to approach a certain area within the orphanage.
"Snow... always be a good boy,"
the deputy director would often repeat to him.
"Don't be curious. Be content with what you have."
Contentment is a treasure that never fades...
Had he engraved those words a little deeper into his heart,
perhaps what happened could have been avoided.
...
"What are you doing here...?"
Blood.
So much blood.
His golden eyes widened in horror, and he struggled even to breathe.
The director stood there, blood dripping constantly from his mouth.
"Why didn't you obey orders, my boy?"
Upon the table ..
The mangled remains of a half-eaten corpse.
The body of one of those he had played with for years.
"Oh, my dear Snow..."
A bloody hand gently ruffled his hair.
"You didn't see anything... did you?"
That face...
he would never forget it.
"You're a good boy, after all."
Suddenly, the boy was yanked away.
Snow awoke, gasping for air, his body drenched in cold sweat.
He clutched the silver pendant hanging from his bare upper body ...
his only adornment.
His flawless, sweat-soaked body...
his trembling hands...
Old scars do not fade easily.
And they had become his greatest driving force to move forward.
...
...
...
–Frey Starlight's POV–
One day left.
Tomorrow... everything would end.
I raised my recently reattached right hand, testing a few movements.
My hand responded, but I felt it clearly—
A slight delay, even if just for a fraction of a second, caused by the nerves not having fully healed yet.
As a result, I couldn't rely on it for now.
I was forced to wield my sword with my left hand again.
Sitting on the ground beside my bed,
I checked my physical condition, and everything I had prepared over the past two years ..
All my abilities... the ones I had forged for this very moment.
For Snow.
I recalled Uriel's words — how she had told me it would be impossible to fully recover before the battle.
Even if I appeared fine now, the accumulated injuries had left their mark...
Unlike my opponent, who would be fighting in perfect condition.
Perhaps the only deadly weapon left at my disposal was Ignition.
The sole technique that surpassed Snow Lionheart's arsenal.
But I could only unleash it as a last resort.
A normal sword would draw out far less aura than Balerion...
Thus, even if I could launch a deadly blow, it would be much weaker compared to what I had unleashed back on the island. The risks were enormous.
If Snow survived the blast... I would lose everything.
First ... ordinary swords wouldn't withstand the ignition and would shatter into pieces — meaning I would lose my weapon after firing it.
Second ... my body would be destroyed too, as I'd be forcing my aura pathways to channel far beyond their natural limits.
I wouldn't even be able to fight afterward.
The risks of using Ignition were simply too great.
Meaning, I could no longer fully rely on my most powerful weapon.
That left me with a set of other skills I had honed until now.
Snow Lionheart...
I couldn't face him the same way I faced others.
Pure willpower wouldn't mean much against him.
I couldn't simply exhaust him like I did with Daemon ..
if I tried, he'd annihilate me immediately.
My mind had reached a dead end.
I knew I would give it everything I had in tomorrow's battle — even if it killed me.
But no matter how much I thought...
no matter how much I struggled...
I couldn't see it.
I couldn't imagine a scenario where I won.
Every path ended in defeat.
And so, to keep myself from losing my mind, I spent the entire night staring at the system's advice.
Hoping to find salvation...
But before I even realized it...
The final day had passed in the blink of an eye.
And now, I was walking toward it.
Toward the appointed day.
"Today... I will write the ending of this journey."