I was born to a crumbling family, in a kingdom staggering to its knees after the Hollow War had finally ended. Peace, they called it. But peace is just another word for suffocation when you're poor and forgotten.
There were four of us: myself, two sisters, and a brother. My mother was kind… that fool. Too soft, too tender. She sang to us even when there was no bread. Hugged us even when we didn't deserve it.
And my father—ah, father.
I modeled my ideal of perfection after you.
Emotionless.
Cold.
Unmoving.
Not a man—a statue. And from man to monster… then to something more. Something perfect.
Even in death, I believe I was correct. If it weren't for that damn Knight.
Anyway.
We were cast out of the capital after the fall of House Elstaire. A noble name rotting in the gutter. We were nobility in title only, discarded like the rest. The court took our holdings. All that was left was a decrepit ancestral home far from the world—a place beside a field of reeds and another, littered with weapons from the native tribes that once lived there.
Disgusting people.
Their blood tainted. Their culture crude.
I hated breathing the same air they once did.
The house was suffocating. My father descended into drink. Each night he whispered slurred curses at the wall and laughed at his reflection in the glass.
One night, the glass shattered.
And mother died.
Broken bottle. Broken mind.
They called it madness. I call it emotion unbound. That swirling chaos inside a man's mind… that's the real monster. Not claws. Not fangs. Just feelings.
That was the moment I decided:
Emotion should exist only as a mask. A disguise. Not a truth.
My siblings drifted. My elder sister found faith in useless gods. My younger one hid beneath her blankets every night. I studied. Quietly. Obsessively. I dissected animals. Dug up old bones. Practiced with herbs that stung the lungs and seared the flesh.
Eventually, my brother came to me with an offer.
The Pact.
A quiet society. Ancient. Powerful. Hidden beneath the veil of kingdoms and crowns. They had a goal I resonated with—the creation of a perfect human being.
And they gave that burden to me.
Soul alchemy became my art.
At first, I practiced on a few sick animals. Then servants. I told the staff they drowned at sea. Some believed it. Some didn't. Eventually, I stopped lying.
Mother's corpse was long buried. I brought her back. She became a towering beast of limbs and hunger. She still wanders the field of reeds. I sealed her there, bound to a scroll connected to my own life force. Not out of love. Out of utility.
My little sister? A failed subject. Elder sister too.
Failures.
All of them.
Even my wife—
She had strong mana affinity. I married her because of that. But in the end, she was another failed attempt.
But my son…
Ah, my son.
He was close. The closest. I wept—not out of sadness, but joy—when he first gurgled without a soul. When his limbs twitched unnaturally. When his cries echoed like overlapping voices.
Perfection. Near it, at least.
But then… silence.
The Pact stopped checking in.
No letters. No inspections. No acknowledgement.
I wondered: Were my results insufficient? Had they abandoned me?
I waited. I improved him. Refined him. Added more. Took from others. Blended.
Until the Knight arrived.
Ah… you.
You were what I needed. Not just strength—clarity. That unshakable resolve. That hollow gaze. The kind of will that could survive my table. Could transcend the others.
But then—
You killed me.
You killed him.
My son… my best attempt. The one being I molded with more care than even I realized.
Now, in death, I float in thought. Dissecting myself.
Did I… live up to my philosophy?
I told myself emotions were weapons, masks, tools. But when I saw him—my child—slain before my eyes,
I didn't hide my sorrow.
It erupted. It screamed.
I felt something deeper than failure.
I felt regret.
These emotions weren't to disguise my truth.
They were my truth.
And they exaggerated every piece of the monster I became.
…Damn it.