On one particular night, everything was peaceful. The moonlight illuminated the night just enough for someone to walk around without another source of light, but not so brightly as to disturb anyone's sleep. The breeze was gentle—cool, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. Everything felt just right.
If someone had chosen to open their window, they would have been blessed with the sight of a beautiful starry sky. And if they had chosen to sleep instead, only a peaceful night of rest would accompany them.
"What a beautiful night," one man murmured.
A man who looked to be in his forties stared out the nearby window, admiring the serenity of the scene outside. He was seated in a luxurious-looking chair at a grand desk, a pen in one hand and documents scattered before him. Despite the late hour, he remained in his study, still working. As the lord of his territory, such tireless effort was expected of him. His only company was the moonlight spilling through the window and the soft glow of the chandelier above.
His quiet thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was his servant, bringing tea for his lord to enjoy during the tranquil night. The lord allowed the servant in and out without a word, then took a slow sip of his tea, savoring the moment.
Suddenly, a scream of pain echoed through the room.
It came from the same man who had just been sipping tea minutes earlier. He collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony as he tried to call for help. His voice rang through the manor, and on such a peaceful night, it should have been heard easily—especially by the guards posted around the estate. Yet no one came.
Desperately, he crawled toward the door, trying to reach someone—anyone. But before he could grasp the handle, it swung open from the other side.
A young man with striking red hair stepped into the room.
The man on the ground froze, his expression darkening as realization dawned on him. The red-haired youth was behind this. He had been poisoned. And even worse—his trusted servant had helped him do it.
"You… How did you turn a servant who's been loyal to me for so long against me?" he asked in disbelief, his voice weak with pain.
"With the right price and a little bit of... persuasion, anything is negotiable, you know?" the young man answered casually.
"You're one of the four blessed heroes of humanity! Why would you stoop to such lowly acts? Have you no shame as a hero? This is clearly wrong—and I've never done anything to you!"
The man's anger only grew, even as the life drained from him.
"I don't believe in absolute right or wrong," the young man said calmly. "Only in benefits. And you're right—you've done nothing to me. It's nothing personal. Your death just happens to be necessary for me… and my liege."
"As for shame—well, that only matters if someone finds out, right?"
"You bas—"
The dying man's curse was cut short as a knife flew through the air, striking him squarely in the skull. He collapsed in an instant.
With practiced ease, the young man strode forward, retrieved the knife, and tossed it upward. It struck the chain holding the chandelier, which fell and ignited a fire.
"How unfortunate for such a hardworking lord to perish in an accidental fire," he said with a smirk, turning away.
Then, without another word, he disappeared into the night.