The grand hall fell into an eerie, almost reverent silence as the men entered. Their very presence commanded respect. Nobles, who usually couldn't stop gossiping, suddenly found themselves speechless.
At the front, an elderly priest walked with deliberate steps, his long winter robe trailing behind him, the weight of tradition and authority wrapped around his frail shoulders. His hands, hidden within the heavy folds of his robe, trembled slightly, but his voice, when he spoke, was firm.
He had come to perform the Assessment Ritual. To bless the infant girl with a name—one that would mark her place in history.
Behind him were his personal guards. But these weren't mere guards. These were legends.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Whispers filled the air.
"Wait... those three...!"
"They're—"
"Impossible! Three of the Twenty Heroes?"
It was no exaggeration. The figures who followed the priest weren't just men—they were icons. Eria Shioban, the mage who had bent the fabric of magic itself. Devon Ashworth, the indomitable martial artist. And then—The Bloodmoon.
The name alone was enough to send shivers down the spines of those in the room.
Eria Shioban, with her silver-white hair that shimmered like moonlight and eyes that burned a piercing blue—she was the strongest magic user in human history. Her presence felt like a breach in reality itself.
Devon Ashworth, a living mountain. His body, a fortress of muscle, made even the bravest of warriors quiver at his approach.
And then there was The Bloodmoon.
Clad in a black trench coat, with a flat cap shadowing his features, he exuded a cold, suffocating aura. The air around him seemed to thicken with every step he took, as if the very world was wary of his presence.
"The Bloodmoon..." someone whispered, barely audible.
The name was a curse, spoken only in hushed tones, and for good reason.
Agnes—still a child but with the mind of a middle-aged man—watched them with a mix of awe and indifference.
"I'm supposed to be impressed by this?" Agnes muttered under his breath. "Please. A guy in a trench coat who thinks he's mysterious? Sorry, but you're not a sigma."
Next to him, Julia, normally full of energy, was practically shaking with excitement. Her face flushed a deep red, her gaze following The Bloodmoon like he was some sort of deity.
"Holy crap, he's even cooler in person!" she whispered.
Beside her, Agnes rolled his eyes.
"Cool? That guy's probably just a walking tragedy in a trench coat," he thought.
Julia, too excited to contain herself, raised both hands and began to wave toward The Bloodmoon.
"Hey! Over here—"
THUD.
In her excitement, Julia dropped Agnes—who she had been holding in her arms—straight onto the marble floor. The impact was sudden, and Agnes felt the sharp sting of pain shoot through his small body as his right arm snapped upon hitting the ground.
Everything around him blurred, and his vision dimmed until there was nothing but blackness.
Eria Shioban: The Healing Hand
When Agnes awoke, the first thing he noticed was the warmth flooding his body. His surroundings were blurred, but he could make out the soft glow of blue light, and then a face. It was Eria Shioban, her slender hands hovering above him, pulsing with magical energy.
"Damn it… I got healed by an overpowered mage," Agnes thought, internally groaning. "And why is she so damn beautiful?"
Eria's expression was gentle, yet there was a quiet intensity about her. She smiled softly, watching as the healing magic worked its way through Agnes's small body.
"You're awake," she said, her voice calm and soothing.
Agnes blinked, groggily trying to get a grip on reality. The realization hit him hard—he was healed by a literal goddess of magic.
Once the crowd saw he was fine, all eyes turned to Julia.
"You clumsy fool!" a noble scolded, his voice filled with contempt. "How could you drop a child like that?"
Julia scratched the back of her head, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Oops…" she mumbled.
The crowd shifted their attention back to the priest, who raised his hands high, his voice booming with authority.
"Her name shall be… Lily Elowen."
A noble near the front murmured, "A simple yet elegant name."
Agnes, however, wasn't so impressed.
"Lily Elowen? That's so basic. Could've named her Silly Billy or Hilly Millie. Something with a little flair," Agnes thought, his mind wandering.
His amusement didn't last long before his high-pitched laugh broke through the silence, making everyone turn to look at the baby who seemed to be laughing like a lunatic.
Three Years Later:
Three years passed. Agnes, still in a child's body but with the mind of a middle-aged man, had formed a tight bond with Lily Elowen, the girl who was now as close as family. But, as it often goes with time, things began to change.
One day, Duke Lucian—holding Agnes in his arms—whispered softly:
"Will you be Lily's future bodyguard?"
Agnes, now a three-year-old with the intellect of someone far older, sighed heavily.
"Babysitting a brat for life? Great," he muttered sarcastically. "I guess I've got no other choice."
And so, the days went on.
The Garden Incident
One rainy evening, Lily and Agnes were playing in the grand hall, the storm outside battering against the windows. Lily climbed onto a chair and pressed her small hands to the glass.
"Augus, look!" she giggled, pointing outside. "Puppy!"
Agnes squinted, skeptical. "A puppy? In this weather?"
Curious, he climbed beside her. As his eyes followed her gaze, they locked onto something in the garden.
A freshly dug hole.
From that hole, something crawled out.
A grotesque, red-eyed figure with long, clawed fingers. Its face was smeared with mud and grime, and it grinned at them—a grin too wide for anything human.
Its finger pointed toward Lily.
"LILY, RUN! THAT AIN'T NO DWAG!" Agnes screamed, snatching her up and bolting down the hallway.
They ran, their small feet pounding against the marble floors, desperate to reach safety. They burst into Aurelia's room, both of them shaking.
"What are you two doing?" Aurelia groaned, rubbing her eyes.
Agnes yanked her out of bed and pointed frantically at the window. "LOOK!"
Aurelia blinked, then sighed, looking at them with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "You two are too cute."
But when they all turned to the window—the creature was gone. The only thing left was the gaping hole in the garden.
Years Later: The Change in Lily
As the years passed, things began to shift. Lily and Agnes, once inseparable, began to drift apart.
Lily, who had once been warm and loving, now treated Agnes as little more than a servant.
And then, one day, the Wioure family arrived at the Elowen estate. Their carriage rolled up to the gates, and Julia—who had been watching Agnes with pride—saw them.
Duke Arden and his son Lamin.
Julia greeted them with her usual enthusiasm, but Lamin, ever the bully, turned his attention to Agnes.
"Still playing bodyguard, servant boy?" Lamin sneered.
Agnes, irritated but not surprised, sighed. "I hope this dumbass has matured."
And then, the fight broke out.
The Confrontation....
Lamin's taunts were too much. A fight broke out. Agnes, fueled by years of pent-up frustration, didn't hold back.
Moments later, Lamin lay sprawled on the ground, broken arms, a swollen face, and teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.
"Maybe I went a little overboard," Agnes muttered to himself, rubbing his temples.
The Ultimatum
Duke Arden stormed into Lucian's chamber, furious.
"Lucian! Your servant has beaten my son to a pulp! What will you do about it?"
Agnes gulped, bracing for the fallout.
Lucian, his face tight with tension, tried to reason with Arden.
"Is there any proof of Agnes being the culprit?"
Arden's smile was cold. "Yes. There is."
Just then, Julia entered the room.