I never thought a prophecy would unsettle me this much. I had always dismissed fate as nonsense—an outdated story people told themselves to feel control in an uncontrollable world. The future was never set in stone in my mind, and I certainly never believed I was bound by some celestial script. The idea of destroying the world? That was honestly just a massive inconvenience, a hassle I couldn’t be bothered with. There were better things to do than become some doomsday villain.

  But this prophecy... it gnawed at me—not because I believed it entirely, but because of the unsettling accuracy of some of its details. Who had the knowledge to say I came from purgatory? And more importantly, who stood to gain from spreading such a tale? Prophecies were like weapons disguised as warnings—tools for manipulation, fear, control.

  And the details—it all seemed so strange. Kat’s story about a brain-drinking monster was ridiculous, something I could laugh off with ease. But Luna’s version, filled with gods, hell’s gates, and unstoppable doom, hit closer to home. Both claimed to speak of the same prophecy. How was I supposed to be the monster that sucks brains out of people? I would never, under any circumstances, open the gates of purgatory for all those creatures—just the thought of those grotesque beings crawling through was enough to make my skin crawl.

  I shoved the worries deep down, refusing to let them surface. But the unease lingered beneath my skin, dulling my ability to enjoy the night with the others. I caught myself watching their souls flicker with yellow hues—happiness dripping from them like honey. Their joy felt warm and honest, a stark contrast to the cold dread slowly settling over me.

  Beneath the still-burning tree, we played rounds of tag, but I was distant, my mind elsewhere. I barely registered the calls and laughter around me, and more than once, one of them would pause to ask if I was alright. I only nodded, not trusting my voice to tell the truth.

  After two hours, the group started to tire and drift apart. Luna, eyes heavy with exhaustion, asked where I was headed. I gave her a simple lie—poker. She didn’t believe me, but was too sleepy to argue. I slipped away into the night, carrying my unrest with me.

  Minutes later, I found myself in front of Arthur’s tent. I was surprised to realize I hadn’t lost my way like last time. The tent stood out clearly, a dark blot against the moonlit ground, about five hundred meters away—hardly a testament to my improving sense of direction.

  The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood—faint but unmistakable. Inside the tent, two voices spoke quietly. Without hesitation, I entered.

  Arthur and Markus were there, along with a third figure I didn’t recognize—an ordinary soldier, slumped lifeless in his uniform. The man’s chest didn’t rise or fall, and he didn’t respond when I nudged him with my shoe.

  “What’s your defense?” Arthur asked sharply. The question felt all too familiar, like a recurring accusation I never wanted to hear. Yes, I had killed before—but not this time. It felt unjust.

  “It’s simple. I didn’t kill him,” I said, crossing my arms defiantly, unwilling to submit to suspicion.

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed, still unsure. “Where have you been?”

  “At the burning tree. Fooling around with a few others. Luna can vouch for me,” I answered with a confident smirk.

  “Alright… Yesterday, you identified wounds and how they were inflicted. Can you do the same with him?” Arthur asked.

  What had I become? A coroner? I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. It seemed like a straightforward murder—nothing special. And honestly, I didn’t care. But Arthur’s orders were clear, so for now, I would play along.

  “Alright… strip him,” I said, eyes fixed on Markus. There was no way I was touching that corpse myself if I could Markus do it. He sighed heavily but complied, kneeling beside the fallen man and pulling off the soldier’s outer garments until he stood stripped down to his underwear.

  The man’s body was well-built, muscles hardened by years of combat. His hands were rough, calloused—a veteran soldier, no doubt. His body told the story of someone who had faced many battles and survived by sheer skill and strength. But survival wasn’t granted this time. A thin, sharp blade had pierced the back of his neck, the wound still fresh and cruelly precise.

  “Turn him around,” I instructed, stepping closer to inspect the body more thoroughly. Apart from the knife wound on his neck, there were no other visible injuries or scars. His skin was unblemished, untouched by any recent violence.

  “How was he found?” I asked, raising my gaze to Markus.

  “He was lying face down inside the tent he shared with several others. No one saw the killer, and no one else claimed to be in the tent at the time,” Markus replied, his voice flat but edged with concern.

  I studied the wound carefully. The thin dagger suggested a weapon ill-suited for open combat—something quick, precise, and silent. A soldier wouldn’t carry such a fragile blade into battle. More likely, it belonged to someone from outside the army—perhaps a merchant from the supply caravan, or… a woman? I couldn’t determine the attacker’s height, but the angle of the wound suggested someone crouching or kneeling beside the victim.

  “This assassin is skilled with a dagger,” I concluded. “Not a soldier, then. More likely someone with a specific purpose… a spy, perhaps.” I glanced sharply at Arthur. “You might have a spy problem on your hands.”

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “How confident are you in this assessment?”

  I hesitated. There could be other possibilities, but none sprang to mind. “Fairly confident, but don’t rely on my conclusions alone,” I warned, looking back down at the dead man. I studied his brown eyes, now dull and lifeless. His soul had already slipped away—no trace of him remained here.

  Arthur nodded slowly. “I’ll keep that in mind. Markus, do what you must.”

  Expecting Markus to carry the corpse away, I was surprised when he instead moved toward a large table covered with maps and papers. He spread out the documents and pointed to one marked with various troop positions.

  “Our scouts have reported a bandit group—around a hundred strong—moving through the region ahead of us. We plan to encircle and crush them completely. They’ve caused enough damage already,” Markus explained, his tone businesslike.

  I blinked, confused. Why was he telling me this? What did it have to do with the dead soldier? I was here to execute orders—slaughter a few elves—not strategize military campaigns.

  Glancing toward Arthur, I saw the excitement in his eyes—anticipation of my reaction. Markus, on the other hand, looked grim and clearly displeased. It was obvious Arthur expected me to comment on the plan, while Markus bristled at the idea of me undermining his role as acting strategic advisor.

  “It’s a straightforward plan,” I began, my voice calm but laced with challenge. “Crushing a smaller enemy by sheer force is effective, but casualties are inevitable. You’ve been trained only in conventional warfare. That’s not bad, but it’s far from good.”

  I let my words hang in the air, gauging their reactions. Markus’s jaw tightened visibly.

  “Give me five hundred men, and I will deal with those bandits without losing a single soldier or letting any escape,” I said, a confident smirk playing on my lips.

  The room stiffened. Markus’s eyes flashed with irritation, while Arthur’s smile widened—clearly pleased by the challenge. I had pushed the needle deliberately, stirring the pot to assert my value. I needed them to see me as more than just a pawn in their game.

  “Arthur, I’m against this,” Markus began, his voice sharp with conviction. “She hasn’t proven any capabilities as a lea—”

  Before he could finish, Arthur cut him off, his finger suddenly pointing down at the dead body sprawled across the floor. “Have you guys seen that?”

  I had been staring daggers at Markus the whole time, not bothering to look down, but Arthur’s words finally forced me to glance at the corpse. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary—just a lifeless soldier lying on the cold ground.

  “Guys and girls, please… what do you mean?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, curiosity pricking at me. Had Arthur finally lost his mind?

  Arthur’s confident tone faltered, replaced by something softer, almost sheepish. “...It’s nothing… might have been a shadow or something…” His voice betrayed a trace of uncertainty that I had never expected from him. Maybe even the toughest commanders liked to act like scared girls sometimes.

  “Back to our original topic,” he said, clearing his throat and regaining composure. “I have faith in her. And, besides, I did promise her a unit after all.”

  His words almost made me laugh—no, nearly brought me to tears of joy. I fought hard to keep myself from bursting out in happiness or dancing around the tent like a fool. Arthur’s trust was far from complete, but acknowledgment of my potential was the beginning I desperately needed.

  “At least let me accompany her if this ends up being a complete disaster,” I said through gritted teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I knew the journey ahead would be filled with tension and arguments, especially with Arthur tagging along in the carriage. “And let Luna evaluate my plan. She should be here any minute.”

  I was stunned. How could this carefree, history-obsessed girl possibly contribute to anything strategic? My gaze locked with Markus’s in a silent duel of disbelief, both of us waiting for Arthur to make a move.

  Finally, Arthur had enough and barked the order to the men waiting outside. “Bring the corpse away!”

  A few minutes later, Luna arrived at the tent, her usual high spirits lighting up the gloomy room.

  “Mage Luna on deck!” she announced with a grin. On deck? Was she a sailor once? Did she fling history books at enemy ships? The thought made me smirk.

  Arthur’s tone softened noticeably when he addressed her, a stark contrast to the curt commands he usually gave Markus and me. Was it her childish demeanor, or simply that Markus and I were hardened enough to endure the rougher edges? Either way, I liked that I wasn’t the only one who had a soft spot for children here.

  “I need you to look over Lucinda’s plan to weed out a few bandits. Can your magic handle that?” Arthur asked, almost kindly.

  “There’s nothing I can’t evaluate! Everything has happened before!” Luna’s enthusiasm was infectious, her smile wide enough to brighten the darkest night.

  I leaned in, curiosity getting the better of me once again. “Your magic… is it about drawing parallels between the past and the present?”

  Luna’s eyes sparkled as she nodded. “Exactly! History isn’t just stories—it’s a blueprint. If you know what happened before, you can predict what will happen again.”

  I found myself oddly fascinated by the idea, despite my earlier doubts. Maybe Luna’s magic would be the key we needed.

  “I…” Luna hesitated, her eyes darting helplessly to Arthur for support. The unspoken rules weighed heavy on her—she wasn’t allowed to discuss her magic with just anyone. The reason for such secrecy became clearer when Arthur gave a subtle nod, silently granting her permission.

  Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke. “I can match patterns magically. Not just historical events—I can see patterns in battles, strategies… even movements. I draw parallels between what’s happening now and what has happened before. But it’s not without limits.”

  I leaned forward, intrigued. “Limits?”

  She nodded, eyes flickering with a quiet seriousness. “If I’ve never seen a tactic before, I can’t predict how it will unfold. And if the enemy knows about my abilities, they could deliberately mislead me—set traps that look familiar but lead me astray.”

  “Wow, that’s…” I grinned wide, barely able to contain my excitement. “Can I try it out?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Sure!” Luna’s face lit up with a bright smile, the kind that made the room feel warmer.

  Without thinking, I whispered the sequence: “1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21. Need more?”

  Her eyes narrowed in concentration as a small blue orb materialized between her hands, slowly spinning on its axis. The gentle glow illuminated the room, casting soft shadows across the tent. But it wasn’t the light that caught my attention—it was her eyes. They flickered with a faint, golden-yellow glow, subtle enough that I was probably the only one who noticed.

  “It’s a breeding pattern,” she said quietly.

  I whistled in awe. She had instantly recognized the Fibonacci sequence. Without thinking, I pulled her into a tight hug, overcome with admiration. This was the first real display of magic I had ever witnessed—human magic—and it was nothing short of incredible.

  From the start, I hadn’t been drawn to flashy offensive spells or brute force. Magic like Luna’s—intelligent, strategic, and subtle—was the kind that gave its user a genuine edge in any battle.

  I pressed on, curious. “Okay, try this one: 85, 10, 30, 32, 33, 34, 36, 39, 40, 41, 44, 45.”

  The numbers represented key years in the life of a king—years mostly peaceful, until his final three wartime campaigns. The blue orb between her hands began to shift and reshape, reflecting her focus.

  I waited, anticipation knotting in my stomach. When realization dawned on her, she didn’t shout it out as I’d secretly hoped. Instead, she fell silent, thoughtful for several seconds.

  “Can we talk about this later?” she finally asked, a small, innocent smile tugging at her lips. “I can see you are really interested, so it feels bad to say no again and again …”

  I nodded, understanding. At least I’d get my answers in time. I felt a pang of guilt for pressing her, for trying to trick her in the first place. Luna trusted me—even if only slightly now that she’d seen me alongside Arthur and Markus.

  “Alright,” I said, steeling myself to switch gears. “Here’s my plan. What does it take for a bandit to surrender?”

  Arthur’s grin widened. Markus and Luna, on the other hand, exchanged uneasy glances.

  “For surrender, it’s simple: overwhelming force. When there’s no other option, survival means giving up.” I detailed the steps, from cutting off their escape routes to psychological tactics designed to break their will.

  Markus’s discomfort was obvious—his face tight, his jaw clenched. He clearly thought my plan dishonorable. Luna’s unease was quieter, but no less real. There were parts of the plan where we’d need to flaunt our power, show force in ways she clearly disliked.

  If only they knew the true cruelty behind my plan—the parts I kept buried even from them.

  Luna raised her hands, summoning her magic once more to analyze the plan, but it was slower this time. Minutes ticked by. Her brow furrowed in concentration, but her face was pale, lips pressed thin.

  Suddenly, a trickle of blood slid from her nostril.

  Alarmed, I grabbed her shoulders gently and shook her slightly, breaking her concentration. “Luna! Stop. You’re pushing too hard.”

  Her body sagged as she blinked, dazed. The cost of her magic was heavier than I’d realized.

  “Luna?” I reached out as she swayed unsteadily, her face pale and eyes unfocused—like someone who had been running in endless circles for hours without rest.

  “That’s the backlash from a failed activation,” she murmured weakly. “No similar strategy has ever been attempted before, at least not to my knowledge.”

  Well, that didn’t surprise me. The commander had to be a bloody madman to even entertain such a plan, and honestly, I doubted anyone but me would be reckless enough to play the crucial role.

  Arthur’s voice cut through the moment, calm but resolute. “Do as planned, then. Markus, help her prepare whatever she needs.”

  There was a strange confidence in Arthur’s tone, or maybe just hope—that he wouldn’t have to sacrifice any many men for my gambit.

  After a few more minutes of hushed discussion inside the tent, Luna and I slipped out. We didn’t wander far—Arthur wanted me back soon—but enough to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

  “Why are you so interested in that timeframe?” Luna’s question hit me harder than I expected. I had no quick truth to offer, and telling her the real reason was out of the question. I scrambled for something plausible, something that wouldn’t unravel the fragile trust forming between us.

  “It impacts my family,” I said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. “Someone lived then, and we need to uncover what he did. There’s barely anything written about that period.”

  Inside, I was crumbling. Lying to her felt wrong—like betraying someone who believed in me. The strange emotions I’d been battling—concern, guilt, even a faint longing—were maddening. For someone like me, who was supposed to be detached and unfeeling, it was terrifying.

  Luna studied me quietly under the soft moonlight. It washed over her face, but wasn’t the only light source—her eyes glowed faintly, a deep, steady blue. Calm but determined, like she was about to reveal something important.

  “Do you believe in gods?” she asked suddenly.

  I raised an eyebrow. Gods? What did they have to do with any of this?

  “Yes?” I answered cautiously.

  She seemed to hesitate, then pushed on, sensing my uncertainty. “What do you think about non-believers?”

  Her question caught me off guard. I frowned, waiting for her to clarify. I didn’t know where she was going with this, and honestly, I was impatient to understand why everything around me felt so different lately—why the world itself seemed to be shifting since I’d come into it.

  “Everyone is free to believe what they want, ” I said finally. It wasn’t the official stance of the churches, but it was my own belief. I’d read some of the sacred texts, even one about Aska, but it was riddled with half-truths and outright lies. To me, belief was personal, something no one else could or should control.

  Luna nodded slowly, as if weighing my words carefully. “I want to tell you everything,” she said quietly. “The gods are dead.” Luna’s words hit me like a stone sinking into still water—sudden, heavy, and impossible to ignore.

  I blinked, struggling to follow her. That couldn’t be true. I knew at least one of them was alive—Aska herself. To claim all of them were dead felt absurd, even from Luna’s perspective. My questioning gaze must have betrayed my disbelief, because she pressed on.

  “The churches burned every book they could find, about two hundred years ago,” she said softly, voice thick with bitterness. “They forbade every historian from writing about the past, hoping we would forget how it was before that time. The world changed then—because the gods, almighty as they were, died and left this planet.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How are you so sure they all died?” I asked, my voice laced with doubt. Luna’s words might be true to her, but truth was rarely so absolute. It didn’t match what I knew—or thought I knew—about the gods.

  “It’s the only explanation that fits,” she replied firmly. “Why else would they leave? Why abandon their creation?”

  I frowned, recalling the many contradictions and mysteries surrounding the gods. Their minds were alien, their ways unknowable. Even Aska, the goddess of fate and life, had always seemed beyond comprehension. How could anyone claim to understand the others?

  “I see…” I said, struggling to hide my skepticism. “How do you know all this?”

  “My mentor told me,” Luna said quietly, voice cracking. “He was burned at the stake a few years later. And I… I was cast out by my family because I followed him to the end.”

  Her eyes shimmered with tears. Without thinking, I reached out, resting a steady hand on her back before pulling her into an embrace. She trembled against me, and I hated that my questions had dredged up such pain.

  I wanted to say something comforting, but no words came. Instead, I just held her, hoping my presence was enough. I knew pressing her for more would only deepen the wounds she clearly still carried.

  When she pulled away, I didn’t want her to walk back alone. So, I accompanied her back toward the carriage, doing my best to distract her from the past. We shared a few genuine laughs, fleeting moments of lightness in the heavy night.

  That fragile peace shattered when a sudden presence caught our attention. A mage appeared, eyes shimmering an eerie pale blue that quickly shifted to a sharp red the moment she spotted me. My brow furrowed—something about her reaction unsettled me, though I couldn’t say why.

  “Are you willing to give us your name now?” I asked, my tone edged with frustration. Her sudden hostility grated on my nerves.

  “You two aren’t worthy,” she snapped. “Luna, you risk being found out. And you, Lucinda, you spread chaos wherever you go. Both of you, get inside the carriage. Now.”

  Neither Luna nor I moved. The tension in the air thickened, crackling like a storm about to break. My hand instinctively drifted toward the sword at my hip.

  “Luna,” the mage barked, her voice sharp with authority, “as your superior, I order you to enter the carriage.”

  Luna surrendered without a fight. I could see the resignation in her eyes, the way she stepped back and allowed that other mage to take control. I doubted that woman had any legitimate authority over Luna, but Luna didn’t have the strength—or the will—to argue. Reluctantly, I let her go. Part of me wanted to stand my ground, to challenge that haughty, rigid presence. But I couldn’t bear to watch any longer. She was everything I despised: the coldness of rules, the unforgiving nature of discipline, the suffocating weight of authority.

  I wanted nothing more than to behead her on the spot—but not in front of Luna. Not when Luna already carried enough pain.

  Instead, I turned away, leaving Luna in that oppressive presence, and headed back to Arthur’s tent. I knew Luna was safe there; at least with Arthur, there was some semblance of order that didn’t make my skin crawl. My steps were heavy but purposeful as I retraced my way, asking for directions more than once.

  The moment I reached the tent, screams pierced the air, growing louder as I stepped into the second compartment. The grim scene was familiar: Arthur standing over a woman, a prostitute, whipping her while she lay across a table. I took my usual seat, observing with glee.

  “Hey, Arthur,” I said, attempting to inject a bit of dark humor into the twisted moment. “I heard organs fetch a nice price if we sell them to a necromancer. How about we start a business?”

  Arthur laughed, wiping sweat from his brow as he cracked his whip one last time. “What are we gonna sell first? Your heart? I heard it doesn’t beat at all.”

  “True, it doesn’t,” I replied with a smirk, “but I’d rather keep it. Growing internal organs again is always a hassle.” The truth was, the pain of removing them was brutal. I didn’t want to experience it again.

  Arthur nodded, finally lowering his whip. “Alright… I think I’m finished here. You can have her.”

  “Thanks for the meal!” I said with a grin, not wasting a second. I sank my canines deep into the woman’s nape. She didn’t resist; the exhaustion had already drained her will to fight. But before I could finish, the abrupt sound of boots halted me. An officer strode in, loudly announcing his arrival.

  Annoyed, I released the lifeless body, letting her slump to the side. Wiping my chin with a cloth, I glanced toward the tent entrance. Arthur had already stepped outside the second compartment, shielding every newcomer from the scene. I hoped my presence wasn’t needed any further.

  “Lucinda? We need your knowledge here.”

  I was wrong to think Arthur would ignore the soldiers’ presence or care about appearances. He called me out bluntly from the back of the tent, barely glancing at the three soldiers who stood stiffly nearby. Naturally, he didn’t bother to explain why.

  A man lay sprawled in front of me, his muscular frame rigid in death. Surrounding him were Arthur, the officer, and two regular soldiers carrying the corpse. The dead man reminded me of the last one—strong, seasoned, but this time a large, brutal wound marred his chest, a sword strike that spoke of considerable strength and skill.

  “Are this many murders normal within such a short timeframe?” I asked, the edge of curiosity sharpening in my voice.

  “No, it isn’t. Do we have a serial killer in our army?” Arthur’s worry was thinly veiled beneath his usual sternness. The morale of the army was fragile enough without whispers of a killer in their midst.

  “No… this one was done by a tall, strong person wielding a longsword,” I said, narrowing my eyes at the corpse. There was nothing out of place about him, yet something felt off. “Did he fight back?”

  “Nobody heard anything.”

  Another murder, then, where both victim and killer must have known each other—or the strike was swift and silent enough to avoid notice.

  “Have you checked the swords of his comrades for blood?” I asked, trying to suppress my disappointment.

  “Yes, but nothing unusual.” The soldier’s voice was flat, betraying the lack of answers.

  “No witnesses, then?”

  “That’s right.”

  It was impossible, really. How did someone confront this man alone, kill him in cold blood, and vanish without anyone seeing? Either it was a coordinated effort—a group orchestrating distractions—or an inhuman killer, one as ruthless and skilled as I was. I rubbed my cheek thoughtfully.

  Arthur’s impatience flared. “Lucinda, let it be. We have a unit that handles this.”

  If they did, they were woefully unprepared. Inspecting every corpse myself was out of the question, but that didn’t stop the itch to uncover the truth.

  “Alright. You three can leave. Tell your superiors to consider Lucinda’s assumptions. That’s all.”

  As the soldiers exited, Arthur leaned in, his voice quieter now.

  “Why are you so worried? It’s just murder.”

  “It probably is…” I trailed off, my mind racing. Something deeply wrong lurked beneath the surface of these deaths. Whoever was responsible wasn’t finished—couldn’t be. Two murders, no suspects, no witnesses. If it was just one person, they were more dangerous than any enemy we faced.

  Yet Arthur was right—it wasn’t my job to carry this burden. But that didn’t make the weight any lighter.