At the stroke of midnight, Vanitas unboxed a sleek, jet-black case.
Inside, nestled in dark velvet lining, was a silver revolver.
“Tempest .707”
A hybrid between modern firearm design from his original world, and alchemical engineering.
The weight was perfect. Heavy enough to feel powerful, but not so much that it hindered movement.
Vanitas spun the cylinder with a soft whirr, watching it rotate smoothly.
Six chambers. Six loaded with regular bullets. Magic bullets were actually expensive. So, for practice, Vanitas opted to use regular bullets for the meantime.
Raising the Tempest .707, his eyes narrowed, fixed on the line of earth–molded targets.
Vanitas took a steady breath as the memories rose in his mind.
His military service.
Two years of his life.
The strict routines. The cold nights in barracks. The constant ache in his muscles. The weight of the rifle digging into his shoulder during endless shooting drills. The senior officers’ strict orders echoing in his ear.
‘Steady your breath. If your hand shakes, your shot misses. If your shot misses, you die. Simple as that.’
His index finger hovered over the trigger.
Bang—!
The first shot rang out. A sharp crack echoed through the training hall.
A hole pierced straight through the head of the first target. The dirt crumbled to the ground.
Bang! Bang! Bang—!
Three more quick shots. Each one hit its mark. A head. A chest. A heart.
“Hoo….”
He let out a slow exhale, lowering the revolver, smoke trailing from the barrel.
“If this were a revolver back from my world, the bullet’s trajectory would’ve been way off the mark….”
He popped open the cylinder, letting the empty shell casings fall to the ground with soft clinks. Pulling out a fresh set of bullets, he loaded them in one by one.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
With a flick of his wrist, he spun the cylinder, then snapped it shut.
Bang—!
***
The atmosphere grew tense as all eyes turned to Margaret.
The women gazed at her with awe and admiration, while the men glanced her way, their faces flushed beet red.
“Hoo….”
Margaret took deep steady breaths, calming her anxiety. She recalled the advice Vanitas had given her.
‘Think of them as a bunch of kids.’
Her eyes scanned the crowd.
‘Kids…. kids….’
But all she saw were full-grown adults, some twice her size.
One guy even had a full beard. Another was cracking his knuckles like he was about to challenge her to a duel.
‘These aren’t kids, Vanitas!’
“Let’s…. let’s begin with introductions,”
Margaret nearly stammered over her words.
“I’m Margaret Illenia, your instructor for the next two months. If you have questions, ask. If you don’t understand, ask again. If you fall behind, well…. try not to.”
Her gaze swept over the group of students, trying not to look too intimidating. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she kept her face as neutral as she could manage.
“Any questions?”
Then, slowly, one student raised his hand, glancing around as if making sure no one would judge him.
——Um…. can I ask something personal?
“Depends….”
——Are you single?
“….”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Margaret’s eyes went wide. Her face slowly turned red, starting from her neck, all the way to her ears. Her mind blanked for a second.
Margaret raised a trembling hand and pointed at him.
“You—Drop. And. Give. Me. Twenty.”
***
“Hm….”
Vanitas stared hard at the invitation given to him.
————
To the Esteemed Head of House Astrea,
Greetings.
You are invited to a gathering of like-minded individuals to discuss matters of mutual interest and future prosperity. Your presence is expected and highly encouraged.
Date: 8th, 00:11 AM
Location: The Hall Beneath the Roost
No symbols. No crests. No escorts.
Come alone.
For those who see in the dark shall inherit the dawn.
— A Watcher from the Branch
————
Vanitas read the letter twice.
“A watcher from the branch, huh?”
He folded the letter carefully. To anyone else, the contents would seem like a prank or a poorly written riddle.
However, Vanitas was well aware of what the letter entailed.
“A formal invitation from the Council of Owls.”
To put it simply, it was a private social circle made up of Viscounts, Barons, and a handful of unranked aristocrats who didn’t fit neatly into the social hierarchy.
On the surface, it was a gathering of nobles. But in reality, it was far more than that.
He had dealt with them before in the original game. A group of nobles with connections to the underworld.
While there were no official documents left in the Astrea Head office, connecting the dots from the original Vanitas’s shady dealings, it wasn’t surprising that he had ties to the Council.
Unlike higher-ranked aristocrats like Earls, Marquesses, and Dukes, who held official and legitimate meetings, the Council of Owls was different. Lower-ranked nobles like Viscounts and Barons had no place in those official meetings, so they made their own.
In other words, it was a power play.
The Council of Owls sought to gain influence and authority by using the underworld to their advantage. In contrast, the official councils of higher-ranked nobles operated under legitimate matters.
In every playthrough, Franz Barielle Aetherion, the Imperial Prince, played both sides. He manipulated the Council of Owls and the official noble council, uniting them under his banner to oust his own father.
“Sigh….”
By that point in the narrative, Irene Barielle Aetherion had already been executed.
Astrid, after enduring multiple assassination attempts and kidnappings, had grown cold-hearted, eventually becoming a villainess.
Franz took advantage of her military power and her fragile mental state, using her to seize control of everything.
At that point, it was practically a bad ending, and it didn’t even involve the Black Dragon.
The first step to avoid such a bleak ending was to dismantle the most immediate threat.
The Council of Owls.
With his current status, joining the official aristocrat meetings was practically impossible.
Vanitas pinched his brows, he felt like his head was about to split.
He neatly folded the invitation and slipped it into his coat pocket before stepping out of his office.
“I should check in on Margaret.”
But when he reached the training hall and peeked inside, his brows shot up.
“What the….”
——Come on! Ten more laps!
The students of the Crusade Department looked like they were marching straight into the afterlife.
Faces red, breaths ragged, and legs wobbling. They dragged themselves forward in a half-jog, half-crawl.
One student tripped and hit the ground, only to be dragged up by his classmate like they were comrades on a battlefield.
——The demons won’t wait for you! Run like your life depends on it!
Margaret jogged at the front with perfect form and zero signs of fatigue. Her snow-white ponytail swayed with every step.
One of the students gasped.
——I…. I can’t feel my legs….
——Then run with your arms!
“….”
Vanitas leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching the scene with a blank expression.
“She’s gonna kill them….”
It was like watching ants try to climb out of a flood.
——She’s not human…. She’s not human….!
——Less whining, more running!
“Sigh….”
It was the third sigh of the day. He knew this was bound to happen.
Margaret’s other side.
Outside of battle, she was a shy, aloof, and sometimes clumsy girl. It was a reflection of her past as a princess.
But on the battlefield, she was a ruthless commander who spared no sympathy for her enemies.
Especially demons.
In one of the available routes, Margaret Illenia had cemented herself as a Great Power, on the same level as the Sword Saint, Aston Nietzsche.
She was even stronger than Soliette herself.
But that was only if the player followed the Margaret route.
If not…. Margaret Illenia would die from heart disease.
Just like Vanitas, it was a terminal illness, but thankfully, Margaret walked the path of the knight.
Margaret Illenia’s heart condition wasn’t something that could be cured with spells or modern medicine.
It was a rare disease where her heart would weaken if she remained idle for too long.
If she had stayed a princess, she wouldn’t have made it past the age of 20.
But as a knight, constantly training, fighting, and staying active, her heart grew stronger.
The more she moved, the longer she lived. If she kept up her current pace, she would cure herself by the time she turned 31.
However, depending on the circumstances, a certain event would trigger a shift in her fate.
A string of small, unfortunate moments that piled on top of each other until it finally broke her spirit.
By the time anyone realized something was wrong, it would be too late.
For many players, it was one of the most tragic “bad endings” in the game.
A traitor.
This was information posted on the community forums by a veteran player who studied Margaret thoroughly.
He could still remember the username to this day: ‘Step_on_me_Margaret.’
“Hm?”
Before he realized it, the ten-lap marathon had ended. Margaret, noticing the slightly opened door, jogged toward him.
“Ah, you were watching the whole time?” she asked, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Yeah. How many laps was that?”
“It’s not much…. My Order does more regularly,” Margaret said, tightening her loose ponytail. “Just forty.”
“….”
Margaret, noticing his bewildered expression, said, “They need to build stamina. Crusades aren’t like mages. We can’t just chant a spell and sit back.”
“….Is that so?”
Vanitas glanced at the students. One of them twitched like he’d been hit by lightning.
“….”
“Besides, isn’t this good for them? Look at them. They’re already halfway to greatness.”
“I see….”
Vanitas stared at her for a moment. Her face seemed to radiate a childlike innocence, as if she genuinely believed she’d done a great job.
“Good work,” Vanitas said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets and strolling away without another word.
“….”
Margaret blinked, frozen for a moment as she stared at his retreating figure.
The sudden praise caught her by surprise.
Two months ago, after six long years, she met him again. But something about him felt different.
Back then, he barely paid her any attention.
But now? He was overseeing her lectures, giving her a self-made course outline, and even showing her around campus.
It was…. a strange feeling.
***
The best way to dismantle the official nobility’s social circle was to destroy it from within.
To do that, it was crucial to target nobles who were on the verge of rising in status. Those on the brink of ascension were the most influential.
But even within the Council of Owls, trust was scarce.
The executives couldn’t blindly place faith in every noble within their ranks. With so many people involved in the movement, information leaks were inevitable.
That’s why their invitations were discreet.
— A Watcher from the Branch.
They had to decipher the message on their own to figure out the time and location of the gathering.
If they couldn’t, they didn’t deserve to be there. Once deciphered, they would uncover the organization’s true name.
The Council of Owls.
The reason was simple.
Because during their gatherings, everyone wore owl masks to conceal their faces and distort their voices.
“Another gathering, huh?”
Sprawled on the bed with his upper body bare, Franz Barielle Aetherion casually held an invitation in his hand.
“What’s that, Lord Franz?”
Beside him, a woman with a loose bra strap tilted her head in curiosity.
“A riddle, Celine,” he responded.
“A riddle?”
“Mhm.”
Franz set the invitation aside on the nightstand and sat up, stretching his arms. Then, with a glance toward her, he waved his hand casually.
“You may go now, Celine,” he said smoothly. “It was a pleasant night.”
“….Hmph.”
Celine pouted for a moment but didn’t argue. She got up from the bed, adjusting her clothes.
“Next time, try saying it like you mean it, Lord Franz,” she muttered as she slipped on her coat.
He chuckled, running a hand through his golden hair. “You say that like there’ll be a next time.”
Celine shot him a playful glare before leaving the room.
Once outside, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. She walked steadily as she made her way to the black sedan parked just outside the mansion
Sliding into the driver’s seat, she locked the doors and leaned back for a moment.
Her fingers tapped the steering wheel before reaching into the glove compartment.
Riririiing—
A faint glow illuminated the small communication crystal in her hand. She brought it to her ear.
“Yes, Mother. I’m on my way home now,” she said.
The words sounded casual, but it was all rehearsed. Celine, cautious that the rented car might have been bugged, had prepared this conversation in advance.
What she was really saying was, ‘It was a success.’
A soft, calm voice replied from the other end.
——Thank god. Remember, don’t head back right away. Drive in circles, make a few stops. Take extra steps to make sure no one is following you.
Celine nodded her head. On her other hand, was an exact replica of the invitation Franz had just received.
It was thanks to her stigmata 「Replication」.
“Yes? Okay, Mother. I’ll pick up some groceries before heading home.”
The real meaning was clear to the person on the other side of the call, ‘Understood, Princess Irene.’
And Celine wasn’t her real name.
——I’ll be waiting, Zia.
It was Zia.