Chapter 4: [4 – intruder; the third religion]

The cold, biting wind flowed through the open balcony doors, moonlight streaming into the darkness. 

A dark shadow loomed over the bed, murderous intent choking the air. 

The gleaming blade reflected off the light.

Shiiiing—

It swung down the bed, towards a notable lump, cutting through with a strange ease as if cutting cotton. The man's eyes behind the mask contracted, and he swung his fist around, colliding into something hard.

"Tch."

Before he could make another move, a powerful kick shot towards his neck, sending him smashing against the floor. Before he could respond, slender arms flipped him over, pinning him to the ground, knee pressed strictly against his back. 

The man choked, feeling the cold ground pressed against his face.

Not that the strength of his attacker was strong, but his movements were too fluid.

"So," said a tired, penetrating voice. "You dare try to interrupt my sleep?"

Soren gazed down at the struggling body pinned under him lazily, although the tension in his muscles said otherwise. To think that there would come a day where he would have to exert so much strength to hold down somebody this weak; it was really disappointing. 

He had paid little attention to the original's murder — the prince had many who hated him, after all. Damien had said nothing as well, most likely because he wanted to see what Soren would do.

“Are you with the same person who colluded against me the last time?" wondered Soren aloud, sending a mysterious chill up the invader’s back. The youth smiled lightly, as if he'd found something interesting. “I was going to leave it alone, but I guess can’t anymore."

He moved the person's mask up slightly, eyes narrowing upon a conspicuous apple tattoo, inked into their neck. It gave an ominous vibe, as if a single glance would curse a person with a million years of bad luck. A light blue ring contrasted the darkness, orbiting around the apple.

In the original’s memory, hadn’t he seen a similar design on his attacker’s hand before dying?

"It's been a while since somebody so blatantly challenged me."

Soren called out, "Damien."

In the next moment, a charming teenager appeared behind him.

"Tie him up."

Damien nodded, "Yes, master."

Soren sighed as he stood up, stretching his arms to relieve the ache. Ten minutes more, and he might've really not been able to hold the intruder down at all.

He casually wiped away the blood on his lips, which ended up smearing it, painting his lips a striking red.

Soren had woken up in the middle of the night, an unsettling feeling in his chest. He wasn’t much of a heavy sleeper to begin with, no thanks to the nightmares which occasionally came to play, so he had immediately gotten up.

When the world was ending, a good intuition was as useful as any skill.

For Soren and many others during the apocalypse, they learned that fact the hard way.

He rested on the edge of the bed, languidly pulling up one knee to rest against. The pale, frosty eyes illuminated under the cold moonlight were both enchanting and deadly as they watched the prisoner being dragged before their feet.

Like a King, sitting upon his throne.

"If you bite your tongue, I'll hang your body for everybody to see." 

The intruder, teeth grazing against his tongue, froze and swallowed. Soren knew that some were loyal to their masters, and had spoken as a precaution.

The humiliation of having your dead body toyed with after death was pleasing to none.

Damien’s emerald eyes grazed over him, and Soren said nothing. A threat that flowed as easily as water — it was both alarming and normal for Soren.

"Who hired you?" asked Soren bluntly.

No reply.

"Are you related to those who tried to kill me last time?"

No reply."

"Sending weaklings to kill me... I'm a little offended."

At this, he received a glare. Soren tilted his head; at least he knew his words were not being ignored.

"An apple..." Then he remembered something. 

As with any other novel, [The Transmigrator’s Last World] had a villain that often encountered the protagonist. The villain, in this case, was a group that constantly opposed Raphael, though the man behind it all was never revealed.

Every member had the same thing in common and could not be mistaken.

A pitch-black apple, surrounding by a faint blue ring.

A symbol symbolizing the third religion — one that believed in no God.

There were two popular religions on the continent, including those worshipping the God of Life and the God of Death. Typical of a fantasy novel.

However, there was a third; a religion that worshipped a mysterious person who said to be higher than the Gods, but also equal to humans. Raphael had several run-ins with them, and it often ended up in a bloody fight.

Soren said, "Your loyalty to your religion prevents you from speaking."

The man in front of him tensed. 

Anyone could tell that he was no professional, but most likely a pawn used by whoever wanted to kill Soren. Loyal enough to consider killing himself than to reveal information, but unfortunately not loyal enough to endure the humiliation that Soren threatened.

Earlier, he had considered allowing the man to stab him, and reviving just to scare him. Then he remembered Damien, who behaved like a stalker, always remaining in the area and decided against it.

"However, if you don't speak, I'll go in and become an arsonist."

"What?" the man flung his head up with wide eyes.

"It's your choice to believe in what you want, but will I die just because somebody wants me to? No way, revenge is required."

"You--"

"Setting fire to a base is something I've always wanted to do. Alternative methods are troublesome. Waking up at night was also annoying, did you know?" complained Soren sullenly, his white hair bright in the basking moonlight, illuminating half of his face.

The delicate features of the prince contrasted his behaviour, yet suited them at the same time.

Soren wasn't always talkative, but when he was irritated, he would undoubtedly voice his complaints. 

Suddenly, his lazy demure dispersed, replaced by a rich killing intent that clouded the air. An answer was what he wanted, and an answer was what he would get.

The man shivered, face paling under the cold sweat trickling down his face.

"One. Who hired you?"

The invader bit his lip nervously, but did not reply.

Soren leaned forward slightly, voice low and threatening. "I will not ask again."

The man's eyes flickered left to right, sweat dripping down his pale face. Finally, he stilled, seeming to come to a resolution. Soren widened his eyes as the man firmly bit down on his tongue, choking and slumping to the floor.

Crimson dripped onto the ground, dying the carpet an ominous red.

Damien immediately stepped forward to cover the body — while he was interested in the prince's new actions, it wouldn't do any good if he fainted from the sight.

To his surprise, Soren regained his cool and said, "That was unfortunate."

He hadn’t received the answer he wanted — a real pity, indeed.

Damien paused, then asked, "Will you do as you said?"

"What?" the prince frowned before remembering. "Oh. No, too much work. Send compensation money to his family, and bury the body in the local grave."

The man's corpse couldn't be sent back, in case the events were discovered. It would only bring light to the conflict between the third religion and Soren, as well as possibly threatening the man's family.

The man has a firm resolution, despite being a normal worshipper. For that, Soren praised him, though he was still annoyed at being woken up.

"How much money?" asked Damien.

Soren said, "Enough to live for a year comfortably."

That period should be enough for the family to pick themselves up, as long as they spend the money sparingly. 

Damien nodded, seeming to be satisfied with the answer.

"Now, I have one more task for you before I sleep." said Soren seriously, gazing up at the teenager.

"What is it?"

"I want a bag of candy."

Damien's face twitched, betraying his steadfast face for a moment. The fifth prince, after being attacked by an assassin and witnessing a suicide, wanted candy?

'Is this a joke?' wondered Damien.

"May I ask why?"

Soren didn't mind. "Low-blood sugar."

"What?"

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"You didn't know?" After waking up, he found that there were occasional times he felt dizzy when standing for too long. Of course, it couldn't be certain, since he hadn't been in Soren's body for long, but he was fairly sure.

The original couldn't have noticed since he was always partying and eating, often consuming a fair amount of junk food.

His metabolism was truly amazing. Despite having no visible muscle, he was still rather slim. It was still a little chubby though, notable when pressing the flesh on his arms or legs.

Damien hadn't noticed either; nobody had. It was information that didn't exist at all — so how could he have known? He silently remembered this and then asked, "Do you have any requests for the candy?"

Soren deliberated it. "Nothing too sweet, but enough sugar to serve its purpose. Not too pricy, convenient to eat. Something long-lasting and can be kept in a bag with no problems."

There were many foods in other worlds, and several were described in the novel too, but there were no specific details on candy. 

'Too bad.' thought Soren, as he tried to think of a way to explain.

'Licorice would taste good.' he wanted to say, but he didn't know if that term was used here, and wouldn't risk exposing himself in front of this information gathering specialist. 

"Something not too hard, something I can chew on. A stick?" continued Soren eagerly.

Damien raised a brow. 'Are you a dog?'

However, he said nothing, since his current identity was that of a servant, and nodded. "I understand. I will bring back news by the time you wake."

Soren was surprised. "So soon?"

"Of course."

"Oh, thanks then. If you can't find anything, don't rush." said Soren with a wave of his hand. He appreciated Damien's efficiency, but he wouldn't be an employer that worked his employees to death.

"I have also received news that your second and first brother will take part in the auction."

Soren lifted his eyes tiredly. "Oh. Prepare a disguise in the morning."

"Understood."

The auction that gathered nobles from all over the continent would start that evening.

He had spent the earlier week organizing information and thinking of his plans of action. He also skillfully avoided anybody who tried to talk to him, except for the awkward dinners that he didn't really care for.

Soren felt the increased gazes on him during the meals, but the silence remained the same.

He sighed. There was no person who enjoyed working when they could sleep instead, and Soren did not find this sort of event interesting.

At least, he could look forward to the fight ring and hope that there would be some serious fighters, rather than the ones that violently attacked to make a grand spectacle. 

He allowed Damien to clean up the mess and quickly fell back asleep.

By the time he woke up, which was only several hours later, Damien had already accomplished all his tasks. Soren even wondered: perhaps the teenager wasn't a fox, but a vampire? How exciting that would be. Of course, that was impossible — a fake couldn't be the leader of the tribe.

"The information will be returned in a week." informed Damien politely. "A merchant will arrive in two hours to discuss different sweets, and will provide as much as you wish. Additionally, two disguises have been laid out — how different would you like to look?"

Soren crossed his arms, looking down at the two sets of clothing on the bed.

He pointed to one with a raise of his brow. "Woman's clothing?"

"It is the best disguise to be completely unrecognizable."

Damien's words were correct; to change one's hair or clothes, a person may still be recognized, but to change one's gender, most wouldn't dare to even think about it. Well, Soren had little shame, and considered it seriously for a moment.

Finally, he shook his head. "I intend to use this alias frequently, and going around in a dress would be inconvenient."

Damien nodded. "I had considered that."

"Thank you."

"It's my pleasure to meet your expectations, master."

Soren said, "You will need a disguise, as well. Even if you’re not well known, several know who you are. A simple disguise would be fitting."

"I have already prepared one for myself." replied Damien calmly as Soren looked at him in appreciation. Even if this fox leader was unpredictable, there wasn't anyone who would dislike a person who was quick to understand things. "Under your clothes, hide these."

Damien brought a silver box forward, decorated with bright aqua gemstones. He opened it, revealing two beautiful golden blades, edges intense and jagged, needing only the lightest touch to draw blood. There was a curve along the dark metal, and a clean end, which made it easy to manipulate.

Soren recognized these twin blades.

'Infernal Sanity'.

It was said that these treasures would never lose their owners once acknowledging them and were a precious artifact in this world. With edges that never blunted, they were one of the best weapons to have.

Soren wasn't surprised Damien found them — he was the leader of the largest information group on the continent.

If he felt lazy, he'd easily go looking for an adventure and probably picked in up on the way. The only problem was: these blades were a double-edged sword.

As weapons alone, they were extremely powerful. But with every use, they corroded the owner's brain with burning words, often the user's deepest and darkest desires or thoughts, or unrelated thoughts. It didn't drive them to insanity, but kept refreshing the mind to absorb every single word.

The future owner would belong to the runaway prince of the Haze Kingdom. 

Brioc Laurier.

A magician who would eventually come to be known as the greatest, and also the craziest. He carried such a thirst for blood that the knife only amplified his own thoughts, which were beyond belief to begin with. 

In the future, he would become Raphael’s teammate after finding the man interesting. Brioc, surprisingly, was a loyal and useful teammate, if not for the moments he picked fights for his own enjoyment.

But the blades suited him well.

Words of madness couldn't torture a born madman.

Soren glanced at Damien. "These are?"

"I requested it to be made in the best smithery. It is best to have a weapon for emergencies, master."

There was no fluctuation in his tone, but Soren knew Damien was testing him. Touching the blade on its own wasn't too dangerous, but once it was used, it would be too late to turn back.

Soren didn't think his mentality was weak for things such as this, but he didn't want to bother with such a cursed item.

To begin with, the weapon he was looking for wasn't this.

However, knowing that Damien would be suspicious otherwise, Soren accepted the box and placed it to the side. "Okay, thanks." he straightened and lifted the expensive fabric. "Let's get ready."

One hour later, a charming man sat on the white, snowy covers with an indifferent expression. 

His ebony hair was neatly tied in a ponytail, eluding elegance and nobility while an obsidian mask rested over her pale skin, revealing two jewel orbs. His entire body was covered in black cloth with blue lining, except for his snowy gloves framing the slender fingers. The youth's entire being radiated a mysterious, chilling aura one couldn't help but glance at.

Soren flexed his fingers and shrugged his shoulders with a sigh. The clothes weren't uncomfortable, but they were far beyond his preferred style, and heavy on his shoulders.

He glanced at Damien, who dressed more simply, disguised as a guard. 

His posture was straight and tall, hands placed by his side as a sword hung on the belt at his waist. During the auction, all weapons would be removed, but it added to the atmosphere. 

The teenager had brushed his hair back, clearly revealing his defined face and uncaring expression, unfitting of a person his age. Damien observed Soren and said, "You must colour your eyelashes."

Soren touched his eye and nodded. "Right. I forgot."

Damien pulled out a small bottle and instructed, "Apply it to your lashes, and touch nothing after. You must wash your hands after, or it'll take some time to come off."

"Okay, thanks."

As expected, this fox leader was really useful, pulling out all sorts of interesting devices. 

Soren moved to a mirror and carefully applied it to his eyelashes, inking the pristine length into a deep abyssal colour. He stepped back and looked himself up and down in the mirror, satisfied. 

It would be hard to realize that he was the fifth prince, if not impossible. To begin with, his pure white hair was what stood out the most.

"Have you confirmed the princes' schedules?" asked Soren as he turned around.

Damien said, "I have. The second and first have left early for other matters, and you will not see them. I dismissed the rest of the servants for the day, so nobody will see you leave."

To begin with, Soren often shouted at servants to leave him alone, so it wasn't much trouble to tell them to stay away for a day. On the contrary, they were joyful for the break.

"The merchant who is bringing the sweets, who are they?"

"Don't worry, master, they will not tell anybody about the matter. If that's impossible, I can receive them myself and change back." assured Damien.

Soren shook his head. "Their name?"

"Lydia Jones."

Soren looked at Damien in surprise. If the fox tribe was well known for their ability to gather information from all over the world, Lydia Jones was a name that was well known for their ability to buy items and gather whatever their clients wished for. 

The secret that wasn't known was that 'Lydia Jones' was two people, one who excelled in socializing and could convince anybody to do anything, while the other excelled at finding tricks or marketing themselves.

They were a trustworthy pair, never divulging their clients' secrets or what they bought, making their reputation soar. 

It didn't matter what sort of request they received — they would always fulfill it. For a person who needed a merchant, they were the best choice. Soren didn't think there would be any harm in getting along with them.

Soren turned, shoving a hand in his pocket as he started for the door.

"Let's go."