In a bustling town within a noble's domain, situated not far from the Roferia Heroic Ducal Territory, a beautiful girl dined alone at a restaurant inside a luxurious inn. As soon as she finished her meal, she left the establishment and headed toward her room.
She walked with an effortless grace, paying no mind to the lingering gazes of the men she passed.
However, her progress was halted when she sensed a certain presence.
Taking a staff staircase into a restricted area, she ascended to the rooftop. Waiting there was a lone man, his form shrouded in a jet-black robe. As the girl approached, the man knelt and lowered his head in a deep bow.
The hair of the girl and the robe of the man fluttered in the sharp wind that whipped across the high altitude.
"I apologize for the sudden visit," the man whispered.
"It’s fine. So, what do you want with me?"
"...Lord Orphide has returned to the side of His Majesty."
Hearing this, the girl gave a curt, "I see," before turning her gaze toward the sky.
"He certainly had a miserable time of it, being subject to the whims of the Goddess of Regeneration."
The Priest had been born in a nation on the Martel Continent, a land of perpetual conflict. Blessed from birth by the goddess, Orphide possessed an unnaturally potent regenerative ability—a trait that would define his tragic fate.
Almost immediately after his birth, he was snatched away from his biological parents. His gift was to be exploited, studied for its applications in weaponry and technology.
However, his motherland was swallowed by a new conflict and collapsed within a few short years. He was kept like a pet by various men of power and passed between small nations until he eventually fell into the hands of the Demon King Cult.
For him, that was his first true stroke of luck.
In the Demon King Cult, he was no longer treated as an experimental animal. On the contrary, a Bishop took him under his wing to train him as a warrior.
"It is not for the sake of a hideous world. It is for the world in which you believe."
With those words, Orphide was raised to become a direct subordinate of the Bishop. As the years passed, he rose to the rank of Priest, acting as the Bishop's right hand and operating in the shadows of various lands.
That was his world—and his entire way of life.
"——Well, I suppose that’s just how the world is."
The girl spared him a few seconds of thought—hardly enough to be called mourning—before Orphide vanished from her mind entirely.
"Is there anything else?"
"Yes."
The Demon King Cultist seemed to struggle with his words. With every passing second, his hesitation grew more palpable, yet he knew he could not remain silent.
Finally, he spoke.
"...Before you incur any more of the Cult Leader’s displeasure, I humbly suggest that you should retur——!?"
The man collapsed backward, pinned to the ground by an overwhelming pressure emanating from her.
This was surely what it felt like to stand at the precipice of death.
Normally, any man would have been captivated by the lovely smile of such a beautiful girl, but in this moment, that smile filled the cultist with nothing but raw terror.
The skin-piercing pressure intensified as she knelt before him, bringing her face close to his. His eyes were not drawn to the slender legs visible beneath her skirt; instead, he was paralyzed by the intensity of her jewel-like eyes.
"Listen," the girl said.
The pressure did not abate; if anything, it swelled.
"A living being’s existence is either a stroke of luck or a testament to their strength. They either survive by chance because they never encountered the world’s irrationality, or they possess the strength to repel that irrationality when it finds them."
The stroke of luck she spoke of would eventually run out. One day, without any warning at all.
"I wonder... which one are you?"
Her silver hair was streaked with black mesh, and her eyes were more radiant than any gemstone. Stared down by her, the man’s breathing became ragged and shallow.
She stood up and shifted the conversation. The change was abrupt, yet her words carried a weight that revealed her true intentions.
"There is no concept that justifies a person's actions more effectively than 'justice.'"
"...Eh?"
"All intelligent creatures have built their civilizations by using justice as bait. In every era, those are the people who survive. You can see it for yourself in the Elfen Religion, can’t you?"
She spoke with a detached elegance.
"I despise it. I loathe those commoners who, convinced of their own righteousness, impose their will on everything else and call it justice. It is utterly revolting. So, tell the Cult Leader... no."
These were the words spoken by the girl Ren had encountered in his dream—the girl who had performed a curtsy and introduced herself.
"Tell my brother exactly what I just said."
The girl turned her back to the man.
There was no value in further discussion. Had she continued, the man’s life would have likely been forfeit. Knowing this, the man realized his only remaining purpose was to deliver her message to the Cult Leader.
"...Understood. It shall be as you wish."
"Good boy," she said without looking back.
She let out a small chuckle—a smile that was lovely, graceful, and deeply bewitching.
——This was the scene Ren had witnessed in his dream. These were the words he had heard from her lips.
"Don’t say such mean things. I went out of my way to do this myself, so you could at least listen obediently."
The name of the girl from Ren's dream...
"I am... Eve. Cult Leader Medario’s younger sister."
The vampire girl stood in the night wind, her silhouette illuminated by the cold light of the moon.