Who Hides Behind The Mask?

Only exhaustion allowed Peter to finally fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the horrific images he had witnessed came back to haunt him. The feeling of frustration still suffocated his chest—he had such strong faith in his power, yet in the end, he was nothing but useless.

...

Morning finally arrived, accompanied by an uncomfortable silence. When Peter finally got up, he didn’t celebrate the extra hours of sleep; instead, he left the room, worried, searching for the other two.

Edward was in the kitchen, finishing his coffee.

"Good morning."

"Morning... Where's Arya?"

"She’s having her moment of farewell with the village."

"Hey, she’s not planning on doing anything stupid, is she?"

"Don't worry, we already talked about it."

Meanwhile, Arya walked through the village at a slow pace, stopping at every house, placing objects in their proper places, closing windows and doors before leaving. To her, keeping everything organized was a sign of respect. She didn’t want this place to be remembered as the site of a tragedy—she wanted it to be nothing more than a village faded by time.

If one day, new people were to find these houses and facilities intact, if they could rebuild the Utopiosphere barrier, then perhaps this village could come to life again, just like in her memories.

She gave her thanks one last time. Even though it had been a rough beginning, in the end, everyone had accepted her as a part of this place, and for that, she would be eternally grateful. Returning to Belchior’s house, she found the two boys waiting outside for her.

"Are you ready?"

"This isn’t how things were supposed to turn out, but it’s finally time to say goodbye to this village."

"It’s up to us to remember the happy memories we had here, not the tragedy that happened yesterday. We have a long journey ahead. May Belchior’s soul watch over us."

The three of them turned toward the village, bowing their heads in respect. Unfortunately, none of them knew how to properly offer a prayer to ease their hearts.

That was when they noticed a shadow approaching.

It dragged itself forward, covered entirely by a long black cloak. A white mask, reminiscent of a smiling skull, concealed its face. In its right hand, it carried a black scythe, nearly as tall as itself.

Edward panicked at the sight. To him, there was no doubt—the Grim Reaper, Mors had come for Arya’s soul. Practicing necromancy was an insult to Mors’ name, and she always ensured to personally punish those who crossed the line. Seeing Edward's reaction, Peter reached the same conclusion. Without hesitation, both of them stepped in front of Arya to shield her.

"What are you two doing?"

"I won’t let Mors lay a finger on you. I just lost a dear friend—I won’t lose the love of my life without a fight!"

"Count me in, bro!" Flames began to radiate from Peter’s fists.

"That’s Mors?!... If that’s the case, you two should step aside. There’s nothing that can be done against Mors’ will." Arya’s expression grew melancholic. "She’s just here to punish me for my sin as a necromancer. You don’t need to get involved."

Hearing those words, Edward acted on impulse. The idea of facing Mors head-on sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. Before he even processed his actions, he grabbed Arya’s arms and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

"H-Heh?! What was that?!"

"Never say that again, Arya. You know I’d never abandon you. After all, I’m your accomplice, remember?"

While Arya stood stunned, Edward turned around, prepared to face Mors if necessary. Peter followed, firm in his resolve to never abandon a friend.

"Mors! I won’t let you take her!" Edward’s sword gleamed as he unsheathed it.

"Well, well, Magdalena, it seems our grand entrance worked better than expected. Look, the bad guys are already panicking and rushing toward us!"

"(But why did they mistake you for Mors? You don’t look anything like the Mother.)"

"That’s just a minor detail. Come at me!" Reaper lowered his scythe, preparing to engage the two. "Our battle will be legen—." *poft* And then he simply fell flat on his face.

"What the hell was that?" Edward and Peter exchanged confused glances, unable to make sense of the situation.

"I-Is he okay?" Arya was the first to realize that something was off—it wasn’t normal behavior but rather a sign of exhaustion.

"Don’t worry, he just passed out from hunger." A mysterious female voice echoed, its source unclear, but it was unmistakably connected to the fallen boy.

Edward cautiously approached and slowly removed the mask, confirming what had already become obvious: this was just a regular human, not some supernatural entity. He was simply a Reaper—not the Grim Reaper.

...

Edward and Peter carried the boy inside Belchior’s house, their arms tense, still wary of the possible threat he could pose.

However, Arya’s kindness won out, and she convinced them to take him to the kitchen. Carefully, they sat him down on a chair while Arya prepared something for him to eat.

When the boy finally woke up, he completely ignored his hosts and immediately devoured the bread and pastries on the table. Only after stuffing himself did he finally acknowledge the three staring at him—but he remained silent.

"And? Who are you?" Edward finally asked.

"Give it back." The boy stretched his hand toward Edward, who, after a moment of hesitation, returned the mask. "Ah, yes! It feels good to be myself again! Now, where were we? Oh right, I was about to defeat the bad guys!"

"If we’re the bad guys, then why did we give you something to eat?"

"You have a point… No, wait! What if the food was poisoned?! Damn it, did you just poison me?!"

"Wouldn’t it have been easier to just attack you while you were unconscious?"

"That’s a fair argument, but that doesn’t mean I’ll trust you blindly!"

"Edward, he seems dumber than me."

"Enough nonsense. Just tell us who you are."

"Forgive my lack of courtesy. My name is… a secret. But everyone calls me Reaper, Gray Reaper."

"You don’t even wear gray."

"That’s just a minor detail."

"And to what do we owe the honor of your visit?" Edward asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"It’s not like I’m visiting. I’m just a traveler, and by chance, I ended up in this village. You guys were the ones who attacked me, thinking I was Mors. What kind of person just draws their sword in front of Mors?"

"About that…" Arya interjected. "I didn’t understand the confusion either. He doesn’t look like Mors. Belchior always told me that Mors is a cute girl, something like an immaculate virgin, not a masked boy."

"See? You two just jumped to conclusions."

"But you do carry a stronger scent of death than I do."

"That’s because he’s actually connected to Mors…" A female voice suddenly echoed, as Reaper’s black cloak dissolved, revealing a beautiful girl with white hair and crimson eyes.

"M-M-Mors?!?!?!" The three of them shouted in a mix of surprise and fear.

"Don’t be idiots. If I were Mors, none of you would still be breathing—especially the necromancer girl."

"The girl’s a necromancer? That explains why they were so defensive."

"Don’t you dare la—"

"Lay a finger on her, blah blah blah! You’re so annoying, kid-in-black. Why are you so eager to protect her? Is she your lover or something?"

"Ah, Arya…" Edward looked at Arya, flustered.

"He’s my boyfriend." Arya declared with a smile.

"Oh, that’s great. At least one girl I don’t have to worry about. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care about necromancers, but if she were a rival, then I’d see her as a threat."

"So… I guess that means I'm good?"

"You’re strange for a necromancer. Most would’ve run the moment they sensed our presence."

"Strange? It’s not like I chose to be a necromancer..."

Arya briefly recounted her past, linking her story to the events that had befallen the village the day before. Now that the tension of battle had passed, the group loosened up, conversing more casually and introducing themselves properly.

"As for me, there’s not much to say. Despite being one of the bearers of Mors's fragments, I haven’t accomplished anything grand. I was just lucky to find Magdalena." Reaper spoke as Magdalena perched on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. "I have three close friends. When we heard the legend of Mors’ fragments, we thought it was our chance to make a name for ourselves. We started our journey in a city called Floating Moonlight City. Each of us set out to find one of the fragments, and if they were as lucky as I was, they should be heading back there now too."

"Floating Moonlight City… Ah!" That name triggered Peter’s memory. "That’s the city from the old man’s map!"

"What are you talking about?" Edward asked.

Peter brought out the map and the Mercenary's Guild emblem that Belchior had given him. After explaining the details, he added, "That’s the city he told us to go to. It’s the best place to find a way home."

"A way home…" Peter words caught Reaper atention. "That city is like a great capital. The railway connects to many important places. It’s definitely a good place for you to start looking."

A silence filled the room until Arya spoke the obvious question: "Mr. Reaper, would you like to travel with us?"

"Arya!" Edward pulled her aside. "Arya, we don’t even know if this guy is trustworthy! Aren’t you worried he might be plotting something against you?"

"Edward, I know he’s weird and says a lot of nonsense, but he doesn’t seem like a bad person. Besides, I’m the necromancer here. Shouldn’t I be happy to have a Mors fragment on our side?"

"Hey, lovebirds, I’m not deaf! And I’m not weird!"

"I like her. She’s already learned to appreciate my greatness in such a short time."

As the two couples discussed their next move, Peter clutched the map and medallion, lost in thought. "Lana… why aren’t you here? I have a feeling this is going to be a long journey…"

And so, Magdalena and Reaper joined the party. They were not friends, nor did they have any real motivation to help the trio. But they possessed something far more valuable—the diplomacy and the power of Mors.

This journey was not about expanding their bonds—it was about surviving in a world governed by death.