Prolog

"What the hell was that...?"

My steps felt heavy as I left the cinema, my mind still haunted by the movie I had just watched. My feet seemed to move on their own, while my heart seethed with an indescribable disappointment. The people around me seemed normal, discussing the film casually, yet I couldn't hide my irritation.

Before the movie started, I was so enthusiastic. This wasn't just any film—it was a biography about a figure who once shook Europe with his name and ambition: Napoleon Bonaparte. His name alone was enough to inspire respect and curiosity. Who didn't know about him? Even someone who had never opened a history book must have at least heard his name.

But what I had just watched... was an insult.

"Truly a trash movie, a waste of time."

The movie poster showed Napoleon standing gallantly on a hill, surrounded by his soldiers. La Grande Armée, the poster read. All of it promised epic war scenes, astounding tactics, and tense political drama. But everything promised... was nowhere to be found.

The Battle of Austerlitz scene? Just a glimpse, not even five minutes. There were no military meetings, no strategic scenes, or even strong interactions with his marshals. Everything felt... flat. As if Napoleon wasn't a brilliant general, but rather an ordinary man who happened to stumble into destiny.

And what disgusted me most, the film was more interested in exploring his love life vulgarly than his struggles on the battlefield or in the palace.

Alright, if the film didn't focus on his battles, I could still justify it. But why did the story increasingly deviate from actual history as the duration went on? Besides, I didn't care about the erotic scenes!

If it wasn't going to show battles, at least give us political intrigue—how Napoleon seized power with his clever maneuvers. But in this film, he was depicted as a foolish man who just followed the current. How could a man who would later declare himself Emperor look like a loser?

As soon as the movie ended and the credits began to roll, I immediately took out my phone to search for information about this annoying film. And to my dismay, I found an interview video of the director. There, he casually responded to historical criticism by saying:

"Not historically accurate? How do you know? Were you there at the time?"

Hearing that answer, I truly wanted to slap his face with historical documents, the result of historians' research. This director really didn't respect the profession of those who struggled to uncover the past.

"Hah..."

I sighed deeply. The weekend should have been my time off. After a week working as a history teacher at high school, I just wanted to sit quietly, enjoying a story about one of the historical heroes I admired. But instead... this.

Teaching history isn't easy. The current generation is more interested in viral videos than stories of the past. I've tried various methods—videos, role-play, interactive quizzes—still, most students just sit and stare blankly.

Routine made my life feel like it was replayed every day. Wake up, teach, go home in the afternoon, tired, sleep. Then it repeated. Sometimes I thought, if only something big would happen, something... that could shake the world and make me feel alive.

People might think I'm crazy, but sometimes I feel this peace... is boring.

Sometimes I wanted to scream and wish for something dramatic to happen, something worthy of being recorded in history. Because when reading the stories of great figures, I often imagined: what would it be like to be them—people who managed to write their names in history?

But well...

There was nothing I could do but keep working, who knows until when.

The crowd from inside the cinema began to thin. Only a handful of people were now leaving the same studio as me.

The day was also getting late. I decided to go home. But suddenly, my gaze fell upon a man standing not far from the exit. He just stood still, hands in his suit pockets, facing the general public, but somehow his eyes seemed directed at me.

He wore a long dark coat and an old fedora hat. A style seemingly lost from the past—perhaps from the 1940s. Such clothes were very rarely worn by people nowadays, especially in public places like this. He looked like a character from a film noir.

The hallway light illuminated part of his face. His skin was pale, and a short, grayish-white beard gave the impression of being around sixty. But what made him so strange was his gaze.

There was something... wrong.

At first, I intended to just walk past. But just as I passed near him, he took one step forward—enough to stop me.

"Hey, young man. Can we talk for a moment?"

His voice was soft, even polite. But the tone... it was too calm for a situation like this.

I stared at him for a moment, then answered somewhat warily.
"What is it, old man? I'm in a hurry."

"It won't be long. Just a moment," he said with a small smile.

His smile wasn't entirely convincing.

His appearance was enough to make me uneasy. He truly reminded me of an old mafia boss in classic gangster movies. But my curiosity outweighed the desire to just leave.

"...Alright. But don't take too long."

"Thank you," he said with a slight bow. "I know you're suspicious of me."

"With that appearance? Of course."

He chuckled softly. "Haha. That's why we'll just talk here. Look around—there are still people. They can be your guarantors of safety."

I glanced around. Indeed, there were still a few people. Two couples walked by, laughing. A mother held a small child's hand while carrying popcorn.

"Well... I'm grateful for that."

The man stroked his beard for a moment, then said, "I've been watching... the expressions of the audience leaving the studio. Many were disappointed. But your face... was far more annoyed than the others."

I narrowed my eyes. "Uhm, yeah..."

"Your disappointment is understandable. They really ruined Napoleon's image."

I was surprised, though I didn't show it.
"Exactly!"

He grinned softly, seemingly pleased to have guessed my thoughts.

"People nowadays think making historical films is just about visual effects and fancy costumes," he continued.

"Exactly, old man! They even depicted Napoleon as a naive boy! I was so annoyed watching it!"

Strangely, I started to feel comfortable talking to him. As if we were on the same wavelength. I don't know why. Even though his appearance still made me quite nervous.

"By the way, you seem to know a lot about history. Is this your hobby?" he asked after a moment.

"Well... I am a history teacher."

"Ah! A teacher. A noble profession."

I gave a faint smile. "Noble, huh? I'm not so sure about that."

"Why so?"

"It's not that I hate the job. But... well, lately I've started to feel jaded. Students are hard to keep focused. It feels like talking to a wall."

The man nodded slowly, his eyes observing sharply.

"Times always change, and so do generations. Nowadays, information is so easy to obtain... but it's rarely absorbed."

"Agreed. Sometimes I wonder, what's the point of me explaining history... if they can just Google it anyway?"

The conversation flowed deeper. Strangely, I felt more open. Even though... he was a stranger. But I felt... compelled to answer. To tell my story.

There was a subtle, invisible pressure.

And what chilled me most: I felt I shouldn't question why I felt that way.

Wait...

Why?

The man spoke again—this time with a flatter tone.
"Are you... bored with this world?"

"Huh?"

I fell silent. His question struck a nerve. Indeed, I felt my life was boring—as if programmed to repeat the same routine every day.

But... how did he know?

"Are you... not grateful for this peace?" he continued, his eyes staring at me unblinkingly.

"That's not what I meant—"

"This world is full of limiting rules and norms. You can never truly be yourself, can you?"

His voice turned chilling. It echoed like a reverberation from an empty room. He stepped forward, making me instinctively retreat.

The hallway light reflected in his eyes. His eyes, which were now... red.

Blood red. Deep. Pulsating like embers.

His smile widened, revealing teeth... which also slowly turned red.

"What if I could take you to the right world?"

"Hey, stop this nonsense, old man!" I exclaimed, my voice beginning to falter.

I tried to back away. But he kept advancing.

No. This wasn't an ordinary human.

"Do you want to make history? To be part of something great? You only need one thing—leave this world."

Okay, screw this, I have to run!

But as I tried to turn—my body froze.

His hand gripped my body with unbelievable strength. Long, dark red claws pierced my arm and chest like hot knives cutting through butter.

"KIKIKI! DO YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN FROM ME?"

"Ugh!"

I screamed in pain, and what terrified me most was how the surrounding area, which had previously held a few people, suddenly became completely silent, devoid of anyone.

"LET GO OF ME, DAMN IT!" I shrieked with what little breath I had left.

"Silence, disgusting creature," he hissed. "You should be grateful... for you will become part of Great Lord Ver'saruun."

"ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHO IS THAT!? YOUR Sugar daddy!?"

He just tilted his head. "Sugar... what?"

"LET GO OF ME FIRST, THEN I'LL TELL YOU!" I tried to make my voice sound as strong as possible, though my eyes were now watering from the pain.

He chuckled softly, then hissed, "Cunning. As usual. Humans... always try to lie even at their last breath."

His grip tightened. I could feel my bones cracking. My chest felt like it was being hammered from within. My breath began to falter, my vision swayed.

Then... a strange sound.
Like a murmur. Like a thousand whispers merging. The language was completely foreign; I had never heard it in my life.

A spell...?

What the hell is this!?

"Kalrith ves’anul, nekth yara’suun.
Vel’thaln ur-drak, esh-tar rha’un!"

Suddenly my body—burned.

Not literally burned... this was worse. I could feel my own veins igniting, one by one. Like fire flowing through my blood. My eyes bulged. My jaw dropped wide from the immense pain.

"AARRRGGGHHH!!!"

I writhed in his grasp like an animal being butchered alive. But he remained calm. His smile widened, becoming more inhuman. His teeth—those red teeth—glowed faintly like embers.

I couldn't move, I couldn't even think clearly.

My body trembled violently. My fingers twitched. My muscles tensed like steel wires pulled taut.

Is this... death...?

But why is it so painful?

My heart pounded erratically. Sometimes it felt like it stopped, then hammered against my chest like a sledgehammer. My vision began to fade, but the pain remained, even deepened. I could hear a sound inside my ears—not from outside, but from within my own mind, a heavy, alien laugh, different from the monster tormenting me.

I'm not ready...

I'm not ready to die...!

"Zathrak mor’khal, e’kren VALL!!"

The sound thundered, instantly shaking my head from within.

Then, something tore inside my body.

I don't know if it was my soul, my mind, or my body itself—but I knew, something had been separated.

I could feel myself being pulled out, as if this body no longer belonged to me. My consciousness floated, thrown from this place, from this world, into a strange darkness. My body still stood there, but I knew: I was no longer there.

And for a moment... only silence remained.

Total silence.

And then...

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