Chapter 1:
Blood Rose: Her Last Mercy was Death
The Rose Kingdom
They called it the crown of civilization.
A kingdom of roses, carved in marble, perfumed by festivals, and painted in the poems of fools.
But beauty is a mask.
And this one is rotting underneath.
The Rose Kingdom, seated in the east of Eldora, was a place where white palaces pierced the sky, where music flowed like wine, and where nobles danced through eternity with bloodless hands.
From afar, it looked like paradise.
Up close, it was a cathedral of cruelty.
Beneath those marble streets, children starved among rats.
Women were sold.
Justice bled silently in alleys where the sun forgot to shine.
They called this empire holy.
But holiness meant nothing to the dead.
And the living?
They kept smiling. Because when you are hungry for too long, even a whip feels like attention.
—
The Hero's Stage
Then a name appeared that split the foggy sky like a ray of false hope: Gilles de Vire.
A man with a friendly face, with sweet words that dripped like honey from a trained tongue.
He was known as the savior of the kingdom's economy.
He lowered taxes, built orphanages, opened jobs, and filled the country's coffers.
He made the poor believe that maybe... just maybe... justice could still be born in a human body.
That day was his daughter's 16th birthday.
A great festival was held in the palace courtyard:
hanging lanterns, music, laughter, and a carpet of pink flowers dancing in the air.
The nobility stood on the right side of the stage in their gaudy clothes; the commoners stood on the left, with little hope in their eyes—wanting only to believe that the man was good.
Orphans were also invited, wrapped in clean clothes like dolls, prepared to be displayed.
On the stage, Gilles stood between his wife and daughter.
He raised his hands, and the sea of people—poor and rich, clean and rotten—cheered for him.
Flowers were thrown at him, filling the stage with intoxicating color and scent.
In the midst of that sea, there was a girl.
She looked ordinary—too ordinary. Jet-black hair, dark eyes without the reflection of lantern light, her face not covered by a party mask or beggar's makeup.
She just stood, looking straight at Gilles and his family, without bowing, without cheering.
She advanced slowly.
No one stopped her.
No one paid attention.
She scattered only one kind of flower: a red rose—single and thorny, unlike the others.
A faint smile appeared on her ash-white face.
Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd like a morning mist that knows when to disappear.
Gilles thought nothing of it.
To him, she was just an unimportant visitor—an ordinary girl who might want to contribute a little compliment.
—
Bloody Rose on Hell’s Balcony
POV: de Vire Family
Night fell like a shroud covering the sky of the kingdom.
On the balcony of the palace built of white marble and crystal-paned windows, the noble De Vire family sat together in false warmth.
The night wind gently blew the chandelier above them, creating long shadows that swayed like ghosts of the past.
Gilles chuckled. Beside him, Hellen de Vire smiled softly, while Joanna—
his only daughter, Anna—
looked at her father with eyes full of admiration, like a little girl looking at a god.
“Father,” Anna whispered as she hugged her knees on her chair, “when I grow up, I want to be a hero like you. Is that okay?”
Gilles fell silent.
The silence that hung like a rope in the air.
His face darkened for a moment, as if the shadows of the past were gripping his chest.
He finally smiled. Thinly. Forced.
“Of course you can… Anna will be entering Oxoed Magic Academy soon, right? There, you will learn to be a great hero… like Father.”
Anna beamed. He held his mother's hand.
"I will work hard! I will help Father save the kingdom!"
"You are a good girl."
Hellen smiled too, leaning her head on her husband's shoulder.
"Anna is indeed a good girl. One day, she will grow up to be a hero like you... honey."
But Gilles only answered with silence and an increasingly cold smile. The smile of someone who knew that the world would not be as good as his daughter expected.
In the midst of the warmth of the family, the sound of iron shoes tapping on the floor was heard. A knight appeared at the balcony door, his body stiff with respect.
"My lord, the goods you ordered... have been secured. They are now downstairs."
The voice pierced like a cold needle.
Gilles' face immediately changed. He turned his head quickly, sharply.
"Tom... How many times have I told you—don't talk about trade when I'm with my family!"
The knight lowered his head, trembling.
"I'm sorry, my lord. I forgot... still carried away by the party atmosphere."
"If you understand, then go."
The knight bowed and disappeared into the hallway. But no one realized that night—the palace corridors were no longer safe.
“Father, what are those things?” Anna asked innocently.
“Just merchandise, dear. They are not important to you.”
“Yes, listen to your father. Anna’s job is to study, understand?” Hellen stroked her daughter’s hair.
“I understand!” Anna chuckled.
But that night was not for laughter.
That night… was for judgment.
It began subtly.
The chandelier above them flickered—just once, like a pulse skipping a beat.
Then, the air turned.
Not cold. Not hot.
Just… wrong.
A scent slithered in—soft at first, like a lover’s perfume.
But beneath it: something metallic, something rotten, something red.
“Honey, do you smell roses?” Gilles asked, his voice a thread pulled too tight.
“A little… yes. Are you wearing perfume?” Hellen’s smile trembled.
“No,” he whispered.
“No, no…”
His voice cracked.
His fingers dug into the armrest.
His eyes darted—toward the shadows beneath the curtains, toward the hallway darkened like a closed grave.
Then—
tap
tap
tap
The sound of heels—iron striking marble.
Slow. Deliberate. Echoing through the palace like the ticking of a noose being knotted.
A silhouette appeared at the edge of the corridor, where the candlelight did not reach.
It stepped forward—
And the scent of roses exploded.
Not floral. Not sweet.
But ancient. Fermented. Like flowers grown from a mass grave.
She emerged as if peeled from the fabric of the night:
Silver hair cascading like moonlit snow,
Eyes pale and frostbitten,
A dress as red as spilled confessions—lined with thorns, blooming with rot.
In her right hand: a sword bleeding petals.
In her left: a knight’s severed head, still warm.
The family froze.
No one screamed.
“Are you afraid?”
Her voice was calm—calmer than a lullaby.
But each word cut like a blade dipped in truth.
“You should be. Sinners always know. When it is time... to be slaughtered.”
She walked toward them, and the corridor behind her withered.
The lights died one by one, as if choosing to look away.
“Gilles de Vire. You have slept on the bed of sin for too long.”
“G-guard! Where is the guard?!”
“Under my feet.”
The head of the knight who had spoken to her was thrown to the balcony floor, rolling until it touched Gilles’ feet. Its blood formed a trail like falling rose petals. Hellen screamed and hugged Anna who began to cry in fear.
“Who are you?!”
“Blood Rose.”
“Executioner of sins. Judge of the untouchables. Tonight, I have come to execute.”
Gilles stuttered.
“I… I am innocent… I only saved the kingdom’s economy…”
“Economy?”
Blood Rose laughed. A cold, joyless laugh.
“You kidnapped children from your own party to sell as slaves. They are now bound in the dungeons of your palace. And you call that ‘economics’?”
Gilles’ face paled even further.
“I… I… it was for the stability of the kingdom…”
“And you criminals always have the word ‘forced’ to paint blood on your hands. But tonight, your blood will return to the soil.”
Her voice was hard, cold, and carried something more cruel than anger: the truth.
“You trafficked children. Sold young girls to noble bastards. Spread drugs to the market. Your orphanage was a slave farm. And your wife—and your child—had no idea. Because your crimes were so hidden, so elegant.”
Gilles fell to his knees, his body shivering.
“Please… my wife… my child… don’t…”
“Forgiveness,” said the Blood Rose, “is only for the victims.”
Her sword pierced Gilles’ neck in one beautiful, brutal motion.
Blood gushed, splashing the white balcony like hellish paint. Gellen's wife – Hellen fainted in fear. Anna hugged her mother—her heart seemed to stop beating.
—
The Tyrant’s Child’s Question
Anna screamed.
“WHY?! Why did you kill my father?!”
Her cries pierced the night. But Blood Rose was untouched.
“I told you. He was a monster disguised as a hero.”
“No… Father saved many people…”
“Who did he save, Anna? The nobles who sat pretty in the palace?”
“Ask the children who were cut and sold. The little girls who never grew up.”
“He wasn’t a hero. He was a monster.”
The air thickened. Rose petals floated, slow and graceful—but each one was a curse.
“I left a ‘gift’ in the halls beneath the palace. Go see. And understand who your father is.”
Anna fell silent.
“I didn’t kill you because you didn’t know yet. But if one day you grow up to be a monster like your father, remember this day… I will come back.”
With her hands still gripping Gilles’ dead hair, Blood Rose walked away. Blood flowed across the floor. Petals flew. The world felt mute.
Anna fainted. When she woke up, the world she knew had been replaced by a harsher reality.
—
Blood Rose Cross in the City
Inside the palace, the bodies of knights and servants lay in a horrific state. Their eyes were still open, frozen in fear. They were all guilty. All sinners.
Blood Rose walked slowly, her dress scraping the floor with blood. Her steps were like a court bell.
She walked out into the city. It was silent. No one dared to come out.
The air was filled with the scent of rotting roses and hot blood.
In the town square, Blood Rose stuck a thorny rose vine from the ground.
She cruelly crucified Gilles' body, wrapping it in red roots that entangled him like hellish snakes.
Then, from the stem of the rose vine, a blurry paper emerged with a list of Gilles' crimes:
Long, disgusting, and undeniable.
Witnessed by the night wind, and the silence of the city.
Blood Rose stood looking at the corpse of what she had once worshipped.
There was no triumph on her face. Only emptiness.
The rose petals flew again.
And when the air became still again...
She vanished.
As if she was just a shadow.
But the world knew...
The executioner of blood had come.
And their hero was no savior. He was just a sin wrapped in a title.
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