THE STRANGER IN THE CRIMSON SNOW

Snow fell gently across the silent forest, blanketing the world in white. But not a single flake touched him. A man, drenched in blood, ran breathlessly through the cold. His steps were frantic, his thoughts empty, his memory gone. Yet deep inside, there pulsed a crushing feeling of guilt—guilt without name, and fear without form.

His strength finally gave out. He collapsed in the snow, shivering not from cold, but from something deeper. Somewhere distant, the warm light of a cottage flickered.

Drawn by instinct, he dragged his body toward it.

Inside, a father was feeding his son a warm meal. The man stood at the doorway, silent, watching. The food, the peace—it stirred something within him. A longing. A hunger.

But the father saw a threat. Alarmed by the blood, he shielded his son and stepped forward with caution. Before a word could be exchanged, a new figure entered from behind the stranger—a man in a black suit, silent and sharp, who immediately struck with a sword.

But the blade never landed. It froze midair—locked in place as if time itself refused to let it pass.

Everyone froze.

The father stared in horror, realization dawning in his eyes. He dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry… sir,” he whispered, ashamed.

His son returned from the corner and, understanding nothing but following his father’s lead, knelt as well.

Then, without a sound, a new presence entered the room. A man—no, a being—with striking features, dressed immaculately in formal wear. There was a human shape, but not a human presence. With a calm, otherworldly grace, he lifted the black-clad attacker and ended the threat without hesitation. Then, to everyone’s shock, he knelt before the bloodied stranger.

“Your Majesty,” he said with reverence. “I am your servant. I await your command.”

The stranger tried to speak—but no voice came.

Suddenly, glowing symbols appeared before his eyes.

[Level 2 Communication Unlocked – Basic Thought and Verbal Communication Enabled] Gifted by: █████ Anone

He was confused—but obeyed. He communicated with thought, unsure of what he was, or what this world wanted from him.

“May I unleash my aura, Master?” the servant asked, ever formal, ever composed.

The man gave a silent nod.

Turning to the villagers, the servant’s tone sharpened. “Father. Son. Leave the house. Now.”

Without question, the two fled.

The demon's voice echoed with command: “Aura—unleash.”

A sudden pulse of violet energy erupted. The walls of the cottage shattered. The roof tore away. The air trembled. Magical glyphs swirled around the servant like liquid lightning, illuminating the snow with purple flame.

A pop-up blinked before the stranger’s vision:

[Servant Aura: UNLEASHED]

The man focused, and with focus came more. Layers of glowing magic, unfamiliar symbols, and invisible structures became visible to him, as if a veil had been lifted.

“Say it now,” the servant said. “Unleash your aura. Just ten percent. But say it with challenge.”

The stranger hesitated, but complied.

“Unleash aura… ten percent,” he said, his voice low but firm.

In an instant, the forest before him caught fire. Trees ignited in violet flame. The wind ceased. The world stood still. The servant, overwhelmed by the raw pressure, was flung backward and slammed into a snowbank.

The man ran toward him, panicking. The servant, now weakened, struggled to raise his head.

“P-please…” he gasped. “Say Aura Leash... calmly. Or… I won’t survive…”

Three glowing bars appeared above the servant’s head. A white bar, flickering, marked his health—dropping fast. A red bar marked aura—unstable, growing darker. And a yellow bar glowed fully—loyalty.

The man spoke softly, urgently.

“Leash the aura.”

The violet pressure dissipated instantly. But the servant convulsed in pain. His “Rank: B” tag flickered violently—half-obscured now by a glowing “A”.

The stranger felt something rise in his chest—an emotion he couldn’t name. Guilt? Worry?

He said one word.

“Relief.”

The servant gasped—and the pain vanished. His eyes widened in disbelief.

“You… relieved me… with a word…”

Before either of them could process it, a sudden vision flashed through the man’s mind: six knights in shining armor riding through the burning forest, their capes trailing behind them.

And then—they arrived.

With no warning, the knights dismounted, seized the father and his son, and tied them to their horses.

The man stared, horrified. A strange feeling welled up inside him—pity. But he didn’t understand why.

“Kneel,” one of the knights demanded.

The man tried, but his body wouldn’t move. It resisted as if refusing to obey. He touched his hand to his arm—trying to force the motion. Still, no success.

He looked up, and tried to speak softly.

“Please leave them… or you’ll regret this.”

But what came out wasn’t soft.

It was deep, regal, powerful.

The knights recoiled.

“You? You’re covered in blood and dare to command?” one spat. “These villagers clearly started some demonic or holy ritual. And you? You couldn’t have done this. You’re no one.”

Another knight stepped forward, calmer.

“Gentlemen. Please. We are from the palace. We were sent to investigate the forest fire. Let’s not accuse without evidence.”

He looked at the man respectfully.

“These villagers are not proven guilty. Allow us to take them safely.”

But the captain, marked by a blue feather on his helmet, snapped.

“You weak fool.”

He slapped the polite knight.

Then turned to the stranger.

“You filthy mosquito. I don’t care who you are. Sorry, stranger—but I have to execute you.”

Fear gripped the man’s chest. His thoughts raced. He didn’t know what to say.

But then—he didn’t have to.

A voice cut through the air like thunder.

“ARE YOU SURE?”

The man turned.

His servant stood tall, reborn, surrounded by black flames.

Eyes glowing with fire, he stepped forward.

“You speak of execution…” he said coldly, “…before my master has even spoken?”

The wind stopped. The flames hissed.

The knights froze in place.

Their armor cracked. Their knees buckled.

And their courage turned to ash.