A Tragedy Born of the Times

The putrid sweetness of blood drew hungry flies and mosquitoes.

The wind howled relentlessly, yet it could not disperse the stench of charred wood or the lingering bitterness of despair.

Once tranquil flowers now lay crushed beneath iron boots, their vibrant hues reduced to shattered fragments.

Once intact homes had been devoured by raging flames, leaving only blackened ruins.

Once innocent smiles had been replaced by the hoarse cries of terror.

Her once clear eyes were now vacant, hollowed by the loss of life.

Her tattered clothes barely concealed her skin, once fair, now an ashen grey in death.

Her small arms stretched forward with every ounce of her remaining strength, reaching for her mother’s body, which had grown cold even sooner than her own.

Suddenly, a broken longsword descended from the sky, pinning her directly to the earth.

Blood seeped into the soil, staining it with deep crimson patterns.

It bloomed like a vibrant carpet unfurling across the dark earth.

Twisted claw marks marred this crimson tapestry, a testament to the agony the body’s owner had endured before their final breath.

The doll sighed deeply.

With slender hands encased in white gloves, she gently touched the vacant, bloodstained eyes of the small girl.

“Is it war again? Or mercenaries? Bandits? The Papacy? Ah, this endless, chaotic conquest…”

Standing, the doll’s silver-grey eyes gazed towards the distant clouds, which glowed as if set ablaze.

Ever since she had emerged from the forest and approached the more densely populated mountain villages, the era’s darkness had brazenly opened its bloody maw, filled with fangs.

It had shown the doll nothing but blood and calamity.

Since the collapse of the Roman Empire, countless banners, both great and small, had risen across the European continent.

They vied with one another for land, people, wealth, and resources.

Compounding this strife were the ravages of natural disasters, the rampant spread of bandits, the insatiable greed of mercenaries, and the crusades of the Holy Church.

Even dark creatures, lurking in chaos, and ancient remnants clinging to the crevices of history, added to the turmoil.

The continent had consequently plunged into an unending cycle of chaos.

Yet, regardless of the cause, it was always the common folk who suffered the most.

Their fields were plundered, their lives reaped, their families torn asunder.

As mere commoners, dwelling at the lowest rung of society and utterly devoid of any means to resist, they could only passively endure.

They endured this sorrowful darkness.

While the doll was no saint, nor did she harbor any grand notions of saving the struggling populace, she had long grown accustomed to scenes of slaughter and bloodshed.

Nevertheless, this did not prevent her from lamenting the senseless demise of pure souls among these commoners.

As the crimson sun dipped below the horizon, darkness enveloped the land, punctuated by the caws of crows and the howls of wolves.

In the heart of the putrid village ruins, a lantern, glowing with an ethereal blue light, was ignited.

It was an ancient lantern, its surface scarred with the mottled marks of countless years.

Though its light was not overtly bright, it carried a profound sense of history, making its glow appear all the more dreamlike and ethereal.

The lantern boasted a slightly dark aesthetic, with a framework of intricate, black patterns and a faintly blurred, pale blue glass shade.

A ghostly blue flame emanated from within the light-colored glass, casting a dreamlike hue and scattering tiny blue sparks across the night.

A long, slender rod, slightly curved and as black as the lantern’s frame, hooked its bent tip into the hanging ring at the top, suspending the lantern in the air.

As the ethereal glow intensified, a faint, hazy aura began to rise.

Soon, tiny, indistinct points of light began to appear throughout the desolate village.

Some of these points of light radiated a pure white, others a resentful red, and still others a tranquil blue.

However, the vast majority remained a dull, greyish-white.

“Despair weighs heavy like a dirge. The dark night of death obscures the path ahead. Walls of sorrowful sighs block all remembrance. Here, I ignite the soul-guiding lantern, and I watch. May pure hearts remain pure. May despairing hearts rekindle hope. May sorrowful hearts release their delusions. May glory illuminate my heart. May perseverance recast my bones. May valor forge my armor. May fearlessness fashion my spear. Return, return, return! Heed the guidance, follow your true will. Rise in the center of these ruins, see through the illusion of life and death, and once more raise the banner of justice!”

The ethereal chant slowly echoed, as the multi-colored points of light, suspended in the void, converged.

Like a flock of birds returning to the forest, they formed slender ribbons of light, plunging into the heart of the translucent, ice-crystal blue flame burning within the lantern.

The dreamlike blue glow intensified dramatically.

Simultaneously, wisps of reddish-black smoke coiled upwards from the lantern’s intricate patterns, subtly revealing faces twisted in agonizing wails.

These were the venomous impurities within the souls.

“Rao, it’s your turn.”

Whinny~~

While discerning a pure black horse in the darkness was far from easy, its crimson eyes, glowing with a faint, chilling light, marked it clearly as a descendant of a nightmare.

The pitch-black nightmare horse snorted a few times, then suddenly inhaled.

The dark mist above the lantern transformed into a wisp of smoke, carrying resentful roars, and was helplessly drawn into Rao’s nostrils.

Hissing snort~~

After a few more snorts, the black horse sneezed, expelling a shower of sparks from its nostrils.

“How was the taste this time? You look rather pleased.”

Whinny~~

The black horse shook its massive head, then rubbed its long, narrow muzzle against its master’s shoulder.

“Ha, fresh grass with cherry jam? What kind of flavor is that…”

The doll chuckled softly, patting the black horse’s belly closest to her.

“All right, you glutton, our work here is done. Let’s depart. With the soul-guiding lantern’s absorption, there’s virtually no chance for vengeful spirits to arise here.”

The doll released the lantern’s handle.

Yet, instead of falling to the ground, the now uncontrolled lantern remained suspended in the air, slowly drifting beside the doll’s shoulder.

‘Who would have thought that a malevolent soul-reaping lantern, once modified, could also serve to absorb and nourish lingering souls? Much like myself, a demon with a compassionate heart?’

With these thoughts, the doll gracefully mounted the horse.

As the hooves rose and fell, they departed from the village, now utterly silent in death.

In the darkness, a pair of blood-red eyes, accompanied by a gently floating blue lantern, moved along the center of the road.

These were the lights of the soul-guiding lantern and Rao’s eyes.

Beneath the hood, silver-grey eyes watched the faces, faintly formed of flickering flames, that churned ceaselessly within the floating lantern.

Silence stretched between them.

“I wonder how many conscious souls will survive this time… Rao, tell me, why do humans always seem to delight in harming one another?”

The black horse offered no reply, continuing its journey with its head bowed.

“For food, for property, for fame, for… well, for everything. Humans always slaughter each other over inexplicable or utterly trivial matters. Some are even so depraved that they kill purely for pleasure. Tell me, between them and me, a demon, who is truly more wicked?”

The air remained silent, save for the faint whisper of the wind.

Receiving no response, as was often the case, the doll continued speaking to herself.

“Ha, it’s hard to say… after all, I was once like that myself, wasn’t I? Hmm, perhaps with a slight difference?”

Slender fingers tapped the floating lantern, eliciting a crisp chime.

In the invisible realm of souls, the doll, possessing the Eyes of a Saint, effortlessly peered through the blue soul-flames.

She saw the multi-colored points of light drifting within, each representing a departed life, each imbued with the memories of the deceased.

The brightest among them even bore faint, illusory faces.

These were fragments of souls absorbed by the soul-guiding lantern.

Each soul’s color denoted its unique quality: purity, courage, compassion, or wisdom.

They all possessed their own convictions and their own radiance.

These souls would be nourished by the soul-flames, their bodies reformed as phantoms, to rise again in the world and serve as the doll’s subordinates, fighting at her command.

Conversely, the dull, greyish points of light — chaotic, malevolent, or utterly shattered fragments — that sank to the bottom of the soul-sea would merge into the brilliant soul-flame.

They would transform into pure nourishment, sustaining the souls floating above and accelerating their recovery.

“The exchange rate is still a bit low, fifty to one… but it’s far better than nothing at all, isn’t it? After all, it’s a modified evil lantern, originally designed to burn souls to create undead. Surely, trading dross for gems is always a good deal? It’s just a pity the modification isn’t entirely perfect; these souls’ memories are still difficult to preserve… A tenth? A hundredth? Or perhaps completely blank? It’s unknowable…”

The doll’s silver-grey eyes gazed at the bewildered faces hovering above the points of light, and she let out a soft sigh.

Her gaze retreated, returning once more to the material realm.

The doll gently tapped the lantern’s lid again, and wisps of black smoke, like threads of mist, rose anew.

In an instant, they were absorbed by the shadowy mount.

“Rao, how has your body been lately? Although I gave you the bloodline purification potion, and nightmare horses primarily feed on negative soul emotions, your rate of consumption seems a bit fast recently, doesn’t it?”

The master’s inquiry did not elicit a response from the black horse; its head merely drooped even lower.

“Hey! Rao! You haven’t made a sound for a while now. What’s going on? You haven’t actually gotten a stomach ache, have you?”

The black horse did not reply. Instead, it halted its steps, its entire body trembling.

“No way! You really did get a stomach ache! Could it be that devouring too many negative emotions caused a rejection reaction in your immature body? This is troublesome. I’ll search for a body-regulating potion…”

The black horse’s silence filled the doll with worry.

She dismounted, walked to the horse’s head, and plunged a hand into a suddenly appearing, deep black void, rummaging quickly.

“Found it! Extreme Vitality Potion! I’ll give it to you right away—”

FWOOSH! BOOM!!

Just as the doll pulled out a bottle of purple potion, before even opening the cap, an earth-shattering transformation erupted from the black horse!

A vibrant crimson line of fire stretched from between Rao’s eyes, spreading in a blink to his spine and tail.

Faint flickers of flame also emerged from his four hooves.

Even more astonishingly, a colossal pillar of fire erupted from beneath his tail!

The immense propulsion generated by this blast launched the towering horse into an incredibly high speed, causing him to vanish from the doll’s sight in an instant.

Only two trails of burning hoof prints remained.

A moment later, the dreadful sound of collapsing trees echoed from the distance.

The doll: ‘…………’