Swish, swish, swish... Heavy rain poured down as if the heavens dumped buckets onto the continent. The land seemed calm, but hidden currents churned beneath. People couldn’t sense them—life had to go on anyway.

Rumble! After a lightning flash, a low, muffled thunder echoed seconds later—summer’s闷雷.

Bored, Allen watched the backyard garden. The pebble-paved path was overgrown with shrubs, once full of wild charm. Before, Allen liked sitting there with a charcoal pencil, meticulously sketching every plant detail to pass time. But now, rain battered the banana leaves, swallowing all beauty in the downpour.

Today was special—Allen’s birthday—but no one knew. Only Allen knew. What the mansion’s masters remembered was another day: Gloria’s death anniversary, Allen’s mother. Allen watched a small, dark crowd at the garden’s end—mourners in black robes and skirts. Heaven itself seemed to mourn Gloria, fittingly drenching the day in rain.

Allen pulled the desk chair to the windowsill and leaned out to watch.

"Gloria..." Allen murmured. She couldn’t feel sad, but the sorrowful air forced a trace of melancholy.

A heavy weight pressed on Allen. Uncomfortable, yet her principle held firm—never shed a tear.

Allen spotted her father, Mana. He sat silently by the gravestone, as if reporting family matters to the one resting below. His temples were grizzled; sorrow aged his face. He pulled a flask from his coat, ignoring the rain’s sting, and drank quietly. Others had left. Only he remained, umbrella aside, silent. He sipped and spoke like he was reminiscing—sometimes smiling, sometimes sad, but mostly frozen like a statue.

Suddenly, he stood, raised the silver flask high, and poured it over himself. Mouth open, Mana gulped the strong liquor mixed with rain. He stood awhile in the downpour. Then, he pulled something from his pocket, stared at it silently in the rain for long moments. Finally, he placed it on the gravestone. He dug a small hole with his hands, buried the object, covered it with soil, and smoothed the earth carefully. He gave the gravestone a gentle look, heaved a long sigh. His sorrow vanished—he seemed redeemed, like a changed man. Slowly, he picked up his umbrella and left.

Allen didn’t understand why her father had been so broken, yet ended up redeemed. What lay beneath that gravestone made him cling so tightly?

No umbrellas in the library. Allen wouldn’t wait for the rain to stop. Resolutely, she charged into the downpour. She followed the pebble path, passing rain-beaten flowers that’d lost their charm, and hurried to the low gravestone. Beneath it lay her mother, whom she’d never met. Allen stared at the gravestone without sadness, secretly resenting the one inside. Her life’s hardships were indirectly her fault. But Allen hated herself more—she’d shattered a perfect family. Once, her father was young and promising, her mother clever and kind, her brothers thriving on parental love, growing to be the nation’s future. Her arrival destroyed it all.

Sadly, Allen lamented: if only she didn’t exist...

She glanced at the body she’d grown used to and smiled bitterly.

Without caring, she sat before her mother’s gravestone like Mana had, praying softly. Afterward, she stayed seated. If she had wine, she’d sip it like him—but she didn’t drink. She just gazed quietly.

Nearby stood the greenhouse. Allen remembered something. She jogged inside, carefully plucked a blooming flower, and hurried back to the gravestone.

She placed the flower gently on the stone slab before it—a son’s token of affection.

Afterward, she sat on the wet ground. Mud clung to her clothes, weighing down the rain-soaked fabric.

Allen eyed the small hole Mana had dug, hesitating. A strange premonition warned her not to dig, but curiosity burned. What had he hidden there?

After struggling, curiosity won. She dug vigorously at the patch of earth.

Soon, the object surfaced—a mithril pendant. Mud covered it; she couldn’t see the details.

Allen rinsed it with rainwater, but it didn’t work. Then she recalled the greenhouse’s irrigation pump. Without thinking, she ran inside, activated the magic device, and scrubbed the pendant clean.

The pendant revealed its true form: a chain of fake mithril, dull and lusterless. Allen wondered why a Grand Duke’s pendant used imitation metal. Hanging from it was a large gold coin from Emperor Louis II’s era. Puzzled, she pressed it—and discovered a hidden mechanism. The coin split left to right, fixed by a knob at one end. A gentle push opened it.

Silently, Allen was stunned. One side held a small photographic scroll sealed in crystal. On it was Gloria, her mother, whom she’d never met. Gloria sat petite beside Mana on a chair, caught mid-laugh as she glanced sideways at him. Mana feigned calmness, staring toward the scroll’s enchantment point. This moment was captured—he hadn’t thrown it away.

She smiled beautifully. Standing with young Mana, they were a perfect match—truly 郎才女貌.

Yet she lay forever beneath that gravestone. The other side showed a little boy with Gloria’s face. His hair was soft golden like hers, not Mana’s lion-bright gold. He looked innocent, turning back with a puzzled gaze at the scroll.

That was when she was "him." Excitement and sorrow surged within her. She finally understood: her seemingly indifferent father had always held her in his heart. Her place had once equaled Gloria’s. But he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept that "he" caused her death. He’d tried to forget Allen. Yet "he" had always been there.

Deeply moved, Allen nearly cried. But knowing the truth only deepened her sorrow.

Gloria was dead. "Allen" was dead too. The two in the scrolls had left this world. The coin symbolized how things change and people fade. He’d kept this pendant three more years, but time erodes everything—like storm-battered flowers, beaten to wither and die.

Allen grasped Mana’s silence now. He’d decided "Allen" was dead. Burying the pendant was his hope: let the earth swallow this grief forever. His sigh was a burden lifted—he’d found release. He meant to forget it all.

Thinking this, Allen’s sorrow burst free. Like muggy heat before a storm, she lost control, sobbing loudly. She tried to stop, but tears flooded like a river. Frantically wiping them, new tears fell. The harder she suppressed it, the more tears came, her breath turning ragged.

"Hic... sob... hiccup... waaah!..."

Had her father already deemed her completely dead?...

The thought crushed her. She cried and cried until no tears remained. Her mind felt hollow.

"Allen" was dead...

"One general’s triumph costs ten thousand bones... These skeletons still pile around my Demon Castle..." Lilith murmured.

Was the first lord truly twisted? No. He only wanted to protect his loved ones. He captured many races for experiments, finally finding a way to resurrect corpses. But when he "revived" the one he cherished, he burned her body to ashes without hesitation. She returned—as an undead demon. He saw her soul struggle, begging him to kill her again. She craved his flesh... She pleaded desperately for death. In the end, he granted her release without hesitation. He was—Sarazar, Demon Castle’s first lord.

This secret incantation became forbidden.

"Bones slumbering underground! Heed my call... By my blood as guide, crush them utterly!"

Lilith chanted. She slashed her palm with Allen’s dagger, blood spraying.

Bones long asleep surged like hungry wolves. One by one, they crawled from the flower fields beyond Demon Castle’s walls, scaled the ramparts, and entered the inner courtyard...