In this chaotic era, people are often cruel. Faith shackles their minds, while the faithless struggle to survive. The Hymn Guild's oppression has wearied countless families. The poor in slums suffer even greater injustice. Here, strength is power. Without it, you're eliminated. Families that break the Guild's rules vanish like dust on the ground.
So, is the Hymn Guild truly evil? You could say yes or no. The Guild is vital—without it, the Americas would collapse into chaos. Of course, this order won't last forever. In this age of regressed technology, with Blood Hunters in decline, even Mages pose little threat. It's merely about the Vatican reclaiming the Americas it lost long ago. But will the Vatican bring a good end? Perhaps this era needs a stabilizer—one that isn't too idealistic.
What happens to families that defy the Hymn Guild? Perhaps no one knows, or those who knew are gone. All we see is their disappearance, wiped away like grime.
In the heart of the Americas stood an unassuming, dilapidated mountain villa. Once one of the Hymn Guild's greatest powers, the Svinia family—known as the Royal Sword—was now a relic of the past. Legend says its first patriarch single-handedly slew hundreds of low-tier Vampires with just a blade. His feats impressed the local Church, earning him high favor. But like humanity's faded glories, his own dimmed over time, scattered like windblown sand. Perhaps that was his fate.
Just like its first patriarch, the family fell. Why? Perhaps it will never be known.
“May the light of Shang endure forever.” This was her creed. Who she truly was, no one knew. The world only knew her name: Carlos Drake Svinia. Or perhaps another name was more familiar—the silver demon in a maiden's guise.
Americas, Svinia Estate.
“What?! Impossible! How did the Hymn Guild find out?” The man clutched the document from Guild headquarters, collapsing onto the table.
“Is it too late? There's little time. I must seek reinforcements from the main family—at least to save Purple Courtyard. Time to prepare. Let the Hymn Guild know the Svinias aren't pushovers. Even a weakened lion will make you pay before it starves.” He stood, staring out the window. A light orb formed in his palm and shot out.
Meanwhile, the Hymn Guild prepared to kill the weakened lion.
Hymn Guild, Chamber of the Supreme Elders.
“Must it be this way? Even if the Svinias broke the rules, this is too extreme.”
Three black-robed figures sat around a table. One seat was empty—someone absent.
“It must be done. Leaving them is a threat—who knows if they'll bite back?”
“Hmm. This will also deter other families. Are we sure? Then so be it. Truly, you two are clever—two birds with one stone.”
One spoke, gathering consensus. Unanimously, they approved wiping out the Svinia family.
“Then, dismissed.”
The three stood and vanished.
East Asia, Hali Lake region.
Hali Lake was merely a pond, surrounded by barren wasteland—lifeless as death. Even its water was murky and still.
“No one wants this land. It symbolizes death—except for that one, that revolting fellow. But she spices up my dull life.”
So spoke Hastur, the land's “master.” Yet, he seemed to cherish it.
“Hastur, your turn.”
The silver-haired girl dropped a purple stone into a bottle and looked up.
“Carlos-chan, that’s not fair—you’re ruining the game.”
Hastur, clad in yellow robes, watched her, toying with wind in his palms. His voice carried a hint of playfulness, matching his ever-smiling mask. (One that made you want to punch it.)
“Put away that revolting wind power. I’m not here to fight.”
The girl drew her waist-sheathed blade, pointing it at Hastur.
“Alright, alright, Carlos-chan, what do you need?”
Hastur dispelled the wind. He gazed at Carlos.
“Nothing much. Can you forge a pass for me? I’m heading to the Americas.”
Carlos sheathed her sword and sat back down.
“Sure, I have one. But why?”
A black booklet appeared in Hastur’s hand, floating to Carlos on a breeze.
“Thanks! I won’t... wait, Hastur, what are you doing?”
Carlos reached for it, but Hastur yanked it back.
“You—promise me one thing.”
Hastur extended a finger from his robe, pointing at Carlos. His voice shifted from neutral to a girl’s tone.
“Speak. What condition?”
Carlos shook her head.
“Come back alive. Understood? Here.”
Hastur stood, walked to Carlos, placed the booklet in her hand, and vanished.
“Tch. Got it. Still the same... she really cares. Whatever. I’m leaving too.”
Carlos scratched her head and departed Hali Lake.
At the dock, Carlos froze. Only cargo ships were available. After much effort, she found one bound for the Americas.
“May I ask, what brings you there?” the elderly attendant blurted, eyeing Carlos.
“The Hymn Guild! I’m rescuing someone!” Carlos nearly shouted, startling the old man.
“This path is perilous. What if you don’t return?”
The old man wiped his brow, stunned by her words.
“Do you think I fear death?”
With that, the girl boarded the cargo ship.
“Kids these days,” the old man muttered, shaking his head as he followed.
Night fell. The sea breeze felt different on her skin. On deck, her long silver hair danced in the wind—a sight she couldn’t see.
“Hey... do you think it’ll come again?” she murmured to the sea.
“Forget it. Don’t ask ‘yourself’ such things. Bedtime. The journey’s long. I’ll need to train—haven’t moved in months. Finally, the ‘front lines’.”
A slight smile curled her lips. Her amber eyes turned blood-red, and she vanished from the deck.
