Prologue

To Camille

" My dear Ille

I know that my countless mistakes and decisions have caused you pain that I can never make right. I'm not a good person, I've never been, but for you, I tried to be one, and that's what caused this tragedy. Ille, I saw our daughter's mutilated body in our room. She lay wrapped in her blanket on the ground, her blood mixed with yours, and I wasn't there to protect you. I don't ask for your forgiveness. I knew well that I would only carry pain and bitter grief wherever I go, yet I stayed by your side and exposed you to the darkness that follows me. I wish I had told you the truth. The truth about who I am. Your blood is on my hands, and I'll never forget it so I won't make the same mistake again.

Dear Ille, I promise to collect the debt from your murderers, and they will suffer a thousand times more than you and our daughter did. But that's all I can do for you.

We won't meet in the afterlife, I'm going somewhere other than where you are, and we haven't sealed our fate with black blood, so I won't be able to find you.

I no longer dare to say how much I love you. I am not worthy of that word and never will be. But I say from the bottom of my heart that I will think of you forever,

My Dear Ille."

⤜ ♛ ⤛

14th year of Verrona

Still kneeling on Dazai's floor were two apprentices who had been working since dawn to remove all the blood that had covered everything around his bed. It was doomsday outside. The spring thunderstorm hit the northeastern part of the kingdom as if it wanted to wash everything away. As lightning flashed through the gray sky, Tayt pulled the door away, bowed, and after closing it back, sat on his heels with his head bowed. Dazai caught a glimpse of the graying samurai through the mirror in front of him. He rolled up the sleeves of his sapphire blue kimono, and when their gazes met in the mirror, Dazai watched the wrinkles surrounding the man's eyes, which grew deeper, reminding him of the passage of time.

Tayt swallowed his words with a sigh and bowed his head again. It probably hurts him more than it hurts me, Dazai reminded himself. I'm much too used to it.

For the last time, he smoothed out the wrinkles of his black kimono, in which the woven gold threads shimmered brightly in the candlelight. He donned his black and gold kimono only on special occasions and considered today's event too important to wear any other outfit. He swept his shoulder-length black hair out of his face and adjusted the swords hooked into his belt, but there was still something he needed to take care of before the execution began.

"Refusing to leave?" - turned his back to the mirror to look down at his confidant.

Tayt shook his head.

"She wants to see you."

Dazai carelessly held back some of his long black hair and then walked off the podium. He was frustrated that his kindness made people forget that he could be ruthless when the situation required it. Even a fool would set a deterrent example if one of his people tries to kill them. Inside, he was extremely upset and angry, but no one knew that the assassination was not the only cause.

As soon as Dazai stepped out onto the terrace, the woman behind the brown cloak turned to face him. The torrential rain whipped up the mud, and the intensifying thunders shook the entire Ikgora. It was doomsday, and yet Maryam snuck sneaked out of her safe castle, which she thought of more as a prison than a home. Her hazel brown eyes turned red and sparkled from crying, her blonde locks clung to her face, and every time the sky thundered, she twitched with fright. Dazai knew she wanted him to hold her in his protective arms, and although he would have liked to, he was dressed in a monster's fur coat that day and put his emotions away in a safe place. He had no time for sympathy or tenderness, his gaze resembled of a predator on a hunt, and he walked past Maryam with the same composure and consideration. She's not the prey he's looking for. She immediately ran after him, but Tayt stood in his way as Dazai kept moving away.

"Dazai! Please, just one more time…"

The man tried to keep the woman's voice out of his head and concentrate on the knocking of the rain while his confidant tried to stop his former lover. They began to scuffle, and the samurai grabbed the woman's arm, she slapped him and continued trying to free herself from her captivity. Dazai stepped off the terrace onto the gray stone-paved road, while the cold raindrops rushed wildly. He paused to think, and during those few minutes he was completely soaked. Then he turned back and with a simple gesture he commanded the samurai to let her go. Maryam immediately stepped away from Tayt, indignantly adjusted her cloak, and stepped towards Dazai.

"He…"

"Just go home." The man interrupted. "There is no place for you here anymore, I already told you."

"I heard what happened…"

Dazai raised an eyebrow, and Maryam glanced away worriedly. The khrila did not want to persuade her any longer, nor to quarrel. Sooner or later, she would turn her back on him because she would have no choice, and the time was perfect to show her who he really is. Maryam had never seen him in combat, bloodied, wounded, ruthless and cruel. She only knew his loving side, but Dazai was much more than that, and although she knew this by hearsay. Not that it mattered, since she betrayed him, and Dazai tends to take such things to heart. He could send his former lover away, throw her off the estate, and straight into the street, but he wanted to return the pain she caused with the dagger of disloyalty.

"Bring her with you and make sure she watches it from the front row!" He instructed the graying samurai, while she turned pale. "Don't miss a single moment, if necessary, grab her chin and turn her head, don't even let her blink!"

Tayt nodded obediently. Dazai walked to the pavilion-lined square in the heart of Ikgora, where the people of his estate were already waiting. He could bluntly sense the voice of the woman shouting behind him as he looked at the girls and children hiding behind their cloaks. He wanted everyone to witness what was happening to traitors, whether they were women or just young apprentices. It doesn't matter. Alice clutched the hand of one of her younger students in the front row, pulling her hood over her face to protect her from the rain, but when Dazai appeared, they all took it off and bowed. The samurais lined up in front of them, and the culprit knelt in the middle of the square, on the gray stones. Behind his torn rags lay fresh wounds, whiplash marks, cuts, and bruises, his nails were torn off one by one, blinded in one eye, and tendons on his legs were cut so that he could not recover. The sight horrified the ladies of Ikgora so much that most of them pulled on their hoods again with downcast eyes. The younger ones were confused but they listened carefully. The Ilions, on the other hand, were not accustomed to seeing such cruelty from the khrila, and perhaps even some of the samurais would have preferred to turn away if they could.

Dazai rarely showed this side of him in front of his girls. He was characterized by patience, coolness, and prudence, traits that made him even more dangerous. He couldn't be provoked, manipulated, or pulled by some strings, but he was empathetic and surprisingly caring for his people and harmless, and that caring and protective side of him was what his girls and lovers saw most of the time.

He is never afraid to do something horrible, for the sake of the greater good, and he always does it without thinking. If this bloodbath is the price to pay to stay safe in Ikgora, then it's a very small price for that. He would do much worse to protect Ikgora and his people, and the light in which it would appear to others left him cold, as did the pleas of his former lover.

Instead of subsiding, the rain poured harder and harder on the ground, thunder roared in the black sky, and Dazai no longer wanted to expose the girls or children of this time any longer than necessary. He turned away from his former lover and looked down at the man kneeling on the ground, who was only a pitiful shadow of himself. Within the cold and damp walls of the dungeon beneath the tavern, the khrila had already gotten everything he wanted to know from him, leaving nothing but the final blow.

"I beg you, Dazai! He has suffered enough, please stop hurting him!"

Dazai pulled his nose and surveyed the human wreckage lying at his feet, then pulled out his katana. A reflection of lightning danced across its black blade, and the youngest hid their faces behind the cloaks of the Ilions.

"Let him go!" Maryam started sobbing, but Tayt was holding her. "I will never forgive you for this! Never! Never…"

Dazai hissed, smoothed the black strands that stuck to his face, looked up at the sky, and enjoyed a brief, calm moment as the raindrops rolled down his face.

"Do you remember what I said?" He turned to Tayt, who nodded obediently. Dazai stepped behind the traitor, grabbed his blood-stained hair and raised his head. "Don't cry my love. I don't want tears to cloud your vision."

Tayt held the woman from behind and then grabbed her chin, preventing her from turning away. Maryam closed her eyes as her sobs intensified.

"No, that's not good." Dazai snapped his tongue. "Honey, if you don't open your eyes, I'll start tearing the skin off your accomplice here and now, and that's more painful than what I originally planned."

The Ilions looked at each other anxiously out of the corner of their eyes. This side of the man was foreign to them, and when they saw it, they froze with fear. Alice pushed a young girl behind her to protect her from the sight, when Elise said:

"If you don't want her in trouble, let her watch it!" She whispered from behind his hood.

Alice knew she was right. She took a deep breath and stroked the little girl's head then guided her to the front. This lesson is necessary for them to survive, she thought. They must learn to follow and respect the khrila obediently.

"Please," Maryam's shoulders collapsed and she might have fallen to the ground if Tayt didn't hold her. "Stop it."

"Maryam," Dazai said her name calmly but spiced up with some threat. "We're just waiting for you."

He raised the head of the traitor, who began to groan in pain. He could only open his remaining eyes a slit, but not for long. Feeble moans erupted from his throat with each tiny movement, causing Maryam to clench her eyes even more.

"Zahír! What do you think could be more painful, skinning or Soota's seal?" Dazai asked.

The experienced and reliable samurai, in his twenties, looked back into the khrila's eyes with an unshaken face, as was expected of him. He took a quick look at the half-corpse kneeling on the ground, then shook his head.

"Soota's seal isn't possible. He would die before he could complete it."

"Indeed, He wouldn't be able to do it, but I can." He turned back to Maryam and pulled the culprit up by his hair, causing him to scream. "Do you want to see his bowels worn like a necklace?"

Soota's seal was originally considered a glorious death in the days of the first Castillion kings. Only samurai were entitled to this form of death, where they killed themselves with their own swords. Trembling, filled with fear and anger, Maryam opened her eyes to drill invisible shards into Dazai's chest. But nothing penetrated him, not even his contemptuous and angry gaze.

"Do you have anything to say? Any last words?" He asked the culprit, who could only gasp from all the blood and pain.

Dazai acknowledged the attempt with a small, contemptuous smile that made it seem so demonic that the lips of the girl in front of him parted, and even his own girls, the Ilions, pulled back in horror. Somewhere deep down, it hurt him, as he had always sought to protect them, but it never crossed his mind to spare them from this sight. Dazai was not the kind to get overwhelmed by emotions, reason and logic were more important to him. In accumulating his sins, he continued to consider himself human only because somewhere deep down he felt sorrow and guilt for them.

He swung his sword in his hand, threw the man's head back, and looked straight into Maryam's eyes, who gasped through her tears. With the black blade, he slit the throat of the former samurai, deep and long, almost from ear to ear. Hot blood gushed onto the gray stones, and the twitching body hung feebly between Dazai's hands, then leaned face forward. The cut was so perfect that the head almost detached from the body, and Maryam collapsed in Tayt's arms like a rag doll. Zahír handed over a piece of cloth to wipe the blood off his sword, slipped it back into its holster, and looked over at the people of Ikgora. There was tension, terror, and fear in the air that would ease but would never disappear completely, and that was how it had to be. With a gentle nod, he signaled to the Ilions that they could leave, then handed the bloody rag back to Zahír.

"Take her home," he instructed to the elderly samurai holding the fainted girl. "She can't set her foot here anymore without my permission."

The samurai bowed, and Dazai took one last look at his former lover. Suddenly, he felt nothing but a mixture of anger, disappointment, and disgust that eventually turned into indifference. This is how the story usually ended, which is why people whispered among themselves for years that the only thing more dangerous than Dazai's love is to lose it.

And that turned out to be very easy.

⤜ ♛ ⤛

Albin Marshlor enjoyed the life of wealth, fame and influence at the top of the nobility. The Marshlor family had been members of the Royal Council of the Throne for six centuries, and their rise to this position was due to the fall of the Raven Kings. As a result, no Marshlor has ever served a true king, only a cheap substitute for them until a pure-blooded ruler is restored to the throne. Albin devoured life with a big spoon, which filled Dazai with disgust, but masterfully concealed it. The man regarded the leader of the samurais, the khrila, however, Dazai tolerated it only because of his connections and influence.

Albin spent the end of spring until the beginning of autumn holding celebrations on his estate. These events were too free to be called balls, more like a luxurious evening in some brothel or pleasure ranch. He kept them in his masterfully manicured garden, among willows, peach, and cherry trees, where fields of flowers, pavilions, ponds, and rose bushes were responsible for the atmosphere, along with the musicians. But Albin had a tiny, little secret weapon to set the mood: the purple dawn.

Eating the shredded flower is the entrance, which must always be eaten in front of his guards, and after Dazai swallowed the bitter powder, he headed to the pavilion reserved for him. Albin was already sitting on the yellow velvet couch, dozens of pillows were lying on the ground, and the red silk curtain around the gazebo, tied to one of the pillars, gave a glimpse of the place. Once inside, Dazai pulled the fabric away, slumped down on the couch he had brought out of the castle, and took the smoking pipe from Albin's hand. He knew full well that what had happened in Ikgora must have spread by now, even though it had only happened a day ago, and he would have preferred to stay within the four walls of his own little empire, but Albin would have taken it as an insult if he did not appear.

He took a deep breath of the pipe and handed it back to his friend, who sat back laughing. Dazai looked disdainfully at the large man as his disordered, dull brown hair fell over his shoulders and his thick fingers poked at his beard.

"Did you come alone?" He asked.

And here it goes, Dazai rolled his eyes imaginatively.

"Yes. There were some... I've had some troubles in recent days, but it's all settled."

"You see, I told you that the girl was a whore."

The samurai forced a friendly smile as Albin's favorite dancers walked into the gazebo with glasses full of wine in their hands. "Indeed, you were right. Let's not talk about her anymore. The guilty have been punished and the girl is in the past."

"I've never met a man colder than you." He took the glass handed to him by a dancer. "I won't bother you anymore, friend, I know what makes forgetting easy." As he got up laughing, he stroked his round face and glanced down at Dazai. "From one whore to another."

The samurai said goodbye to the man with a smile on his face, who beckoned the other two girls to follow. After the two of them were left alone, the girl began to dance. Her white skin flashed out from beneath the thin, transparent silk that was slit from her ankles to her hips on either side. The purple fabric wrapped around her breasts fell smoothly over her shoulders behind her back, along with her long blonde hair. Beads, flowers, and colorful ribbons were braided into her hair, and she moved every inch of her body as gracefully as a viper enchanting its victim. Dazai had spent a lot of time in these pavilions, more than anyone else except Albin, so even though these pillow dancers were masters of pleasure, they had nothing new to offer him. He didn't even want the company of any woman, especially after his lover betrayed him behind his back and they tried to kill him. So when she sat on his lap to shower him with kisses, he gently pushed her away. Dark round eyes looked down at him in fear.

"Am I doing something wrong? "

Dazai felt nauseous, but not from the purple dawn or the dragon smoke he smoked from his pipe. "No," he reassured the girl. "Dance more if you want, or just sit down and relax for a while before leaving."

The man knew that Albin was keeping a close eye on his pillow dancers and if they didn't reach the level he expected from them, he would end up beating the girls. If they leave the pavilions too soon, if he hears a word of complaint or simply thinks that they have not done their best, he will retaliate because he pays them.

" But if not…"

The samurai took a gold coin from the pocket of his kimono and put it into her cold hand. "Let's ignore each other, okay?"

He knew that this money would be enough to keep her away from working for a while if she wanted to, but he preferred not to say so. She can spend that money on anything she wants, just leave him alone.

Hesitantly, a little confused, she got up from his lap and slowly sat down on a pile of pillows at the other end of the pavilion while she peeked at the coin in her palm.

"That's a lot of money, sir. "

Dazai stretched out on the couch, laid his arms on his forehead, and closed his eyes. "Tranquility is worth a lot to me. I'll give you another one if you don't speak again in return."

In response to the silence, he reached into his pocket again and, without looking or opening his eyes, held out another gold coin to her. Outside, the musicians played non-stop, and the music mingled with laughter and shouting, somewhat softened by the silk curtains.

"Thank you…" she bit off at the end of her speech.

Dazai didn't react at all, just put his hands back on his stomach and stared at the dark ceiling of the pavilion, but that night dreams have avoided him. He was too busy slowly stitching up the wounds on his heart to heal it before it was time to be hurt again.

The purple dawn soon came into his head, his vision blurred, his senses intensified, and a strange melancholic euphoria overtook him. This helped him forget more than flee into the arms of another woman. He spent barely two hours in the pavilion before waking up the napping girl on the pillows. Leaving her behind he pulled the red silk away from the pillar to stealthily glance at the fun outside. The noblest ladies and gentlemen laughed either on the bench of a pavilion or on the scattered pillows. Some danced in the moonlight while musicians tortured their instruments incessantly, and some tangled up in pursuit of pleasure.

He didn't see Albin anywhere, but he did see the recently departed pillow dancer as she was beckoned to by a landlord who already had at least three women hanging on him. Dazai, when he first attended such an evening, realized that his empire would not be like this, nor like any brothel. The services of his girls - the Ilions - consisted primarily of educated entertainment. These women wrote, read, were proficient in politics, history, and religion, spoke several languages, played musical instruments, and could sing and dance. Most of them were more educated than noble ladies, and Dazai was particularly proud of that. He received only distinguished guests to Ikgora, his Ilions cost a price that no one else could afford, and most of them had patrons. These rich men gave their chosen ilion a lot of money, jewelry, and clothes in exchange for not letting other men into their beds.

The ilions had to follow a lot of rules, but three of them were the ones Dazai repeatedly highlighted. One is that they cannot serve outside the walls of Ikgora. This was mostly for safety reasons, as he didn't want to get either of them back with blue and purple stains or possibly dead the next morning. Dazai knew what these wealthy rich men were like. As long as everything happened in Ikgora, his samurais were able to ensure the safety of the ladies.

Hence the second rule strictly forbade any romantic relationship between the ilions and the samurais. An affair would have created problems that Dazai refused to deal with, as he loved peace and tranquility too much, of which he had had very little in recent times. A few years ago, however, he relaxed this rule somewhat, adding that a samurai could marry an ilion, but in that case, the girl would have to leave Ikgora and no longer be an ilion. Dazai's two hands would be enough to count the number of times in the last ten years, and he attributed this to the loyalty of his samurais.

The third most important rule is that the information they gained through their work could only be passed on to him and his closest confidant, Tayt. Once a woman told him that men were so stupid and naïve that after you satisfied them, their tongues would involuntarily sprout, and Dazai's ilions made perfect use of this weakness of stupid men.

The samurai was sure that by the time he got back to Ikgora, his girls would be singing about the riots on the outskirts of Helion, political intrigue, betrayal, secrets, and affairs.

⤜ ♛ ⤛

17th year of Verrona

The pitch-black streets of Wyria spread out silently, defenseless, like thousands of dark rivers in the northwestern part of the kingdom. The lanterns were no longer on, only some light and noise came from brothels and taverns. Dazai put on his kimono and black trousers, boots, and a cloak to blend into the darkness of the night. He pulled the hood over his head and hid his face behind a black cloth to prevent anyone, not even ghosts, from recognizing him. Winter was slowly passing, but spring wanted to arrive very slowly. The man wrapped his cold fingers around the grip of his katana as he snuck from street to street under the starless sky. He had no plans to leave Ikgora, but one of his ilions rushed to his suite in the middle of the night with a piece of information he could not ignore. Among her regular guests is a priest who talks a lot when he is drunk, much to Dazai's delight. The man was never surprised by how many Templars visited his daughters' pagoda, despite their celibacy, but he was surprised by how stupid they were near his ilions. All he had to do was deal and play the cards he had been given, but that night he strongly doubted whether he had made the right decision.

Tonight the spider eats the viper. The Templar said, which Syna hastily forwarded to the khrila. Dazai whispered the phrase under his nose over and over again as he walked around his room. The viper could be Kamiya Ahwerin, he thought, since the coat of arms of the Ahwerin family is a red viper. Kamiya wasn't a member of the Throne Council, but not much separated him from it, but what is important to Dazai is that he openly attacked the purges carried out by the Templars. He ruthlessly criticized the massacre and burning alive of heretical families, and because of this, he wasn't really popular with the Iron Cross. The khrila wasn't sure if he had correctly deduced the Templar's vague and wine-hazy narrative, but he believed Kamiya's life was in danger. He didn't particularly care about him, he wasn't even an important character on his chessboard, but he respected him and felt some kind of sympathy for him. He thought he would sneak away around the Ahwerin estate, and if necessary to sneak into his castle and pull him out of the predicament he might find himself in if he wasn't prepared for it. Dazai could only hope that he had the brains to know if he speaks against the Templars, they will try to kill him. Isn't he afraid that his wife and children will die with him?

It didn't take long for him to realize that he wasn't hiding alone in the darkness, wandering the streets, climbing walls, and jumping on rooftops. Anyone else might not have noticed, but Dazai heard the rustling of tiny pebbles beneath his boots, the soft rustling of fabric as the wearer moved, and the way they gasp for air. The samurai changed direction, imperceptibly following the unknown figure he already knew to be an assassin. They were only one street away from the stone wall behind which lay the Ahwerin estate, so Dazai decided to speed up his steps. The assassin was relatively short, thin but muscular, and easily climbed the high stone wall, finding small recesses to hold onto.

At first, Dazai thought about cutting off the man's fingers, but eventually, he just grabbed his dress and dragged it off the wall. As he fell, he pulled out his katana, the killer rolled on the ground, then jumped up and they looked at each other. He hid behind a hood and mask, just like the samurai. They were like two shadows, but while Dazai's eyes glowed blue in the dark, the stranger's eyes were dark, just like the sky above their heads. He pulled a dagger out of his belt, routinely swung it in his hand, and then took a defensive stance with his knees bent. Is he the spider? He thought about locking him in Ikgora's dungeon instead of killing him to extract information but eventually dismissed the idea. Even so, he was too involved in something he would have been wiser to avoid. Now for once, he saves Kamiya, and then forever forgets that he even exists.

The assassin was waiting for Dazai to attack him or ask him a question, but he had no questions. He was sure they wanted to kill him, but he stood before him indifferently, almost bored, as if the samurai didn't care that he was there. He did not take any combat position, the tip of his sword hitting the ground while he placed his body weight on his right leg and tilted his head slightly to the side. The faint crescent moon emerged from behind the clouds, and moonlight shimmered on the blade of Dazai's black katana. As soon as the killer realized this, he knew he had to fight for his life. He saw the black katana and knew who he was up against.

Dazai heard the sound of shouting in the distance. The noise came from the direction of the temple, but it was so distant that he didn't pay much attention to it. All he knew was that he had to kill whoever was standing in front of him before the people who made the noise accidentally wandered here. Some drunken man is being beaten? Is a thief being chased by the night watchmen, or is another purge about to begin? He couldn't really tell.

"Why is the khrila protecting Kamiya Ahwerin?" asked the assassin.

Dazai shrugged his shoulders and then pulled the mask off his nose. He took a deep breath of the evening air, pulled himself out, and tapped the cobblestone under the tip of his sword. He thought about asking who had hired him, but then he noticed the fear in the killer's eyes. He will try to escape, flashed through his brain.

Dazai attacked first.

The katana and dagger screamed sharply every time they met, but they both knew that this duel would not last long. No matter how long the nimble assassin dodges the samurai's blade, he will never be able to touch his clothes with his dagger.

Dazai heard with half an ear that the noise was getting closer. As he prepared to stab with his blade, he changed direction halfway and hooked it under the handle of the dagger, knocking it out of the hand that had been gripping it. The weapon had barely fallen onto the stony road when he swung his sword from below to skewer the assassin, who could not even comprehend that he had lost his dagger.

The cut was precise, deep, and fatal. The man's intestines turned out of the huge wound as he fell face forward, and the dry ground thirstily drank all the blood that was dripping from the samurai's katana.