#4: The Man Called Lilia Vanrouge
“The moon is the color of blood tonight. Have you seen it?”
A cheap boarding house for single men stood in a residential district a little way from the town center. Now that he was no longer living at the academy among boys his own age, that modest room was Trein’s castle.
The room was small, but he had reinforced it with soundproofing magic. Having grown accustomed to a life so quiet that he never heard a sound made by anyone but himself, Trein nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice suddenly greeted him the moment he stepped out of the shower.
“Heh. Even now, that name feels stranger to me than it does to you.”
He had not been expecting visitors.
Taking advantage of being alone, he was dressed only in pajama pants and a bathrobe loosely thrown over shoulders. It was impossible not to be startled when he found his instructor, who is also a superior officer, sitting calmly by the window in his darkened room and sipping wine as though he belonged there.
“You may use my real name. I placed another barrier over your soundproofing spell. Even the Fairy King himself would not be able to locate this room right now. Want some?”
Lilia offered the wine as casually as if they were meeting in broad daylight.
Still red-faced, Trein shook his head.
A man as unpredictable as Lilia entering his room without warning was hardly unusual. This was not even the first time he’d been seen in a state no one else ordinarily would. After all, normal people gave notice before visiting.
Determined to change clothes as quickly as possible, Trein flicked the short wand-shaped Magical Pen he kept on him even while showering.
His clothes remained exactly the same.
“Oh, right. My apologies,” Lilia said cheerfully. “Didn’t I tell you? The barrier. While it’s active, no one except me can use magic in this space. That includes you.”
Trein wished, just a little, that Lilia would consider how it felt for someone in his position.
A mage. A field operative. A member of a secretive intelligence unit that relied on civilian students and recent graduates rather than professional soldiers. Someone who lived with the possibility of death around every corner.
Having his magic stripped away without realizing it was not exactly comforting.
Even knowing that Lilia’s presence alone made the room safer than any fortress in the world, Trein hated the feeling of becoming dead weight.
The man before him, Lilia Vanrouge, was perhaps the most dangerous thing in the room.
A shiver ran down his spine as Lilia beckoned him closer.
When Trein hesitated, Lilia tilted his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
The youthful mannerisms disappeared.
Gone was the lively voice that made him look like a delicate young boy.
Instead came the same rough, weighty tone Trein had first heard from him years ago; the voice of a hardened warrior.
The sound settled deep in his gut.
Almost unconsciously, Trein found himself walking toward the window.
Lilia guided him closer and motioned for him to part the curtain.
Outside, beneath a cloudless sky, hung a crimson moon.
It truly was red. Though rather than blood…
“It looks more like your eyes, Professor Vanrouge.”
The thought slipped out before he could stop it.
A soft chuckle brushed against the back of his neck.
At some point, Lilia had risen from his chair. Silent as a ghost, he now stood directly behind him.
Warm breath grazed Trein’s skin, making him flinch.
Then fingers hooked into the back of his robe and tugged it down slightly, exposing the base of his neck.
Lips brushed against his skin.
It wasn’t entirely unexpected. But neither had he approached intending to accept it. Before he could protest, a sharp pain pierced him.
The realization came instantly.
Fangs sank into his flesh. Then his blood was drawn away.
Trein was the only person in town, and the only member of the Southwest Thirty-Sixth Unit, who knew the truth.
The elegant superior whose attack magic inspired awe throughout the military: Lilia Vanrouge was a vampire fairy.
“I heard from Ambrose,” Lilia murmured. “Seems you’ve been enjoying life in this town while I was away. Apparently you’ve become quite friendly with a girl in a certain baker.”
What exactly had Ambrose been telling him?
The accusation felt absurdly similar to being suspected of infidelity. Heat rushed into Trein’s face.
It was true that he frequented the bakery near the town center.
And yes, he spoke with one of the women working there more often than someone as stiff and serious as himself normally would.
But there was nothing improper about it.
More importantly, his relationship with Lilia was simply that of mentor and student.
There was no reason to feel the need to explain himself. And yet…
His heart still skipped a beat.
“Heh. Your blood truly is sweet,” Lilia whispered. “I wonder… which is sweeter? Your blood, or the bread from her shop?”
Embarrassment and agitation churned together inside him.
The warmth of Lilia’s lips against his neck felt almost scorching.
About a minute later, the fangs finally slid free.
The wound couldn’t have been very large.
And yet it felt as though a hole had been punched straight through him. A small groan escaped his lips.
Although he had offered his blood several times now, Trein still could not grow accustomed to the strange sensation of having something deep inside his body drawn out along with a sweet, numbing haze.
Without thinking, he reached out to touch the wound, but before his fingers could reach the puncture marks, Lilia caught his hand.
The spiteful man deliberately made loud kissing sound as he licked the wound. The moment his thick tongue traced over the opening, Trein’s body jolted.
He knew that a vampire’s saliva possessed a mild healing ability meant to close wounds caused by their bites, but he could not help but wonder why the gods had not granted them a different method of healing.
The vampire’s broad tongue passed over the wound several times, and little by little, the hole began to close.
“This time… mmh… where were you… injured…?”
Trein asked, trying to ignore a strange, sweet shiver ran up his spine every time that Lilia’s tongue slid slowly across his skin.
Lilia normally sustained himself through ordinary food consumed by humans. The blood—the meal of vampires, for vampires—was something he only took when his life force was at risk.
Knowing that, Trein willingly accepted this troublesome method of feeding, standing in the position of prey while enduring the pleasure-inducing effects of the venom in Lilia’s saliva, a substance designed to keep a victim from escaping.
Nothing more than treatment.
He repeated those words to himself as he tried to come to terms with the burning sensation spreading through the core of his body.
“This time, it was my right side, near the ribs. Fascinating, wasn’t it? So that is the Rose Kingdom’s new type of magical device. A weapon that seals light magic inside and fires it out. It resembles those things the magicless ones use. What do they call them? Pistols?”
Whether he noticed Trein’s inner struggle or not, the predator once again playfully sank his teeth into the heated skin of his neck.
It was an act that served no purpose. He was not feeding, nor was he healing the wound.
It was completely unnecessary.
When a voice almost slipped from his throat, Trein bit down hard on his lower lip. A finger suddenly pressed against his mouth, gently warning him not to make a sound.
Even so, he refused to cry out, allowing only short, heated breaths to escape.
This man was truly cruel.
He had heard rumors of the Rose Kingdom’s newest weapon, though he had never seen one himself. It should have been something fascinating enough to capture his full attention.
Yet all he could focus on was the heat of Lilia’s lips.
“The weapon fires compressed spheres of light magic. They carved wind magic formulas directly into the magical device itself to launch them. The speed is unbelievable, and they travel a great distance. For a moment, I couldn’t even tell where the attack came from. You wouldn’t happen to have information regarding that wind magic formula, would you?”
Unable to push away the arm wrapped around him from behind as though comforting a child, Trein gripped the curtain in front of him and desperately steadied his trembling knees.
The overwhelming scent of blood filled his senses.
And beneath it was another scent—one that brought a strange sense of relief. A gentle fragrance like a forest after rain, the scent of life itself that came from a fae closely connected to natural elements.
“But we must end this soon. If things like that begin appearing on the battlefield, who knows how many more will die. Even if it were only soldiers, that would be one thing…but how can a nation, how can the world, flourish when ordinary people lose their lives?”
At last seeming satisfied, Lilia slowly lifted his head and spoke in a serious voice.
The face Trein saw when he slightly turned his head upward was no longer the face of a mischievous fae.
It was the face of a warrior.
“Everyone wishes to live. Yet they cannot choose to do nothing. They steal from one another and kill in order to live more comfortably, then cry and tremble in fear of suffering the same fate themselves. Telling the Ouroboros to stop biting its own tail is a far more difficult task than one might imagine.”
Was it only his imagination that the arm slowly slipping away from him trembled slightly?
Trein placed one hand against the window frame, gathering strength back into his legs before turning around.
His superior slowly removed the buttons of his black vest and lifted the hem of his equally dark shirt, looking down at his side.
The gauze pressed against his wound was stained with a dark red mark, yet when he removed it, the skin beneath was flawless.
Not a single trace remained.
Trein let out a quiet breath of relief.
But in that very moment, the two raspberry-pink eyes—eyes with a pull as powerful as a black hole—locked onto him.
“It is strange, is it not? How impossibly difficult it is to create a world where a child like you does not have to breathe in the stench of blood. To wish for an era where one does not have to cut away beautiful hair like yours… such a dream is as fragile as melting snow.”
The back of Trein’s neck still burned from being relentlessly toyed with.
The long hair he once had while living inside the sheltered world of NRC—carefully maintained and tied neatly with a ribbon—was gone.
Not long after he decided to follow the man standing before him, he had cut it off without hesitation.
On the battlefield, or during dangerous missions, he could not move with the same efficiency as his master, Lilia. Long hair was nothing but a hindrance unless one possessed the skill and experience of someone like him.
Trein himself had never been particularly attached to it.
But Lilia’s expression when he saw him after the haircut…
A man who almost never allowed his true emotions to appear on his face had gone pale for a brief moment, as if he had been struck by absolute despair.
It must have felt like tearing the beautiful feathers from a white dove, a symbol of peace.
Train adjusted the disheveled collar of his bathrobe and let the night breeze entering through the open window cool his heated body.
If he looked directly into Lilia’s eyes, he felt as though the lingering heat would never fade.
So he lowered his gaze slightly and asked in a whisper the question he had wanted to ask for so long.
“If we capture them… will this truly be enough to end this war…?”
While Lilia remained at NRC as a special instructor of practical magic, Trein had been exempted from regular classes as a special student and subjected to intense training.
Training that was clearly not meant for students.
It was training for soldiers.
Yet the moment he left NRC, Lilia forced him to abandon those military-like movements and instead gave him a strange assignment:
To blend into civilian society and pursue a group known as the Black Cats.
There was very little that Trein and Ambrose knew about the Black Cats.
First, they were a small elite team consisting of only four members.
Second, they belonged to neither the Soleil Axis. nor the Divine Peoples’ Alliance.
Third, they possessed the “key” to ending this war.
Fourth, the only ones who currently knew of their existence and were pursuing them were Briar Valley, the Rose Kingdom, and the Southwest Thirty-Sixth Unit.
What exactly was the thing called the “key”?
Why were only Briar Valley and the Rose Kingdom pursuing them?
“Mozus, do you know what is necessary to erase war from this world?”
Perhaps he was exhausted from having just returned from the battlefield.
Lilia carelessly lowered his shirt, sat down on the bed, and did not even bother fastening the buttons of his vest.
A cynical smile rested on his lips.
“Law, perhaps? International law, treaties, social norms. The Soleil Axis and the Praeter Naturam would need to establish a non-aggression treaty so that war becomes impossible.”
A peace treaty that would bring about a complete end to the war.
That had to be the goal humanity desired after being worn down by such a long conflict.
Of course, the reason this quagmire continued was because neither side was willing to compromise, and yet the battlefield had not shifted enough for either side to force the other into accepting unfavorable terms.
Once the war ended, peace would come.
For Trein, who had been born during wartime, it was a completely unknown world he had never experienced.
“Should I be pleased that you are such an honest and straightforward child… or should I worry that you possess knowledge but lack flexibility in thought…?”
Apparently, such an answer would not bring about an era of peace.
The instructor crossed one leg over the other in an almost deliberately improper manner, rested his elbow upon his knee, and supported his cheek with his hand.
His cynical smile deepened.
“A peace treaty is a promise not to wage war. Once it is formally established, the eyes of the entire world will be upon them, and breaking it will not be so easy. That much is true. But when pushed into a corner, even a mouse will bite a cat. The fact that one has the choice to keep a promise means one also has the choice to break it. A treaty does not make war ‘impossible.’ It merely makes people choose not to wage it.”
The darkness within Lilia’s eyes seemed to speak.
War was a method that consumed enormous amounts of money, time, and the labor of its people.
A nation only chose that path when it was already cornered.
When people were driven to desperation, would they truly have the room to worry about something as insignificant as a single sheet of paper called a treaty?
Such things became meaningless.
A nation that had already chosen to start a fight would not suddenly obey the rules.
They only held power while peace could still be maintained on the surface.
The moment Trein reached that conclusion, doubt began to grow inside him.
“What is necessary are ‘threats’ and ‘disadvantages.’”
Reading his hesitation perfectly, his master narrowed his eyes with a grin.
The strange eyes of the inhuman being, with their vertically slit pupils, gleamed with a predatory beauty.
“Threats…and…disadvantages…? Whose…?”
The man before him carried many names.
To Trein, the first that came to mind was the Special Instructor of Practical Magic at NRC.
And then the Head of the Special News Division at the Daily Shaftlands Newspaper.
But the name the world knew him by was—The Right General of Briar Valley.
In other words, Lilia Vanrouge was one of the top figures of the Divine People’s Alliance Army.
It was already common knowledge that, despite claiming neutrality, the Dawn Kingdom secretly supported the Divine People’s Alliance—an organization primarily composed of magical races—in order to preserve its own superiority through magic.
That was precisely why Lilia, a military figure from Briar Valley, had been able to come to an academy that was supposed to remain neutral, even if he had done so while concealing his true identity.
But Trein was, as expected, a member of the human race.
One of those whom Briar Valley did not accept.
The Shaftlands was divided in its support depending on the region, but Trein’s birthplace was primarily inhabited by humans, and naturally, it supported the Soleil Axis.
And yet, he had chosen to follow Lilia because the Southwest Thirty-Sixth Unit belonged to neither faction.
After all, the majority of the world’s population consisted of humans without magic.
Yet the discovery of magical stones had established the existence of mages and created a distortion in the world.
This war, fought over limited resources—stronger magical fields, more advanced magical devices—would only continue to cause unjust suffering to those without magic the longer it dragged on.
The pain and anxiety created by a war that showed no signs of improving had given birth to a third faction: The Resistance.
The Southwest Thirty-Sixth Unit was one part of that movement.
A group hidden across nations around the world, one that cared neither for the political systems nor ideals of individual countries.
Their only purpose was the swift conclusion of the war.
A revolutionary organization seeking to bring an end to the conflict.
It was not that he wanted to doubt him.
But when a long-lived fae who had fought on the front lines since the beginning of the Holy War as one of the leaders of the Divine People’s Alliance had invited him to join the Resistance, Trein simply could not believe it.
Because it was impossible.
It depended on how the war would end, but the general of a nation was essentially walking toward becoming a traitor to his own country.
And yet—Lilia had taught him how to fight.
They had spoken together about the world they wished to create.
Trein had listened to the desperate, almost blood-soaked longing Lilia carried for an era of peace.
And eventually, he chose to follow this man.
But Lilia Vanrouge himself.
The man behind the titles.
Now, quite literally, Trein gave even his blood to keep him alive, wishing for his ideal world to become reality.
That was why he did not want to doubt him.
But Lilia did not answer immediately.
Several seconds of silence shook his heart.
The unsteady feeling beneath his feet was not simply because he had lost too much blood.
“…I am about to say something rather ruthless.”
Just as Treun was about to call his name again, overwhelmed by anxiety that threatened to consume him, Lilia finally opened his mouth.
Trein listened only to the sound of his own heartbeat, pounding so violently it hurt his ears.
“Both threats and disadvantages… must be given to everyone.”
“We must all hold blades against each other’s throats.”
Trein’s voice rose before he could stop himself.
“How is that any different from the situation we are in now? Haven’t we already spent thirty years holding blades against each other’s throats?!”
The answer he received was unexpected. And impossible to understand.
The enemy’s mages could descend from the sky at any moment.
Through summoning magic, they could appear in the middle of a city. A fireball could fall from above. Lightning could destroy an entire town. A flood could be created, swallowing everything in a massive wave.
The entire world was already living in fear of their ordinary lives being destroyed without warning.
“Ah, the kind of threat and disadvantage I speak of is slightly different from what you are imagining.”
“The disadvantage I mean exists precisely because it benefits everyone.”
“Tell me, why does international trade exist?”
“Because there are things people wish to buy from other countries, or things they wish to sell to other countries.”
“But if they desire those things, why do they not simply make them themselves?”
“Because the necessary resources, technology, or culture may not exist within their own country.”
Lilia tapped the space beside him on the bed.
It was his own bed, and the idea of sitting together with his superior officer on it felt strangely inappropriate. So, Trein hesitated, unsure of what to do.
Seeing that, Lilia curled one finger toward himself, signaling him to hurry.
Having made up his mind, Trein sat beside him.
Lilia leaned back, resting only his upper body against the bed, and pointed toward the ceiling.
Feeling as though he had already surrendered himself to whatever would happen next, Trein lay down as well and stared upward.
He folded his hands over his chest, trying to calm his heart that was beating far too quickly.
He could not bring himself to look at the face beside him.
“The Soleil Axis exists. the Praeter Naturam exists. Whether different races should coexist or remain separated. Who should possess the sacred lands where magical energy is abundant and nature remains untouched.”
From the tips of the fae’s fingers, countless specks of light like scattered stardust emerged and struck the ceiling, painting patterns across its surface.
At first, the image was hazy. But within seconds, it transformed into a map of the world.
The sun and crescent moon stood at opposite ends of the map. A complex magic circle, filled with countless lines and small circles, overlapped across it.
The sun represented the Soleil Axis. The crescent moon represented the Praeter Naturam alliance.
The smaller circles scattered throughout the map were likely the Resistance groups hidden across the world.
“Every nation has engaged in trade with other countries, to varying degrees.”
Lilia’s voice remained calm and instructional.
“Even Briar Valley trades with the Kingdom of Heroes and Coral Sea. Why is that? Because there are things outside of Briar Valley that we simply cannot provide for ourselves. Because other nations possess things that Briar Valley values.”
The image above them shifted.
“If one attempted to create the same things, it would be impossible without the necessary technology. Even if it were technically possible, without the craftsmen, the environment, and the culture required to produce them, a perfect reproduction could never be achieved.”
Above the Shaftlands appeared an illusion of magical stones.
Above Sunset Savannah appeared ancient magical artifacts.
Above the Rose Kingdom appeared the newest magical devices.
Above Coral Sea appeared magical potions.
Each nation’s specialties shone brightly—things that no other country could perfectly imitate, no matter how hard they tried.
“Even if two nations create the same thing, there will always be differences in how much each can produce.”
The lights above them changed.
“Suppose one country spends an entire month mining magical stones and can gather three hundred kilograms. Yet, even if it spends that same month producing magical devices, it can only create one hundred and fifty.
Another country may only gather two hundred kilograms of magical stones in a month, but can create four hundred magical devices.
Each nation does what it is best suited for, then exchanges those goods through trade. By doing so, both nations can provide those resources to a greater number of people than they ever could by relying solely on themselves.”
Trein gasped and stared at the glowing map above them.
“Then, if you think about it the other way…”
“Through trade, nations can hold each other’s lifelines…”
“Humans fight because they wish to live richer, more comfortable lives. Then surely they should also be capable of avoiding conflict in order to preserve that prosperity.”
The magic circle above them shifted.
“The more trade develops, the more each nation places a knife against the throat of another.”
A flash of light appeared above the Shaftlands.
“If the Kingdom of Heroes continues supplying magical energy to regions of the Shaftlands populated primarily by magicless humans, then one day declaring that they will suddenly stop that supply would become a threat.”
“Correct. If that happened, the Shaftlands could respond by declaring that they would stop supplying magical stones from their prized mines.”
“A threat answered with another threat.”
The image of the world above them trembled.
“In an era where international trade has become so deeply intertwined with the necessities of daily life, would the Shaftlands truly be able to burn the factories that produce magical devices, as they do now?”
A battlefield appeared in the illusion. Flames spread across the land, swallowing cities whole.
“Would the Kingdom of Heroes truly be able to launch an attack that could destroy the magical stone mines upon which others depend?”
The flames reflected in Lilia’s eyes.
“Would other nations that rely on trade with them allow such attacks to happen?”
The phantom sea on the map surged upward. A massive wave rose from the oceans and extinguished the burning flames.
From the smoke that drifted away from the dying fire, black chains formed, wrapping themselves around the nations displayed on the map. Binding them together.
“It would likely take decades to create such a state.”
Lilia’s voice remained calm, as though he were explaining a simple lesson.
“Without technological advancement, without improving production efficiency enough to provide goods that become essential enough to infiltrate another nation’s daily life and become a threat, it cannot be achieved.”
“But if we consider only the root cause of this Holy War, there is one thing that could create a trade relationship between the two major factions where they hold knives against each other’s throats.”
Lilia suddenly lowered his voice. The glowing image on the ceiling disappeared.
The shift made Trein remember where this conversation had begun. His eyes widened.
“The trump card… that could end the war…”
He turned his head sharply.
Only a few inches away, raspberry-pink eyes stared back at him.
Dark. Mesmerizing. Possessing a strength that would not allow him to escape. A strength like chains.
“The Black Cats are the ones who possess that move.”
A faint smile crossed his lips.
“Though they themselves do not seem to realize it.”
Slowly, his hand reached out. His fingers gently brushed over Trein’s eyes, still filled with shock.
Then, he gathered the slightly damp strands of hair that had fallen against Trein’s cheek and tucked them behind his ear.
The movement was slow. Mature. Carrying a devastating allure that a boy still in his teenage years could not simply laugh away.
Trein held his breath. Frozen.
Lilia smiled at the reaction of his imperfect disciple and sat up.
Several seconds later, Trein followed and pushed himself upright as well. The hand he placed against the bed trembled.
His master did not answer immediately. Instead, he pressed his lips together tightly and returned to the window.
When he opened the curtains, the red moonlight of the Strawberry Moon spilled into the dim room, softly illuminating his cheek.
Under that light, his eyes—deep red as though stained with blood—trembled with sorrow.
Perhaps he was remembering a distant past he had once let go of. Or perhaps he was mourning a future where no light could be seen. A crease formed between his brows. Then, he finally spoke.
“They were raised in Briar Valley…”
His voice was low and deep, like a sound crawling up from the depths of the earth.
“And they are the traitors who stole the sacred treasure…and are now on the run.”
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