Me and the Devil: I sold my soul

The quiet woods outside London — night

The night sky darkened further. A thick fog coiled around ancient trees, and the dirt path before Hugo was barely visible—save for the dim glow of the lantern in his hand.

His rented horse was tethered near a large stone. He walked alone, following the narrow trail toward the gates of London. But his steps came to a halt when the sharp crack of a branch echoed through the mist.

From the darkness, shadows emerged.

Then… five… six… seven...

Ten masked figures, all armed.

"Tch... Bandits?" Hugo let out a thin smirk. "Just my luck... and tonight, I'm really not in the mood to kill."

One of them raised a sword. "Hand over the documents, nobleman. We know you have them."

Hugo narrowed his eyes.

"…They know about the prophecy?!"

His hand slowly reached for the hilt of his blade beneath his coat.

"I suggest you leave… while you still have the chance."

One of them lunged—too fast.

Hugo's sword flashed.

The first spray of blood painted the fog red.

The bandit collapsed, throat torn open.

"I don't enjoy killing," Hugo whispered as he turned, his body slipping fully into combat mode.

Two more rushed him. Hugo leapt back, parried one, dodged the other, and spun—driving his knee into the attacker's jaw with a harsh crack.

The third came from behind—but Hugo had seen his reflection in a puddle of rainwater.

One motion.

Hugo's blade plunged into the man's gut.

One by one, their bodies fell.

Blood soaked the earth and dead leaves. Heavy breathing echoed between the trees and fog.

Hugo lifted his gaze—only one remained.

A tall man in dark clothing, unmasked.

His face bore the marks of old scars. But his gaze… was glacial.

Around his neck hung a pendant shaped like a crescent moon—

a forgotten symbol from ancient documents of The Falacy.

"Who are you?" Hugo asked sharply, shifting into a defensive stance.

The man stepped forward, calmly.

"I have no need for my name to be remembered," he said quietly. "But if you've read those documents, you know who we are…"

"I am a third-generation shadow of The Falacy."

"And what you carry… is our bloody inheritance."

The sky grew heavier.

The fog thickened like a shroud of death draped over the world.

Leaves fell silently as a quiet duel unfolded in the forest's edge.

Hugo was out of breath.

His body was bleeding—slashed arm, bruised gut, a deep cut across his cheek. His sword trembled in his grip. Sweat and blood blurred together at his temple.

The man before him—an old member of The Falacy—still stood tall. His breathing was steady. His body was lined with old scars, but his strength… had not faded.

"You fight well, Lord Ravensword…" His voice was calm. "But sadly… spirit alone is never enough."

Hugo made one last charge, pouring in every ounce of strength he had left—

a strike born of fury and desperation.

The slash—was blocked.

The counter came like lightning—

a brutal fist slammed into Hugo's solar plexus.

"Ggh—!"

Hugo fell to his knees, balance lost. His vision spun.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Damn it… I knew I shouldn't have come alone…"

Then—black boots stepped on his back, grinding him into the dirt.

"You know too much."

"And that prophecy… must not fall into the wrong hands."

A coarse cloth was pulled over his face.

Darkness swallowed everything.

"…Forgive me, Charles…"

Hours Later — Location Unknown

Hugo slowly regained consciousness.

His head throbbed. His hands were bound.

He sat on a wooden chair, in a damp, dark room lit only by a single oil lamp in the corner.

Stone walls surrounded him.

Dripping water echoed… it was some kind of underground chamber.

The old wooden door creaked open. The man's shadow entered.

"So, you're finally awake."

"There's something you need to hear before we decide what to do with you."

Hugo raised his face, his glare sharp despite his weakened body.

"Do whatever you like. But I'll survive long enough to expose what you really are."

The man chuckled.

"You don't even know… what you carry."

"Some documents were meant to stay buried with the past."

He stepped slowly toward Hugo, his boots echoing in the silence.

"You've been following a trail that should've never been found."

"And the closer you get to the center… the deeper you'll sink."

He leaned in slightly, gloved fingers lifting Hugo's chin.

"There's a prophecy."

"A prophecy of a child… whose birth will burn the crown and wash away noble blood."

The man's smile was faint, cruel.

"And you… unknowingly carry the first domino."

Hugo clenched his teeth.

"I don't believe in prophecy bullshit."

"Of course you don't," the man replied softly, turning toward the door.

"But the thing about history is… those who don't believe in it often end up being part of it—

before they even realize."

The door shut behind him.

Darkness returned.

But his words kept echoing in Hugo's mind.