In another room beside Henry’s, Matthias stayed, unable to sleep—restless. Questions, questions, questions—never ending ones plagued and danced around his head, like a rhapsody wishing to be heard. 

He sunk on the softness of the bed then turned around, his eyes scanning the area—religious paintings hang in the middle of the room. Lucifer’s hateful gaze pierced his soul; reminding him that was what he originally felt when he woke up in this era—surrounded by fields of red lycoris.

His eyes snapped to the small table near the balcony – a lone red lycoris stood resiliently, unwilting. The sweetness and softness cradled him, like a mother wishing to make the wailing child sleep. 

He blinked, making up his mind. 

“I’m going to seek out Chris once the  morning comes. Then, I’ll just have to ask him about what he meant by what he said.”

“Being egoistic isn’t the answer here—that dungeon was bad enough,” he talked to himself as he turned around with a wince. Laying on that concrete bed even for a few hours already caused his back to ache.

He started counting sheep—until the abyss claimed him, leading him to where nothingness began.

Being a butler was a great job—if only June’s master was normal.

He wasn't, nor was he. It was a full moon tonight—it guided him to where he went. The backroads were particularly tight, thus no one dared to use it.

Perfect for his little trip, for as he had said before—he can't risk losing his haul, or his soul.

He drove the carriage that carried the men that he needed for the concoction; the ride bumpy and jaggery. He could hear the bodies slamming the walls from side to side.

He clicked his tongue. The horses continued to neigh, the mud made them sink every now and then—but nothing mattered, as long as he could bring this over, to the mansion where he now belonged. 

The tall hedges and grass acted as a shield from prying eyes; the endlessly curious bunch. Despite it being midnight, there were some adventurous people who stayed outside. 

They were looking for something to do, to earn more Koras. Quite similar to those whom he killed with his own hands—their bodies currently danced like a rhapsody around the carriage.

He continued to rein, reining the horses back to his monster—master. The fog surrounded his vision; the horses’ breaths became heavier and the whines became louder. It was clear—it was struggling, it was an uphill battle from there onward—quite literally. 

“Tsk,” June clicked his tongue before sighing. Nothing really ever goes his way—even his life. He took another deep breath, as if doing so could bring back his diminishing patience. He held the reins tighter and started maniacally beating the horses to make it move quicker – and faster. 

Making that madman wait would be his death flag raised.

His horses, like hounds, brought him up to the hill with sheer power—he bought them well, a smirk made its way on his lips. 

“Guess you two won’t be dying anytime soon,” he said casually.  Soon, his manic whipping stopped. The horses neighed, as if a reply—a relief that they live to see another day. 

Soon, they reached the entrance. A large metal gate towering over two feet – the two pillars it was connected to were decorated with grotesque at top. The guards outside, recognising who he was, opened the gate without a word.             

The wheels thrudded against each cobblestone on the path, leading to the stables—he bounced around. He felt it all. He winced at some, and groaned at some; he was nearly thrown off the seat due to the harsh bumps.

The smell of petrichor was faint, but it was there. It was overpowered by the scent of something more repulsive—fishy, and fresh. Like iron, and coppery—like a Kora, or Koras—literally. 

 And just like that, June returned with the goods secured; another concoction to be made.