Lord Of The Lost

William's mind snapped back to something Calcifer had mentioned before they entered the maze.

The God of Prophecy and Dreams.

Could this troupe be tied to Him?

William asked cautiously, "You know them?"

The Black Swan, now speaking through Sofia, showed the first real emotion William had ever seen from her, a flash of pure disgust.

"They stage tragedies… and create them. They deserve to be erased."

Her voice was calm, but the chilling intensity behind it made even William uneasy.

At that moment, Metatron added, "There's a circus in Border Town. I once overheard a performer talk about the Scarlet Troupe. They said it was terrifying… but no one knows much about them."

The Black Swan let out a sharp, contemptuous laugh.

"Humans don't understand. But we witches do. Those puppets should be hanging in the night sky."

Her voice turned bitter.

"I thought you had entered His kingdom, but no, you're just on His stage… The one who loves this cursed troupe the most is none other than that god Himself."

Then she fell silent for a moment before asking, "What play are they performing?"

Metatron responded, "Dragon Slayer."

The Black Swan's expression darkened.

"Dragon Slayer? Of course… this is Lonely Mountain. I remember reading about this when I was young. The crown prince of Lonely Mountain was already caught in this web long ago. He never realized the tragedy had already begun."

She continued, voice laced with scorn,

"A legendary dragon descended upon Lonely Mountain. The crown prince fought it, and in a moment of fate, he recalled a play he saw in childhood. He grasped his spear, knew the dragon's fatal weakness—and struck. It was a glorious moment, a testament to the will of warriors."

William's mind raced.

"You're saying a legendary dragon will actually appear?"

The Black Swan, still inside Sofia's body, replied, "That is a matter of the future. Right now, the crown prince is still young, but he carries ambitions greater than most kings. As a child, he was scorned by the King of Lonely Mountain. He vowed to carve his own legend."

"Decades later, he did. He slew a legendary dragon alone, something even a werewolf hero could never achieve. But his great victory came at a terrible cost."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"The dragon's flames and claws could not kill him. But when he turned to celebrate… all that remained was a wasteland of ashes.

His home was gone.

His people were dead.

And in his heart, the unbearable weight of victory crushed him.

He died soon after, not from wounds, but from sorrow."

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Because this wasn't just a play.

It was a prophecy.

And the most chilling part?

The reason the dragon came in the first place was because the crown prince already knew its weakness.

The proud dragons, unable to tolerate such knowledge, came to destroy him before he could act.

The act of knowing was itself a death sentence.

Metatron spoke softly, "What if… the play 'Dragon Slayer' never existed?"

The Black Swan turned her cold, red eyes toward him.

"Do you think the tragedy would not happen, then?"

Metatron hesitated.

Then, after a moment, he shook his head.

"No… it would still happen."

The Black Swan nodded slightly.

"Metatron… strange name. Tell me—can you see the future?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe in the future you see?"

Metatron's eyes flickered.

"No."

The Black Swan smiled faintly.

"If you truly believed, you wouldn't be here. If your talent is anything like the path that god walked, then you should know one truth—

The future is never set in stone.

The future is not what should happen. The future is what you make happen."

William clenched his fists.

That was it.

The future wasn't a prophecy, it was a script.

And the Scarlet Troupe?

They were writing it.

The Black Swan continued, her voice laced with eerie certainty.

"The legendary dragon tried to flee before it died. But it couldn't. Was it fate? Coincidence? Or… a curse?"

"The final battle was like a perfect performance. Tension built, hearts pounded, and then, the climactic moment.

The hero strikes.

The audience erupts in cheers.

The curtains fall.

But what if the dragon ran away?

What if the story didn't end the way the audience expected?

That's the real horror.

Because the stage itself would refuse to let the story end differently.

"From the moment they stepped onto the stage, the music of fate began to play.

A script had been written, and they were dragged inside it.

Unknowingly, they became its puppets.

Because their fate was already decided."

The Black Swan's voice was colder than ever.

William suddenly understood.

They weren't just watching the play.

They were part of it.

The Script That Cannot Be Changed

The God of Prophecy and Dreams loved tragedy. He created the Scarlet Troupe to enact it.

In theory, this unfolding event aligned perfectly with His will.

William asked, "What happened next?"

The Black Swan's gaze was calm and measured as she spoke:

**"The Scarlet Troupe repeated its sins over and over. Their performances were not just plays—they were rituals, shaping reality itself. Eventually, their deeds were exposed. Many forces hunted them down. Every member was slain… except for the troupe leader, who vanished without a trace.

Someone powerful was pulling the strings behind him."**

Then, she narrowed her eyes.

"The reappearance of Lonely Mountain Town is unnatural. This illusion, this reconstruction of history, only He could have done this. But your arrival here… it's all wrong."

William frowned. "Why?"

The Black Swan's lips curled in a knowing smirk.

"Because, according to the structure of the play, you should have entered during the first act."

But it was already Act Four.

Tomorrow, the performance of "Dragon Slayer" would reach its finale.

And no one knew what would happen after the curtain fell.

A heavy silence fell over the group.

The Forum Master exhaled. "How strong is the Scarlet Troupe?"

The Black Swan shook her head. "Individually, they are weak. A group of Sequence 9 performers. But their path is… unique. They have been touched by the God of Prophecy and Dreams. They wield powerful props and abilities beyond their Sequence."

Then, her eyes sharpened, turning almost black with intensity.

She spoke clearly, deliberately.

"Find the playwright. Kill him. And take the quill from his hand."

Everyone stiffened.

William's fingers curled into fists. "What's so special about the quill?"

The Black Swan answered with certainty:

"It has the power of prophecy. It can rewrite the fate of all who stand before it. If you want to break free from this 'story'—if you want to carve your own future—you must claim that quill."

The weight of those words pressed heavily on the team.

The Forum Master, Metatron, and the others exchanged glances, all understanding the stakes.

The Black Swan continued, "I do not know the full nature of this illusion you are trapped in. I cannot predict what will happen when the performance ends. But know this, your presence here is a deviation. The stage may react. There may be more forces at play than just the Scarlet Troupe…"

Then, she added something chilling.

"The troupe leader possesses a complete 'Cursed Sonata.' As the play progresses, that cursed melody will weave its way into the performance. And at the final climax… even a legendary dragon will be ensnared."

The Forum Master suddenly froze, his expression shifting.

"The… 'Cursed Sonata'?"

The Black Swan gave a slow nod. "Yes. The Scarlet Troupe's greatest weapon. When they fell, the sonata shattered, its movements scattered through history."

The Forum Master slowly reached into his inventory and pulled out a peculiar, aged sheet of music.

[Death Melody]

A fragment of the Cursed Sonata.

Everyone stared.

This was the same movement he had used against the thieves. It induced madness, forcing extraordinary characteristics into a rampage.

A single note could drive weaker minds to insanity.

The Black Swan raised an eyebrow, surprised for the first time.

Then she said calmly, "The 'Cursed Sonata' consists of six movements: Darkness, Nightmare, Blood, Abyss, Silence, and Death."

She gestured toward the parchment in the Forum Master's hands.

"That is 'Death.' One of the six."

Then she added ominously, "Alone, each movement is weak, just a rare-level artifact. But when three are combined, they can overpower even a Sequence 7 transcendent."

She paused, letting her words sink in before delivering the final blow.

"And if all six movements are played together… even legendary beings would struggle to escape."

A sense of dread settled over the team.

But the Black Swan wasn't finished.

"There is a legend…" she murmured, "that the troupe leader possesses the Seventh Movement. The movement that signifies the end of all things, the moment the curtain falls."

A long silence stretched between them.

The Forum Master clenched his jaw.

Metatron's eyes darkened.

William exhaled slowly, mind racing.

They were deep in enemy territory.

Their advantage as players was gone.

Time was running out.

And the enemy was armed with fate itself.

The odds were stacked against them.

This time, they might actually lose.