A night road so quiet it's spine-chillingly dark.

Blocking Guest's path home was a bandit holding a sword. Judging by the cold madness in his eyes, his goal wasn't money, but blood itself.

The moment the bandit swung his sword, that split-second movement appeared to Guest's eyes as if it had stopped in slow motion. Is this a flash of one's life passing by?

In that fleeting fragment of memory, a familiar Lycoris flower appeared.

A few days ago, there was a white fox beastman who followed Guest around, calling herself the Leader of the Blood Cult. A woman who persistently clung to them, saying she would protect them for a lifetime if they lived together.

Thinking it was just the delusions of a madwoman, Guest played along halfway, but inwardly never believed her.