A warrior king I was. S+ rank, they revered me, named me as such. My brutal strength—yes, it came to use. To many, it was a gift. To me… a curse. A thing with teeth. But curse or gift—it didn't matter in the end. I never let it burn me. I never let it define me. I used it. Hammered it into shape. Turned it into glory.
I stood atop battlefields bathed in smoke and screams, armor seared by fire and time. I earned fame. I bled for it. I wore medals—gilded things from nobles and the high-born who never knew the sting of ash on skin. Even the Empress herself… she bowed her head in honor of my strength once. Just once. And I bowed lower.
I married a noble lady. Beautiful. Gentle. Nothing like me. Her hands were silk, not calloused. She gave me children. Two sons. One daughter. The eldest only five, already lifting wooden swords with frightening ease. Gifted—like their father.
