1. The Queen's Insult
The throne room of the Demon Realm was always silent. A silence not born of peace, but of dread. Not a soul dared speak unless spoken to, and even then, their words were short, trembling, careful. And at its center sat he who ruled it all—Verdantia's cursed son, now a godless tyrant.
A man draped in shadows, wealth piled at his feet, and blood on his hands.
His brother, bent and pale from years of torment, entered with hesitation. The metal door groaned behind him, echoing in the chamber like a scream.
"She mocked you," the brother said quietly, trying to gauge the reaction.
The Demon King didn't look up. He never did.
"She said…" His voice faltered, but he pushed through. "She said that monsters hide behind borders. That even demons fear the light."
Nothing. No flicker of rage. No spark of interest.
Then: a pause. A deep, slow breath. And finally, a voice like iron dragged across stone.
"Who?"
"The Queen of Solmira."
That was enough.
2. The Trigger
He did not speak again.
But in that cold silence, something ancient stirred. Something long buried in the prison walls where he had been raised like a dog. Where he'd been called "monster" by his own mother. "Filth," by priests. "Demon," by every soul that passed him. They spat those words like poison, and they always smiled when they said them.
To be insulted… It was never just words to him.
It was shackles. It was fire. It was the laugh of the High Priest as they threw salt on his wounds. It was the disdain of nobles who watched him burn and said he was ugly even in agony.
Insult, to him, meant: you are still what they said you were.
And he would not allow it.
He stood. His treasure pile shifted beneath his feet, gold sliding down like a landslide of meaningless fortune. The throne groaned under his absence, almost like it wanted him to stay.
But he was already walking.
"Prepare to leave," he said.
His brother looked up in shock. "You're leaving the Demon Realm?"
He did not answer. Because the answer was already in his eyes.
3. Departure
He brought no army. He needed none.
The Demon King had reached the pinnacle. Sword, sorcery, body, mind—he was unmatched. Grandmasters fell at his feet like flies. Assassins had tried. So had kings. None returned.
Only his brother came with him. Not by invitation—but by purpose. The man had become too useful to kill, too wretched to be forgiven.
They passed through the iron gates of the Demon Realm—blackened land behind them, cursed forests, haunted winds. And ahead… a world he had not seen in twenty-five years.
The moment he crossed the border, light struck his skin for the first time since he was a child.
He said nothing.
But inside… something stirred.
The sky wasn't blood-red. The air didn't stink of death. He saw green—green—on trees. Flowers that bloomed for beauty, not poison. He heard birds. Birds that didn't scream.
His brother began to speak—pointing out things they passed. Names of rivers. Cities. Fables.
The Demon King did not respond. But he listened.
Quietly.
4. The World Beyond
They crossed valleys where the wind danced in silence. Fields of wheat bowed beneath the breeze, and merchants walked with carts full of fruit. Not corpses. Not curses. Children laughed in the distance, chasing butterflies.
And still… the Demon King showed no expression.
But behind those frozen eyes, questions swirled like a storm.
Is this what the world became after I fell? Or… was it always this way?
He passed by a village. A little boy with dirt on his face stopped mid-play and looked at him. For a moment, just one—
—The boy smiled.
Smiled.
The Demon King looked away.
5. Arrival at the Enemy Kingdom
The Kingdom of Solmira rose before them like a painting. Marble towers gleamed in the sun. Water ran through canals like threads of silver. Flags fluttered with the Queen's crest: a white lily encircled by stars.
At its gates stood a dozen guards.
They felt him before they saw him.
When his foot touched Solmiran soil, the sky darkened for just a second. A wind swept through the valley. Every living thing—bird, beast, man—shivered.
His aura seeped out like a fog of dread. It crushed the soul. Cracked the will. It made men vomit. Women collapse. Horses run mad.
And yet…
The gate guards stood still.
Low-ranked. Young. But still standing.
Their spears did not tremble.
Their eyes held no fear.
His brother glanced sideways in disbelief. "They… they're not running."
The Demon King was silent. Staring. Confused.
He unleashed a pulse of power.
A wave of magical pressure so dense the earth cracked beneath their feet.
The soldiers fell to their knees—not in fear, but from sheer force.
Still… not a single scream.
Still… not a single soul fled.
"What is this?" the Demon King muttered. His voice carried across the field like a storm.
From the city came more soldiers—higher-ranked, armored in gold and white. Magic flared at their fingertips. And still… no one ran.
One among them shouted:"Protect the Queen at all costs! If we fall, we fall proud!"
Their voices answered as one:"For Solmira! For Her Majesty!"
They stood as if joyously offering their lives. No fear. Only honor.
The Demon King felt something strange twist in his gut.
He had seen armies beg for mercy. He had seen kings offer their crowns. But never… never had he seen humans proud to die.
And then—
A voice. A woman's voice.
From the highest tower.
"Let him in."
Every soldier bowed instantly. Moved without hesitation. No panic. No suspicion.
Obedience—not from fear, but belief.
They made a path.
And the Demon King stood there, still. Still as stone.
He had ruled through fear for twenty-five years. Seen kingdoms fall at a glance. Children scream at the sight of him.
Yet now, in the heart of a foreign land, he felt something new.
Not weakness.
Not regret.
Just…
Wonder.