The news had not yet reached the Empire.
For now, its people lived in ignorance—an ignorant bliss that spared them from despair. In their minds, the Imperial Army had already marched westward, banners raised high, steel and magic unified beneath the absolute authority of Emperor Rudra. Fathers, sons, brothers—beloved family members—had departed as heroes destined to return victorious.
With an army approaching one million, defeat was unthinkable.
No one doubted the outcome.
The conquest of the Western Nations was not merely a campaign; it was a long-cherished destiny. The Great Jura Forest had once been a terrifying obstacle, but that fear belonged to the past. The evil dragon Veldora had weakened. The monsters beyond the forest were no longer seen as threats. Against the Empire's overwhelming might, resistance was assumed to be futile.
That was how it was supposed to be.
And so, across the Empire, people slept soundly. Markets bustled. Children played. Nobles discussed future spoils and new territories yet to be claimed. The invasion campaign—hailed as the greatest military undertaking of Emperor Rudra's reign—had finally begun.
Or so they believed.
In truth, no one had anticipated a hard-fought battle.
No one had imagined defeat.
And no one—no one—could have conceived that the Imperial Army would never even reach the Western Nations.
They did not know that the army had been erased in the Great Jura Forest.
They did not know that their generals had fallen one after another.
They did not know that their overwhelming force had been crushed by a single, absolute will.
They did not yet know the name of the king who ruled that land.
Atem.
The unforeseen wall that shattered the Empire's ambition was not the forest itself, nor a dragon, nor even a coalition of nations.
It was Eterna—a dominion ruled by a king who decided the fate of souls as easily as issuing a command.
The Imperial Army had been annihilated without achieving anything.
No glory.
No conquest.
No legacy—only silence.
Soon, the truth would reach the Empire.
And when it did, the subjects of Emperor Rudra would finally understand just how vast—and how merciless—the world truly was.
At the headquarters of the Mixed Corps, deep within the Imperial City, a secret gathering was underway.
The room was lavish—too lavish for a military facility. Gold-trimmed walls, thick carpets, and a long polished table spoke of power, wealth, and conspiracy. This chamber belonged to the corps commander, and those present were individuals who operated not in the light of banners and parades, but in silence and calculation.
At the head of the room sat Damrada.
His posture was relaxed, almost casual, yet the air bent subtly around him. He wore the guise of a merchant as always, but no one in the room mistook him for one. He was a soldier of the Empire's deepest shadows—someone who moved pieces on the board long before others realized a game was being played.
Seated nearby was Misha, one of the three heads of Cerberus, her expression sharp and weary. Several senior operatives of the Mixed Corps were also present—men and women who had survived long enough to understand one rule of the Empire:
Ignorance was fatal.
Reports had already been delivered.
The Imperial invasion—an army close to a million strong—had been annihilated in the Great Jura Forest.
No victory.
No stalemate.
No survivors who could fight back.
Only silence.
Misha was the first to break it.
"…It's worse than we predicted."
Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed exhaustion.
"The invasion force didn't just lose. It was erased. Atem—the King of Games who rules Eterna—did not merely defeat them. He dismantled them with absolute control. Zero casualties on his side."
One of the officers clenched his fists.
"That army could have rivaled three demon lords at once."
Damrada exhaled softly, amused—not surprised.
"And yet," he said calmly, "it still wasn't enough."
Misha nodded.
"Atem's subordinates alone were enough to crush elite units. The Armored Corps never even reached a decisive engagement. And when Atem himself acted… it was over."
The room grew colder.
Atem.
The name carried weight now—far more than Demon Lord ever had. This was not a childish ruler hiding behind monsters or luck. This was a king who judged fate itself, whose authority reached into life, death, and the soul.
"He revived them," Misha added quietly.
Everyone stiffened.
"…Revived?" one officer asked.
"Yes. The commanders. Calgurio and the others. Killed—then restored. Not mercy. Control."
Damrada smiled faintly.
"A divine threat disguised as benevolence. How very… royal."
Misha continued, bitterness creeping into her tone.
"He stripped them of their power. Their skills. Their future as warriors. They live now only because Atem allows it. And they know it."
Silence returned.
Then one of the officers spoke the question no one wanted to ask.
"What does this mean for the Empire?"
Damrada leaned forward, folding his hands.
"It means the board has changed."
He glanced around the room, his gaze sharp.
"You all felt it, didn't you? This wasn't just a military defeat. This was a message."
Misha frowned.
"To whom?"
"To everyone."
Damrada's eyes narrowed.
"To Emperor Rudra. To the Western Nations. To us."
He stood, his presence expanding.
"Atem has declared dominance without declaring war. He annihilated an invasion force, resurrected its leaders, and turned them into proof of his supremacy. No lies. No deniability."
One officer swallowed.
"Is he… a god?"
Damrada shook his head.
"No. And that's what makes him terrifying."
He turned his back to them, gazing out the window toward the distant palace.
"A god rules by faith. Atem rules by certainty."
Misha crossed her arms.
"And where does that leave us?"
Damrada was silent for a moment.
Then he spoke, slowly and deliberately.
"It leaves us with only one path forward."
He turned back to them.
"The Empire is already rotting from within. The invasion was never meant to succeed—not truly. Too many sacrifices. Too many secrets. Someone wanted to see what would happen when the Empire collided with a true king."
Misha's eyes widened.
"You're saying this was… allowed?"
"I'm saying," Damrada replied calmly, "that mass death has always been the currency of power. Awakening. Ascension. Rituals. You know this."
He paused.
"And now Atem has shown us something greater. Power that does not rely on blind slaughter—but on absolute authority."
The room was silent, heavy with realization.
"So," Misha said at last, "what's the plan?"
Damrada's smile returned—thin, dangerous.
"We move."
"Against Atem?"
He shook his head.
"No. Against the Empire."
Shock rippled through the room.
"The capital is weakened," Damrada continued. "Key forces are gone. Loyalists are scattered. The throne is exposed."
Misha stared at him.
"You're proposing a coup."
"I'm stating a necessity."
One of the officers hesitated.
"And if we fail?"
Damrada's gaze hardened.
"Then we die."
No theatrics. No fear. Just fact.
He looked at each of them in turn.
"Atem has proven one truth beyond argument: power answers only to those who can bear its weight. The Empire cannot. Emperor Rudra cannot—at least not as he is now."
Misha inhaled slowly.
"And you believe we can?"
Damrada's eyes gleamed.
"I believe we must try. Because if we don't… we'll be crushed between a dying Empire and a living king."
The room fell into silence once more.
Then, one by one, heads nodded.
There was no loyalty here. No blind faith.
Only survival.
And somewhere far beyond the Great Jura Forest, Atem of Eterna sat upon his throne—unmoved, unhurried—while the world began to tear itself apart beneath the weight of his shadow.