The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the grand, gilded corridors of the demon palace.
Each step carried the weight of tyranny, shaking the very air, until the imposing figure arrived before the colossal golden and silver-inlaid doors of the throne room.
With a slow push, the doors opened, and at once, the oppressive aura of the Demon King surged outward like a storm. The atmosphere thickened, suffocating, as if the room itself bent to his will. His mere presence was enough to sow dread in the hearts of every commander standing within.
The king advanced majestically, his crimson eyes glowing with an ominous radiance that seemed to pierce through souls. Each step thundered across the chamber, and his generals instinctively bowed their heads lower, their bodies trembling despite their attempts to stand tall.
Finally, he reached his throne. With effortless dominance, he sat down, crossing one leg over the other, his shadow stretching long across the chamber like a beast ready to devour.
The generals dropped to their knees in perfect unison, their faces carved with fear.
His gaze shifted, burning into Ignis. His voice, heavy and venomous, rumbled across the chamber:
"You have disappointed me. I never expected a mere human wretch to halt you so easily. You know well what I despise most… failure. Fail me once more, and bid farewell to your pathetic life."
Ignis lifted his head slightly, his lips quivering, but the overwhelming pressure made his body tremble uncontrollably. His throat was dry, his chest heavy. Struggling to form words, he stammered:
"Y-Yes… my lord."
The king's gaze then slid toward the masked man standing in silence. His eyes narrowed.
"Well, well. I know you wish to personally finish off your… friend, Cain. But was there truly any need to command my soldiers to retreat?"
The masked figure gave a courteous bow, yet his lips curled into a mocking smirk beneath the mask. His voice was calm, yet dripping with scorn:
"Ah, my dear friend, you know well I would never act against our… mutual interests. But tell me honestly, were you truly confident your soldiers could defeat someone whose strength rivals—no, perhaps even surpasses—your own? If anything, you should be thank—"
"Watch your tongue, wretch!" the Demon King roared, crimson flames blazing in his eyes. The oppressive force made the air quake, cracks forming in the marble floor beneath his throne.
But the masked man didn't flinch. His voice remained as cold and sharp as steel:
"You know he is mine. And if any of your soldiers dare lay a hand on him… I will not show mercy."
With that, he turned his back with composed arrogance and strode toward the massive doors. His cloak whispered against the stone floor as he walked, every step radiating a quiet defiance.
He paused briefly, placing a firm hand on Agnis's shoulder, leaning in slightly. His words were sharp as a dagger:
"Remember this—I saved you. Had I not intervened, Cain would have unleashed a technique that would have erased you all from memory. Do not grow reckless. Stay out of his way… if you value your life."
Ignis's jaw clenched, his face twisted with humiliation and rage. His fists shook, but he dared not move as the masked figure pushed open the towering doors and departed, his aura lingering like a shadow that refused to fade.
---
The scene shifts.
Far away, in the kingdom of Austria, the sun was dipping low, painting the training grounds in hues of amber and crimson. Cain sat alone on a wooden chair, his eyes fixed on the endless sky above. The battlefield echoes still rang in his mind, the blood, the fire, the masked figure. His thoughts were heavy, unreadable.
Olivia Valentina, commander of the Knight Corps, walked across the yard and spotted him. She frowned slightly, surprised to see the kingdom's strongest man—the one called the Demon Sword—sitting alone, lost in thought.
With a mix of curiosity and respect, she approached.
"What's this? The strongest man in the kingdom, the Demon Sword himself, sitting all alone… staring at the sky?"
Cain glanced sideways at her and smirked faintly. His tone carried a rare hint of humor.
"Ah… forgive me. What was your name again?"
Olivia blinked, then pouted slightly, her voice tinged with irritation:
"Wha—? How could a commander worth anything not remember the names of his own subordinates?"
She took a deep breath, steadying herself before replying formally:
"I am Olivia Valentina, Commander of the Knight Corps, my lord."
Cain chuckled softly.
"Ah, yes. Olivia Valentina. A pleasure to properly meet the Commander of the Knight Corps."
He gestured to the seat beside him.
"Come, sit. I have something I wish to ask you."
She sat gracefully, yet her posture remained disciplined, her eyes sharp. Cain's tone grew serious.
"Tell me, Olivia… do you truly see me as a worthy commander?"
Her response was immediate, her voice resolute, unwavering:
"Yes, my lord. You are the very embodiment of a commander. Your decisiveness, your instinct, and your quick thinking have saved not only us but our entire nation time and again. And beyond that… your strength. Your overwhelming strength that stands above all."
Her eyes gleamed with admiration, almost sparkling as she continued with unguarded sincerity:
"To me, you are not just a commander. You are my role model… my inspiration."
Cain studied her silently as she spoke, his gaze deep and unreadable. A faint blush crept into her cheeks under his steady eyes, and she stammered:
"I-I'm sorry… I didn't mean to ramble."
Cain shook his head gently. His voice softened.
"No… thank you. Your words mean more than you know."
For a moment, silence hung between them, filled only by the chirping of evening birds. Then Cain's voice grew grave, his expression shadowed:
"There is… a boy. I took him in when he was broken—his body torn, his spirit shattered. The demons destroyed his village, burned his home, and murdered his parents. What he doesn't know is that his father died a hero… protecting him and their people. We found demon corpses scattered around the ruins. According to survivors, his father fought them all alone. He nearly defeated their commander. Nearly… until treachery brought him down."
His voice grew low, heavy with respect.
"That man died a death that will be remembered in history. One man standing against an entire army, saving countless lives."
Olivia's eyes glistened with tears. She pressed her hand against her lips to steady her voice.
"That poor boy… he must have suffered greatly. But at least… he will always carry pride in his father's legacy. What became of him?"
Cain's expression hardened. His voice carried weight.
"I saw in his eyes a spark… no, a raging fire of vengeance. I decided to make him my disciple. It has been six months since. I sent him on a trial—to the forest of Kronos. It should have been a moderate challenge, nothing more. Seven days have passed since then… he should be returning soon."
Olivia's breath hitched.
"Wait… Lord Cain… the Kronos Forest has recently been reclassified as a Grade B danger zone. It's no longer moderate—it's highly dangerous!"
Cain shot to his feet instantly, panic flickering across his face. He clutched his head, cursing under his breath.
"What? Damn it—!"
He froze, then forced himself to breathe deeply, to calm down. Slowly, he sat again, muttering to himself:
"… No. He'll be fine. He must be. He is my disciple, after all."
Olivia watched him silently, her eyes filled with quiet hope—that the boy would indeed survive.
---
Meanwhile, deep within the wilds, under the pale silver moonlight, a terrifying scene unfolded.
A company of beastkin warriors stood in silence, their bodies drenched in blood, their weapons slick with gore. Before them, atop a mound of fresh corpses, sat Lloyd. His entire body was a canvas of blood and wounds, but his aura was unshaken. His left eye, however, burned a crimson red, glowing with an unnatural light.
Blood dripped from his fingertips. The moon cast shadows over his half-bloodied face, making him look less like a boy and more like a revenant that had crawled from hell itself.
When he finally spoke, his voice was firm, commanding, resonant:
"Listen well! Tonight, you have taken vengeance for your fallen—those who were slaughtered, your homes that were razed, your loved ones who were stolen. Let this be a warning to any who dare threaten you again!"
The warriors roared in unison, their voices shaking the forest:
"HAAAAAAAH!"
Lloyd rose slowly from the mound of corpses, his crimson eye still glowing with eerie brilliance. As he walked back toward the village, the glow faded, returning his gaze to its natural color. Confusion rippled among the beastkin—they had no idea what had just awakened within their savior.
But one thing was certain: something had changed in Lloyd. Something terrifying.
To be continued in the next chapter…
| End of Chapter 9 |