"Jester, you damn rebel! It's time to surrender. Stop resisting. The Archknights of the Great Ataraxia Empire have already blocked all your escape routes. There is no possibility of survival for you."
Jester a man wearing a black mask shaped like a smiling clown—stood atop his fallen Knightmare. His coat had been shredded in battle. The bloody, tattered remnants fluttered like war flags in the wind. Fresh blood poured from countless wounds, dripping down onto the metal ground. Within moments, a crimson pool began to spread beneath his feet.
Enemies surrounded him on all sides, launching a relentless barrage of missiles. His energy barrier flickered, humming as it absorbed the attacks, but he knew it would not hold for long.
But in that time Jester, Al-Layl felt the sharp pang of confusion. The battlefield stretched before him like an endless maze of death, and his mind was a storm of memories he could barely grasp.
"Damn it! Damn those memories of Al-Layl—wait?! I am Al-Layl! Fuck! The memories of that damn Kai Saar… they're blurring my mind!What am I even doing here?! Remember… remember, Al-Layl… remember! What do I have to remember?! Why am I even here…?! Fuck! I have to remember. What is this?! Why are they even attacking me?!"
The panic surged, threatening to crush his focus. And then—like the snapping of a taut wire—something clicked in place.
"Huuuh… Oh… I remember… I remember why I am here… I'm here to fix the consequences of that day…!"
Al-Layl's focus sharpened, his mind clearing as if the storm had suddenly parted.
"?!!!!"
He didn't notice the enemy commander standing mere meters away, aiming a magic cannon directly at him from his Knightmare.
The commander spoke, his voice cold, sharp, and unwavering: "I, the Second Prince of the Great Ataraxia Empire, execute you for your crimes against the Empire. This is punishment for your rebellious actions! Do not resist. You cannot escape."
Al-Layl's lips curved into a bitter, almost ironic smile behind the mask. The words stung, but not in fear—they ignited clarity.
"I can't escape? Unfortunately, there is no perfect human strategy that can seal all paths. Humans are imperfect creatures. They would never able to block every possibility. As long as I wish to continue, there is always a road for me to step upon. There is no perfect desperate situation—only people who despair. And I cannot afford despair, not now. The crisis in my memories… the weight of everything… it is already enough."
He straightened his posture, drawing himself taller. His body language itself was telling, he was smiling, it was quiet smile, delightful smile, deep smile with the eyes just like deep pool of lake. The commander saw the mask, the coat, the blood but the real danger was the resolve behind it.
And Al-Layl spoke:"System, activate instant self-destruction."
Time slowed for the enemy, though not enough to react. The Knightmare's self-destruction sequence had already begun.
BOOM!!!!
The explosion ripped through the battlefield with unimaginable force. Hundreds of Knightmares were obliterated, thousands of soldiers annihilated. A column of fire and smoke rose into the sky, and amidst the chaos, Al-Layl's clone vessel perished.
…
Spring rain fell quietly over the capital of the Great Ataraxia Empire, the night air cold and heavy.
Al-Layl who just returned to his original body after the explosion stood before the window of his chamber. The rain brushed against his face, washing away, briefly, the heat of battle. He inhaled deeply, letting the chill calm him as his mind replayed the violence he had wrought, the calculated murder he had just committed, and the weight of the lives lost in that single act.
And then, like a torrent, memories surged—his entire life visualized before his eyes.
He remembered the day his parents were taken from him. His father, the founder of the Great Ataraxia Empire, and his mother, the Empress, had been brutally assassinated by his own uncle. Only the loyalty of his father's knights had saved him and his baby sister, allowing them to escape the Empire's lands.
He remembered the blood, the helplessness, the despair that had filled his young mind. That helplessness had become a fire within him—a fire he carried for years, a fire that fueled his path toward reclaiming what was stolen from him.
He had staged rebellion after rebellion. Each had failed—some disastrously. And yet, he had not given up. Not once.
Due to the Empire being a chaos wrought by his uncle's greed and wars with neighboring kingdoms. To survive, Al-Layl had returned under a new identity, hiding within the Empire he sought to reclaim. He could not yet confront his uncle openly; the stakes were too high. Still, every action, every careful movement, aimed to ensure the safety of his sister and the restoration of his father's legacy.
Memories long buried deep in his heart began to rise like smoke from a fire thought extinguished. Faces of allies and enemies, victories and failures, laughter and grief—they all surged together, reminding him of everything he had endured, everything he had sacrificed, and everything he still had to bear.
Al-Layl's body had changed; the uncontrolled wrath and blind desire for revenge of his youth had been tempered. His terminal illness years ago, prolonged only by magic and rare elixirs, had forced him to think differently, to weigh every action carefully, to live with intention even in the shadow of death.
And now, staring into the rain-slicked city, he knew the only things that mattered before his inevitable end:
The safety of his sister,
The survival of the empire,
And the quiet fulfillment of his father's legacy.
Everything else was secondary.
Al-Layl exhaled, a long, steady breath, as if the storm inside him had calmed, for now. But the fire of resolve still burned behind his eyes. The path ahead was dangerous. The enemy was unrelenting. The world was cruel. And yet, he would walk it, unyielding, until the last moment of his life.