Once a man fell madly in love with a girl... and then he cut off her head with his own hands.
To this day, he still remembers that scene vividly. It was beautiful in a twisted way.
It was like rich, fragrant red wine flowing from her body, blooming across the ground like a graceful rose.
When did he start to enjoy the feeling of decapitating people? Ah, yes. It all began with a royal ball.
He was a prince, groomed from birth to be a king. His father always told him: a true leader must earn the people's love by first loving them. He took his teachings to heart. He governed well. He honed every skill, from the arts to combat, even diplomacy. He became the perfect heir. The people adored him. Every girl in the kingdom dreamed of being his bride.
But despite having everything, He felt empty inside. The people's love felt hollow, like applause after a soulless performance.
Then came the ball.
His father, the king, hosted it in hopes that he would choose a bride. As a prince, a future king, he was expected to marry a proper princess.
He danced with each noble girl introduced to him. All of them were beautiful, accomplished, refined, and none of them stirred anything in him.
Until she walked in.
The room froze. Every gaze fell upon her. Masked though she was, her presence shone through. Graceful. Enchanting. Every move was perfection. Every glance, every smile, spellbinding.
From the moment he saw her, he knew, only she was worthy of being his queen.
He asked her to dance. They waltzed alone in a crowded hall. That night, she was his. And he had decided: tomorrow, he would propose. Even if his father objected, he actually didn't care.
But she vanished before the night ended.
She fled in such haste, she left behind one of her glass slippers.
He never saw her again.
But he had made my choice. he would marry no one else. he searched the kingdom, glass slipper in hand, commanding every eligible maiden to try it on.
The search dragged on. he grew impatient. Then, a girl arrived.
She was plain, even homely, and slightly overweight. But she walked with absurd confidence, as if she truly believed the slipper would fit her.
He found her disgusting. A mockery of the perfect memory he cherished.
But he let her try. It fit her perfectly.
It was impossible to comprehend. This was not the girl from the ball. He would not accept it.
His rage boiled. She defiled the image of the one he loved.
That was unforgivable.
She stood there, grinning foolishly, no doubt imagining herself as queen.
He could not digest the situation.
Without hesitation, he drew his sword and severed her head.
The moment the blade struck, he felt it, a dark, euphoric clarity.
This was what he had been missing.
His father always said a ruler needs hobbies to cope with the burdens of the crown. He suggested music, gardening, hunting.
None of that ever touched his heart truly.
But this, this was different. It was a satisfaction he couldn't describe.
He had found his passion: severing heads.
From that day on, he continued the shoe trials, but with a new rule: those who failed would die by his hand.
A perfect pastime. Searching for true love while indulging his newfound hobby.
That emptiness within him was finally filled.
Days passed. Fewer girls came. He never found her again.
What a pity.
But he severed many heads instead.
That day, he stopped obeying his father. No more being the ideal prince.
Let them call him a tyrant. He was still the kingdom's most eligible man, the bloody prince, Olenov. He simply discovered what he truly enjoyed.
With time, his hobby evolved.
His favorite game became the "Hunter's Game."
Strip someone bare, release them into the forest, give them ten minutes to hide.
Then, hunt them.
If they survive a day, they win a fortune. If not... he takes their head.
No one has ever won.
Then one day, in the midst of a hunt, he wandered into a deserted village.
There, he saw her.
A girl gathering herbs, with radiant golden hair, dazzling emerald eyes, and a slender frame.
It was her.
The girl from the ball.
She hadn't seen him.
He dropped his weapons, calmed himself, and began to follow her into the village.
***
He followed her in silence, each step softer than the last, his breath tight in my chest.
The girl from the ball "his future queen" was walking among crumbling ruins, unaware that he was just a few paces behind her. Her silver hair shimmered in the dying light, and the scent of crushed herbs clung to the air around her.
But just as he stepped forward…
She vanished.
Gone.
No sound.
No trace.
As if the village had swallowed her whole.
Olenov searched everywhere. he screamed into the wind. I clawed at the broken stones like a madman.
She was gone.
And something else had awakened.
That part of the forest, the ruins… was wrong.
It pulsed with a dark presence. Eyes blinked from shadows. Creatures moved in crooked ways—too many joints, too little light.
They emerged—monsters, ancient and vile, slithering from ruins and holes in the ground.
He fought and fought. After defeating all the monsters that challenged him, every last one of them pledged loyalty to him without hesitation.
In that moment, Olenov felt it in his bones, he had found his sanctuary. A place that welcomed the real him, and accepted his bloodthirsty nature. So, he named it the Burning Valley.
This was his destined kingdom. The place that embraced him for who he truly was. The monsters here? They were no longer just creatures, they were his people.
He settled in and began studying the portal to the Blood Realm.
After some time, he understood what had happened. Why the portal had suddenly opened. Why this region was suddenly swarming with monsters.
The cause was the meteorite. It carried a strange energy. When it crashed into the land, its force erupted outward, shattering the seal on the portal. And from the other side, a surge of dark energy surged back.
That darkness was the source of the monster invasion. But more than that, it seeped into him. It resonated with the curse within his own body.
At first, the green flames burned him alive. The agony was unbearable. But the dark power fused with the flames, and with the curse in him. The pain vanished.
In its place came strength. Unimaginable power.
Even the most terrifying monsters crumbled before him.
But that other world... it intrigued him even more… the Blood Realm.
The moment he stepped through that portal, he fell in love with it.
It was a realm built on primal law: survival of the fittest. There was no deception, no veils. Only strength and submission.
In that world, the strongest rule. The weak die or serve. It was a world made for someone like him.
And so he vowed: I would become a lord in this realm. And then, I would rule it all.
But it wasn't that easy.
Some of the higher lords there wielded human teleportation magic. They could send him back to his world against his will.
Cowards!
From then on, he began to plan. He needed someone as powerful as he was. A partner. A monster who could stand beside him. Together, they would conquer that realm and defy rules.
And today... he found that someone.
The one who calls himself the Ghost Knight.
***
"Let's hear your plan," said Moon, as she opened the portal for Jon and Olenov.
Olenov smiled, with his charming one. "The Blood Realm is chaos, but not without order. Like I said, I want to become one of its lords. The strongest being in each territory rules as lord."
"Our destination lies within one such lord's domain. I plan to lead my army and seize it. Once we get inside, I'll explain your role."
Olenov stepped back. "The portal is ready. You can go."
Jon nodded, raising a hand to summon his own portal ring, to send Moon back.
But just as she was about to leave, Olenov struck. His hand morphed into a claw, slashing toward her.
She sensed it. Whipping around, she saw me lunge.
But in the blink of an eye, a chain snapped around Olenov's neck.
Jon yanked it, slamming him to the ground.
"What do you think you're doing?" Olenov growled.
"That should be my line," Jon said coldly. "I'm helping you, and this is how you repay me? By attacking my companion?"
"A witch? You consider a witch a companion? I thought you'd use her to open the gate and then dispose of her. You really consider her an equal? Come on, witches are made to be bled dry, used up, and discarded."
Jon's eyes darkened. "What you do with witches is none of my concern. But lay another finger on mine, and I'll personally break your limbs, dose you with ten gallons of aphrodisiacs, and throw you into a pigsty."
A chill ran down Olenov's spine.
Like the lords in the Blood Realm, he could sense power. he could feel the similar crushing strength inside Jon.
And he knew... if it came to a fight, he would lose.
He couldn't risk it. Not now. Not when I'd waited decades for someone like him.
He stood, dusted myself off, and forced a grin.
"Alright~! Let's move."
Together, they stepped through the portal.
One by one, hundreds of monsters followed, his loyal beasts, each trained to kill, each eager to serve.
The Blood Realm was just as they remembered.
Crimson skies. Floating red mist. Scarlet rocks, some hovering in midair. And everywhere, monsters.
Olenov looked around, then nodded to Jon.
"This is one of the strongholds. Belongs to a local lord. We take it first. Once it's ours, I'll tell you what comes next."
Behind them, the monsters flooded out of the portal like a tide of war.
The invasion had begun.