At the heart of the main capital, a golden castle rose above the kingdom like a monument to eternity. Its towers shimmered under the sun, a radiant crown for the sea of pristine white houses that stretched outward as far as the eye could see. Thick, unyielding walls encircled the city, meant to shield it from any enemy.
Inside the castle's vast living hall, the king stood before a towering window. His expression was unreadable, his presence heavy. White hair, thinned by age, spilled just to his shoulders. Draped across him was a flowing white cape that brushed against gilded armor, and at his hip rested a ceremonial blade of gleaming gold and silver.
In a voice that carried through the silence, the king murmured:
"All outside connections… severed. Our enemy knows what he is doing."
His eyes narrowed, not with fear but with grim calculation.
"How… how did they uncover the locations of the other capitals? The identities of those who ruled them? Someone fed them information. A spy, perhaps…"
The king's brow furrowed, then he shook his head slowly.
"No… I refuse to believe it."
But in his heart, he felt the truth gnawing.
His voice lowered, pained, almost pleading.
"Could it have been one of my children? Ronóva… no. She would never…"
He exhaled heavily, closing his eyes at last, the weight of inevitability pressing against his chest.
"It doesn't matter now. It's already too late."
Behind him stood a woman clad head to toe in silver armor traced with golden lines, a blue bodysuit beneath glinting through the gaps. Her long white hair flowed down her back, soft even against the cold steel of her helm. —Takane—
She spoke, her voice light and youthful, almost cute to the ears despite the weight of her words.
"King Auremund, the enemy is moving fast. If we march now, we'll cross paths with them in Necravane."
The Necravane. A cursed desert where countless humans and monsters had met their end in wars that the sand itself refused to forget.
Auremund turned from the window to face her, his golden-white sword glinting faintly in the dim hall. His voice was heavy, but calm.
"Yes… we should move. I want to see the monster who managed to outsmart me
---
At Necravane, a vast desert stretched endless, its dunes whipped by howling sandy winds. From the haze, a jagged stone mountain pierced upward, half-buried yet eternal. The sun itself struggled to break through the golden storm, its light fractured, dying in the dust.
Through the storm came a sound—thousands of footsteps, the grind of armor striking armor, a tide of steel moving as one.
At the head rode King Auremund , high upon his horse, his narrow eyes fixed on the storm ahead. Beside him, Takane, silver and gold gleaming faintly even in the choking wind, rode steady and silent. Behind them, ten thousand soldiers marched in step, a wall of flesh and iron cutting through the sands.
The sandstorm broke at last. One by one, horses and soldiers emerged from the haze, then halted, the entire host standing still before the stone peaks.
Far ahead of King Auremund's host, a flag rose from the sands—pure white, bearing a black circle pierced by a single silver thread. Even through the swirling winds, its presence was unmistakable.
It was the banner of Haruto's nation.
Through the haze, the army came into view: thousands of spiders, each with four black, bladed legs, their eyes burning red in the storm. They shifted restlessly, their chitin creaking like steel under strain. Among them prowled the Morghoul, twisted husks of soldiers reborn in shadow, and the dark wolves, their fangs gleaming as they growled low, waiting.
At the very front stood a horse unlike any other.
Its mane flowed like waterfalls of white silk, shimmering with an otherworldly glow. Tiny blue flowers were woven into the strands, their petals unshaken by the storm. The horse's frame was tall, lean, and divine—less a beast of war, more a creature of legend, a steed that belonged to gods.
Upon its back sat Haruto, flanked by Liora to his right and Fuyume to his left. His presence alone seemed to bend the battlefield's weight around him.
The horse raised a single leg. Across its coat shimmered faint, silver runes—ornate markings woven into its very flesh, glowing faintly as if alive.
Then, with a sharp strike against the earth, the steed's hoof shattered the silence. A blue light burst outward, tearing across the desert, and in an instant the suffocating storm was banished. The sands calmed. The sky cleared.
Two armies stood revealed—Auremund's ten thousand soldiers staring into the abyss of Haruto's forces.
As the sandy storm dissipated under the horse's divine magic, sunlight poured onto the battlefield. Auremund's soldiers froze, whispering nervously, their eyes wide at the sudden unnatural clarity.
King Auremund's gaze sharpened, locking on Haruto, whose expressionless face radiated dangerous calm.
Without ceremony, Auremund drew his black sword, holding it aloft. His voice thundered across the desert:
"ATTACK!"
At once, his ten thousand soldiers surged forward, armor clanking, swords raised, screams tearing from their throats. The desert shook under the synchronized charge.
Haruto lifted a single hand, palm outward. A wave of motion from his gesture commanded his army.
The battlefield erupted.
The Morghoul descended from above, falling like a shadowed meteor onto a soldier. The impact crushed armor and bone alike, a crimson geyser erupting from the mangled body.
Another soldier slashed down, cleaving a spider, but before he could celebrate, dark wolves lunged from all sides. Four wolves leapt onto him—limbs pinned, jaws sunk into flesh. His scream was torn from his throat, blood spurting from eyes and mouth. Within seconds, he was gone.
Chaos reigned. In mere minutes, the desert was a symphony of metal, blood, and carnage.
Haruto dismounted casually, one hand sliding into his loose pants pocket. The other extended toward Solvarn, still atop his celestial steed. In Haruto's palm, a glowing heart materialized.
With deliberate motion, he crushed it.
The horse whinnied in horror, blood spurting from its mouth, stumbling as its rider fell. Auremund leapt from the saddle, landing hard on the scorched sand. His eyes widened at the lifeless horse, voice trembling:
"W-What… was that?!"
Haruto's hand dripped with the king's blood
Haruto turned his head slightly, giving Fuyume a signal. She caught it instantly, nodding before leaping backwards, her figure vanishing into the wind as she landed gracefully atop a stone mountain, watching the battlefield with sharp eyes.
Haruto's calm voice broke through the chaos as he addressed Liora:
"Let's go, Liora."
She lowered her head respectfully, her tone soft but steady:
"Yes, Lord."
Her jet-black hair flowed like silk, smooth and straight, whipping in the desert wind. The blunt fringe framed her porcelain-doll face, enhancing the unshakable calm in her expression.
Auremund, gripped by fury, launched forward. His speed was so intense that light itself struggled to follow him. In a heartbeat, he was before Haruto, his blade sweeping down with catastrophic force. The impact struck, sand exploding outward in a violent shockwave, dust veiling the battlefield.
When the cloud cleared, the sight left soldiers speechless.
Haruto stood untouched. Not a scratch, not even a wrinkle in his clothes. He held Solvarn's sword—between two fingers.
Auremund's eyes widened, horror dawning.
With a casual flick, Haruto tapped the blade. The simple motion carried the weight of a collapsing world. Solvarn's body was hurled backwards, as if dragged by gravity itself, crashing into the mountainside with an eruption of stone and dust.
From the wreckage, a deeper tremor stirred. The ground split, and a colossal stone golem clawed its way free, towering above the battlefield. A pulsing red crystal glowed in its chest, humming with dangerous energy.
Haruto's eyes narrowed. His voice was low, suppressed:
"A golem? Impossible. There were no mages on this battlefield…"
He paused. Then turned. His gaze cut through distance itself—over rivers, across hills, piercing into a distant forest. His vision locked onto a circle of five mages in white robes, seated around a massive summoning array.
Their chanting froze. The circle cracked.
With a mere glance from Haruto's Emperor Eyes—a sub-skill of Nihil Severance—the summoning array shattered like fragile glass, magic dispersing into nothing.
The mages stumbled backwards in shock, terror etched on their faces. One gasped out loud:
"S-Someone… interfered with the ritual!?"
Haruto dismounted casually, one hand resting loosely at his side. The desert wind carried the faint sound of stones tumbling far away—signals his senses caught effortlessly. His perception exceeded that of any S-rank monster: he could detect emotions, intent, danger, movement, even attacks before they fully manifested.
He turned his golden eyes toward the mountain where Solvarn had crashed.
From above, Auremund descended, sword slicing through the air faster than light could follow. Each strike was precise, lethal—but ultimately meaningless. Physical attacks meant nothing to Haruto, whose body nullified force entirely.
Haruto's mind whispered, almost amused:
"Fast for a human… but still far too weak to kill me. I'd die before truly testing his strength."
Auremund lifted his hand, preparing a magic attack aimed straight at Haruto's head—an attack visible only to him through Deus Penumbra.
Floating before him appeared a dossier, overlaying Auremund like a hologram only Haruto could see:
Name: Auremund
Age: 69
Children: Ronóva, Lucan, Nami
Remaining Lifespan: 9 minutes
Death Clause: Mana Corruption
Fate Alignment: Pawn
Soul Weight: 324 EP
Anchor: Family
Narrative Value: Mid-tier (future expendable)
Final Thread: Reincarnation into new existence
Deus Penumbra allowed Haruto to view lower and mid story weight characters in a story—fictional, malleable, erasable. He could overwrite, rewrite, or erase them entirely, like editing the very laws of their existence.
Auremund roared, flames erupting around his crimson-and-black-cloaked form:
"HELL FIRE!"
Crimson and black flames surged upward, illuminating the battlefield. Auremund's eyes flickered with hope and doubt.
"Did it… work?"
The flame storm towered upward, swallowing everything in its spiral of crimson and black. Yet within the inferno, Haruto's figure emerged—untouched, horrific in its calm. His presence turned the fire itself into nothing more than a backdrop to his silhouette.
On a distant stone peak, Fuyume watched in silence. Her expression mixed sorrow and confusion, her eyes locked on Haruto's emotionless face.
Her voice trembled in the wind, soft and sad:
"I don't know why… but Lord Haruto's emotions and actions are changing by the day. He's becoming something else… evil, maybe. But… I don't care if he's good or evil. He's still my lord."
Back on the battlefield, Liora and Takane clashed, steel ringing as their blades cut through the air. But Takane's focus faltered for a moment—her eyes widening as she caught sight of something in the corner of her vision.
Haruto stood in the heart of the desert, holding Auremund by the throat. The old king's feet kicked helplessly in the air, his hands clawing at Haruto's grip. His face was pale, his breath ragged, but Haruto's hand did not move, did not yield.
Yet something was wrong. Haruto's chest rose and fell with heavy, unnecessary breaths. His golden eyes darkened, carrying not just coldness but a flicker of fear.
Inside his own mind, Haruto found himself standing in a deep, endless darkness. Beneath him, water stretched in all directions, rippling with each faint step.
Then came the footsteps behind him—wet, deliberate, echoing.
A mocking laugh cut through the silence, cold and sharp:
"That's right… me. This is how we should've always been. Let go of those worthless chains—love, kindness, friendship. They hold us down. They make us weak."
The voice was his own.
Arms wrapped around Haruto from behind, a grip both intimate and suffocating. He turned his head slightly—and saw him. Haruto's original self. Black hair short and unkempt, golden-yellow eyes sharp like a predator's, lips curled into a cruel smirk.
"You need me. Let me take over."