A cool breeze brushed through the alleyways of the
Durmount capital, carrying the scent of spice,
smoke, and unspoken dread. Leornars Servs Avrem
walked with quiet purpose through the bustling
market, his cloak fluttering behind him like a
shadow. He moved from tavern to tavern, ears
open, words few. Eyes followed him, some curious,
others fearful—but none dared approach.
Eventually, he settled beside an alleyway, resting on
a wooden crate damp with the sweat of the city.
"Hmm... so the humans are afraid of liberation?
Afraid of revolt?" he murmured, eyes narrowing.
"How ironic. Beings who consider themselves the
apex of the food chain, quaking at the idea of losing
control. I wonder... if I sided with the demons, what
would become of their oh-so-proud race?"
As he pondered, commotion stirred behind him. A
slave smuggling operation was unfolding just
meters away—six humans dragging a struggling elf
into the shadows. Leornars sighed, irritated.
"Can't even have a moment's peace..." he muttered,
rising.
Then came the voices.
Echoes.
Familiar. Terrifying.
---
---
Inside his skull, memories twisted into cruel
whispers—versions of himself long buried.
> "Would mother accept you for what you've
become?"
"You think you're strong? No... you're weak.
Worthless."
"Mother didn't die so you could become a
barbarian."
"They called us a curse. Let's prove them right."
His body trembled. Cold sweat rolled down his
temple as he staggered into the wall, gripping his
head.
> "Shut up... all of you."
His voice shook.
But they wouldn't stop.
> "I said SHUT UP!"
He thrust out a hand and summoned Bellian, the
crimson-eyed demon knight cloaked in ethereal
armor.
"G-Go... save that slave," Leornars rasped. "No
matter what..."
But Bellian hesitated. For the first time ever, he
refused.
He knelt.
---
---
Leornars' voice turned icy.
"That's an order."
Bellian vanished.
Leornars staggered deeper into the alleyway, head
still pulsing, vision blurring.
"Where do you think you're going?" he grunted to
himself.
His legs gave out. The slavers surrounded him like
vultures.
"Let's sell this one too," one of them said. "He
looks... rare."
Leornars gritted his teeth, trying to summon
Ascian—his phantom blade—but darkness
overcame him.
He collapsed.
---
Just as blood was about to be spilled, Bellian
reappeared, this time with Stacian at his side.
The cheerful, white-haired girl surveyed the scene
—the slaves, the traders... and Leornars,
unconscious on the ground.
Her smile vanished.
Her blue eyes darkened to void-like black, her hair
bleeding to obsidian.
---
---
"You insects..." she said coldly. "You dared to harm
the only one who ever treated me like I mattered?"
A low hum reverberated through the alley.
"I hate violence—but this? I'll make an exception."
Walls twisted. Routes shifted. The alleyway sealed
itself in.
Then came the screams.
When the silence returned, Stacian emerged,
carrying Leornars on her back. Pieces of flesh
clung to her feet like paint after a massacre.
---
Leornars awoke in darkness.
No—not darkness.
It was the dungeon of Kurnov.
He stood... watching himself.
An illusion? No—it hurt. Pain seeped into every
nerve. He watched as he relived the slaughter of
ten thousand. Watched his mother die again and
again.
For hours it continued.
Until...
"Leornars."
Two shadows hovered above.
---
Stacian and Bellian.
He sat up on the bed, breath ragged, eyes
bloodshot.
"How long was I out?"
Stacian replied calmly, "Three days. Seven hours."
His eyes widened.
"Shit... I was out that long? I could've started the
revolt by now—assassinated leaders, disrupted
supply lines—dammit! My plan... it's ruined just
because I slept?!"
He stood abruptly, pacing.
"No. No—I'll improvise. I need to cause a
commotion, something big. Something the royals
can't ignore. I don't have a kingdom, so attacking
theirs is suicide. I'll take this one... or start my
own."
He stopped, eyes burning.
"If I use the elf princess, spark a war... yes, that
might work. Heh... what am I saying? I'm a sick
bastard anyway. A tainted light."
He turned to the door, speaking without looking.
"There were slaves I meant to rescue... What
happened to them?"
"I freed them," Stacian said. "I knew you'd want
---
that."
"Good." He paused. "We're almost on equal footing
now. But I still need to decide... can I trust you? Or
should I kill you?"
> Even your shadow abandons you in darkness.
"I see," he finally said aloud. "You did well."
Opening the door, he was surprised to find a group
of demi-humans waiting outside.
"Huh? Are they here to fight me?" he wondered,
tensing.
"They're the ones you saved," Stacian explained.
"Oh." His fist relaxed. "She was just in time. Another
two seconds and I'd have killed them all."
He glanced sideways at her.
"And the traders?"
Stacian answered plainly, "I killed them all."
A soft smirk flickered across Leornars' face.
"Good job... Stacian von Gremoriah."
From behind, cheers erupted.
"He's awake!"
"The king has returned!"
"Our master lives!"
Leornars stepped forward.
Their voices didn't matter.
Not really.
Only one thing mattered.
> "Perfect. Just what I needed."
His gaze turned sharp.
> "I don't care how many lives are lost. I don't care
how many suffer. So long as Durmount falls... I'll
smile.
With Stacian and Bellian, the rest are nothing. The
sky may be blue, but beyond it... there's only
darkness."
And with that, the landless king walked forward,
surrounded by cheers and shadows, toward a
destiny drenched in blood and revolt.
---