The coliseum was still shaking with the echoes of Karn's remains hitting the dust.
The iron-fisted tyrant who had ruled this territory for fifteen brutal years—who had seemed immortal, untouchable—now lay in two wet, ruined heaps beneath Lucian's heel.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped. The wind died. The dust hung suspended in the air.
Then, the silence cracked.
It started as a murmur, then a shout, then a roar—shouts of joy bursting from the starving, oppressed crowd. They screamed Lucian's name like a prayer they had been waiting their entire lives to utter. These were people who had lived in dirt and fear, who traded days of life for scraps of food, who watched family members vanish to raiders, beasts, and warlords.
For them, what stood in the arena wasn't just a warrior. He was deliverance.
Lucian stood amidst the carnage, his coat unruffled, his expression calm. He let them scream until their throats were raw, until the hysteria of freedom began to settle into the reality of it.
Then, he raised his hand.
The entire coliseum fell silent instantly. Not out of fear—out of reverence.
Lucian brought the echo-horn to his lips. His voice carried warm and steady through the cold, ruined air, reaching every ear in the stands.
"You have known only a tyrant's cruelty—forced to survive on bare bones and the fragments of hope crushed beneath it."
Heads nodded. Some wept quietly, tears carving tracks through the grime on their faces. They all stared down at him with wide, worshipping eyes.
"I gave my word that liberation would come."
He gestured to Karn's corpse with an open palm.
"Behold—your first proof."
The crowd leaned closer, pulled toward him by a gravity they didn't understand.
Lucian paced a slow circle, stepping over the rubble of the battle. Every step was deliberate, every gesture crafted to project absolute stability.
"But freedom without strength only invites another tyrant." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle like stone. "I will not allow such a fate to befall you."
Their faces—sunken, starved, bruised—lifted toward him like flowers turning toward the first sunlight of spring.
Lucian drew in a breath, letting his expression soften with conflict—a masterful performance of a leader burdened by a heavy truth.
"There is a truth I must reveal… something you are owed, and deserve to know."
The crowd tensed. The air grew thin. Was he leaving? Was he another warlord come to demand taxes? The fear of abandonment was palpable.
Lucian extended his hand. A faint ripple of crimson aura shimmered around his fingers.
It was not intense. It was not monstrous.
It was beautiful.
A soft gasp rippled through the arena.
"The strength you witnessed from me today…"
A deliberate pause.
"…does not belong to mankind."
The hush was absolute. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Lucian's voice lowered deliberately, gentle and honest, echoing through the silence.
"I am of a bloodline your history warned you against… a race presumed extinct."
He looked up, his crimson eyes glowing faintly, piercing the soul of every man and woman in the stands.
"I am, by blood and nature… a demon."
Panic did not erupt.
Instead—Shock. Awe. Disbelief.
"A demon… after all these years…" an old man whispered, his eyes wide.
For the people of this era, a demon wasn't just a monster. A demon was a myth. A legend. The impossible made flesh.
Lucian didn't threaten. He didn't roar. He simply opened his arms, exposing himself to their judgment.
"If my intent were to devour you, this place would know only silence. But I did not. I fought on your behalf. I spilled my blood for your sake. I confronted the very man who made your lives misery."
The desperation, the hunger for hope—it rose in every chest, choking out the fear.
Lucian took a single step forward.
"I wish to share with you the power of my kind—strength to endure, protection to stand tall, and a future worthy of you."
The crowd leaned forward, trembling. They were starving dogs, and he was offering them a seat at the table.
"But to undergo this transformation, two things are required: honesty… and the will to accept it."
The moment hung suspended in time.
Lucian slowly closed his eyes.
His aura deepened—dark crimson, ancient, royal. A pressure rolled across the coliseum, not crushing, but grounding. It was heavy, like a warm blanket, commanding obedience and safety in equal measure. The air thickened with power older than the Great Kingdoms themselves.
And then—Lucian transformed.
It wasn't a violent shift of bone and gore. It was elegant. Regal. The way a throne reveals its true shape when the cloth is pulled away.
His hair lengthened slightly, the red and black strands turning richer, almost metallic in the sunlight. Horns unfurled from his temples like sculpted obsidian, curved and smooth, crowning him in darkness. Black markings traced across his skin like runic calligraphy, pulsing with faint light.
His eyes ignited—crimson fire, calm and terrifyingly beautiful.
Wings—shadowed, ethereal, not fully solid—spread behind him like the silhouette of a forgotten god.
The crowd was frozen in pure awe.
Terror… but worship. Fear… but salvation.
It was the kind of primal reverence a mortal feels when a storm bends down to speak their name.
Lucian raised his hand, and a massive sigil formed in the air behind him—intricate, spiraled, the ancient emblem of demon royalty.
His voice now carried a layered resonance, deeper, smoother—the voice of a King.
"You behold the Demon King's Covenant."
The sigil pulsed once, and the arena vibrated with its heartbeat.
"Accept it… and you will gain a strength no warlord can steal."
The promise hung in the air.
"Accept it… and no raider, no beast, no tyrant will ever seize your home."
He looked at the mothers, the crippled, the weak.
"Accept it… and you shall stand with me… as my people."
Silence.
Then, a single, broken voice rang out from the stands:
"If demons look like this… then I'd rather follow a demon than another human!"
A woman sobbed, falling to her knees:
"Please—give me the strength to protect my children!"
A desperate, starving man shouted, clawing at the railing:
"Anything! I accept! HELP US!"
Then the wave surged. It was a landslide of consent.
"I ACCEPT THE COVENANT!" "Give us your power!" "PLEASE!" "LUCIAAAAN!" "KING! KING! KING!"
Lucian lowered his hand. The sigil expanded, pulsing with royal demonic authority. His ethereal wings unfurled wider, casting a shadow over his new subjects.
His voice wrapped around the entire coliseum like velvet thunder.
"Rise now… and let the Covenant reshape your very being."
Dark crimson energy swept outward from his body—warm, powerful, enveloping every willing soul.
People gasped as the strength flooded them.
Bones steadied, knitting together years of malnutrition. Muscles tightened, filling out gaunt frames. Spines straightened, casting off the weight of servitude.
Eyes brightened, glowing with newfound vitality.
They weren't monstrous. They were reborn.
Lucian's demon form dimmed slightly, settling into a majestic glow. He looked over his transformed people, and his voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried to the back rows—almost fond.
"My demons… from this moment, your kingdom is born."
And the coliseum roared—not with fear, but with worship.
After some time, the pulsing sigil faded.
The wings, the obsidian horns, the crimson glow—all melted away like mist at sunrise.
Lucian's crimson eyes dimmed, the unnatural glow retreating until he once again appeared as a young man, poised and composed.
Around him, the people he had just transformed blinked, shaking off the vertigo of power coursing through them. Their heartbeats slowed, but the fire of new vitality lingered in their eyes.
They looked to him now not as a demon… not as a god… but as a ruler. One who had freed them from the tyranny of Karn, one who had made them more than survivors.
Lucian surveyed the arena, letting silence settle like a cloak. His expression was calm, deliberate, almost tender—the same aura that had inspired awe now inspiring trust.
"Today," he said, his voice smooth and commanding, "marks the dawn of something new. Not mere survival… but order. Not mere safety… but true power."
The crowd stirred, murmuring among themselves. Their new strength hummed quietly under their skin, a tangible reassurance that their lives had changed forever.
Lucian stepped forward, the corners of his mouth tilting ever so slightly. A gesture of warmth, but precise—a reminder that even in benevolence, he was in control.
"From this day on, this soil answers to us."
He let the words settle, letting the newly transformed people internalize them. They nodded in understanding, some raising hands instinctively, as if pledging themselves to the man who had given them new life.
"But a ruler without subjects is meaningless. And subjects who fail to act as one… become nothing more than prey."
He raised a hand, pointing toward the exit.
"Your first task is simple. Gather the people of Karn's stronghold—every survivor, every citizen, every soldier who has not fled. Tell them a new ruler summons them. They will come, witness that the old tyrant is gone, and see that the future belongs to those bold enough to claim it."
Whispers ran through the crowd like fire along dry grass. Many glanced at one another, excitement and awe mingling with curiosity.
Lucian's gaze swept the coliseum slowly, deliberately. He made eye contact with enough of them to cement his presence, to ensure the truth sank in. He had not just fought Karn… he had reclaimed this territory, and they would follow him willingly.
"Go," he said finally, voice steady. "Tell them their new ruler awaits… and that the hour of salvation has arrived."
A ripple of obedience ran through his people.
Not out of fear. Not even entirely out of respect. But out of a desperate, almost fanatical hope—the kind only those who had suffered in the Lawless Continent could feel.
As they dispersed, Lucian remained in the center of the arena, watching. The dust of battle still clung to the ground, the sunlight striking through the shattered coliseum walls.
The domain of Karn had fallen. His first loyal subjects had been forged.
And the Lawless Continent—already ruthless, already unforgiving—had just received a new player.
***
KARN'S STRONGHOLD — THE CITY
Lucian left the coliseum and made his way to Karn's stronghold—a fortress that loomed over a city of misery.
The city sprawled outward like a festering wound. It was crowded and uneven, a tangled maze of narrow streets, sagging rooftops, and walls patched with whatever scraps could be salvaged. Smoke curled from crooked chimneys, carrying the smell of meager meals and smoldering refuse.
Merchants called out in cracked voices, hawking half-rotted food, worn tools, and threadbare cloth. Children darted between alleyways, barefoot, carrying water or scavenged scraps. Soldiers in patched armor patrolled the streets with weary expressions, keeping order where chaos always threatened to rise.
Yet at the heart of this neglected city stood a monument to the old order: Karn's castle.
Its stone walls gleamed in the sun, unblemished and solid. Towers rose sharp and precise, battlements untouched by time or siege. Even after years of corruption and struggle below, the castle's gates remained iron-bound, exuding the quiet, absolute authority of a ruler who demanded obedience while his people starved.
The contrast was stark. Around the castle, life clawed along in desperate resilience; inside it, a symbol of order still loomed.
Lucian walked through the gates, unchallenged.
Inside, he waited for the people being gathered.
He reclined on a plush sofa in the main lounge, composed and still, his crimson eyes calm as he surveyed the room. The space was intimate and quiet—soft rugs muffled the stone floor, low tables were scattered with trinkets and ledgers, and shelves lined with books and ornaments whispered of Karn's past rule. Lanterns cast a warm, golden glow over the space, softening its austere edges.
Beside him stood Karn's former assistant, Selene.
She was a woman of sharp angles and cool demeanor. Her silver hair was tied neatly at the nape of her neck, her deep violet eyes fixed straight ahead. She wore a dark, tailored uniform, her posture perfect, movements minimal and precise.
She stood with her hands lightly clasped, tense. She was aware of the weight of the moment, yet unspokenly attentive to him—this young man who had just unseated her tyrant and walked into his home as if he had built it.
She turned to Lucian.
"My lord, you ought to be aware of something regarding the land you have just claimed."
Lucian tilted his head slightly, curiosity laced with elegance and charm.
"Oh? Intriguing. Go on… enlighten me."
For a moment, Selene's usual poise cracked. A flicker of genuine uncertainty crossed her face. She swallowed, centered herself, and delivered the news with quiet clarity.
"During his rule, Karn neglected to settle a massive debt. Consequently, you now preside over a tributary state indebted to one of the Titans… Mammon."