Two men stood before the gates of a small but resource-rich region, their laughter echoing through the night.
"So this is it?" one of them sneered. "The land once under Supreme Darel?"
The other smiled wickedly. "Looks fragile now."
Without hesitation, they struck.
The gatekeepers fell first—guards who had protected the region for generations. As their blood stained the stone, the attackers noticed a symbol carved into the guards' armor: the mark of Darel's alliance.
Fear flashed across their faces.
"…That symbol," one muttered.
But the fear faded quickly.
"Darel's power fell in the Great War," the other scoffed. "That symbol means nothing anymore."
They laughed, relief turning into arrogance.
As the alarm bells rang, a name surfaced in their memories—a legend whispered in ancient tales.
Lucifer.The Soul Knight.
"Hah," one said. "Just a rumor born from desperation."
And so, they continued the massacre.
They marched toward the inner keep, where the ruler of the region resided. The old man stood with his remaining knights, wounded yet unbroken.
Steel clashed. Blood followed.
The ruler fell to his knees, his knights lying broken around him.
One of the attackers leaned close and spoke mockingly,"Join us. Ally with us, and you will grow prosperous—rather than drown in blood."
They laughed cruelly.
Then, slowly, a blade pressed against the neck of the ruler's beautiful daughter.
"We haven't killed your men yet," the villain whispered. "Because we want them alive."
Laughter echoed again—mocking, merciless.
The ruler could barely lift his arm. His body trembled, powerless.
Yet—
He smiled.
In the next instant, the laughter stopped.
Heads rolled across the stone floor.
The villains screamed—not in pain, but in confusion. They couldn't feel the attacks. They couldn't even see them.
And then, they died—frustrated, terrified, erased.
Behind the blood-soaked hall, a shadow appeared.
An image—silent, overwhelming.
The legend they had laughed at had been watching all along.