Several days had passed since Gregory was granted the mysterious system, yet his mind found little room to dwell upon it.
The war now stood before him, looming like a restless volcano that might erupt at any moment, in any place.
Whatever strange blessing the system might be, it could wait.
The matter of survival could not.
Gregory sat alone in the room where he worked as the young head of his noble family, a responsibility placed upon shoulders no older than twenty years.
The chamber itself was plain and unadorned.
A single desk and chair stood at its center, and a tall window allowed the daylight to pour in, offering the only natural warmth.
In one corner, a standing clock marked the quiet passage of time.
The day was still young, with many hours remaining before evening would claim the sky.
He found himself drifting into thought, his mind wandering as papers and documents lay scattered across the desk before him.
His gaze turned toward the window, where sunlight streamed through and bathed the room in a gentle glow.
His hands felt stiff from endless writing, each movement a reminder of the burdens he carried.
Managing the territory in times of peace alone was enough to invite headaches and sleepless nights.
Now, with war drawing near, the weight had doubled.
Gregory spent his days considering what must be done, turning over every possibility, every preparation, every risk.
His lands were never prosperous.
With funds barely sufficient for daily governance, he had now been ordered to prepare for battle without so much as proper support from the royal center.
It felt, to him, as though they had cast his region aside like something of little worth.
Left with no other choice, he raised the taxes upon his people.
Some responded with anger and resentment, yet others, understanding the long history of neglect from the capital, showed him quiet sympathy.
Unable to bear the mounting pressure, Gregory did what many would do in solitude.
He let his frustration surface, grumbling to himself under his breath, releasing the weight of it in small, bitter complaints that no one else was meant to hear.
"They always act as they please, giving orders as if that were enough. no funds, no reinforcements, not even a single extra soldier. what is this supposed to be?"
Gregory had handled everything himself.
From securing food supplies and war provisions to arranging evacuation routes for both soldiers and civilians, he had considered every possible outcome, even the most disastrous scenario in which they would lose the war.
The more he thought, the more anger tightened in his chest.
At last he leaned back heavily into his chair, letting his body sink against it as though it might carry some of the weight for him.
"With each passing year, the Lamont family is regarded less and less. decades of loyalty, and they do not value it in the slightest."
His eyes drifted toward the ceiling as his voice lowered, edged with bitterness.
"Those cursed people in the capital… do they see the Lamonts as nothing more than guard dogs?"
He fell silent for a moment, then murmured under his breath, almost to himself.
"Perhaps I should just rebel."
It was a dangerous thought, one that could invite lashes or even execution if overheard.
Commoners and nobles alike knew that the king of their kingdom was a tyrant, a man who did not hesitate to punish anyone whose words displeased him.
Gregory was safe only because no one had heard him.
"You must not speak like that, young master. you could lose your head for less."
The door opened as Sebastian's calm voice filled the room.
Gregory nearly leapt from his seat, startled beyond measure, but upon realizing who stood there, his expression quickly returned to its usual composed and indifferent mask.
"It is only you, old man. what is it?"
"I have brought several letters for you, young master. they are from Earl Eberhard."
Sebastian extended his hand, holding a sealed letter at its tip.
Gregory took it without ceremony and broke the seal at once. As he read, his gaze sharpened, the lines of his face hardening.
Noticing the change, Sebastian asked carefully.
"Is everything well, young master?"
"No, Sebastian, it is not well at all. Earl Eberhard has informed us that he will not be sending troops for this war. and what is stranger still, if our territory falls, would not his lands be the next target?"
Sebastian's brows drew together ever so slightly, the faintest crack in his usual composure.
"That is… unusual, young master. The Earl has always been pragmatic. He is not a man who ignores threats that may soon stand at his own gates."
Gregory lowered the letter slowly, his fingers tightening around the parchment.
"He writes that his forces are occupied, that he must secure his own borders. Such excuses are nothing but empty words, for in truth he is merely casting us upon the front lines to bleed in his stead."
Sebastian raised a finger and bent it thoughtfully toward his chin before speaking, his voice calm yet heavy with meaning.
"If we withstand the invasion, he preserves his strength without lifting a finger. If we fall, he will have time to prepare while the enemy exhausts themselves taking our territory."
He paused, then continued as if struck by another thought.
"There is another possibility."
"Yes, there is a chance he has made some kind of promise to the enemy, which would make him a traitor, and the worst outcome would be…"
"We would be surrounded"
Sebastian answered quietly.
The room seemed to grow colder as silence settled between them.
The weight of their conclusion lingered in the air.
Gregory rose from his seat and walked toward the window.
Beyond the glass lay the city he governed, a place shaped not by trade and celebration but by soldiers, walls, and the constant memory of war.
Without turning back, his gaze fixed upon the distant rooftops, he spoke in a low voice.
"If Earl Eberhard truly intends to watch us bleed while he safeguards his own lands, I will remember it."
"And if he intends something worse?"
Sebastian asked.
Gregory's eyes hardened.
"Then the revenge I give will be far worse than anything Eberhard expects."
He turned to face his head butler, resolve clear in his expression.
"Send a few spies into Eberhard's territory. I want to know whether he truly means to stab us in the back."
Sebastian gave a small, respectful bow.
"At once, young master."
With that, he departed the room, leaving Gregory alone.
The only sound that remained was the steady ticking of the standing clock, echoing softly in the silence.
After a moment, Gregory spoke a single word.
"System."
At once, a window of light appeared before him in the air, hovering near his face.
The information panel revealed the following details.
[ Profile ]
Name: Gregory Lamont
Title: Heir of the Demon King
[ Ability ]
Summon Shadow Demon bodyguard
[ Tips ]
Slay enemy soldiers with your army and claim victory in war to unlock new skills.
Gregory had only just discovered how to open the system.
Several days earlier he had nearly driven himself mad, muttering fragments of phrases, rearranging words without meaning, testing commands like a scholar fumbling through an ancient spell.
By accident more than wisdom, he had finally spoken the correct sequence.
And now the window stood before him at will.
"Finally… I can try this skill"
"Summon Shadow Demon Bodyguard"
"...… Hm? Nothing's happening?"
He frowned, glancing about the empty space as though expecting fireworks or a crack in the heavens.
There was only silence.
Then he looked down.
"What the fuck?"
His shadow stretched unnaturally across the floor, lengthening as if touched by the slanting light of late afternoon.
Yet it was noon.
The sun stood high and merciless.
Such distortion had no natural cause.
The darkness beneath him trembled.
From within that warped silhouette, a gauntleted hand emerged, black as forged night and clad in heavy armor.
A helm followed, then shoulders broad and imposing.
Slowly, deliberately, the upper torso rose from the floor as though the earth itself were giving birth to something ancient.
At last, long legs stepped free of the shadow and stood upright before him.
The being resembled a demon wrought from darkness itself.
Its armor was deep and lightless, its form outlined only by a faint sheen along its edges.
Two horns curved from its helm.
A sword rested at its waist.
From its back unfurled a pair of dark wings, vast and silent.
Its eyes burned with a steady violet glow, the only vivid color upon a body that was otherwise nothing but silhouette and void.
It was tall.
Gregory himself stood at one hundred eighty centimeters.
The creature before him was easily two meters in height, towering and immovable as a sentry carved from midnight.
For a long moment, Gregory could do nothing but stare and said.
"Damn… that was cool."
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