"More than five thousand years ago, humans dominated the planet," Michael began, his voice low and steady. "But one day, a birth occurred, a birth that broke the wheel of life itself. A new race came into existence, one that would bring ruin to the world. They called them demons."
He paused, his gaze distant.
"The dominion of humankind began to weaken. The demons multiplied day by day until they became a true threat. They waged wars, burned villages, slaughtered men, women, and children, and devoured them alive. Humanity lost the war. But just when all hope was gone, a light emerged. The god of this world, the one we call Goddess Hestia. She descended and summoned seven heroes from another world, a place called Earth. The heroes used their earthly knowledge and their newfound powers to strike back… and they defeated the demons."
Michael's tone darkened as he continued.
"But it didn't end there. The demons evolved, grew stronger, more cunning. They built a hierarchy, and soon they began to worship the strongest among them, the Demon King. For over five thousand years, humanity has fought against them, sometimes barely surviving, sometimes almost winning. And every time a Demon King rises, new heroes are summoned to fight back. If we fail this time… humanity falls."
When he finished, silence filled the room.
Alfred leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "So what you're saying is… we're basically unpaid workers for humanity."
Michael frowned. "No. We are the hope of humanity."
Alfred smirked slightly, his thoughts whispering bitterly,
I'd say this feels more like free labor for a bunch of useless humans.
He looked back at Michael. "Alright then. I want to know about the Demon King, Dracula."
Michael blinked, confused. "Dracula? I've never heard of a Demon King by that name. I've studied every one that has ever appeared, but not Dracula."
Alfred's brows furrowed slightly.
'So the king lied… he used that name as an excuse to chain me. But he was too confident, it didn't feel like a lie.'
Michael leaned forward a little. "Where did you hear that name?"
Alfred looked away. "Nowhere. I was wrong."
Michael studied his face, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but he let it go. After a moment, he said,
"Anyway… the King of Templar's has requested your presence. He wishes to see you personally."
Alfred stood up, stretching his arms slightly. "Alright," he said calmly. "I'll go."
The doors of the royal hall opened with a deep metallic groan.
Two knights entered first, their white armor gleaming faintly under the dim torches, each step echoing across the silent corridor. Alfred followed behind them, his eyes adjusting to the faint golden light that spilled through the stained glass.
The hall was enormous, but cold. Its beauty was swallowed by the oppressive stillness that hung in the air. The walls were carved with ancient runes of protection, though even they seemed faint, like the remnants of a dying faith.
At the end of the hall sat King Valen Templar, ruler of the Kingdom of Templar's, the so-called "King of Black castle,". His crown was simple, his gaze sharp and cold.
Michael stood at Alfred's side and spoke softly, "That is King Valen. Watch your words, he doesn't forgive easily."
Alfred gave no reply. He simply walked forward until he stood several paces before the throne.
King Valen's voice broke the silence.
"So… you're the eighth hero."
His tone was calm, but it carried authority, the kind that made even the air feel heavy.
Alfred bowed his head slightly, more out of courtesy than respect. "I am."
Valen leaned forward on his throne, his crimson cloak shifting over the white marble steps. "You caused quite a commotion in the Artwine Kingdom. I heard you destroyed an entire demon army on your own… and then tried to kill their king. Tell me, Alfred, should I see that as courage… or defiance?"
Alfred met his gaze, unflinching. "If I hadn't done it, the Artwine Kingdom would have fallen. As for the king… he was not a man worth saving."
A murmur spread among the knights standing along the walls. Some shifted uneasily, gripping their swords tighter.
The king's eyes narrowed. "You speak boldly for someone in chains."
"I speak the truth," Alfred replied.
Valen's lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. "Truth is a fragile thing in this world, hero. Too many have died because they believed their truth was stronger than mine."
He rose slowly from his throne, the sound of his boots echoing through the chamber. His presence was enormous, not magical, but commanding. He was tall and powerfully built, his frame carrying both age and strength in perfect balance. Silver hair, aged yet noble, framed a face defined by sharp lines and steady poise. His eyes, a piercing steel gray, held the weight of centuries of rule, calm, discerning, and unyielding. When King Valen moved, the chamber itself seemed to still, as though the light had chosen to follow him alone. The weight of his gaze pressed on Alfred like a physical force.
"Tell me, then," Valen said, his tone quiet but cutting, "why should I allow you to walk free in my kingdom? Why should I not chain you in the dark and keep you there, until I know whose side you're really on?"
The torches flickered, shadows dancing across the walls.
Alfred met the king's gaze without hesitation. "Because you need me. You need every hero you can get. The demons are moving again, and I don't think your kingdom's light will be enough this time."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Only the crackle of the torches filled the silence.
Then, the king chuckled softly, though there was no warmth in it. "You're reckless… but I like that." He turned to Michael. "Release him. I'll judge his worth soon enough."
Michael nodded and gestured to the guards. The chains around Alfred's wrists fell to the ground with a sharp clang.
King Valen sat back down. "Welcome to the Templar's Kingdom, Hero Alfred. I hope your strength matches your arrogance… for your sake."
Alfred turned and walked out, the sound of his footsteps echoing behind him, sharp, defiant, unbroken.
Outside the palace, two carriages stood ready, their wheels coated in a thin layer of frost. The morning was still, broken only by the low hum of distant crows circling above. Knights in polished white armor with crimson crosses lined the path, their gazes sharp and unyielding.
Alfred adjusted his bag, glancing at the empty streets. "Feels too quiet. Almost too easy."
Micheal, standing beside the second carriage, let out a dry laugh. "Easy is a word that doesn't exist in our lives anymore. The demons aren't sleeping, they're watching. Waiting."
Benjamin, hands folded on his sword hilt, narrowed his eyes. "And we have to move regardless. Septon's safety depends on this. Every delay could cost lives."
Griffin tilted his head, letting a smirk cross his face. "Honestly, I'd like to see these demons try to catch us. Between us, they'll regret it."
Alfred scoffed, voice low and cold. "Regret? You think scaring them is enough? One mistake and this road will be our grave."
Benjamin's gaze locked on him. "We plan, we fight, we survive. That's all we can do. The rest… is up to skill and luck."
Griffin leaned closer to Alfred, voice teasing yet sharp. "So, you fought the entire Artwine attack alone… Didn't it scare you even a little?"
Alfred's jaw tensed. "Scared? Fear has nothing to do with me. What I do, I do because I must. Nothing else."
Micheal stepped forward, voice calm but edged with authority. "You understand what's at stake. This mission isn't just about survival, it's about buying time for everyone else. Are you willing to fight with us, Alfred, or only for yourself?"
Alfred's eyes glimmered with a faint golden hue. "I fight for what I choose. If our paths align, I fight with you. But don't mistake alignment for loyalty."
Benjamin's expression hardened. "Then we understand. Just… don't get in our way."
A knight approached, bowing slightly. "Lords, the carriages await. Departure is ready."
Alfred mounted the nearest carriage, scanning the distant horizon, his mind already weighing threats unseen. Griffin hopped in beside him, stretching slightly.
Micheal climbed into the second carriage, eyes dark with thought. Benjamin followed, his hand lightly brushing his sword hilt.
As the carriages began to move, mist curled along the road, swallowing the wheels and horses' hooves. Griffin leaned back, a grin on his face. "So, Alfred… hope you're ready. The demons won't wait for introductions."
Alfred's lips curved into a faint smile, more cold than friendly. "Neither will I."
Micheal's gaze swept the horizon. "Then let's make sure Septon sees us arrive alive. Every second counts."
Benjamin didn't reply. He only tightened his grip on the hilt and stared ahead, aware that the coming journey would test every ounce of strength, cunning, and trust they had.
The carriages rolled onward, the mist swallowing them, each hero wrapped in their own thoughts, yet bound by a single, unspoken understanding: the war was far from over, and the real test was only beginning.