The flames spread higher as the night deepened, turning the royal palace of Ardentia into a crumbling monument of defeat. Sparks drifted through the air like dying stars, while smoke wrapped itself around the shattered towers and broken courtyards. The once-glorious heart of the kingdom had become a graveyard of steel and fire. In the middle of that ruin, Prince Leon Valerian stepped down from the palace stairs with his sword in hand, his bloodied figure illuminated by the infernal glow of the burning capital. The enemy soldiers surrounding him hesitated for a moment, not because they believed he could survive, but because even at the end, the prince still carried the same presence as the fallen king.
Leon's body screamed in pain with every movement. He had been fighting for hours, from the outer walls to the palace gates, through corridors soaked in blood and courtyards littered with corpses. His armor was cracked in several places, and warm blood continued to drip from wounds across his shoulder, side, and thigh. Each breath was heavier than the last, yet his grip on the sword remained unshaken. He had long since accepted that he would not leave the palace alive. What still burned within him was not fear, but fury—fury at his helplessness, at the death of his father, at the disappearance of his sister, and above all, at the betrayal of the man standing before him.
Duke Marcus Ravenhart watched him with the cold patience of a man who believed victory was already absolute. There was no guilt in his expression, no trace of hesitation, only the detached calm of someone who had already buried the past and embraced the future he had chosen. Behind him stood elite warriors from Velkaris, their crimson cloaks fluttering in the hot wind rising from the flames. These were not common soldiers. Leon recognized the disciplined way they held their formation, the stillness in their eyes, the confidence of men who had entered the final stage of battle certain of success. Marcus had prepared this betrayal well. He had not merely opened the gates to an invading force—he had carved out the heart of Ardentia from within.
"You should kneel," Marcus said at last, his voice almost gentle beneath the roar of the fire. "If you do, I may grant you a cleaner death."
Leon stared at him as if the words themselves were filth. His face, pale beneath streaks of blood and ash, hardened with contempt. "A traitor speaking of mercy," he said hoarsely. "You truly have no shame."
Marcus's expression did not change. "Shame is a luxury for fools and corpses. I chose survival. I chose power. Aldric chose loyalty to a kingdom that was already rotting from the inside."
At the mention of his father's name, something inside Leon snapped. With a raw shout that tore through his battered chest, he lunged forward. The movement was so sudden that even the nearest soldiers flinched. His sword flashed in the firelight, cutting a silver arc toward Marcus's throat. But one of the elite knights stepped in at the last instant, intercepting the strike with a heavy blade. Sparks exploded between them. Leon twisted his body despite the pain ripping through his side and drove his elbow into the knight's face. Bone cracked. Before the man could recover, Leon's sword pierced his neck. Blood sprayed across the stone, dark in the glow of the flames.
The courtyard erupted.
The enemy soldiers rushed him from all sides, steel ringing through the burning night. Leon moved on instinct, every motion born from years of hard training and the battlefield lessons carved into him by war. He ducked beneath a spear thrust, slashed open the stomach of the soldier behind it, then turned just in time to block a sword descending toward his head. The impact numbed his arms, but he forced the attacker back with sheer will and drove his blade through the man's chest. Another soldier came from the side, and Leon spun with a savage cut that severed the man's forearm. Screams rose around him, mixing with the crackle of flames and the clash of weapons.
For a brief, furious moment, the prince of Ardentia became death itself.
Even surrounded, even wounded, Leon fought with the desperate ferocity of a man who had nothing left to lose. Every strike carried his grief, every parry his hatred. He remembered his father's voice correcting his stance when he was a child, remembered the old king standing behind him in the training yard under the morning sun. He remembered his mother's hand resting on his hair when nightmares woke him as a boy. He remembered his sister's bright laughter echoing through the palace gardens. Those memories became fuel for the sword in his hand. If this was to be his final night, then he would drown the traitors in blood before he fell.
Yet the enemy numbers were endless.
For every soldier he cut down, two more stepped forward. His wounds deepened. A spear scraped across his ribs, tearing armor and flesh. A sword bit into his upper arm. Someone struck him from behind with the shaft of a polearm, driving him to one knee. Pain burst through his body, and blood spilled from his lips as he forced himself upright again. The courtyard around him blurred for an instant. His strength was leaving him, carried away with every drop of blood that touched the stone.
Still, he fought on.
Marcus watched the battle without interference, his gaze unreadable. It was almost as though he wanted to witness the prince's final resistance in full, to let Leon exhaust every last shred of hope before delivering the end. That cold patience made Leon hate him even more. He cut down another soldier and staggered forward, eyes locked on the duke. If he could kill Marcus, even here, even now, then perhaps his death would mean something. Perhaps the kingdom would still have a chance, however small.
Gathering the remnants of his strength, Leon drove straight toward him.
The elite guards closed ranks, but the prince forced his way through them like a wounded beast driven by vengeance alone. He blocked one blade, took another across his thigh, and answered by splitting a man from shoulder to chest. His boots slipped in blood. His vision dimmed at the edges. But step by step, he advanced until at last he stood only a few paces from Marcus.
Their eyes met through heat and smoke.
Marcus sighed and finally drew his sword.
The weapon was elegant, narrow, and flawless—nothing like the brutal battlefield blades carried by most generals. Leon knew that sword. He had admired it when he was younger, listening with awe to stories of Marcus and his father fighting side by side against monster hordes from the Great Forest. How many lies had been hidden beneath those stories? How many smiles, how many words of loyalty, had all been poison from the beginning?
Leon attacked first, his sword descending with the full weight of his remaining strength. Marcus parried smoothly and stepped to the side with infuriating ease. Their blades clashed again and again, each strike throwing sparks into the smoky air. Leon attacked with rage and pain, pressing forward with a relentless storm of cuts, but Marcus was calm. Too calm. The duke moved with measured precision, deflecting, redirecting, waiting. It was only then that Leon truly understood how deeply they had all underestimated him. Marcus had never been merely a capable general. He had hidden his full strength for years.
Their swords locked. Marcus leaned closer, his face lit by the fire behind him. "You have talent," he said quietly. "In another life, you might have become someone extraordinary."
Leon bared his teeth. "I'll kill you."
"No," Marcus replied, almost kindly. "You won't."
He twisted his blade.
Leon felt a sharp, burning pain explode through his abdomen.
For a heartbeat, he could not understand what had happened. Then he looked down and saw Marcus's sword buried deep in his side, having slipped past his guard with terrifying precision. His own strength faltered instantly. Marcus pulled the blade free in one smooth motion, and Leon staggered backward, blood pouring onto the stones beneath his feet.
The courtyard had gone strangely quiet.
The surviving soldiers stepped back, leaving space as the prince of Ardentia swayed in the center of the burning palace yard. Leon tried to steady himself, but his legs no longer obeyed him. His sword slipped from numb fingers and struck the ground with a hollow metallic sound. He dropped to one knee, then caught himself with one hand against the blood-slick stone. His breath came shallow and ragged. The world around him was fading into smoke and fire.
Marcus stood over him, expression unreadable. "This is the end, Leon. Your father is dead. Your kingdom is finished. No one will remember Ardentia in a generation."
Leon's head bowed, but not in surrender. His fingers trembled against the ground as blood spread beneath him. Somewhere in the distance, another tower collapsed, sending a shower of sparks into the night sky. The city of his childhood was dying with him.
Then, through the haze consuming his mind, he remembered one thing.
He remembered the forest.
The vast and forbidden wilderness beyond Ardentia's borders. The monster-infested sea of darkness his kingdom had held back for generations. He remembered his father once saying that the forest hid secrets older than empires and more dangerous than any human ambition. He remembered dismissing those words as legend when he was younger. Now, on the edge of death, he found himself wondering if there had truly been some forgotten power buried beyond the trees—some chance his kingdom had never been strong enough to seize.
Regret flooded him, hotter than the pain of the wound.
If only he had been stronger.
If only he had seen the betrayal sooner.
If only he had protected them.
Marcus raised his sword for the final blow.
Leon lifted his face, hatred and despair burning in his dimming eyes. "If there is another life…" he whispered, his voice ragged with blood and smoke, "I will kill you first."
Marcus looked down at him in silence.
Then the sword fell.
Darkness swallowed everything.
But in that endless black, just before his consciousness disappeared completely, a cold and unfamiliar voice echoed through his mind.
[Condition fulfilled.]
[Host death confirmed.]
[Imperial Ascension System activating…]