Back then, Lirisa was a young girl, living in a small but beautiful village in the kingdom. Their house stood a little apart from the crowded settlement, surrounded by green paddy fields, tall coconut trees, and the distant murmur of a river.
That evening, the house was filled with the warm glow of lamps and the aroma of fried meat and sweets—because it was Lirisa's birthday.
Yet, alongside the festive preparations, a subtle worry loomed. Her father, a respected village physician, was late. He never returned home this late.
Lirisa stood by the window, her heart restless, asking her mother, "Mama, why isn't Dad here yet?"
From the kitchen, her mother called back, "He'll be here soon, dear. Perhaps a patient needed him longer tonight."
But inside, even she was unsettled.
"Why is it taking so long tonight? Has something happened?" her thoughts whispered.
Then, suddenly, footsteps echoed outside—heavy, deliberate, more than one pair.
Her mother, startled, shouted, "Lirisa, open the door, your father must have arrived!"
Excited, Lirisa rushed to the door.
A bright smile touched her lips as she called out, "Dad, welcome home—"
But the words froze. Instead of her father, several unknown men stood outside. Their eyes glinted with malice, their mouths curled in cruel smirks.
One stepped forward and said with a chilling laugh, "Waiting for your father, little girl? He won't be coming. We killed him."
Lirisa's face turned pale. Her lips trembled, her eyes widened, but no sound escaped her mouth.
From the kitchen, her mother, still unaware, asked, "Who are you talking to, child? Did your father not arrive yet?"
No answer came. Wiping her hands, she walked out, only to freeze at the sight. Strangers filled her home, their eyes devouring everything with wicked hunger.
She demanded sharply, "Who are you? How dare you enter our home without permission?"
One of the men sneered, "The daughter is beautiful, but the mother… oh, she's not any less. We'll fetch a fine price for them."
Another chuckled darkly, "Yes, sell them separately. The market will pay well."
In that instant, Lirisa's mother understood everything. Fear stabbed her heart, but she buried it beneath a mask of courage. With swift steps, she moved toward the corner table, her hand closing around a sharp knife.
Her voice was cold and steady as she warned, "Leave now, or I swear none of you will walk away alive."
The men exchanged wicked glances, laughter dripping with cruelty. The air in the room thickened, heavy with the scent of danger, as though death itself had entered the house.
The living room was glowing with warmth and laughter. Colorful clothes hung from the walls, and the flickering light of oil lamps cast shifting shadows across the floor.
On a wooden table lay paper flowers, small clay lamps, and a mound of sweets arranged to resemble a birthday cake. The family was busy decorating—Evan Evergrim, Lirisa's elder brother, his fiancée Elena Green, and a few close relatives.
Evan was fastening cloth to the wall while Elena stood beside him, adjusting the decorations carefully. Suddenly, a muffled noise echoed from the outer room. Elena frowned, her hands pausing mid-air.
"Evan," she whispered, "I hear strange noises outside."
Evan glanced toward the door to the front room, then smiled to ease her worry.
"Don't overthink it. Maybe Father has arrived with some of his friends. Nothing to worry about."
Elena tried to believe him, but unease lingered in her chest. Then, only moments later, a sharp thud rang out—as if something heavy had crashed onto the floor. This time, her pulse quickened.
"No… I must see what's happening."
"Where are you going, Elena?" Evan asked, surprised.
Turning back, Elena forced a smile. "It's nothing. Perhaps Mother needs help. She's been busy for a long time now."
Evan sighed, reluctant but trusting. "Alright, go ahead."
Elena opened the door and stepped into the outer room—only to freeze in horror. What she saw made her heart collapse. Two strange men were gripping her would-be mother-in-law by the arms.
Another man was holding Lirisa tightly, while others touched them with filthy hands, grinning with demonic delight. Two more scoured the room greedily, searching for valuables.
A piercing scream escaped Elena's lips. "Ahhhhhh!"
Her cry drew the attention of the slavers. In a flash, they rushed at her, covering her mouth and pinning her arms. She struggled desperately, but their strength was overwhelming.
The scream, however, had already reached Evan. He bolted from the living room, the blood in his veins turning to fire.
Bursting into the outer room, his eyes widened at the horrific sight—his family trapped in the clutches of slavers. Rage tightened his fists.
"You… who are you?!" he roared.
One of the men sneered. "Another lamb has wandered in. Kill him, take the women, and let's go."
Evan's hand instinctively reached for the sword at his waist—but his fingers touched only air. He remembered too late that he had left it aside while working.
For a fleeting moment, his chest tightened. Then, resolve hardened his eyes. No weapon? Then my fists will be my blade. No one touches my family.
He lunged forward, his fist crashing into the jaw of the nearest man. Bone cracked, and the slaver collapsed to the ground.
Another man came at him with a dagger. Evan seized his wrist, twisted violently, and snapped the arm backward—the sickening crack filling the room.
From behind, a third man swung a club. Evan spun, grabbed the shaft mid-swing, and wrenched it free. With a swift strike of his elbow, he crushed the man's ribs, sending him sprawling.
The room erupted in chaos—furniture shattered, oil lamps fell, the air thick with the stench of blood and smoke. One by one, Evan tore through them, his movements sharp, precise, devastating.
One slaver gasped in disbelief. "He's no ordinary man! How can a human be this strong?"
Another shouted in panic, "He fights like… like a Royal Knight!"
Evan's eyes blazed with fury. His voice thundered through the room: "My name is Evan Evergrim. I am twenty-two years old. Since childhood I have trained day and night—fought, bled, and mastered the sword—for one purpose only: to protect my homeland and my family. And tonight, none of you will leave this place alive!"
He became a storm, striking with fists, knees, and sheer force. Every blow sent men crashing into the ground. Fear began to break the slavers' resolve, but Evan's wrath was unstoppable.
Then, as he fought, another man crept up behind him with a dagger raised high.
"Evan, look out!" Elena's voice cried. She broke free, rushing forward.
The dagger plunged—not into Evan, but into Elena's chest. Time seemed to freeze. Her face drained of color, lips trembling as blood poured from the wound.