By the time the sun reached its zenith, the Demon Lord's throne room had returned to its familiar, imposing stillness.
Li Yun stood alone beneath the towering arches, the shadows of the great obsidian pillars stretching long and thin across the marble floor. The air was heavy again—thick with power and silence, like the room itself was holding its breath.
Velmira and Xyris had left a short while ago to finalize the arrangements. Now, it was time.
His first general would arrive any moment.
And he had no idea who it would be.
Li Yun adjusted the high collar of his robe for the fifth time. His hair had been hastily tied back—though a few strands still fell over his forehead. He didn't dare sit on the throne. Somehow, standing felt more natural. More honest. He wasn't ready to claim that seat again. Not yet.
He took a breath. Then another.
He had practiced what he might say, even rehearsed a dozen neutral expressions in the mirror earlier. But now that he was here, it all felt like paper armor—useless in the heat of battle.
The great doors creaked open.
He tensed.
Two armored guards stepped aside, halberds raised in formal salute. And between them, a figure stepped forward—tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating pressure with each stride.
A man.
One with skin like burnished copper, a mane of silver-white hair braided tight along his scalp, and deep scars across his arms and jaw. His armor was battered but clean—obsidian steel laced with red veinstone. A massive sword rested across his back, nearly as tall as he was.
His gaze locked onto Li Yun's the moment he entered.
It didn't waver.
"Kharvos," Xyris said from the side, her voice steady. She had returned silently, appearing near one of the side pillars like a statue given breath.
"The First Blade," she added.
Velmira leaned against a nearby column again, sipping something dark from a goblet that hadn't been there a moment ago.
Kharvos stepped forward and knelt—one knee down, fist to chest, head bowed low.
"My Lord," he said. His voice was like gravel and thunder—rough, deep, and absolute.
Li Yun didn't breathe for a moment.
So this was Kharvos.
One of the five still loyal generals. The First Blade. He vaguely remembered sketching out a name like that once—something about a stoic warrior and a cursed sword—but he had never fleshed him out. No background. No personality. Not even dialogue.
He swallowed carefully, hiding the tremor in his fingers by clenching them behind his back.
"You served in the eastern campaigns," he said, choosing what little he could recall. "Held the southern fortress against the human alliance."
Kharvos lifted his head slightly. "Until the sealing," he said. "And after."
That made Li Yun pause. "You remained?"
"I never left," Kharvos said. "They called me mad. A ghost-chaser. I let them speak. My blade was sworn."
Velmira raised a brow, swirling her goblet. "Romantic."
Xyris offered no comment. Her eyes were on Li Yun.
Kharvos rose smoothly to his feet, standing tall once more. He reached behind him, unstrapping the blade from his back and holding it out with both hands.
A silent offering.
The sword pulsed faintly with magic. It wasn't made of steel—it was darker, older, laced with reddish veins that almost looked like they breathed. Cracks along its edge whispered energy that made the air hum.
"For you," Kharvos said. "If you would wield it again."
Li Yun looked at the weapon.
And immediately panicked.
He had no idea what the sword did. For all he knew, it exploded when touched. Or drained souls. Or transformed into a sentient dragon with a personality disorder.
His hesitation was half a heartbeat too long.
Velmira narrowed her eyes, catching it.
Xyris tensed.
Kharvos didn't flinch.
So Li Yun stepped forward slowly, placing his hand on the hilt.
The sword throbbed once, as if recognizing him.
Warm. Heavy. But it didn't bite.
He let it remain in Kharvos' hands.
"I remember the weight of this," Li Yun lied smoothly. "But I don't need a weapon to command. Not yet."
Kharvos inclined his head. "As you will, my Lord."
Li Yun stepped back, exhaling carefully.
"Your loyalty is noted," he said. "And appreciated."
Kharvos returned the sword to his back, the straps clicking into place. "There are others who still serve. Scattered. Hidden. Waiting."
"Will they answer the call?" Li Yun asked.
Kharvos nodded. "If I deliver it."
"You will."
Li Yun let the words settle. He wasn't sure what orders he could give yet. But he needed to sound like he knew where the wind was blowing.
Velmira finally stepped forward, hips swaying. "Tell me, old blade—did you dream of his return every night? Or just polish your sword in mourning?"
Kharvos turned his eyes to her, flat and unamused. "I do not dream."
Velmira laughed. "Still humorless. I missed you."
Kharvos looked back at Li Yun. "Permission to return to the barracks and await further command?"
Li Yun nodded. "Granted."
Kharvos bowed once more, turned, and left.
As soon as the doors closed behind him, Li Yun let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Xyris stepped up beside him. "You handled that well."
"I didn't say much," he muttered.
"You said enough."
Velmira smiled. "He still thinks you're the same Demon Lord he served. That will be enough for now."
Li Yun stared at the throne again.
"He stayed," he murmured. "For centuries."
"Some blades don't dull," Xyris said. "They just wait."
"And the others?"
"Will come," Velmira said. "One by one."
He wasn't sure if that was comforting or terrifying.
---
Later That Night
Li Yun sat in his private chamber again. The tea was untouched. The bed remained pristine. He leaned over his desk, fingers ink-stained and restless.
Journal Entry – Day 3
I met a man today who would kill and die for me.
He doesn't know I'm not the one he pledged himself to.
He doesn't know I never wrote him.
He doesn't know I was just a tired, lonely guy in a hospital room who wanted to finish a story.
And now that story's staring me down with glowing red eyes and a blade that drinks magic.
What happens when he finds out I'm not Veylar?
What happens when they all find out?
Do I die?
Do they?
Or do I keep lying until the story writes me out?
He scratched out the last line. It sounded too poetic.
Instead, he wrote:
Note: Learn how to wield a sword. Or fake it convincingly.
Also: Ask Toki if Grumble eats paper.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time, ink still wet on the page.
The First Blade had bowed.
Tomorrow… someone else would come.
And he still didn't know how this story ended.
But it was moving forward.
Whether he was ready or not.