The night was too quiet.
The royal carriage creaked along the narrow pass, its wheels crunching on gravel. Torches flickered weakly against the wind, casting pale halos that made the shadows loom higher than the cliffs themselves. Inside, the two princesses sat in uneasy silence, their escorts tightening ranks as the road narrowed.
The captain of the knights raised a hand. "Stay sharp. Something feels… wrong."
He was right.
The ambush came like thunder.
From the cliffs above, rocks tumbled as hidden glyphs detonated, collapsing the rear guard's path. Figures cloaked in black surged from the treeline, blades flashing with poison sheen. Arrows rained from the dark, forcing the knights into a desperate shield wall.
"Sisters, stay in the carriage!" the captain roared, parrying a dagger with his broadsword. But already, the assassins were upon them, blades slipping through gaps in armor, silent and precise.
The younger sister gripped her elder's trembling hand. "They mean to kill us…" she whispered, her voice breaking.
The eldest clenched her teeth, fury mingling with fear. "Arlen. It has to be Arlen's hand in this."
The assassins moved with surgical precision, a dozen closing in around the carriage itself. The leader—a man with a serpent tattoo coiled across his face—raised his hand. "End it quickly. Leave no witnesses."
The blades descended.
But then—
The wind shifted.
The air trembled with pressure, so heavy it forced even the assassins to falter mid-strike. Torches sputtered, their flames guttering as though cowed by something far greater.
From the clouds above, a figure plummeted, wreathed in shadow. He landed with an impact that cracked the stone beneath his boots, the shockwave forcing the attackers back in staggered retreat.
He rose slowly, cloak billowing, mask gleaming.
The mask was carved from black steel, its surface etched with abyssal runes that pulsed faintly like molten veins. Two jagged horns jutted from the sides, curving backward, and its mouthpiece was fashioned into the snarl of a dragon, fangs bared. Crimson light seeped from the eye slits, cold and unyielding.
The masked figure stood tall, aura crashing outward like a tidal wave, drowning the battlefield in suffocating dread.
The assassins froze. Even the leader's hand trembled against his will.
"W-What is this…?" one whispered.
The sisters inside the carriage stared wide-eyed, breaths caught in their throats. The younger clutched her sister's arm tighter, whispering shakily, "That… can't be human."
The eldest narrowed her eyes, heart pounding. She didn't know who it was. But deep down, beneath the crushing fear, she felt the faintest flicker of hope.
The masked man finally spoke, voice distorted and thunderous behind the steel fangs of his mask.
"You chose the wrong prey."
His presence alone was a storm—dark, merciless, inescapable.
The assassins had come to kill royalty. Instead, they had summoned a Sovereign.
And the night would remember it.
The masked figure moved.
Not with the clumsy, brute strikes of a warrior—but with the precision of a predator that had already dissected the battlefield in his mind.
The first assassin lunged forward, twin daggers glinting. Kael's hand snapped up, catching the man's wrist mid-air. A twist—bones cracked like splintered wood. The man's scream was cut short as a booted heel crushed his throat. His body dissolved into black motes before it hit the ground, vanishing as if swallowed by the night.
The assassins recoiled in shock.
"Where—where did he go?" one hissed, panic leaking into his voice.
They tried to regroup, but Kael was already upon them. A blade whistled for his back. He ducked low, cloak sweeping, then drove his palm into the attacker's sternum. The impact caved it inward with a wet crunch, the man sent flying into two others. All three bodies disintegrated into nothingness before even touching the ground.
The battlefield was an orchestra of slaughter, and Kael was its silent conductor.
From inside the carriage, the sisters watched with wide eyes. Blood sprayed, screams echoed, and yet—no corpse remained. Only vanishing shadows, as though reality itself rejected their existence.
The younger sister trembled. "S-sister… he… he isn't killing them. He's taking them somewhere."
The elder's brows furrowed. "No ordinary man fights like that. No ordinary force makes bodies vanish…" Her gaze lingered on the glowing crimson slits of his mask. "Who… no—what is he?"
But the younger sister suddenly stiffened, eyes widening with realization.
"I-it's him."
"What?"
Her lips quivered as she leaned close, whispering so only her sister could hear. "The man who warned me about the prince's dealings with the bandits… this feels like him. The voice, the aura—he's the same one. I know it."
The elder sister's eyes widened at her words, staring at the masked figure again with a new lens—not just a monster, not just a savior, but someone playing a far greater game than they imagined.
On the battlefield, panic had fully taken root among the assassins. Their leader, the serpent-marked man, snarled and tried to rally his men—but his eyes betrayed his fear.
"Hold the line! He's just one—!"
A blur of steel cut across his command, three heads rolling silently into the night before disintegrating.
The leader cursed and dove behind a jagged boulder, sweat pouring down his face. He didn't care about the mission anymore. This wasn't a man—they had stumbled into something far worse.
And still, Kael moved, relentless, efficient, merciless. His every strike erased another life, his every motion drenched in silent inevitability. The assassins' cries were swallowed by the night, their bodies stripped from existence, pulled back into the Dungeon where their essence would be recycled into new strength for its master.
The storm ended as suddenly as it began. Only silence remained, broken by the leader's ragged breaths as he pressed his back against the boulder, praying the shadow would pass him by.
But Kael turned his mask slowly, crimson eyes locking onto his hiding place.
The man froze.
And at that moment, deep within the Dungeon—something stirred.
A faint tremor rippled through the lowest floors. The magma cocoon that encased the lizard cracked, glowing fissures spiderwebbing across its surface. With a deafening crack, it shattered.
The creature emerged, its scales gleaming like molten obsidian, steam rising off its body. No longer the size of a hatchling, it now stretched a terrifying twelve human-lengths, its body thick with corded muscle, spikes along its spine burning with faint heat.
The Dungeon's voice echoed in Kael's mind:
[Dungeon Message: Bound Creature "Megalania" has completed evolution. Class Ascension → Titan-Class Mutated Lizard.]
Kael's eyes widened behind the mask. "Already…? After just one corpse? No…" His lips curled beneath the steel. "This thing's potential is monstrous."
Another message followed:
[Awaiting Directive for Surface Emergence.]
Kael's smirk darkened. His gaze flicked back to the last assassin leader, still trembling behind his stone cover.
"Perfect timing."
He projected his will through the Dungeon. Release it. Eastern exit. Straight toward my location.
A tremor began to build beneath the earth, faint but growing, like something colossal clawing its way upward.
Kael turned back toward the boulder where the assassin leader cowered. Crimson eyes burned through the mask as his voice rolled like distant thunder.
"You wanted death?" He gestured to the trembling ground. "Let me show you power."
And far away, the earth split—and the titan began to rise.