The roar of the crimson dragon still echoed across the battlefield.
It rolled through the broken hills.
Across the burning plains.
Through the forests that surrounded the battlefield.
Even the mountains seemed to tremble beneath the sound.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Nobody dared.
The remaining soldiers of Leonhart stared at the enormous creature standing before them.
Drakar.
Or rather—
What had once been Drakar.
The crimson dragon lowered his head.
Smoke escaped between his enormous fangs.
His wings stretched across the sky, blocking what little sunlight remained.
His claws slowly dug into the earth.
CRACK.
The ground split beneath his feet.
The Leonhart soldiers began stepping backward.
One step.
Then another.
Their weapons trembled in their hands.
A soldier looked toward his commander.
"Wh-what do we do?"
The commander didn't answer.
He couldn't.
There was nothing to say.
Their army had been winning only moments ago.
Sanctoria had been broken.
Their formations had collapsed.
Their soldiers were scattered.
Their commanders had fallen.
And yet—
Something had appeared.
Something that shouldn't have existed on any battlefield.
A dragon.
Not a mana beast.
Not a summoned creature.
Not an illusion.
A dragon.
And the dragon was looking directly at them.
Drakar slowly opened his jaws.
The air around him became hot.
The soldiers closest to him felt the heat against their faces.
One of them dropped his sword.
CLANG.
He didn't even notice.
His eyes remained fixed upon the dragon.
"Run..."
His voice barely existed.
"Run!"
He turned.
And ran.
That was the signal.
The Leonhart soldiers broke.
Thousands of men and women suddenly abandoned their formations and fled in every direction.
Some threw away their weapons.
Others tripped over the bodies of their own comrades.
Officers screamed orders.
"MAINTAIN FORMATION!"
"STOP RUNNING!"
"TURN AROUND!"
Nobody listened.
Fear had already won.
Drakar watched them.
His crimson eyes narrowed.
Then—
He moved.
BOOOOOOM!
The earth exploded beneath his feet.
His enormous body disappeared.
A heartbeat later—
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
A group of Leonhart soldiers was thrown into the air.
Drakar had landed among them.
His massive tail swept across the battlefield.
WHOOOOOSH!
Dozens of soldiers were struck simultaneously.
Their bodies flew through the air like broken dolls.
Some crashed against the earth.
Others were thrown into shattered siege equipment.
The dragon didn't even slow down.
He spread his wings.
One powerful movement—
WHOOM!
A hurricane erupted.
Trees bent.
Dust and ash filled the air.
Soldiers were lifted from the ground.
They screamed as the wind carried them away.
Drakar stepped forward.
His enormous claw descended.
BOOM!
The ground shattered.
The soldiers beneath it never had time to react.
Another group charged him.
Perhaps they were brave.
Perhaps they were simply too terrified to think.
"ATTACK!"
Swords rose.
Spears followed.
Dozens of soldiers surrounded the dragon.
Drakar looked down at them.
For a moment—
He simply stared.
Then one soldier thrust his spear.
The weapon struck Drakar's chest.
CLANG!
The spear broke.
The soldier froze.
His eyes widened.
There wasn't even a mark.
Not a scratch.
Drakar lowered his head.
His enormous eye stared directly into the man's face.
The soldier's body began trembling.
Drakar opened his jaws.
The soldier dropped his broken spear.
"No..."
A crimson claw swept sideways.
BOOOOOOM!
The entire group disappeared beneath the impact.
The dragon continued walking.
One after another.
The Leonhart soldiers fell.
Not because Drakar was fighting them with technique.
Not because he was using complicated abilities.
He simply moved.
And everything in his path was destroyed.
A group of cavalry charged from the eastern side.
Hundreds of horses thundered across the field.
The ground shook beneath their hooves.
Their riders raised their weapons.
Drakar turned.
His wings opened.
For one terrifying instant—
The cavalrymen saw nothing but crimson scales and enormous wings filling their vision.
Then Drakar swung one wing.
WHOOM!
The cavalry formation vanished.
Horses were thrown sideways.
Riders crashed into one another.
Armor shattered.
The charge ended before it had even reached him.
Drakar's tail struck the ground.
BOOM!
The earth erupted.
The remaining cavalry fled.
There was no army anymore.
There were only survivors trying to escape.
And Drakar was hunting them.
Far behind the battlefield...
The Grand Arcanist stood before the entrance of his tent.
Sir Hogo.
The old man watched the destruction without concern.
His wooden staff rested against his shoulder.
The flames surrounding the battlefield reflected inside his aged eyes.
He had already destroyed more than half of Sanctoria's army.
He had turned victory into slaughter.
Yet now—
Something had changed.
His eyes followed the enormous crimson dragon.
"Hmm."
For the first time...
The Grand Arcanist looked interested.
"So..."
His fingers tightened around his ancient staff.
"There was another monster hiding among them."
A Leonhart commander approached cautiously.
"Sir Hogo..."
The old mage didn't look at him.
"Yes?"
"Can you defeat it?"
Hogo smiled.
A dry, almost amused smile.
"I am a Grand Arcanist."
He lifted his staff.
"I have lived long enough to see powerfull people rise and disappear."
His eyes settled upon Drakar.
"I have killed creatures that men called werewolfs."
Mana began gathering around him.
The battlefield changed.
The flames that had already covered the sky suddenly twisted toward the old man.
Smoke spiraled upward.
The earth beneath his feet cracked.
The Leonhart soldiers nearby immediately retreated.
Hogo raised his staff.
"Let me show that beast..."
The sky darkened.
"...what true magic looks like."
A gigantic magic circle formed above him.
Then another.
And another.
Layer after layer.
The circles overlapped until the sky itself appeared covered in ancient runes.
Drakar stopped.
His head slowly turned.
The dragon looked toward the old man.
Hogo pointed his staff.
"**Cataclysm of the Crimson Heaven.**"
The world went silent.
Then—
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The sky exploded.
A gigantic pillar of crimson fire descended.
It was unlike the earlier flames.
This wasn't a rain of fire.
This was one enormous column of destruction.
It consumed everything in its path.
The ground melted.
Mountains of stone were carved apart.
The remaining soldiers screamed and fled.
The fire struck Drakar directly.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The battlefield disappeared.
A massive cloud of fire rose into the sky.
Hogo lowered his staff.
His breathing was heavier.
Even for a Grand Arcanist...
That spell had consumed an enormous amount of mana.
The Leonhart soldiers stared.
"Did it..."
"Did it kill the dragon?"
Hogo watched the burning crater.
Silence.
Smoke drifted across the battlefield.
Hogo narrowed his eyes.
"Impossible..."
Something moved inside the smoke.
One enormous foot stepped forward.
BOOM.
Then another.
BOOM.
The smoke slowly parted.
Drakar emerged.
His crimson scales were glowing beneath the fading flames.
Not burned.
Not cracked.
Not damaged.
There wasn't even a scratch.
The soldiers stopped breathing.
Hogo's face changed.
For the first time in decades—
The Grand Arcanist looked genuinely shocked.
His lips parted.
"...What?"
Drakar lifted his head.
His crimson eyes looked directly into Hogo's.
The old mage stared.
He had used his strongest spell.
A spell capable of annihilating armies.
And the creature before him hadn't even been injured.
Hogo slowly stepped backward.
"No..."
Drakar began walking.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Every step shook the earth.
Hogo tightened his grip around the staff.
"Stay back."
Drakar continued.
Hogo raised his staff again.
"Stay back!"
Mana gathered.
But this time—
His hands were trembling.
Drakar stopped.
The dragon lowered his head.
Their eyes met.
Hogo suddenly understood.
The difference between them wasn't large.
It wasn't enormous.
It wasn't even measurable.
They existed on completely different levels.
Hogo was a Grand Arcanist.
A monster among human mages.
But Drakar—
Was one of the Archdemon Generals.
A being that had survived seven centuries.
A representative of the dragons.
Hogo's voice became almost inaudible.
"What... are you?"
Drakar opened his jaws.
A deep crimson light appeared inside his throat.
Hogo's eyes widened.
"Wait—"
The air began rushing toward Drakar.
Ash.
Smoke.
Dust.
Broken weapons.
Everything nearby was pulled toward the dragon's mouth.
Hogo desperately raised his staff.
"Barrier of—"
Drakar exhaled.
There was no dramatic movement.
No complicated spell.
No incantation.
Just one breath.
**WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!**
A colossal torrent of crimson flame erupted from his mouth.
The battlefield vanished beneath it.
Hogo's barrier appeared.
A gigantic magical wall formed before him.
For one heartbeat—
It resisted.
Then—
CRACK.
The barrier shattered.
Hogo's eyes widened.
The flames consumed him.
His scream lasted less than a second.
Then there was nothing.
The Grand Arcanist—
The thirteenth mage.
The man who had destroyed half of Sanctoria's army—
Was gone.
Drakar slowly closed his jaws.
The crimson flames disappeared.
Silence returned.
A small cloud of smoke drifted across the battlefield.
There was nothing left where Hogo had stood.
The remaining Leonhart soldiers stared.
Nobody spoke.
Then one man dropped his weapon.
Another followed.
Then another.
The army collapsed.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Their strongest mage had died in an instant.
Their soldiers had been slaughtered.
Their formations had disappeared.
Their commanders were dead.
And the monster standing before them had barely exerted himself.
One soldier whispered—
"Monster..."
Drakar turned.
The soldier ran.
But there was nowhere to run.
Across the battlefield, the crimson dragon moved.
And the slaughter continued.
The sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon.
The battlefield became dark.
Only burning wreckage illuminated the plains.
Bodies covered the ground.
Broken weapons lay scattered across the earth.
Banners had fallen.
Smoke drifted through the cold night air.
The Leonhart army—
Seventy-six thousand strong—
Was gone.
Not defeated.
Destroyed.
There was no organized force left.
No commander remained.
No mage remained.
No soldier remained alive on the battlefield.
Sanctoria had won.
But victory had a terrible price.
Thirty thousand soldiers had marched into the battlefield.
Only two remained.
One was Drakar.
The other—
Was Commander Elira Vane.
She stood several meters away.
Her armor was torn.
Blood covered one side of her face.
Her breathing was slow and uneven.
She stared at the enormous dragon.
For several seconds, she couldn't move.
Then Drakar's body began to change.
His scales started disappearing.
His wings folded into his body.
His enormous claws shortened.
His tail vanished.
His gigantic frame began shrinking.
Bones shifted.
Muscles contracted.
The crimson scales disappeared beneath human skin.
The transformation was slow.
Almost peaceful.
Until—
A human figure stood where the dragon had been.
Drakar.
He was breathing quietly.
His torn clothes hung loosely against his battered body.
His crimson eyes remained exactly the same.
Elira stared.
Her hand slowly moved toward her sword.
She swallowed.
"You..."
Drakar looked toward her.
Elira took one cautious step forward.
"Who are you?"
Drakar said nothing.
Elira's grip tightened.
"You turned into a dragon."
Silence.
"You destroyed an entire army."
Still nothing.
Her voice became more serious.
"Who are you?"
Drakar finally answered.
His voice was calm.
"I am Drakar."
Elira frowned.
"That's your name."
"Yes."
"That's not what I asked."
Drakar looked toward the battlefield.
His eyes moved over the countless bodies.
"Then you are asking what I am."
Elira didn't answer.
Drakar looked back at her.
"I am one of the Archdemon Generals."
Elira's face went pale.
"The..."
She stared at him.
"The Archdemon Generals?"
Drakar nodded.
"And I am the representative of the dragons."
Elira's eyes widened.
She had heard stories.
Everyone had.
The Archdemon Generals were not ordinary Dark Beings.
They were beings who had served beneath the Demon King Kritos.
Monsters whose names had survived for seven hundred years.
Legends.
Nightmares.
And one of them was standing in front of her.
Drakar looked at the battlefield.
"I served King Kritos."
Elira's hand tightened around her sword.
Then something inside her snapped.
She remembered the screams.
The burning soldiers.
The dead commanders.
Her comrades.
Sanctoria had lost almost everyone.
And the being standing before her—
Was a Dark Being.
One of the Archdemon Generals.
Her eyes filled with anger.
"You're a Dark Being..."
Drakar looked at her.
Elira drew her sword.
SHING!
"You were standing among us."
Her voice trembled.
"You fought beside us."
Drakar remained calm.
"And now you tell me you're one of them?"
She raised the blade.
"You killed our enemies."
Her eyes narrowed.
"But you're still a Dark Being."
She charged.
"YOU'RE AN ARCHDEMON GENERAL!"
Drakar didn't move.
Elira swung.
The sword came toward his neck.
Drakar casually raised one hand.
He caught her wrist.
The blade stopped.
Elira's eyes widened.
She tried pulling away.
She couldn't move.
Drakar looked at her.
There was no anger in his expression.
No hatred.
Only exhaustion.
"Don't."
Elira gritted her teeth.
"LET ME GO!"
Drakar sighed.
Then—
SMACK!
His palm struck her face.
The sound echoed across the empty battlefield.
Elira's body flew sideways.
BOOM!
She hit the ground.
Blood splashed across the soil.
Her sword slipped from her fingers.
She lay motionless for several seconds.
Drakar looked down at his hand.
Then toward her.
"Don't make me kill you."
Elira struggled to lift her head.
Her vision blurred.
She stared at him.
The being who had just annihilated an entire army—
Hadn't even needed his full strength to defeat her.
Drakar turned away.
He looked toward the distant horizon.
His expression became cold.
"Human."
Elira slowly pushed herself upright.
Drakar spoke without looking back.
"If I wanted you dead..."
A pause.
"...you would already be dead."
Elira said nothing.
For the first time, she understood.
The victory belonged to Sanctoria.
But the survivor standing before her wasn't theirs.
He had simply decided to let her live.
The Royal Palace of Meledia stood beneath the evening sky.
The palace was quiet.
Golden lamps illuminated the enormous throne room.
Several ministers stood along the walls.
The atmosphere was unusually calm.
King Zeek sat upon the throne.
Beside him stood Lucas.
Soraya was present as well.
The meeting had been ordinary.
Until—
BANG!
The enormous doors suddenly opened.
A servant rushed inside.
He was breathing heavily.
His clothes were disordered from running.
The guards immediately raised their weapons.
"Stop!"
The servant dropped to his knees.
"Your Majesty!"
Zeek looked toward him.
"What happened?"
The servant lowered his head.
"Your Majesty..."
His voice trembled.
"There is... news."
Lucas stepped forward.
"What is it?"
The servant swallowed.
"We..."
He struggled to breathe.
"We heard news from Frostalia."
The room became quiet.
Lucas frowned.
"Speak."
The servant lifted his head.
His face was filled with fear.
"Frostalia..."
He swallowed again.
"...has established a new Great House."
Lucas's eyebrows rose.
"A new house?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"What is its name?"
The servant's voice trembled.
"...House Darkain."
Silence.
Nobody moved.
The words seemed to remain suspended inside the throne room.
"House..."
Lucas stared.
"Darkain?"
The servant nodded.
"Yes."
Soraya's expression changed.
She slowly turned toward him.
"And who leads this house?"
The servant looked terrified.
"A person called..."
He hesitated.
"...Blazing Demon."
Soraya froze.
Her eyes widened.
"Blazing Demon?"
Lucas immediately looked at her.
"You know him?"
Soraya didn't answer for several seconds.
Then—
"Of course I know him."
Her voice was quiet.
Everyone in the room turned toward her.
Soraya continued.
"He was the most loyal servant of Kritos."
Zeek's eyes narrowed.
Soraya's expression became darker.
"He wasn't merely a servant."
"He was an Archdemon General."
Silence.
The room became colder.
Lucas stared at her.
"How powerful is he?"
Soraya's eyes lowered.
"Powerful enough to make kingdoms disappear."
Nobody spoke.
She continued.
"He once destroyed half of the World Tree with ease."
A minister's face went pale.
"And..."
Soraya looked toward Zeek.
"He fought all six Heroes."
Lucas's expression changed.
"All six?"
"Together."
Soraya nodded.
"Alone."
Her voice became quieter.
"And he injured all six permanently."
The throne room fell completely silent.
Even the guards stopped moving.
Nobody wanted to imagine what kind of creature could fight six Heroes simultaneously—
And survive.
Soraya looked toward the servant.
"Where is he now?"
The servant lowered his head.
"House Darkain."
Soraya's eyes narrowed.
"Why would he establish himself inside Frostalia?"
The servant shook his head.
"We don't know."
"Then why?"
The servant hesitated.
"They say..."
Soraya stared at him.
"They say it was a miracle."
Lucas frowned.
"A miracle?"
The servant nodded.
"The Second Prince of Frostalia."
He swallowed.
"Prince Erek Frostalia."
Soraya's expression changed.
"And?"
The servant continued.
"The Blazing Demon..."
He lowered his head.
"...knelt before Prince Erek."
Silence.
Soraya didn't move.
Lucas looked toward her.
"Soraya?"
She slowly whispered—
"You mean..."
Her eyes sharpened.
"...Zox knelt?"
The servant nodded.
"Yes."
Soraya's breathing stopped.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then her expression changed.
Not fear.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
"If he knelt..."
Her voice became almost a whisper.
"...then Erek is Kritos."
Everyone froze.
Lucas stared at her.
"What?"
Soraya turned toward Zeek.
"Zox wouldn't do that."
Her voice was firm now.
"Even if it were a plan to infiltrate a human kingdom and seek revenge..."
She shook her head.
"Zox doesn't possess the mind required to create something that complicated."
Lucas's expression darkened.
"So you're saying..."
"Erek is the reincarnation of Demon King Kritos."
Nobody spoke.
Soraya's eyes became cold.
"We cannot let them live."
She stepped forward.
"My King."
She bowed.
"Give me the order."
Her voice carried absolute determination.
"I will bring their heads."
Zeek remained silent.
Soraya waited.
Then—
"No."
Her eyes widened.
"My King?"
Zeek looked at her.
His expression was calm.
"His destiny is not completed."
Soraya stared at him.
For a moment, she remembered another man.
A swordsman.
A battle.
A raised hand.
A destiny that had not yet reached its end.
"Honk..."
Zeek nodded.
"The same reason."
Soraya's expression became complicated.
"You said the same thing about Honk."
"Yes."
She looked directly at him.
"And now you're saying the same about Erek?"
Zeek leaned back slightly.
His eyes became distant.
"No."
Soraya frowned.
Zeek's voice was quiet.
"It is different."
The room remained silent.
Zeek looked toward the enormous windows of the palace.
Beyond them, night covered Meledia.
"The boy you believe is Erek Frostalia..."
He paused.
"...is truly Kritos."
Soraya's eyes widened.
Zeek continued.
"And I know it."
Nobody breathed.
Lucas stared at his king.
"Then why..."
Zeek slowly looked toward him.
"Because killing him now would be a mistake."
His voice became heavier.
"His destiny has not yet reached its beginning."
Soraya lowered her gaze.
"What destiny?"
Zeek looked toward the dark sky.
Then he spoke.
"There is a war coming."
The atmosphere changed.
"A war greater than the wars of humans."
"A war greater than the conflict between Frostalia and Meledia."
"Greater than Darkain."
"Greater than any kingdom."
Soraya slowly raised her eyes.
Zeek's expression became solemn.
"**The War of Survival**."
The words echoed through the throne room.
Zeek continued.
"And Erek..."
A pause.
"...who is truly Kritos..."
His eyes narrowed.
"Will be one of the three individuals who will lead us."
Silence.
Soraya stared at him.
"One of the three?"
Zeek nodded.
"The three who will decide whether our world survives."
Nobody spoke.
The torches flickered against the walls.
Zeek's words remained suspended in the throne room.
**"Erek... who is truly Kritos... will be one of the three individuals who will lead us in the War of Survival."**
Soraya stared at him.
Lucas remained completely silent.
But Zeek's expression slowly changed.
His eyes moved toward the enormous window overlooking the city.
Beyond the glass, the moon hung above Meledia.
And then—
Zeek noticed something.
On the rooftop of a building across from the palace stood a lone figure.
A man covered completely in a dark cloak.
His hood concealed his face.
The distance was too great.
The darkness was too deep.
Neither Soraya nor Lucas noticed him.
But Zeek did.
His eyes remained fixed upon the mysterious figure.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then Zeek slowly lowered his head.
His expression became unusually solemn.
And in a voice so quiet that only he could hear—
he whispered.
"My lord..."
The cloaked man remained motionless.
Zeek's fingers slowly tightened.
"Erek will be the one..."
His voice became even quieter.
"...who will free me from your slavery."
The words carried no hatred.
Only certainty.
The cloaked figure slowly turned his head toward the palace.
Zeek could not see his face.
Not even his eyes.
But then—
The man's lips curved into a smile.
A faint smile.
A mysterious smile.
And finally, the cloaked man spoke.
His voice was too distant for anyone inside the palace to hear clearly.
But Zeek heard him.
"We three..."
The man's smile widened.
"...will lead this war to victory."
Zeek remained completely still.
His eyes stayed fixed upon his lord.
The cloaked man continued standing upon the rooftop for another moment.
Then the wind swept across the building.
His cloak fluttered violently.
And in the next instant—
He disappeared into the darkness.
Zeek continued staring at the empty rooftop.
His expression was unreadable.
Behind him, Soraya and Lucas still knew nothing of what had just happened.
They didn't know who had been standing outside.
They didn't know why Zeek had called him **his lord**.
And they didn't know what kind of slavery Zeek had been speaking about.
But Zeek knew.
He knew exactly who that man was.
And he knew something else.
The boy called Erek Frostalia...
The reincarnation of Demon King Kritos...
would eventually stand before that man.
And when that day came—
The balance of the world would change forever.
Three individuals.
Three destinies.
One war.
**The War of Survival. **
Far away from Meledia...
Within the Royal Palace of Leonhart, a vast throne room stood beneath the pale light of countless crystal lamps.
The atmosphere was strangely calm.
No soldiers hurried through the corridors.
No servants spoke loudly.
Yet beneath that silence was something else.
A hidden tension.
A feeling that something enormous had already begun moving behind the scenes.
At the end of the throne room stood a magnificent throne.
Upon it sat a man with fiery orange hair and crimson eyes.
He wore pristine white armor beneath an elegant cloak made from the fur of a mythical beast.
His posture was relaxed.
His expression was calm.
But there was something dangerous in those crimson eyes.
His name was—
**Alen Leonhart.**
The Beast Hero.
The man who had commanded the Leonhart army.
The man whose soldiers had just been annihilated by Drakar.
Standing beside the throne were two other people.
One was a man.
He was a man who appeared to be in his early thirties, with a tall, lean build and a calm, composed posture.
His dark brown hair fell naturally around his forehead, with several strands resting loosely above his eyes. It was neatly kept without looking overly styled, giving him an effortless appearance.
His eyes were a deep crimson-red, sharp but composed. They rarely showed much emotion, though his gaze seemed particularly observant whenever he spoke with someone.
His complexion was lightly tanned, complementing the dark colors of his clothing.
He wore a long, dark-gray coat that reached just below his knees, its collar resting neatly around his neck. Beneath it was a simple black shirt, paired with fitted dark trousers and sturdy leather boots.
A thin leather belt rested around his waist, holding a small pouch and a short sheathed blade.
Nothing about his clothing was extravagant.
Everything was practical.
He carried himself with quiet confidence. His movements were measured, and he rarely wasted a gesture or a word.
When he stood among other people, there was nothing particularly unusual about him.
He looked like a well-traveled man.
A capable man.
Perhaps even an experienced adventurer.
And to anyone meeting him for the first time, that was exactly what he appeared to be.
His name was Ruko.
Beside him stood a woman.
She appeared to be a woman in her late twenties, with a slender figure and an elegant posture.
Her long silver-blonde hair flowed down her back, reaching just past her waist. It was smooth and carefully maintained, with a few strands framing the sides of her face.
Her eyes were a striking deep violet, giving her a naturally distinctive appearance. She often wore a calm expression, though a faint smile would occasionally appear when she spoke.
Her skin was fair, with a soft complexion that contrasted with the darker colors of her clothing.
She wore a fitted dark-blue dress beneath a long, elegant black coat. The coat was decorated with subtle silver patterns around the cuffs and collar. A thin belt rested around her waist, holding a small pouch and a finely crafted dagger.
Her boots were simple and practical, hidden partially beneath the hem of her coat.
Unlike someone who dressed to attract attention, her clothing was refined without being extravagant.
She moved gracefully, rarely making unnecessary movements.
When she walked through a crowded street, she looked like an ordinary noblewoman or perhaps an experienced traveler.
There was nothing about her appearance that would make someone question what she was.
To anyone meeting her for the first time, she was simply a beautiful, composed woman with an unusual pair of violet eyes.
Her name was Zoe.
The three remained silent.
Then Ruko spoke.
"I heard the news, Alen."
Alen's crimson eyes slowly moved toward him.
"Kritos has made his move."
Zoe's expression became serious.
"Not only that."
She stepped forward slightly.
"Drakar is trying to steal Falmeth for our King."
Alen looked toward her.
"You are right, Zoe."
His voice was calm.
"Drakar has made his move."
His fingers rested against the arm of the throne.
"He annihilated my soldiers."
There was no anger in his voice.
No grief.
Almost as though the deaths of thousands were simply another part of a plan already written.
Alen slowly turned his head toward Ruko.
"Ruko."
"Yes?"
"Did you kill my surviving soldiers?"
Ruko immediately nodded.
"Of course."
Zoe looked toward him.
Ruko continued.
"We can't allow a rumor to spread that a dragon is fighting alongside Sanctoria."
His gray eyes narrowed.
"If that information reaches the wrong people, Drakar's mission will fail."
Alen remained silent.
Ruko continued.
"The surviving soldiers had already seen him."
"So I eliminated them."
Zoe smiled faintly.
"Then soon..."
She looked toward Alen.
"...our King will become stronger."
Alen's lips curved into a small smile.
"Of course he will."
He leaned back against the throne.
"After all..."
His crimson eyes gleamed.
"He will possess both legendary swords."
Zoe's expression sharpened.
"Falmeth..."
Alen nodded.
"And Grimveil."
The name alone seemed to change the atmosphere of the room.
Two legendary swords.
Two weapons connected to an ancient age.
And behind them—
The power of the God of Darkness.
Alen's smile widened.
"With the power of the God of Darkness..."
He looked toward the darkness beyond the throne room.
"...our King will become something this world has never seen."
Ruko folded his arms.
"Everything is going exactly as Alaric said."
Alen's smile remained.
"Yes."
He slowly stood from the throne.
His white armor reflected the crystal lights.
His crimson eyes burned with anticipation.
"Soon..."
He looked toward Zoe.
Then toward Ruko.
And finally toward the distant darkness beyond the palace.
"...those three will lead us to victory."
A pause.
Alen's smile deepened.
"In the War of Survival."
The three stood together beneath the cold light of the palace.
None of them spoke again.
Because they already knew—
The pieces were moving.
Drakar had made his move.
Erek had made his move.
And somewhere beyond their sight...
Another two powerfull individual had already begun moving as well.
The War of Survival was drawing closer.
And the world still had no idea—
That the people preparing to lead it...
were already standing in the shadows.