The building that once stood with towering walls had been reduced to ruins. Its roof, which had once provided shelter, now exposed the dark night sky above. Several figures stood poised, ready to strike at the slightest movement.
"Come on… you're only wasting your lives if you keep this up. I have no mercy for those who stand in my way."
His cold voice blended into the air. From where he stood, there wasn't even the faintest trace of compassion. If killing was necessary, he would do it without hesitation.
"My lord, please stop. We do not wish to harm you."
One of them spoke, gripping a sword formed from swirling dark purple smoke.
"Harm me? Who do you think you're talking to?"
A mocking smile curved across his face. There was no sign of injury—no dust, no blood—marring his flawless appearance.
Despite the destruction surrounding them—some even buried beneath the rubble—none showed any intention of surrendering. Instead, the oppressive aura only grew heavier.
Another explosion shattered what remained. The stench of smoke filled the air, mixed with the sickening scent of burning flesh and blood. Under the bright moon, the scene was anything but serene. Everywhere the eye could see, there was only chaos—ruins scattered across the ground, black smoke rising from what once stood, and bodies lying still as fresh blood continued to flow.
"There's no need to flaunt your power, son. We're only asking you to take the throne—not destroy the palace."
A low chuckle followed.
"In your dreams, old man. Even if it were the entire world, I'd reduce it to nothing if you keep forcing me."
It was a pitiful sight—those who tried to stop the prince's escape now reduced to charred remains. The once-glorious palace lay in ruins, nearly half destroyed. And yet, not a shred of regret could be found.
The culprit stood tall, gaze filled with arrogance, challenging the king before him—his own father.
"Do you know the punishment for breaking an oath, son?"
The king's voice remained steady, authoritative.
"Immortality."
A faint breeze passed, lifting strands of the young man's disheveled hair. Anger simmered within him every time the throne was mentioned. He only knew how to destroy—not how to rule.
As his gaze drifted across the devastation, a realization crept in. His power was no longer just a matter of strength—it was danger. It wasn't about whether he was powerful, but whether he could keep everything from falling apart.
The blood he had spilled became a weight on his chest. Taking lives so easily, simply because he wished to—
It was clear what kind of future awaited the kingdom if it fell into his hands.
Silence stretched between them.
Then—something flickered at the edge of his vision.
Pain struck his heart, spreading down through his entire body. The young man who had stood so boldly now dropped to his knees, his strength vanishing in an instant. Every inch of him ached, leaving him unable to stand.
It wasn't hard to guess who was responsible.
"Damn old man… no matter what you do, no means no."
"I know. You've never taken your words lightly. But you should know me by now… I won't stop until it happens."
With a flick of his robe, the ruined battlefield vanished. In its place stood a pristine, gleaming hall. A red carpet stretched forward toward the throne, while rows of people stood waiting—as if they had been there all along.
"Don't make me destroy this place too."
"No. This room is far more expensive than the last one. Do you really want me to waste the budget rebuilding it?"
"I thought you brought me here for that."
Their gazes met—one issuing a silent warning, the other a clear refusal.
"You may do as you please once you become king. That way, you can handle the repairs yourself."
The king smiled in quiet victory. For once, his son had no response.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the king announced, "on this beautiful and delightful night, we welcome a new king—one who is exceptional… and full of trouble."
Applause erupted, echoing throughout the grand hall. Joy filled the room, as though the chaos outside had never existed.
How ridiculous.
A forced coronation—something only this king would come up with. A kingdom that prided itself as the strongest in all dimensions… and yet filled with madness.
Look at them—smiling widely at a future king dressed in nothing but sleepwear, his clothes still stained with blood that hadn't fully dried.
He had slaughtered every soldier sent after him, and yet here they stood, celebrating.
Insane. All of them.
And he wanted no part in ruling such a kingdom.
Better to run… than lose his sanity and die young.
As the massive crown, heavy with responsibility, descended toward his head—
He tore open a dimensional rift with the last of his remaining strength.
No matter what, he had to escape. Far enough that no one would ever chase him again.
A sharp clang rang through the hall.
Silence fell. Even the owl outside seemed startled.
The crown hit the floor—
With no head to bear it.