Inside the grand chamber of the Valcrest estate, twelve generals sat around an obsidian table shaped like a crescent moon. The air was thick with the smell of old parchment, iron, and the faint pulse of mana radiating from each warrior present.
A woman with a dark eyepatch covering her left eye leaned back in her chair. Her silver hair glimmered beneath the chandelier's light — Merlin, one of the Twelve Generals, known as the Witch of Dawnfire.
"Alright," Merlin said, her voice smooth but carrying authority. "If Wizz vouches for him, then we'll let it be. Let's focus on the matter at hand."
A tall man with a crimson cloak resting on his shoulders crossed his arms, his tone grave. Azzell, the Iron General — another of the Twelve.
"The world is in chaos," he began. "The Seats of Paradox are appearing more frequently. Each one bringing waves of demons with them… and our losses are mounting faster than expected."
The atmosphere thickened. Even the sound of breathing seemed to fade.
"But that's not our greatest problem." Azzell's eyes hardened. "Reports indicate that people from another world are increasing in number. Two years ago, there were barely a hundred. Now…" He slammed a document onto the table. "The number is rising uncontrollably."
The room fell into stunned silence.
"Another world?" murmured one of the lesser officers.
Azzell nodded grimly. "Yes. They possess something— a system, or perhaps a blessing from some god. Whatever it is, it gives them strange powers. Most are weak, untrained… but recently, they've begun to change."
Merlin narrowed her eye. "Change?"
Azzell's voice dropped low. "They're forming groups. Small at first — now organized. They call themselves Zero. They've already attacked villages near the empire's border. Mages, knights, even civilians… slaughtered."
Wizz frowned, his joking tone gone. "Zero, huh? Sounds like someone's playing god again."
Azzell continued, "We've sent scouts and spies, but none have returned. What we know is limited — only that these 'Zeros' act with purpose. They aren't random killers. It's as if they're searching for something… or someone."
The elders exchanged worried glances.
Merlin drummed her fingers against the table. "If they truly came from another world, then the empire isn't just facing demons anymore…" Her voice turned cold. "We're facing the unknown — a new breed of humans that even the gods might have forsaken."
The tension in the room grew heavier. Haru stood silently near the wall, listening. Every word echoed like a faint reminder of his own forgotten world.
When Haru heard the report, his expression didn't change—no flicker of shock, no sign of concern.
Even in his original world, he had seen this kind of story unfold countless times.
When people gained power, they wanted to feel like gods.
A society that once preached peace slowly suffocated its own people—draining them until even a fragment of strength became intoxicating.
Give them a taste of power, and they would crave more.
Give them too much, and they would destroy everything around them.
Haru's thoughts sank deeper.
He understood now—those outsiders were killing others because it made them stronger.
Each life they took fed their system, their level, their hunger.
It was the same logic as slaughtering monsters… only worse.
They've started treating people like prey, Haru realized, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
Azzell continued, voice heavy with restrained anger.
"So, we must contain them—if necessary, eliminate them. But not all of them are corrupt. Some still fight for the good of the Empire, hunting demons and keeping the borders safe. For their sake, we can't lose control."
The general straightened his back, his voice rising with conviction.
"Our plan is simple. We'll send detachments to every border region, strengthen the watchtowers, and protect the people. No more hesitation."
Then Azzell's tone darkened.
"And now, regarding the reports from two years ago—the tragedy of the Zerath Empire…"
The moment the name was spoken, something stirred inside Haru.
A faint image flashed across his mind—burning cities, ash falling like snow, a mission he'd once been part of but buried deep within forgotten memory.
Azzell's voice thundered through the silent chamber.
"The Nine Seats of Paradox… led by the Lich King Verlin. They erased the entire Zerath Empire from the map. Every city. Every soul. And still, we've received no confirmation of Verlin's death. Instead, new horrors have appeared—high-class demons, corrupted beasts, and several newly discovered Seats spreading chaos across the continent."
The air grew suffocating.
Even the flicker of torches seemed to dim.
For a brief moment, Haru's composure faltered.
His chest tightened—the memory of that mission clawing its way back.
He could still remember the orders, the smell of burning earth, the screams he never had the power to silence.
His mind whispered the question he feared the most:
What if my friends… went there?
What if they died in that hell?
But as quickly as the emotion came, Haru buried it again beneath his calm expression.
This world, this empire, these wars—they were not his concern.
Yet deep down, he knew the truth: if the Lich King still walked the earth, then peace was nothing more than a fragile illusion.