Night had settled heavily over the land.
A lone carriage moved steadily along a desolate road, its wheels cutting softly through the silence as it advanced toward the Empire of Virelith. Darkness stretched endlessly across the horizon, swallowing the world beyond the narrow path ahead.
Inside the carriage, two men sat facing each other.
"Our empire's situation is not well, Solmen," Borendil said quietly. "We need to do something about gold… or we won't be able to maintain the economy."
Zasyl X. Borendil.
The Emperor of Virelith.
Across from him, Solmen—the Imperial Minister, born of a high noble family—remained composed, though tension lingered in his eyes.
"Yes, Your Majesty. But taxes are not being paid—from nobles, from villages, and even from the three kingdoms under us." His voice hardened slightly. "And… you are not taking action against them."
The air inside the carriage grew heavier.
An empire, vast and powerful, yet slowly rotting from within.
Borendil closed his eyes briefly, as if weighing something unseen.
Then—
A deafening explosion tore through the night.
BOOM!!
The carriage was obliterated in an instant.
Wood splintered. Metal twisted. Fire and force erupted outward like a violent storm.
Both men were thrown from the wreckage.
They hit the ground hard.
Pain surged through their bodies—but they lived.
---
Borendil forced himself up slightly, breath uneven.
"Tsk… what just happened…?" he muttered. "How did this explosion occur…?"
"Your Majesty!" Solmen rushed to him, panic breaking through his usual composure. "Are you alright!? We need to move quickly—I think this is an assassination!"
Borendil exhaled slowly.
Despite the chaos, his gaze remained steady.
"It's already too late," he said.
A pause.
"We're surrounded."
---
From the darkness—
Figures emerged.
One.
Then another.
Then dozens.
They stepped forward without hesitation, forming a complete circle around them. No gaps. No escape.
Among them, one man walked ahead, arrogance evident in every step.
"You old man," he said, his tone mocking. "Kneel down."
Borendil's lips curved slightly.
A faint, cold smirk.
"I don't kneel to anyone."
---
In the next instant—
Power surged.
Borendil activated his Divina.
The air trembled.
Without warning, he moved.
The battle began.
---
Steel clashed against force.
Movements were sharp, precise, relentless.
Each strike carried intent. Each defense demanded perfection.
Solmen joined him, fighting side by side. Despite his position as a minister, his skill was far from ordinary.
Together, they held their ground.
But they were outnumbered.
And worse—
Every single one of their enemies was trained.
Not bandits.
Assassins.
---
Time stretched.
The fight dragged on.
Breathing grew heavier. Movements slowed.
Tiny openings began to appear.
Barely noticeable—
But fatal.
---
And then—
A blade pierced through Borendil from behind.
---
"AAAGH!!"
The Emperor's cry tore through the battlefield.
"YOUR MAJESTY!!!" Solmen shouted, his voice breaking.
The blade was pulled free.
Borendil's body trembled before collapsing heavily onto the ground, blood spreading beneath him.
---
One of the assassins stepped forward, his expression cold.
"Kill the Imperial Minister. Now."
Solmen clenched his teeth, rage burning through the pain.
"You bastards!!"
The assassins advanced.
Step by step.
Closing in.
---
"I'm… still alive…!!"
The voice was weak.
But it stopped them.
All eyes turned.
Borendil struggled against the ground, his body refusing to obey, yet his will remained unbroken.
"You can't touch… my people…"
One of the assassins clicked his tongue in irritation.
"Then die properly."
He stepped forward, raising his weapon to finish the Emperor.
---
Then—
Something changed.
A shift in the air.
Subtle.
But undeniable.
---
A figure moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
---
Before anyone could react—
One assassin dropped.
Then another.
Then another.
Bodies hit the ground in rapid succession, as if struck by an unseen force.
---
"WHO IS THERE!? SHOW YOURSELF, COWARD!!"
Panic crept into their voices.
From the darkness—
A boy stepped forward.
White hair.
Crimson red eyes.
---
"You have no right to call someone a coward," the boy said calmly, "when you attack many against two."
---
He moved.
In an instant—
He appeared before one of the assassins.
A single punch.
Clean.
Direct.
The man collapsed without resistance.
---
He was strong.
Far stronger than he should be.
---
Solmen's eyes widened.
"Your Majesty… look…!" he whispered, disbelief overtaking him. "A boy… he doesn't even look ten years old… and he's fighting all of them alone…"
His voice lowered.
"And… white hair… crimson red eyes…"
---
Borendil forced his eyes open.
His vision blurred.
But he saw it.
---
The boy's hand.
A mark.
---
Recognition flickered.
Faint—
But undeniable.
---
"Listen… Solmen…"
His voice trembled, yet carried authority that refused to fade.
"I… will not survive…"
He coughed, blood staining his lips.
"That boy… I believe… he is from the royal lineage…"
A pause.
"Zasyl…"
---
Solmen froze.
---
"If… he survives this battle…" Borendil continued, forcing each word forward, "investigate him…"
A breath.
Heavy.
Final.
---
"And if it is true… make him the next Emperor…"
---
Shock struck Solmen instantly.
"What!? Your Majesty—how can you choose a random boy as the next Emperor!?"
---
Borendil shook his head weakly.
"I am not… choosing randomly…"
His voice faded—
But his will did not.
---
"If he carries the Zasyl blood…"
A pause.
Cold.
Final.
---
"…then he is more worthy…"
---
Silence tightened around them.
---
"…than my sons."
---