A cool breeze brushed through the narrow alleyways of the Durmount capital, carrying with it the heavy scents of roasted spices, chimney smoke, and an underlying, unspoken dread. Leornars Servs Avrem walked with quiet, calculated purpose through the bustling market district, his dark cloak fluttering behind him like a displaced shadow. He drifted casually from tavern to tavern—ears open, words few. Eyes followed him from every shadowy doorway: some filled with idle curiosity, others with instinctual terror, but not a single soul dared to step into his path.
Eventually, he ducked out of the main thoroughfare and settled beside a quiet alleyway, resting his weight against a damp wooden crate slick with the condensation of the crowded city.
"Hmm... so the humans are terrified of liberation? Afraid of a potential demi-human revolt?" Leornars murmured to himself, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared at the cobblestones. "How utterly ironic. Beings who consider themselves the apex of the food chain, quaking in their boots at the mere thought of losing control. I wonder... if I were to side with the demons, what would become of their oh-so-proud race?"
As he pondered the thought, a sudden commotion stirred just a few meters deeper down the dark passage. A covert slave-smuggling operation was unfolding—six heavily armed human men dragging a struggling, gagged elf girl into the shadows.
Leornars let out an irritated sigh. "Can't even have a single moment's peace in this wretched city..." he muttered, pushing himself up from the crate.
Then came the voices.
Echoes.
Familiar. Visceral. Terrifying.
Inside the dark expanse of his skull, long-buried memories twisted into cruel, echoing whispers—distorted versions of himself clawing at his sanity.
> *"Would mother accept you for what you've become?"*
> *"You think you're strong? No... you're weak. Unworthy. Worthless."*
> *"Mother didn't die so you could turn yourself into a mindless barbarian."*
> *"They called us a curse. Let's prove them right."*
>
Leornars's body trembled violently. Cold sweat rolled down his temple as he staggered sideways into the damp alley wall, his fingers clawing at his scalp.
"Shut up... all of you," his voice shook, cracking under the intense psychic strain.
But the voices inside only grew louder, screaming in unison.
"I said **SHUT UP!**"
With a frantic thrust of his hand, he summoned Bellian. Black mist exploded into the alley as the crimson-eyed demon knight materialized, his ethereal dark armor gleaming under the moonlight.
"G-Go... save that slave..." Leornars rasped out, his vision swimming as he gripped his chest. "No matter what..."
For the first time since his resurrection, Bellian hesitated. The dark knight stared down at his collapsing master, defying a direct command.
Slowly, Bellian sank onto one knee, bowing his head in refusal to leave his lord defenseless.
Leornars's voice turned instantly ice-cold despite his weakness.
"That's an order."
Bellian's form flickered and vanished into the shadows.
Leornars staggered deeper into the labyrinthine alleyway, his head pulsing with unbearable agony as his vision blurred into absolute darkness.
"Where do you think you're going...?" he grunted to himself, his knees buckling.
His legs gave out entirely. He collapsed against the cobblestones just as the six slavers noticed his presence, stepping away from the trapped elf and surrounding him like vultures over fresh carrion.
"Look at this one," one of the slavers chuckled, nudging Leornars's limp shoulder with his boot. "Let's sell him too. He looks... rare. Silver hair like that will fetch a fortune from the nobles."
Leornars gritted his teeth through the blinding migraine, desperately attempting to channel his mana to call forth Ascian—his fiery phantom beast—but complete darkness swallowed his consciousness whole.
He passed out.
Just as the slavers drew their iron shackles to bind him, black smoke billowed across the walls. Bellian reappeared in an instant—this time with Stacian stepping out from the shadow directly beside him.
The white-haired girl took in the entire scene at a single glance: the trapped slaves, the sneering traders... and Leornars, lying motionless on the cold dirt.
The cheerful, gentle smile she always wore completely vanished.
Her bright blue eyes darkened in a fraction of a second, bleeding into an abyss of void-like, hollow black. Her pale white hair darkened at the roots, turning into a pitch-black, obsidian sheen.
"You absolute insects..." Stacian spoke, her voice dropping into a flat, terrifying resonance that vibrated through the stone walls. "You dared to put your filthy hands on the only person who ever treated me like I mattered?"
A heavy, suffocating hum reverberated through the sealed alley.
"I despise unnecessary violence—but for this? I'll gladly make an exception."
The alley walls warped. The surrounding architectural space shifted violently as high-tier space magic sealed every exit, locking the traders inside an inescapable, soundproof pocket.
Then came the screams.
When the deafening silence finally returned to the alleyway, Stacian emerged into the moonlight, carrying the unconscious Leornars securely on her back. Fresh, crimson pieces of shredded flesh clung to the soles of her shoes like wet paint after a complete massacre.
Leornars awoke in absolute darkness.
No—it wasn't empty darkness.
It was the deep, stone dungeons of Kurnov.
He was standing outside a rusted cell, forced to watch a spectral image of himself. An illusion? No—it felt far too real. Pain seeped directly into every nerve of his body. He watched in forced silence as he relived the slaughter of ten thousand souls. Watched his mother die again and again in a grueling, endless loop of psychological torment.
For hours, the nightmare continued to play out before his eyes.
Until...
"Leornars."
Two distinct shadows hovered over his vision, pulling him back to reality.
Leornars sat bolt upright on a clean bed, his breath coming in ragged, violent gasps, his eyes bloodshot and wide with adrenaline.
"How long... was I out?" he demanded, pressing his palms against his face.
Stacian, standing by the edge of the bed with her usual calm demeanor restored, replied softly, "Three days. Seven hours."
His eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
"Shit... I was out for that long?!" Leornars cursed aloud, kicking off the sheets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I could've started the entire border revolt by now! Assassinated key military leaders, disrupted their primary supply lines—dammit! My entire timetable... ruined just because I couldn't keep my eyes open?!"
He stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth across the wooden floorboards.
"No. No—I'll just have to improvise. I need to cause a massive commotion, something catastrophic. Something the royal family can't afford to ignore. I don't possess a kingdom of my own yet, so attacking theirs head-on is complete suicide. I'll take this one from the inside... or forge my own nation from its ashes."
He stopped pacing, his dark eyes burning with manic ambition.
"If I leverage the elf princess, spark a full-scale inter-species war... yes, that could actually work. Heh... listen to me. What am I even saying? I'm just a sick, twisted bastard anyway. A piece of tainted light."
He walked toward the door, speaking coldly without turning back to look at her.
"There were slaves I intended to rescue before I passed out... What happened to them?"
"I freed every single one of them," Stacian said gently. "I knew that's what you would have wanted."
"Good." Leornars paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the brass handle. "We're almost on equal footing now, Stacian. But I still need to make up my mind... can I actually trust you? Or should I just cut your throat and kill you right here?"
> *Even your own shadow abandons you when you step into the darkness.*
>
"...I see," Leornars finally muttered aloud to the silence. "You did well."
Opening the heavy oak door, he was immediately greeted by the sight of dozens of armed demi-humans waiting quietly in the hallway.
*Huh? Are they here to ambush me?* he wondered, his muscles instantly tensing as his mana flared defensively.
"They're the captives you saved from the slavers," Stacian explained, stepping up behind him.
"Oh." His raised fist slowly uncurled, his mana receding. *She gave that explanation just in time. Another two seconds and I would have slaughtered every single one of them.*
He glanced sideways at her out of the corner of his eye. "And the slavers from the alley?"
Stacian answered plainly, her expression utterly serene. "I killed them all."
A soft, dark smirk flickered across Leornars's face.
"Good job... Stacian von Gremoriah."
The moment the crowd caught sight of him standing in the doorway, thunderous cheers erupted through the corridor.
"He's awake!"
"The Savior has returned!"
"Our Master lives!"
Leornars stepped forward into the hallway, his face unreadable.
Their cheering voices didn't matter to him. Not in the slightest.
Only one thing truly mattered.
*Perfect. This is precisely the stepping stone I needed.*
His gaze sharpened into cold, deadly steel as he looked over the crowd of desperate followers.
*I don't care how many lives are lost in the crossfire. I don't care how many innocent souls suffer. So long as the Kingdom of Durmount burns to the ground... I will stand atop the ruins and smile.*
*With Stacian and Bellian at my side, the rest of these political factions are nothing. The sky above may look bright and blue, but beyond it... there is only absolute, unyielding darkness.*
And with that, the landless king walked forward into the light, surrounded by roaring cheers and lingering shadows, marching toward a destiny drenched in blood, fire, and absolute revolt.