The royal court was loud until the doors slammed open.
A drenched messenger stumbled in, mud on his boots, chest heaving. "Your Majesty!" he shouted, voice echoing off marble.
The king rose from his throne, eyes narrowing. "Speak."
The man dropped to one knee. "It's the northern front, sire— they've moved. An army, flying the banners of Vuldar."
The whole court went silent. Even the nobles who never shut up during meetings froze mid-breath.
"Vuldar…?" someone muttered. "The brute kingdom?"
The king's expression darkened. "How large?"
"Too large," the messenger said, voice trembling. "They march under Lord Maegor's banner. Scouts estimate fifty… no— closer to seventy thousand."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the chamber.
Lord Aurelian rose from his seat. "That mad dog finally moves south?"
The king looked to his general. "What the hell does he want? Vuldar hasn't breached the border in thirty years."
The general bowed slightly. "They say Maegor united the tribes, forged something new. Rumors claim he's calling it a crusade."
"Crusade?"
The messenger nodded weakly. "A crusade… in the name of the God of Death."
Gasps. Murmurs. A few scoffs from the older nobles trying to mask their unease.
The king's jaw tightened. "Blasphemy. There is no such god."
But not all of them looked convinced.
Behind the thrones, one of the old ministers whispered, "They say Maegor built temples across the frozen lands… that his priests don't die even when burned."
The king slammed his hand on the armrest. "Enough rumors. Prepare the armies. Call every banner south of the spine. If Maegor wants war, he'll have it."
He turned toward his captain. "And summon the Hero's Party. They're to report here immediately."
After some while-
The meeting room looked like it hadn't seen sleep in days. Every noble in sight had a face darker than burnt bread.
The king stood at the head of the table, palms flat on polished wood. "We've confirmed the reports," he said, voice tight. "Vuldar marches south. They call it a Crusade of Death."
Kyle, who'd been half-slouched in his chair, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Oh, for f**k's sake…"
Evan blinked. "What's wrong?"
Kyle let out a dry laugh, hand dragging down his face. "Crusade of Death. Yeah. Sounds familiar."
Lyra gave a sharp side-eye. She remembered—those lunatics two centuries ago who'd worshipped a shadow in the snow. Her eyes flicked toward Kyle but she kept quiet.
The king continued, unaware. "Our scouts claim their banners bear a black scythe and red flame. Their leader—Lord Maegor—is said to wield power on par with a high archmage. They slaughtered the border posts without negotiation."
The room buzzed with tension.
Kyle leaned back, staring at the ceiling like he'd just been told his rent went up. "Of course they did," he muttered. "Can't just let a man have one quiet f**kin' week."
The king turned, narrowing his eyes. "You seem amused, Sir Kyle."
Kyle met his gaze, lazy grin half-forming. "Not amused. Just… nostalgic."
Evan looked confused. "You've seen them before?"
Kyle sighed. "Seen? I used to lead half of those maniacs—" He stopped mid-sentence, caught himself, then smirked. "—kidding. Just kidding."
The silence in the hall was heavy. Lyra crossed her arms and muttered under her breath, "Sure you are."
The king cleared his throat. "Regardless. We must prepare a counteroffensive. The Hero's Party will travel north to evaluate the threat. Our troops will follow once the defensive lines are ready."
Kyle stood up. "Hold on. We signed up for demon king duty, not a suicide mission with a bunch of frost-bitten zealots."
The court gasped. One minister even whispered, "Blasphemy before His Majesty—"
Kyle gave him a look that shut him right up. "Relax, old man. I'm just saying we're not a damn fire brigade you call every time the sky looks stormy."
Evan stepped in awkwardly, trying to defuse the tension. "Uh, maybe we should at least see what's happening first? We can't just ignore an invasion."
Kyle exhaled through his nose. "Fine. We'll 'see.' But if those dumb bastards are who I think they are…"
Later -
The war room was a damn sauna of shouting nobles and generals waving maps like drunk magicians. Kyle sat in the corner, arms crossed, eyes dead.
Some old general slammed his gauntlet on the table. "We'll take position at the Valen Pass! Our mages will—"
Kyle cut in, flat. "Your mages will freeze their balls off in two days."
The man turned red. "What did you just—"
"—say your plan's garbage? Yeah." Kyle leaned forward, pointing lazily at the map. "That pass gets covered in snowdrifts every night. You set up there, and you'll wake up buried with your fancy sword shoved somewhere unpleasant."
Silence. The old man's mustache twitched. The king sighed like he was already tired of this circus.
Lyra, standing beside Kyle, whispered without looking at him, "You seem to enjoy making enemies."
He shrugged. "They started it by being stupid."
The generals went on arguing, but half the room was too busy glaring at Kyle now. Evan sat beside him, trying to keep the peace with his usual sunshine grin. "Okay, maybe we can use both ideas—Kyle's instincts and the general's experience—"
"Kid," Kyle said, flicking a small pebble at the map, "instincts keep you alive. Experience just gives you a fancier grave."
The king rubbed his temples. "Enough. The Hero's Party leaves at dawn. You'll establish contact at the border and assess the enemy."
Kyle smirked. "Sure. Because sending five people to 'assess' an army makes total sense."
—
Later, outside the castle walls, the air felt colder. Kyle adjusted the collar of his new reinforced suit as Lyra walked beside him, quiet but clearly thinking.
She finally spoke. "You know, you acted too obvious back in the arena."
Kyle blinked. "Huh?"
She looked up at him, her tone flat. "You scared them half to death. And you wonder why people call you a monster."
Kyle groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Yeah, that… wasn't my best move. Guess I forgot not everyone likes a good scare."
"Forgot?" Lyra's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "That's rich coming from the Reaper himself."
He shot her a side look. "Tch. Don't say that out loud. You'll give the priests a heart attack."
"They'd deserve it," she said simply.
—
By the next morning, their convoy rolled north. Evan rode ahead on his horse, waving like some festival mascot. Seraphina kept lecturing him on formality while Kyle trailed behind, half-asleep on his saddle.
By nightfall, they reached the border village — the one already crawling with soldiers and makeshift tents. Smoke from campfires mixed with the stink of fear.
As they dismounted, a messenger ran up, breathless. "A message from the northern army! Lord Maegor himself requests an audience. They propose… peace talks."
The whole camp went silent.
The king's aide frowned. "They must be mocking us. We can't just walk into their camp unguarded."
Before anyone could respond, Evan spoke up, his tone way too cheerful for the moment. "Then we'll go."
Kyle's brow twitched. "We'll what?"
"The Hero's Party," Evan said, smiling like a man with no sense of self-preservation. "We'll go talk to them ourselves. That's what heroes do, right?"
Kyle stared at him, deadpan. "…Right. 'Heroes.' Perfect."