The city of Varendor—once prosperous, surrounded by golden fields—was dying.
The monsters that once lurked deep within the forests had crept closer like a dark tide, driven by an inexplicable phenomenon that had turned even the shyest creatures savage. Every night the city walls trembled beneath their roars. The crops were gone, and famine had become a shadow that devoured lives.
Governor Arvian Thorne, Level 85, stood atop the battlements, his face gaunt and his eyes sunken from exhaustion. The food reserves had been insufficient for weeks. Sending hunters beyond the walls was nearly suicide… and yet he had done it.
Otherwise, the city would have fallen already.
He had asked the Empire for help.He knew it would never arrive.
Still, every dawn he lifted his gaze, hoping to see imperial cavalry on the horizon. And every dusk he lowered it again, a little more resigned.
Until one day, the sky thundered.
At first it was a distant rumble, like repeated thunderclaps. Then came the sepulchral silence of the monsters… followed by an explosion of light. From the walls they saw a line of fire carve through the creatures. Area attacks fell like meteors, sweeping away entire hordes. The beasts that had seemed endless for weeks were retreating—dying, vanishing.
"An army!" one of the watchmen shouted. "An army is coming from the east!"
For the first time in weeks, Arvian felt a spark of hope.
That spark died the moment he saw the banners flying through the smoke.
They were not imperial.
Black, silver, and crimson.
The fractal dragon.
Carpathia.
The enemy kingdom—the same one they had fought less than a year ago.
The Carpathian column advanced without hostility, clearing monsters with military precision. Confused, Arvian descended with several of his men to receive whoever commanded that army.
The messenger he had sent returned at a gallop.
"Governor!" he gasped. "The commander is… the royal princess! Elizabeth Erkhan. She's marching toward the Imperial capital, but she chose to assist the city along her route."
Arvian barely had time to process that before the knights parted to make way.
And then he saw him.
That man.
That shadow.
Arvian's legs weakened. Cold sweat ran down his spine, and a primal instinct—pure survival—screamed at him to run.
But he didn't.
He forced himself to stand firm.
He remembered that face.
He remembered that name.
Lawrence Douglas.
But… how?He was dead. The Emperor himself had executed him. Everyone knew that. Everyone had seen it.
Or had they?
The man dismounted calmly, unhurried. His yellow eyes—sharp as untempered steel—settled on Arvian.
The messenger, trembling, corrected himself.
"N-no… it isn't Lawrence.It's… Duke Lusian Douglas. His older brother. He's escorting the princess."
But the terror had already done its work.
Arvian was not the only one who instinctively stepped back. The veterans who had fought in the campaign against Carpathia—men hardened by endless wars—could not hide the tremor in their hands.
Because those who had faced the Douglases knew a bitter truth:
Fighting them was not a battle.
It was simply… walking toward death.
The air grew tense.
Even the wind did not dare to blow.
The Carpathian knights waited without moving a muscle, perfectly aligned like black statues. Behind them, Princess Elizabeth rode forward with a composure far beyond her years, her pale blue cloak fluttering gently amid the smell of blood and scorched earth.
But no one was looking at her.
All eyes were fixed on Duke Lusian Douglas.
Arvian swallowed.
He was not a weak man.He had endured sieges, rebellions, monsters, and border wars.
And yet the mere presence of that man made his chest ache, as though an invisible hand were squeezing his heart.
Lusian did not smile.
He did not frown.
He showed no emotion at all.
Which was worse.
The kind of presence only possessed by those who had killed far too much… and always survived.
Arvian gathered every ounce of his will and stepped forward, bowing with a respect that was not diplomatic—but instinctive.
"D-Duke Douglas…" His voice rasped. "The city of Harlon thanks you for… your intervention."
Lusian's gaze fixed on him.
He did not answer immediately.
He was in no hurry at all.
"The road to the capital passes through here," he said at last, his voice low and hard as old stone. "If the city falls, the road closes. Helping you is… logical."
It was the Carpathian way of saying they had no obligation to do so.
Yet they had done it anyway.
Elizabeth dismounted gracefully and approached Arvian with a soft, almost human smile, as if trying to counterbalance the oppressive weight Lusian carried with him.
"Governor Arvian," she greeted. "We regret not arriving sooner. We've brought food, healers, and reinforcements. With your permission, we would like to enter the city and assess the situation."
Arvian nodded immediately.
"O-of course. The city is at your disposal."
Then, without waiting for spoken orders, the Carpathian soldiers began to move.
Steady steps.Silent.Flawless.
It was like watching a massive machine spring to life.
When the caravan crossed the gates, the citizens froze.
Not from fear—
but from the contrast.
They were used to seeing heroes: brilliant young fighters, impulsive, loud, arrogant.
The Carpathians were different.
Soldiers dismounted, unloaded carts, opened barrels, organized lines, and distributed provisions as if they had done it a thousand times before.
No shouting.
No chaos.
No confusion.
One of them lifted a sack of grain.
"Children first.Elders next.The wounded last.No pushing."
He didn't raise his voice.
And no one did.
It was impressive.
Terrifying.
And a blessing.
The citizens began to approach, hope and suspicion mingling in their eyes. For many, it was the first decent meal they had seen in weeks. The forest creatures had destroyed the crops, the warehouses were empty, and hunger had already begun claiming lives.
But this food was not magical.
It would not raise levels.It would not grant power.
It was safe food—low mana density.
Just enough to prevent poisoning.Just enough to keep people from starving.
For the first time in months, the air stopped smelling only of death.
While the soldiers worked, the duke remained apart, studying the walls, the movement of troops, the escape routes—every detail of the city as if searching for invisible cracks.
Imperial veterans who passed nearby lowered their heads without being asked.
Elizabeth noticed the tension.
"Lusian…" she murmured. "You're frightening the people."
He did not take his eyes off the horizon.
"I'm making sure they don't die," he replied calmly.
Elizabeth sighed.
It was always like this.
His protection was absolute—
but never gentle.
"The city has lost many in recent months," she added softly. "Perhaps you should…"
She stopped when she saw his expression.
Lusian was not looking at the city.
He was assessing—
the divine threat.the cult's traces.the abnormal flow of mana.
He was thinking about her.
About the destiny forced upon her.
About what they were trying to do with her body.
And about how he would have to kill thousands if the cult tried to complete the ritual.
Elizabeth swallowed.
She said nothing more.