The Lawless Continent never welcomed travelers home — it merely tolerated their return.
After three weeks away, Lucian walked the broken trail back toward the village. Dust curled around his steps, but he moved with steady, effortless calm. Reiner walked at his side, though not as himself. His disguise — plain dark hair, common brown eyes, a face designed to be forgotten — masked every trace of the prince he once was.
Yet even beneath borrowed features, Reiner was transformed.
He no longer carried the timid, shrinking weight he had worn like a second skin. A quiet contentment settled across his expression, as if he had finally stepped out of a shadow only he could see. His shoulders stayed square. His stride matched Lucian's. Even his breathing felt steadier, less like something he had to fight for.
Perched lazily on Lucian's shoulder, Malphas floated with the idle arrogance of a creature who knew he owed the world nothing. Reiner kept sneaking glances at him — wide-eyed, fascinated, fingers twitching with the urge to examine every impossible detail.
Without turning his head, Malphas slid his eyes toward him. Flat. Cold. Bored.
"If you're hoping that gaze will entertain me, it won't. Look away."
Reiner stiffened, then blurted with helpless astonishment, "I can hardly believe it… I'm standing beside Malphas, the Forbidden Spirit."
"Enjoy the moment if you must, but don't expect a repeat."
Lucian let out a low, amused exhale.
"Does popularity not excite you, my friend?"
Malphas didn't even dignify him with an answer. He just let out a quiet exhale, tilting his head slightly.
The village emerged over the ridge — and it was no longer the hollow ruin Lucian had once stepped into.
Shattered roofs had been rebuilt. Cracked stone paths cleaned and re-laid. Smoke rose from chimneys. Children chased each other between houses restored with clumsy but hopeful craftsmanship. Life pulsed through the streets where despair once clung.
Villagers stopped the moment they saw two figures approaching. Silence rippled outward — then one man's voice cracked through it.
"Lord Lucian has returned!"
In an instant, tools dropped. Baskets toppled. People rushed toward him, their excitement overflowing in a wave that drowned hesitation.
Lucian raised a hand slightly, a serene smile touching his lips — warm enough to calm, controlled enough to command.
"My apologies, everyone. I trust you did not feel abandoned. The journey… took longer than anticipated."
Sienna stepped through the crowd. Her eyes softened the moment they landed on him, relief and quiet joy flickering through her features.
"No, my lord! We never imagined for a moment that you would abandon us."
"Is that so? That is good to know."
Another villager pointed hesitantly at Reiner.
"Who is the person accompanying you, Master?"
They knew nothing of Drakia's princes. The Lawless Continent had always been a world carved apart — forgotten and forgetting in return.
Lucian's tone stayed casual, almost offhand.
"Oh, him? This is Reiner. He is the newest among my demonfolk and was once the prince of Drakia."
Gasps burst from the crowd. Eyes widened. Someone stuttered, "You mean… one of the Great Kingdoms?"
"Yes."
Another winced, voice shaking.
"Forgive me if this is disrespectful, my lord, but… did you perhaps kidnap him?"
Lucian chuckled softly.
"No. It is quite the opposite, in fact."
Reiner straightened. He stepped forward, no longer hiding behind anyone's shadow.
"Lord Lucian is the one who saved me. Without him, I'd be dead. I owe him everything… and I intend to repay that debt."
Gone was the scared, trembling boy Lucian had first encountered. The suffocating despair had fallen away, replaced by an unfamiliar sharpness in his eyes — a quiet, simmering determination.
Lucian nodded slightly.
"Yes. Reiner, you are a most valuable addition. Your dragon lineage grants you the potential to become one of my strongest soldiers."
Reiner reddened at the praise, stuttering, "Uh—" before clenching his fist. "Thank you, sir."
Before the moment could settle, a distant echo slammed through the air.
"MASTER! MASTER!"
Ryker appeared — shirtless, drenched in sweat, sprinting like a man escaping death. He skidded to a stop, doubled over, gasping hard enough to rattle.
"Master… why didn't you say you were back?"
"I have just arrived. Where have you been? And why do you appear so fatigued?"
"I've been training every single day since you left, just like you taught me! I can't wait to show you what I'm capable of."
"Is that so? I am afraid you must wait a little longer. Our expected guests… have now arrived."
Lucian's gaze slid toward the forest.
Karn's men were already minutes away.
On the other side of the village
A horse-drawn cart rattled over the road, slowing as it entered what appeared to be an eerily empty settlement. The coachman squinted around, uneasy.
"What happened here? Did they just clean up and leave? What do you think, Lucas?"
The man lounging at the back sat up, expression shifting from drowsy to intrigued. His smirk curled.
"Well, would you look at that—they actually took my advice and cleaned this dump."
"But where did they go?" the coachman muttered, voice cracking. Then, brightening, "Maybe they ran off. Lucky them… I wish they had taken me too."
Lucas stared at him with dull disbelief.
"Idiot. Why would they clean everything just to leave? And surviving out there is impossible. Enduring Karn is the smarter choice."
Before the coachman could argue, his voice shrank to a whisper.
"Uh… who is that?"
Someone approached — slowly, calmly, like a shadow choosing to be seen.
Lucian.
His steps were unhurried yet heavy with intent, each one carrying the muted promise of inevitability. His lips held a small, dangerous smile.
The coachman froze. Lucas furrowed his brows, trying to judge the stranger.
Lucian reached the horse first, running his gloved fingers along its neck with surprising gentleness — but his eyes never left the coachman.
"Hello."
"Uh… hello," the coachman stammered.
Lucas exhaled sharply and stood up, irritation flaring.
"Who are you supposed to be? Weirdo."
Lucian tilted his head.
"Oh? I was under the impression you possessed stronger survival instincts, Lucas."
Lucas stiffened.
"What are you talking about? And how the hell do you know my name?"
Lucian chuckled — soft, precise, unsettling. He didn't answer.
That silence alone made Lucas grit his teeth.
"Whatever." He grabbed his sword, lightning crackling around the blade. "You're going to explain exactly what's going on here. Or else."
"Certainly. What is it you seek to understand?"
"What happened to everyone who was here?"
"The villagers are safe and in proper condition. As for the vermin… they have been erased without exception."
Both men tensed.
Lucas scoffed, aura rising into a raging, electric storm.
"You mocking us? You expect us to believe you took down all of them by yourself… including Arthur?"
"I prefer to avoid resorting to brute force in this exchange," Lucian said calmly. "As it happens, I came with a proposal for you."
"Proposal?"
"Yes. I have heard whispers that your ruler is exceptionally ruthless. Guide me to him, and I shall relieve you of his tyranny."
Lucas snorted — then burst into laughter, smug and disbelieving.
Lucian's eyes cooled, irritation flashing beneath the crimson.
Lucas stepped down, aura bursting like thunder.
"Listen, kid. We all wish someone would put Karn in the ground. But you? You're implying you're stronger than me?"
Lightning swallowed him whole as he shifted into a low stance.
"If your strength is real, then stopping this should be no problem for you."
He muttered under his breath—
"THUNDER REAPER SLASH."
A flash of blue-white light tore forward—
—and then ended with a thud.
Lucas was suddenly on his knees, missing his right arm.
Lucian stood behind him, holding the severed limb and the still-clutched sword, his expression unchanged.
A heartbeat passed before Lucas felt the pain.
"AHHHHHH!"
The coachman slapped both hands over his mouth, trembling violently.
Lucian dropped the arm at Lucas' knees, then gripped his head and forced him to look up at him. Their faces were inches apart.
"Know your place, human."
He placed his hand on Lucas' shoulder — and pulled.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Lucas' screams tore through the trees until his head separated from his body.
His corpse collapsed.
Lucian turned to the coachman, expression now calm again. He approached with steps so measured they seemed unreal.
Talen peeked upward, hoping the nightmare had ended — and found a pair of red eyes staring directly at him.
"Tell me," Lucian said. "What is your name?"
"T-Talen," he blurted. "My name is Talen."
"So, Talen… given that you did not oppose me, I assume you have chosen to accept my proposal."
The coachman swallowed hard. If he refuses, he dies. If he accepts and Karn kills this man… he dies.
"Talen."
"Yes!" he squeaked, grabbing the horse's reins. "I accept, sir! We can go whenever you are ready!"
Lucian's eyes flickered with faint amusement.
"Excellent. I am glad we could settle matters so… harmoniously."
He stepped onto the cart and sat with formal calmness. Talen urged the horse forward.
Lucian didn't speak for the entire two-hour journey. His mind was focused elsewhere — on Karn, the first truly strong human he would face. On the coming fight. On the men he intended to reshape into demons.
The land reflected Karn's rule: ruined roads twisting like broken bones, villages crumbling beneath overgrowth, bridges shattered and abandoned. A domain collapsing under neglect.
Eventually a structure rose on the horizon — not a fortress, but a lonely coliseum, cracked and scarred yet unyielding, ivy strangling its old stone like veins.
Talen stopped the cart.
"Karn's doing executions today," he whispered. "He's inside."
Lucian stepped down and walked toward the entrance.
Inside the Coliseum
The stands were packed — yet no one dared speak. Silence hovered like a blade at their throats.
At the center stood Karn.
He was a mountain of a man, wrapped in battered armor stretched tight over a frame built from decades of battle. Age had carved deep lines across his face, streaked his hair with white, but nothing in him had softened. Every movement radiated lethal authority.
In his hand was an Echo-horn.
At his feet lay five bound prisoners. Three were already headless. The fourth twitched helplessly as Karn planted his bloody boot on his face.
Karn's voice boomed through the arena as he spoke into the horn, aura amplifying every syllable.
"I hope you're all paying close attention. This is what happens when you defy me."
He lowered the horn, grinding his heel down as the man beneath him writhed.
"No matter how many examples I give, some of you idiots still insist on defying me."
He pressed — and the man's head exploded beneath his boot.
"One left," Karn muttered.
From the dark tunnel of the arena, a figure leaned against the archway, having watched every execution with unreadable calm.
Lucian.
He observed Karn like a butcher inspecting livestock — curious, analytical, faintly amused.
A quiet, low chuckle rippled from his throat, sharp and deliberate, betraying excitement wrapped in intent.
"The moment has come. We are to meet the fearsome Karn… the creature they call the Old Beast."