The kingdom burned. No surrender was accepted. It took one week for the small kingdom to vanish from the world.
It was meant as an example.
Do not oppose the Empire. We will dig through even the ruins until not a single brick remains. This was the Empire's warning to every kingdom on the continent.
The kingdom had a special prince.
A prince born with an innate affinity for darkness. He escaped the disaster while learning to harness his abilities from the mystics of the High Mountain Range. He was the kingdom's sole survivor.
When the prince returned too late, wraiths greeted him. Wraiths weeping tears of blood.
[Revenge! Revenge! Reveeenge!]
[Kill them! Destroy them! Burn them! Bring ruin to the Empire!]
Time passed. Just as the kingdom's tragedy was being forgotten, a single warlock declared war on the Empire.
People scoffed. But after the Empire's fortresses fell one by one and two entire legions disappeared, no one laughed anymore.
The Empire won.
But truthfully, no one really thought so. Just one person. Against a single individual, half the Empire had fallen.
That's why the execution was carried out with even greater spectacle.
Before hundreds of thousands of spectators, the warlock's head was severed. A tremendous roar erupted. The end of the war the Empire's people had longed for, the end of their nightmare, had finally come.
Then. The warlock's head opened its eyes.
The cheering stopped. A terrible silence descended upon the capital square. No one could make a sound, couldn't even breathe because of the fear.
The head opened its mouth.
I have not yet been defeated, and the war is not over! Hereafter, the one who died most tragically in this world shall be resurrected. When that happens, everyone belonging to the Empire shall vanish from this world without even a bone fragment remaining!
* * * * *
"Gasp!"
His breath burst out. Pain surged up. Like thousands of needles scraping his lungs. Even so, the body that had died once desperately sought oxygen.
"Hah, haaah, haaah!"
He accepted the pain. Pain was familiar. At least enough to collect himself and look around.
A room with minimal furniture. He sat on a large bed. People gathered around were staring at him.
Strange expressions. Shock and confusion.
He understood.
The one who met the most tragic death shall be resurrected. The Art of the Dead's Return had been successfully performed.
Makes sense they'd be surprised that someone dead came back to life.
Just then the door burst open. A middle-aged man barged into the room. The middle-aged man spotted him and frowned. Soon a fierce rebuke exploded.
"Stefn! You bastard!"
Stefn. The owner of this body, huh. Then he would become Stefn. Because there was work to be done.
Revenge on the Empire. That's why he even gave up death. Gave up the rest that people deserve and was resurrected in another's body.
His once formidable magical power had completely vanished. But he would regain his strength before long. And burn the Empire down.
Stefn smiled. A smile filled with killing intent.
Then the middle-aged man's expression became troubled.
"You're smiling?"
Smack! The middle-aged man struck Stefn across the cheek.
"You make the family a laughingstock and you can still smile! You drank poison just because some girl dumped you? You pathetic bastard!"
The middle-aged man's voice was cold. The others just watched nervously. The middle-aged man spoke again.
"What are you all standing around for. No need to fuss over this fool."
The man turned and left the room. The people in the room also awkwardly dispersed.
Stefn was left alone.
"Dumped by a girl and drank poison?"
Something seems off here?
Stefn frowned. He couldn't believe it.
The Art of the Dead's Return. A grand spell that resurrects you by borrowing the body of someone who died in the most tragic sorrow and rage. And the cause of that cruel death was just suicide over a breakup?
What an utterly pathetic joke. Ridiculous. Stefn searched through the memories. Memories that weren't his own flashed by like the plot of a storybook.
"No way, are you kidding me..."
A young man born consuming his mother's life, never loved even once. His lover was the only person in the world who loved him. A precious lover who was no different from his own life.
When his lover left, the young man drank poison. Terrible loneliness and self-loathing tormented him until his dying breath.
That's why it was the world's most tragic death.
"Tsk."
The grand spell Art of the Dead's Return, created as a word of power borrowing the form of prophecy. Words of power belonged to the realm of grand concepts transcending logic and encompassing past and future.
So the spell was successful.
He just hadn't considered that a trivial love affair could be the world's most heartbreaking tragedy to one individual.
So he should be satisfied just with the resurrection happening at all. Besides, he wasn't the type to regret what had already happened.
So what if he was resurrected as someone like this. There was still work to be done anyway. He just needed to focus on that.
"La Kraksh Esiderol La Dusa..."
A wicked incantation spilled from Stefn's lips.
There exists a language favored by the world that by its very nature bends the laws and performs miracles. Stefn's heart began turning black. The Seed of Darkness took root.
"Come, my people."
Stefn called the wraiths that belonged to him.
The wraiths of millions of slaughtered kingdom citizens. Those wraiths who endlessly shed tears of blood and cried out for revenge!
The last prince of the kingdom. The wraiths' only master.
Their king had returned, so the wraiths would awaken and return, singing praises of revenge.
After calling his people for quite a while, Stefn tilted his head.
Why aren't they coming? Did I resurrect too far away?
Wraiths fly faster than humans. But not fast enough to cross the continent in an instant. They couldn't leap across space just because they were called.
Let's not be impatient. Stefn muttered.
Time was on his side. A new body so young it was almost childish. He'd be fine for decades to come.
Stefn closed his eyes again.
Waiting for his people to arrive.
* * * * *
...It was a futile wait.
[...Before the Calamity, the Empire suffered enormous damage.
Nothing is known about the Calamity. The kingdoms that feared it erased it from history. The only fact that can be gathered from various documents is that the Calamity took the form of some adversary opposing the Empire, and a war broke out.
That war destroyed more than half the Empire. Thus the Empire lost control over its territories.
Regional warlords rose up, calling themselves kings. The Empire was torn to shreds, and countless kingdoms were born and fought. It was the beginning of the long Continental War.
In the end, just 9 years after the Calamity. The last Emperor and his family were burned alive along with the imperial palace, executed, and the Empire disappeared into the back pages of history.]
Thud! Stefn closed the book.
"This is about me..."
Then he ran his hands down his face. When he lowered his hands, deep exhaustion was revealed.
The Empire had fallen. And that was a thousand years ago, apparently.
Whew, even after letting out a big sigh, his frustration wouldn't settle, and eventually rough words escaped his mouth.
"...Goddammit. Why'd they already go and collapse?"