The city of Varendor, once prosperous and surrounded by golden fields, was slowly dying. The monsters that had once remained deep within the forest had drawn closer like a dark tide, driven by an inexplicable phenomenon that had turned even the most docile creatures violent.
Every night, the walls trembled beneath endless roars. The fields had been devastated, the trade routes had vanished, and famine had begun spreading through the city like yet another plague.
The streets no longer carried the bustle they once had.
Only exhausted faces remained, wounded soldiers, and families trying to survive one more day.
From the battlements, Governor Arvian Thorne, level 85, stared out toward the horizon with a face consumed by exhaustion. His sunken eyes and unkempt beard made it obvious he had gone far too long without sleep.
The food reserves were nearly depleted.
Sending hunters beyond the walls was practically sentencing them to death… and yet he had done it anyway.
Because the only other option was to sit and wait to starve.
He had sent multiple requests for aid to the Empire.
He knew no one would probably come.
Even so, every dawn he raised his eyes toward the main road with the absurd hope of seeing imperial cavalry emerging through the dust.
And every nightfall he lowered them again, a little more tired… and a little more resigned.
Until one day, the sky rumbled.
At first it was a distant roar, like an endless chain of thunder. Then came something even more unsettling: the absolute silence of the monsters.
And after that… the light.
From the walls, the soldiers saw a line of fire tear through the hordes like a burning spear. Explosions of magic rained down one after another, annihilating entire groups of creatures. Lightning descended from the heavens. Pillars of flame swept across the battlefield. The beasts, which for weeks had seemed endless, finally began to retreat.
They were dying.
Disappearing.
—An army! —one of the watchmen shouted—. An army is coming from the east!
For the first time in a long while, Arvian felt a spark of hope.
But that hope died the instant he recognized the banners advancing through the smoke.
They were not the Empire's.
They were black, silver, and crimson.
The emblem of the fractal dragon.
Carpathia.
The enemy kingdom.
The very same kingdom they had been at war with less than a year ago.
The Carpathian caravan advanced without showing hostility. Their soldiers eliminated monsters with cold, disciplined precision, clearing a path toward the walls while even protecting the civilians they encountered along the way.
Arvian watched in confusion.
Why would they help?
Why risk troops in enemy territory?
Without answers, he descended alongside several guards to receive whoever was leading that force.
The messenger he had sent returned galloping at full speed.
—Governor! —he gasped, nearly falling from his horse—. The commander is… the royal princess! Elizabeth Erkhan. She is marching toward the imperial capital, but decided to assist the city while passing through.
Arvian barely had time to process the words.
The Carpathian knights began to move aside, opening a path through the formation.
And then he saw him.
That man.
That shadow.
Arvian's legs weakened.
A cold sweat ran down his spine as a primitive, pure, brutal instinct screamed at him to run.
But he did not.
He forced himself to remain standing.
Because he recognized that face.
He recognized those eyes.
And above all…
He recognized that surname.
Lawrence Douglas.
The Reaper of Death.
The monster who had vanished years ago.
The man who, according to official history, had been executed by the emperor himself.
Arvian remembered that day perfectly.
Everyone remembered it.
Everyone had heard the news.
Everyone claimed he had died.
So then… what exactly was he looking at?
The man dismounted calmly. His movements were slow, controlled, as though nothing around him could disturb him. His yellow eyes, sharp as blades, settled upon Arvian.
The governor felt his heart freeze.
The messenger swallowed nervously and corrected himself with a trembling voice:
—N-not Lawrence…
He lowered his gaze before continuing.
—It is… Duke Lusian Douglas. His son. He is escorting Princess Elizabeth.
But the terror had already done its work.
Arvian was not the only one who instinctively stepped back.
The veterans stationed atop the walls, men who had survived entire campaigns against Carpathia, could not hide the trembling in their hands. Some gripped their spears so tightly their knuckles had turned white.
Because those who had fought against the Douglas family knew a truth they never forgot:
Fighting them was not a battle.
It was walking toward death.
The atmosphere became completely tense.
Even the wind itself seemed unwilling to blow.
The knights of Carpathia remained motionless, perfectly aligned atop their mounts like a line of black statues covered in steel and dried blood. None of them spoke. None broke formation.
Behind them rode Princess Elizabeth.
She carried herself with a calmness unnatural for someone so young. Her pale blue cloak moved gently through the smoke, scorched earth, and metallic scent that still lingered around the city.
But no one was looking at her.
Every gaze was fixed on Lusian Douglas.
Arvian swallowed hard.
He was not a cowardly man. He had survived monsters, sieges, internal revolts, and border wars. He had seen entire cities die.
And yet…
The mere presence of that man made it difficult to breathe.
Lusian did not smile.
He did not frown.
He showed no anger, pride, or contempt.
And that made it worse.
Because that calmness was not human.
It was the calmness of someone who had killed too many times… and always survived.
Lusian's yellow eyes slowly swept across the ruined walls, the monster corpses, and the exhausted soldiers trying to stand firm before him.
There was no arrogance in his gaze.
Only evaluation.
As though he were calculating how long the city would last if another horde appeared tomorrow.
Arvian gathered what little willpower he had left and stepped forward. Then he lowered his head with a respect born not from diplomacy…
But from instinct.
—D-Duke Douglas… —his voice came out rough and dry—. The city of Harlon thanks you for your… your intervention.
For a moment, Lusian did not respond.
The silence weighed so heavily that several soldiers held their breath.
Lusian fixed his gaze upon him and remained silent for several seconds. He did not appear to be in any hurry to answer. The tension spread once more through the air until he finally spoke in a low, rough voice heavy as ancient stone.
—The road to the capital passes through here. If this city falls, the route closes. Helping you is… logical.
The answer was simple and direct, but Arvian understood perfectly what those words truly meant. Carpathia had absolutely no obligation to stop, spend resources, or save an imperial city on the verge of collapse. And yet, they had done so.
Elizabeth dismounted gracefully then, easing part of the pressure Lusian imposed through his mere presence alone. Compared to him, her demeanor was far warmer and easier to accept.
She approached Arvian with a calm, polite smile.
—Governor Arvian —she greeted gently—. We regret not arriving sooner. We have brought food, healers, and reinforcements. With your permission, we would like to enter and assess the city's condition.
Arvian reacted immediately.
—O-of course —he answered quickly—. The city is at your disposal.
He did not even attempt to hide the relief in his voice.
Without needing verbal orders, the Carpathian soldiers began moving the moment they were granted permission to enter. Everything happened with almost unsettling synchronization. No one shouted instructions. No one argued positions. Every man seemed to know exactly what he needed to do before even crossing the gates.
One group moved directly toward the warehouses to inspect provisions and secure the remaining supplies. Another began reinforcing the city's inner perimeter. The healers descended from the wagons and headed immediately toward the most critically wounded, while the knights reorganized the main entrances with cold, disciplined efficiency.
Arvian watched all of it without knowing what to say.
It was like watching a massive mechanism come to life.
Precise.
Ordered.
Infallible.
When the caravan finally passed through Harlon's gates, the citizens remained frozen along the sides of the streets. Yet what they felt was not only fear.
It was also confusion.
Because this was completely different from the image they had of "heroes."
People were used to young, charismatic warriors, impulsive men who spoke loudly, boasted about their victories, and turned every battle into a spectacle.
The Carpathians were nothing like that.
They did not celebrate.
They did not raise their voices.
They did not seek attention.
They looked like soldiers who had lived through far too many wars to still feel excitement.
Even their armor conveyed that feeling. It was not forged to inspire admiration or embody heroic ideals. It was dark armor marked by scars, wear, and dried bloodstains: the equipment of men who did not expect to impress anyone, only to survive.
The people of the city were accustomed to the usual heroes: bright, impulsive, loud, arrogant youths.
But the Carpathians were something else.
And at the center of all of them stood Lusian Douglas.
He walked slowly through Harlon's ruined streets while silence itself seemed to follow him like a living shadow. The citizens watched him the same way one watches a storm approaching from the distance.
With fear.
With fascination.
And with the uncomfortable feeling that this man did not belong to the same world as them.
The soldiers dismounted while the wagons came to a halt inside the city. Some unloaded barrels of water and sacks of grain. Others organized lines, checked the wounded, or reinforced the entrances near the walls. Everything happened with almost unreal speed, as if every movement had been practiced hundreds of times before.
No shouting.
No chaos.
No confusion.
One knight lifted a sack of provisions and spoke with a firm voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
—Children first. Elderly second. Wounded last. No pushing.
No one argued.
No one broke formation.
Hunger was visible in everyone's eyes, yet they still obeyed.
And somehow, that made the scene even stranger.
The citizens slowly began approaching, still uncertain. Some looked fearfully at the soldiers of Carpathia. Others simply could not take their eyes off the food.
For many, it was the first time in weeks they had seen fresh bread and clean water.
The creatures of the forest had destroyed the crops long ago. The warehouses were empty. People had spent months surviving on scraps, roots, and whatever they could find without dying in the attempt.
But the food itself was not special.
It did not contain massive amounts of mana.
It would not increase levels.
It would not strengthen bodies.
It was stable food. Safe. Specifically prepared to feed weakened civilians without causing magical intoxication.
Just enough to keep them alive.
And for the people of Harlon, that was already far more than they had expected to receive.
Little by little, the air of the city began to change.
For the first time in a long while, it no longer smelled only of blood, smoke, and despair.
While the soldiers worked, Lusian remained apart from the center of activity.
He did not help distribute supplies.
He did not give speeches.
He did not try to reassure anyone.
He simply observed.
His gaze swept across the walls, the watchtowers, the narrow streets, and the city's blind spots. Calculating escape routes. Distances. Angles of attack. Vulnerable locations.
As though he expected something to happen again at any moment.
The imperial veterans who passed near him immediately lowered their heads, avoiding even meeting his gaze.
Not because Lusian forced them to.
But because his presence made instinct speak before reason.
Elizabeth noticed immediately.
—Lusian… —she said softly as she approached—. You are frightening the people.
He did not take his eyes off the walls.
—I am making sure they do not die —he answered calmly.
Elizabeth let out a sigh.
It was always like this.
Lusian's protection was absolute… but never gentle.
—The city has lost too many people these past months —she said quietly—. Maybe you should try… not looking so terrifying.
The sentence faded away on its own.
Because the moment she looked at Lusian, she realized he was barely paying attention to the city at all.
His eyes moved across the streets, the walls, and the crowd with unsettling coldness, as if searching for something no one else could see. There was no curiosity in his gaze, no contempt, not even exhaustion.
Only vigilance.
Like a man waiting for the world to try taking something important away from him.
And Elizabeth knew, even if she did not fully understand why, that that "something" was her.
It was always like that with Lusian.
Every gesture.
Every decision.
Every silence.
Everything seemed to revolve around keeping her safe, even when it made him distant, severe, or outright terrifying.
Elizabeth swallowed nervously.
In the end, she decided not to say anything else.