[One Week Ago...]
"Thud... thud... thud..."
Heavy footsteps echoed through the vast corridor. Two figures, clad in gleaming armor, walked in unison—one ahead, one behind—each step steady and solemn, heavy with weight and pressure.
On either side of the long hallway, opulent paintings inlaid with gemstones hung against gilded walls.
Each portrait depicted a man, his face sharp and cold, his eyes bottomless and silent, watching every passerby with an unspoken warning.
The air seemed to freeze beneath his gaze.
The two armored men moved quickly, their pace urgent. Then, gradually, they came to a halt.
Before them stood a massive double door, nearly four meters tall, bathed in blinding gold. Intricate carvings of divine dragons adorned its surface, each beast coiled in ferocity, its blazing eyes made of ruby orbs as large as human eyes, blood-red and unyielding.
Those eyes stared straight ahead, as though piercing through the soul of any who dared approach, forbidding entry to the unworthy.
"Creaaak..."
A deep, thunderous groan rolled out, low and prolonged, like the roar of some beast from the abyss. The heavy doors slowly opened, revealing the space within:
A grand hall.
Its ceiling soared impossibly high, as though it brushed the heavens, intricately carved and gilded from the base of the pillars to the vaulted dome. Elegant classical patterns curled across immaculate white marble, catching the radiant glow of enormous crystal chandeliers suspended in midair.
The light spilled down onto the glossy marble floor, polished like a mirror, casting an atmosphere both ethereal and suffocating.
On either side of the hall, white stone columns stood tall and proud, trimmed in gold and adorned with ornate, candle-shaped wall lamps that flickered gently, as if breathing.
Beside each pillar stood a soldier clad in silver armor, spears held upright, faces emotionless and cold like statues—living monuments to the majesty of the place.
Here was a space vast, regal, and sacred, radiating the absolute authority of a king.
And at the center of the hall, atop a raised platform lined in blood-red carpet, sat a grand throne, enormous and imposing, carved with dragons and phoenixes, gilded with noble threads of gold.
Seated upon that throne was a man, somewhere between youth and old age.
He wore a bright crimson imperial robe that draped across the marble floor, its shoulders cloaked in golden fur that shimmered like sunlight. Embroidered on the robe were dragons and phoenixes in gold thread, every stitch alive under the chandelier's glow.
It wasn't just fabric, it was a declaration: this man was Emperor, apex, a mountain no mortal eye dared behold.
Backlit by the sunlight streaming through the towering stained-glass windows, his face was cast in shadow. Only his eyes could be seen—glowing a deep, blood-red, sharp, cold, and profound, like the depths of an endless abyss.
Those eyes did not merely look, they saw through. Unfeeling, still, and veiled beneath layers of misty calculation.
Flanking either side of the throne stood several knights.
Yet clearly, these were not like the soldiers posted beside the pillars.
Unlike the standardized silver armor of the ordinary guards-rigid and lifeless
Each of these knights wore uniquely forged battle gear, each one gleaming in a distinct color: somber blue, burning crimson, mysterious violet, even a dull gray as lifeless as ash…
But the greatest difference lay not in their armor, but in their very presence.
Unlike the stiff, solemn posture of the palace guards, who stood like wooden mannequins, too afraid to even flinch, each of these knights bore a distinct appearance, each radiating an unmistakable and singular aura.
One rested lightly against his sword, eyes half-closed, as though detached from reality, untouched by the burdens of the mortal world.
Another stood with arms crossed, his gaze laced with contempt, as if this place wasn't even worth a pause in his stride.
Yet another stood tall, spine rigid as iron, but in his eyes flickered a buried madness, a quiet, simmering frenzy waiting to break free,…...
There were eleven of them in total.
Each stood silently beside the golden throne, their faces cloaked in shadows cast by the high stained-glass windows, leaving behind only faint, blurred outlines—half real, half illusion—sending chills down the spine with their eerie mystery.
And at the very instant the golden doors swung open and the two soldiers stormed in, everyone in the hall, everyone except the Emperor, froze in place.
The rows of soldiers lining the grand hall stood stunned.
Their pupils shrank, mouths opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. Just a fleeting second of stillness, and then all at once, they bowed their heads low, returning to rigid formation, as though even one more glance might cost them their lives.
But not everyone understood that silence is golden—
"Bwahahaha! Hahahaha!"
A burst of laughter suddenly shattered the air, bouncing off the golden walls and returning like a slap to the face.
"What the hell happened to you?! Did you leave half your body at home today or what?! Hahahaha!"
Among the knights standing near the Emperor's throne, one of them couldn't hold it in and burst into raucous laughter.
Before them, the two soldiers were dragging a stretcher behind them. On it, amidst dried blood and dust, lay the battered, broken body of a man with golden hair clad in resplendent gilded armor.
Or rather, it just...what remained of him, because his legs were nowhere to be seen!
Gone! (He's like Gojo =//)
The man struggled to rise, clinging to the stretcher's wooden edge like a drowning man grasping a rotting plank. Every movement sent tremors of pain through his body, but his eyes still burned with a fire that refused to die.
He was none other than Julius Aliathur, the Third Knight.
His soul was already steeped in humiliation and fury after his crushing defeat, but the moment he heard that mocking laugh,his rage ignited like dry wood meeting flame.
"Bastard! Lorion, you dare laugh at me?!" Julius roared, voice raw, teeth clenched so tightly it sounded more like a growl.
"Do you believe that even if I only have one arm left, I can still reduce you to ashes?!"
His burning gaze locked onto the source of the laughter—
A knight clad in a bizarre pale white armor. Not the polished white of noble steel, but a ghastly, chalky hue, ghostlike and hollow, matching his slanted bangs that fell across half his face.
That white ,thought to be nothing; felt as though it could swallow everything into its infinite void.
Yet despite Julius' seething fury, Lorion, the pale knight, didn't flinch. Not a hint of fear. In fact, he looked even more amused. His voice, slick and lazy, rang out with irritating nonchalance:
"Eh~ but you look so damn funny right now, I just couldn't help myself." He shrugged, a picture of mock innocence.
"I mean, like this, what are you even going to fight with, huh? Say... why don't you just hand over that Superior-grade sword of yours? Oh, and while you're at it, why not give me those territories you rule? And,hmm, maybe those pretty wives of yours too? I'll take the whole lot, hehe~"
He said it all with a tone so gluttonous, the greed practically dripped from every word.
"SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!" Julius roared, his entire body trembling from the fury. "You want me to slice your tongue out, huh?!"
"Oooh~ I'm so scared~" Lorion mock-shivered, lips still curled in a smirk of pure provocation.
"But really, take a look at yourself : barely dragging yourself off that stretcher. What're you gonna use to cut my tongue, huh? Am I right, fellas?"
He turned to the other knights, flashing that infuriating grin, as if waiting for a chorus of laughter to chime in.
....