—The Royal Castle, Capital of Aldenwald—
A distant gong sounded once—twice—then shattered the noonday calm like a blade through glass. The air shimmered above the throne room as if heat itself were twisting reality. Then, in the center of the marble hall, a sphere of golden light burst forth. Gasps echoed from lords, guards, and clerks alike.
King Darius Thelion stood abruptly from his throne. His graying beard trembled as ancient symbols burned into the very air, spiraling in circles too old for any living wizard to decipher. And yet—he understood.
"Ancient tongue," he whispered. "Not seen in centuries…"
The golden sphere expanded, filling the hall with a strange warmth. Within it appeared the image of a man—tall, cloaked, with wild black hair and eyes that gleamed with fire and grief. The figure stood not in a hall, but atop the burning wreckage of the Count of Southmark's manor.
The nobles present stepped back in dread.
"Who dares—?!"
Then the image spoke. Not in voice, but in will. Every man, woman, child—every noble in their cushioned seats, every merchant crossing a market street, every farmer tilling in the field—felt the words in their minds, as if Ryuuji stood beside them.
"I am Asahi Ryuuji.
Some of you remember me. Some thought me a myth. A weapon forged in war to slay the Demon Lord.
I left the world behind not to rule it—but to rest. To breathe. To be forgotten.
But now you force me to speak. Because one of your own—a Count of this land—stole an innocent woman from her home and nearly killed her husband out of arrogance and greed.
I gave him a chance. He used that chance to draw a blade. He died by mine."
A pause. The image lingered, and the flaming ruins around Ryuuji crackled louder than his voice. He raised a silver ring—the Southmark signet—so everyone could see.
"I did not kill him for vengeance. I did it to make a point.
This man was a noble. A ruler. His sins were buried beneath coin, title, and cruelty.
But understand this—noble blood does not place you above judgment.
I may be no king. No lord. But I am still alive. And I still walk this world."
The light dimmed slightly. Ryuuji's figure stepped forward, closer, as if staring through the veil of realms directly into the heart of the kingdom.
"To those who wear crowns, cloaks, and crests: If you serve the people, I will not cross your path.
But if you harm the innocent—if you exploit the helpless—if you become monsters in the skin of men…
Remember the name Ryuuji. Remember what I did to the Demon Lord.
And know I have not forgotten how to kill evil."
The image shattered like glass caught in a gale. The warmth vanished. Silence fell.
The nobles looked at one another—some pale, others defiant. Whispers broke out like wildfire.
"Impossible—wasn't he dead?"
"He used the Ancient Tongue—who taught him that?"
"Is he threatening the throne?!"
King Darius raised his hand.
Silence.
The old king exhaled deeply and sat back on his throne, hand to beard.
"That man…" he said slowly, "was once our salvation."
A young duke scoffed. "And now he undermines the law with vigilante justice!"
"Justice?" muttered Lady Calvene, a sharp-eyed noblewoman of the eastern court. "He used truthbinding magic. We saw what actually happened. No lies. No illusions."
"But to reveal such chaos to the entire realm—"
"He warned us," the king interrupted. "Not threatened. Warned. There's a difference."
He stared at the empty air where the image had been.
"He walked into the darkest places of this world to end a war none of us could win. And now he walks again."
"Should we fear him, Your Majesty?"
King Darius closed his eyes.
"No," he said at last. "But we should listen."
—In the Tower of the High Mages, Ardentia—
The stone tower had no windows, yet the light of the golden message burned across the interior walls like sunlight drawn from another realm. Books fluttered open. Inkwells trembled.
Archmage Lethandir sat in silence, surrounded by ancient tomes and the ever-spinning orrery of the Realms Beyond.
"He used the Ancient Words," muttered his apprentice, breathless. "The old tongue—rune-forged. Even we can't stabilize that language anymore!"
Lethandir said nothing, fingers laced beneath his long white beard. He was gaunt, draped in deep violet robes embroidered with living ink that shifted with his breath.
"You… you taught him, didn't you?"
Still silence. Then—
"I taught him how to speak to the world," Lethandir said at last. His voice was quiet thunder. "But the world listened because of who he is, not what I gave him."
"But Ancient Magic is forbidden—! That kind of power—"
"—is dangerous," Lethandir agreed. "That's why we stopped teaching it to kings and their servants."
He slowly rose, walking to the enchanted window where visions of far cities shimmered like ripples.
"But Ryuuji was never their servant. He was a child of Earth, yes. But he became a wielder of will, not war. He mastered rune, song, and silence. That magic... he made it his own."
The apprentice hesitated. "Aren't you worried what he'll do next?"
Lethandir smiled faintly.
"No. I worry what others will do… now that they remember he's real."
—In the Streets of Aldenwald—
Across city blocks, taverns, and farms, the story spread like wildfire.
Ryuuji. The Demon Killer. The Hero of the Last War.
He had returned.
But more than that—he spoke of justice, not vengeance. He condemned the abuse of power. He named names.
To the poor? He was hope.
To the corrupt? A reckoning.
To the wise? A reminder.
—In a Noble Estate, Far East—
A man in red silks watched the last glimmers of the message vanish from his enchanted mirror.
"So," he whispered. "The boy speaks again. And Lethandir let him."
Another voice, cloaked in shadows: "Do we act?"
"Not yet. But send word to the others. If the old heroes stir, so must the old blades."
He stood, walking to a locked case of crystal scrolls.
"And if Ryuuji finds her before we do… all of this collapses."