*Chapter 16: The Theocracy of Lurtra Receives a Landless King**
"For me to go against an entire nation... I'm going to need one of my own."
Leornars leaned back lazily in his chair, his dark eyes skimming over the worn, faded parchment of low-rank quests pinned to the guild's bulletin board. As he idly flipped through the papers, his sharp ears picked up the hushed, anxious whispers of a group of silver-tier adventurers standing nearby.
"Another adventurer got ambushed last night... just outside the main church plaza," one whispered, glancing over his shoulder.
"You think it's the Black Acer again?"
"It's got to be. That brutal method of execution... there's no doubt about it."
The group hurried out of the guild hall, their footsteps echoing with uneasy haste. Leornars's expression shifted—subtle, but razor-sharp. A dark, amused smirk curled the corner of his lips.
*Heh... now that's interesting.*
Without another thought, he casually yanked a low-tier herb-gathering request off the board. Stacian let out a tired sigh, but took the slip to the receptionist to register it anyway. Within minutes, the two had departed the guild, making their way toward the rolling, forested hills just beyond the town gates.
Under the mellow golden light of the afternoon sun, the pair combed through the dense underbrush along the forest edge, quietly picking the luminous roots specified in the contract.
"Stacian von Whatsoever," Leornars said suddenly, brushing a smudge of dirt from a glowing leaf before tossing it into his pouch. "Tell me about this world. Its actual foundations. And the real power players holding it up."
The sudden shift in topic made her blink, caught entirely off guard.
"...Alright," she said, straightening her back and dusting off her skirt. Her voice turned clear and analytical as she began her exposition.
"This world is known as Miltz Ulria, and it is divided into four primary continents. First, there is the Demon Continent—by far the largest and most dangerous mass of land. Then, there is Ultoria, where we currently stand. It's governed by four major powers: the Kingdom of Durmount, the Theocracy of Lurtra, the Holy Empire of Seraphim, and the Military Realm of Stamvolech."
Leornars listened quietly, tossing another herb into his bag.
"The third is the Ulria Continent—a vast haven for the demi-human races, including elves, dwarves, beastkin, and high spirits," Stacian continued. "And finally, there is Kultolvia... my homeland. It is the continent of ancient legends—the domain of the Heavenly Kings, the Demon Lords, and the ancient bloodlines of Avantalian and Avantris."
Leornars nodded slowly, prompting her with a silent, expectant glance to keep going.
"The ancient gods birthed this realm and left its governance to the Monarchs of Concept," she explained, her gaze darkening slightly. "Those Monarchs created the Heavenly Kings to maintain global balance. However... the demons are the lingering remnants of a fallen Dark God. The royal Avantalian and Avantris lineages descend directly from him. My own kin—the White Demons, or Holy Demons—trace our ancestry back to Minum, the Goddess of Life and Fertility."
A subtle hum escaped Leornars's throat as he mapped out the political and magical hierarchy in his head.
"And what about the Monarch who was sealed?" he asked, throwing her a pointed look.
Stacian hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly. "One of the Monarchs was sealed away over two thousand years ago... The other Monarchs feared his radical vision for the world. To this day, no living soul knows where his vessel was hidden."
Leornars's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. *That just confirms my suspicions...*
"What about blessings? These 'divinities' the gods hand out like cheap candy?"
"Blessings are fundamentally divine contracts—unique authority and high-tier skills granted directly by a deity," Stacian answered. "However, overusing or forcing divine power drastically drains the user's vitality, effectively halving their natural lifespan. It's a double-edged sword."
*I couldn't care less about their so-called gods,* Leornars thought, his gaze turning cold and distant. *All that matters is pure, unadulterated power—raw mana and absolute skill execution. The rest is just ideological noise. Strength leads to absolute destruction. And destruction... is the only true path to freedom.*
*Rustle—!*
A sharp snap of a twig echoed from the dense thicket behind them.
In one fluid, blinding motion, Leornars flicked his wrist and sent a throwing dagger whistling through the air.
*THUD!*
A heavy groan followed. Leornars casually walked over to the bush. A rough-looking man lay collapsed on the dirt, a iron knife slipping from his trembling hand as he clutched his bleeding shoulder where the dagger was embedded.
"Hmph... off by two whole inches," Leornars muttered, eyeing the wound with cold dissatisfaction. "I'll make sure to correct my angle next time."
He knelt down, grabbing the man tightly by his collar. "Who sent you? Speak."
The man coughed up a speck of blood, his eyes wide with sheer desperation as he sank to his knees, pressing his forehead directly into the dirt.
"Please... I beg you... save my daughter!" the man choked out, his voice cracking with agony. "I... I don't have gold or land to offer, but take everything I own! Enslave me, make me your thrall, anything! Just... please save her..."
Leornars froze.
The icy, merciless aura around him flickered for a brief second. Fragmented memories, long buried under layers of bloodshed and cynicism, surfaced in his mind—sharp and vivid.
*A cold, alleyway pavement. A homeless man extending a scarred hand. A firelit night. A second chance... once offered to a broken boy who had been thrown away by the world.*
His iron grip on the man's shirt loosened.
"...Where is she?" Leornars asked, his voice low. "And who took her?"
The man blurted out the details in a frantic, broken rush, explaining the slave ring operating in the nearby border pass. Leornars listened silently, then stood up and set his gathered herbs neatly on a flat stone nearby.
"Stacian. Mend his shoulder," Leornars ordered coldly. "I need to go have a brief... *conversation*... with whoever thinks they have the right to trade human flesh in my domain."
His crimson irises shifted violently, turning a deep, abyssal black. His mana exploded outward in a suffocating, dense wave of dark energy that made the surrounding forest go dead silent. The air around him warped from the sheer heat of his malice; the grass and soil beneath his boots withered and decayed with every single step he took.
Steam hissed faintly between his teeth as the dark wind whipped his silver hair back.
"**Ascian. Bellian. Awaken.**"
His voice echoed through the trees like a terrifying roar straight from the underworld. From the writhing shadows beneath him, the massive inferno wolf and the dark-armored knight materialized, their hollow, burning eyes locking onto their master in absolute obedience.
"They're going to beg for the sweet relief of death before I'm finished with them," Leornars growled softly, stepping forward like an executioner marching toward the scaffold.
Behind him, the injured father collapsed into tears, slamming his head against the ground in overwhelming gratitude. "Thank you... thank you...!"
Meanwhile, within the Imperial Capital of Durmount...
The vast training grounds echoed with the rhythmic, heavy clashing of wooden swords. Sweat dripped from Sahara Kurnov's brow as she executed another fierce overhead strike against a training dummy, her breathing heavy.
"I wonder what that crazy bastard Leornars is up to right now..." she wiped her forehead, murmuring under her breath.
"Never speak that name within these castle walls."
A sharp, authoritative voice cut through the air. Princess Selrose stood at the edge of the arena, her arms crossed tight over her chest, a grim expression on her face.
Sahara lowered her practice sword, frowning. "Huh? Why? Wait... do you actually know him?"
"Know him?" Selrose scoffed bitterly, her eyes darkening. "He was an otherworldly candidate summoned just like you—a complete anomaly. The King recognized his volatile potential and immediately ordered him thrown into the deep dungeons."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to an anxious whisper. "He broke out. Slain dozens of elite guards in a single night, then vanished into thin air. Rumor has it he was last spotted in a border domain. By the time our royal knights mobilized and arrived at the estate... they found the local lord slaughtered, his entire defense force wiped out, his daughter dead, and a high-tier Holy Demon missing from the vaults. Witnesses claimed a white-haired demon boy carried her off."
Sahara blinked, her brain struggling to process the timeline. "Wait... all of that happened in how many days?"
"Two weeks," Selrose answered flatly.
"...*TWO WEEKS!?*" Sahara yelled, her jaw dropping.
"At this point, the High Council considers him either our greatest existential threat... or our absolute last hope, depending on who you ask," Selrose admitted with a sigh.
Sahara stared at the princess, her eyes narrowing as she connected the dots. "...You guys tried to enslave him the moment he got here, didn't you?"
Selrose let out a dry, hollow laugh, turning her face away. "Yeah... we are in so much trouble."
Sahara looked up at the vast, clear blue sky, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her wooden sword until her knuckles turned white.
*Leornars... where in the world are you right now?*