King Basileus walked toward his working chamber.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
When he pushed open the door, the captain of the Red Tiger Knights was already waiting inside.
The man stood tall, armored in crimson steel, a long red cloak falling behind him like flowing blood.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting," the king said as he entered.
"It was not a problem, Your Majesty," the captain replied, bowing his head respectfully.
The sight of that bow—
For a brief second—
Basileus's mind flashed back to three days ago.
To himself kneeling.
To blood staining the stone floor.
To humiliation.
His fingers twitched.
But his expression remained composed.
He walked past the captain and took his seat.
The captain straightened.
"My apologies for the late introduction," he said calmly.
"My name is Lochagos Tychon Drakontigeras."
The king's eyes sharpened slightly.
"…Drakontigeras?" he repeated slowly.
A brief silence filled the room.
"Then that means… you are—"
"Yes, Your Majesty," the captain replied.
"I am the Second Prince of the Drakontigeras Kingdom."
He bowed once more.
The king studied him carefully.
A prince… serving as a captain in another land.
Interesting.
"Please," Basileus said quietly, gesturing to the seat across from him. "Sit."
Lochagos obeyed.
The room felt cold.
The air between them carried the scent of ash drifting from outside.
Finally, the king spoke.
"So," he said, his voice hollow — stripped of warmth, stripped of pride—
"What business brings you to our ruined kingdom?"
The captain met the king's hollow gaze without flinching.
"I would like to know exactly what happened here," Lochagos said calmly.
"And who did this."
His voice carried confidence — not accusation, not fear.
Just authority.
The king's eyes slowly lowered.
For the first time since entering the room, shame was visible on his face.
"A demon broke free," Basileus said quietly.
"A demon… that should have never been released."
The captain's brows furrowed.
"A demon?" he repeated, confusion flickering across his sharp features.
The king's fingers tightened against the armrest of his chair.
"Yes," he said.
"But not a simple demon."
His voice turned colder.
"A walking destruction."
Silence fell between them.
Ash drifted past the window like gray snow.
"You may have heard of it," the king continued slowly.
"The Great Holy War… that occurred one thousand years ago."
The captain blinked.
"The Great Holy War?" he repeated.
A faint, uncertain smile appeared on his face.
"I thought that was merely a myth."
His confusion was genuine.
Curiosity followed closely behind it.
The king lifted his eyes again.
And this time—
There was no doubt in them.
"It was no myth."
The king did not look away.
"It was not a myth," Basileus said calmly.
"It was real… though even I do not know the full truth."
His voice was steady — but cold.
The captain narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Then how do you know it was real?" he asked, curiosity sharpening his tone.
For a moment, the king said nothing.
Then he rose from his chair.
His footsteps echoed softly across the chamber as he walked toward a large bookshelf at the far end of the room. The shelves were in disarray — scrolls scattered, books tilted and half-burned from the recent catastrophe.
He reached out and pulled an old book from the back of the shelf.
It was worn.
The leather cover was cracked, its edges frayed, as if it had survived more than just time.
The king returned to his desk and placed it down gently.
Dust rose into the air.
He flipped through the brittle pages until he stopped at one particular entry.
"The demon," Basileus said quietly,
"was sealed beneath this very palace… in the basement.
For centuries."
He lifted his gaze toward the captain.
"That is where we are standing now."
Silence filled the room.
Outside, the ashes of the dead kingdom drifted past the window like falling snow.
The captain stood frozen, shock and curiosity clashing within his eyes.
The king slowly turned the brittle pages of the ancient book. The sound of paper brushing against paper echoed faintly in the quiet room.
"The war…" Basileus said calmly, his face cold and unreadable,
"…was one man against the entire continent."
The captain's breathing grew shallow.
"It was so brutal and bloody that the ground became swamped with blood," the king continued. "The battlefield no longer looked like land… but a red sea."
His fingers tightened slightly around the page.
"It lasted for a whole month."
"No rest."
"No pause."
"No mercy."
His voice remained steady — disturbingly steady.
The captain swallowed.
"So then…" he asked, unable to hide his curiosity,
"…how did it end?"
Silence lingered between them.
Only the faint sound of ash drifting outside the ruined kingdom could be heard.
King Basileus replied in a cold voice,
"I do not know how it ended. The final pages of the book are worn out… and anyone who tried to record the event was killed."
He closed the book slowly.
"But in the end, the demon was sealed. They could not move him anywhere else… so they built a palace above the seal."
His gaze hardened.
"That is where we are standing now."
The captain's eyes widened.
"What…?" he breathed. "Why would they kill those who tried to write the history of such a great war?"
Curiosity and disbelief mixed in his voice.
The king remained silent for a moment before answering.
"I do not know," he said quietly.
"But one thing I do know…"
His eyes darkened.
"The demon has been released."
"And he is roaming freely."
The king's voice dropped to a whisper.