Captain Lochagos's eyes widened, shock and curiosity mixing in his gaze.
"When the message came asking for reinforcement," he asked, voice tense, "it said the demon army was attacking… right?"
King Basileus's shoulders slumped. His face was heavy with gloom and guilt as he nodded.
"Yes," he said quietly. "At first… it was only the demon army. If that had been the case, more people could have survived. But that demon… in the flesh of a human… was free from the seal."
Lochagos's voice rose, loud and clear.
"If that person was so dangerous… then who—how—broke the seal?!"
The king raised a hand and touched the stump where his own hand had been cut off. His eyes fell, voice heavy with sorrow.
"It was Elizabeth," he said softly. "She broke the seal."
Lochagos's jaw dropped. "Your… daughter? Your Majesty… why would she do that? How did she do it?"
Basileus's voice grew quieter, almost a whisper.
"By blood… the seal required it."
The captain's confusion deepened. "But… why would she do that? And by blood?"
The king swallowed hard, tears welling in his eyes. His gaze fell to the floor, heavy with grief.
"She wanted to save everyone… by any means," he said, voice breaking.
"The one who sealed that demon… was our ancestor. Our blood was the key to that seal."
Silence filled the room. Only the crackle of ash drifting through the shattered kingdom outside could be heard.
The captain's expression remained straight, eyes sharp and focused.
"So…" he asked carefully, "does that demon have any weakness?"
The king's gaze fell to the floor, heavy with guilt and shame.
"I… I don't know," Basileus admitted quietly.
Lochagos's brow furrowed, pressing further.
"Then… what kind of power does he use?"
Basileus's voice grew colder, his tone distant as if recalling something horrifying.
"Brute force… with his own hands, he tears through anyone in his way… and…"
His fingers trembled slightly as he turned the pages of the old, brittle book, searching for the words he both dreaded and needed.
Finally, he found it. His eyes scanned the text, lingering on a passage as though it burned into his memory.
"He… he can only use black flame," the king said softly, his voice heavy with sorrow.
The captain's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Only one magic?" he asked, disbelief and curiosity mingling in his voice.
The king's eyes widened as he nodded.
"Yes," Basileus said softly. "Here in the book… it says he can only use one magic. That magic… is black flame."
Lochagos shook his head, unable to comprehend.
"And how do we know the book is telling the truth?" he asked, still skeptical, almost refusing to believe it.
"The book… was written by the same ancestor who sealed him," the king replied, his voice gentle but heavy with sorrow.
Lochagos's eyes narrowed. "Then… how do we kill that monster?"
Basileus lowered his gaze, voice breaking slightly.
"I… I don't know. Even those who lived back then… could not kill him."
A tense silence filled the room.
"So… it is possible to kill him, right?" the captain pressed.
The king did not answer. He stayed silent, the weight of guilt pressing down on him.
Lochagos let out a sigh, straightening his posture.
"Very well," he said, voice firm. "I'll come up with a plan myself."
He stood and bowed slightly.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," he said, then moved toward the door.
The king rose from his chair, his voice quiet but heavy with concern.
"You must be tired from the journey… you should rest."
Lochagos shook his head, resolute.
"Thank you, Your Majesty, but it is okay. I must leave."
Basileus's eyes narrowed, and fear laced his voice.
"I know where you are going."
Lochagos paused, curious.
"To where?"
"To the South," the king said softly, guilt etched into every word. "The Holy Kingdom."
Lochagos bowed once more.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," he said, then left.
As he walked through the palace, his gaze swept across the halls. The people inside looked lifeless, haunted by fear and horror. Nothing stirred except despair.
He stepped through the palace gates and met his squad of five hundred.
Mounting his horse, he looked back at the shattered palace. Shadows and black stains marred the walls, like the souls of the dead had been painted across them.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Without a word, he urged his horse forward.
They began their march southward.
The road ahead was long, and the shadow of the demon loomed over everything.