The sky of Jottunheim was still red, like a wound that had never been stitched.
The wind carried the smell of metal, blood, and something older than any war.
Kafka stood beside Eldric in the middle of cracked earth that had just become the grave for two servants of Azhraviel.
His body was still trembling.
Not from fear.
But from the lingering energy of Eldric's battle that still shook the air like thunder that refused to die.
Eldric yawned.
"Little warm up always make me hungry."
Kafka stared at him in disbelief.
Warm up?
He had just watched two beings that felt like gods get slaughtered like insects.
But before Kafka could speak,
the ground around them began to move.
Cracks appeared.
One.
Two.
Dozens.
Then,
rotting hands crawled out of the earth.
Dungeon monsters.
Their bodies were twisted.
Their skin looked like flesh soaked in blood for too long.
Their eyes were empty holes that devoured light.
Kafka immediately stepped back.
His sword came out.
But Eldric only glanced at them.
"Relax."
The first monster lunged toward them.
But before it could reach Kafka,
another creature erupted from the ground.
Its body was dark crimson like dried blood.
Its eyes burned like embers.
It slammed into the dungeon monster and tore its head off.
Then a second one appeared.
Then a third.
Within seconds,
dozens of blood demons crawled out from the cracks in the earth.
They attacked the dungeon monsters with savage brutality.
Claws.
Teeth.
Bones that twisted into blades.
The dungeon monsters that had just emerged were slaughtered like animals that wandered into a wolf den.
Kafka stared at the scene in confusion.
"Why are they...?"
He never finished the sentence.
Because one of the blood demons turned toward him.
The creature stopped moving.
Its red eyes stared at Kafka for a long moment.
Then,
it walked closer.
Kafka tightened his grip on his sword.
But the creature did not attack.
It stopped right in front of him.
Then slowly,
it raised its hand.
And patted Kafka's head.
Kafka froze.
Another demon approached.
This one was larger.
It knelt before Kafka like a knight who had found his king.
Then it hugged him.
The embrace was heavy.
But warm.
One by one—
the blood demons began gathering around Kafka.
Some patted his shoulder.
Some touched his hair.
Some held his hands as if making sure he truly existed.
Like a family that had found someone long lost.
Kafka didn't understand.
But something in his chest felt strange.
Warm.
Warm like something he had almost forgotten.
Small memories surfaced in his mind.
The orphanage.
Children laughing.
Arga sitting beside him, breaking a piece of hard bread in half.
That was the only time in his life he had ever felt like he had a family.
And now,
that feeling had returned.
His eyes grew slightly wet.
"Why…?"
He turned to Eldric.
Eldric crossed his arms.
His gaze softened just a little.
"They recognize you."
Kafka frowned.
"How?"
Eldric looked at the blood demons.
"Because they are… your family."
Kafka froze.
Eldric let out a long breath.
"They were human once."
He pointed at one of the blood demons.
"Members of the Vaelorian clan. From the massacre twenty-five years ago."
Kafka looked at them again.
Their bodies were ruined.
But now he saw something in their eyes.
Not madness.
Not hatred.
But an ancient sadness.
"Magnus cursed them."
Kafka stiffened.
Eldric continued flatly.
"With Azhraviel's power."
The winds of Jottunheim fell silent for a moment.
As if the world itself was listening.
"Magnus didn't just kill our clan," Eldric said quietly.
"He rewrote reality."
Kafka stared at him in disbelief.
"He rewound the world's history."
Eldric pointed at the red sky.
"Now every race in Aethernox believes the Church saved the world."
"That they were the ones who defeated the Demon King."
Kafka swallowed.
Eldric chuckled.
"And judging from the way you took a fighting stance the first time I told you my name… it should be obvious who he turned into that Demon King."
Kafka didn't answer.
Eldric pointed to himself.
"Me."
Kafka froze.
"Azhraviel was erased from history."
Eldric stretched his back.
"And my name replaced his."
He lit a cigarette.
"Using Azhraviel's power on that scale to rewrite the memories of the entire world…"
He exhaled smoke.
"…seems to have drained him."
"Saving the two cockroaches I killed earlier was apparently beyond him."
Kafka stared at the ground.
His thoughts felt like glass that had just shattered.
"So… everyone believes you're the demon?"
Eldric shrugged.
"More or less. You've been to the new generation's world yourself. You should know better."
Kafka stayed silent for a long moment.
Then he asked quietly,
"If Magnus cursed everyone… then why didn't you turn into a monster like them?"
He looked at the blood demons.
"Why didn't you become one too?"
Eldric grinned.
A smile full of arrogance.
"Because I'm the strongest."
He tapped his chest.
"That simple."
Kafka didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
But Eldric had already stood up.
"Alright."
He rolled his shoulders.
"If you want to live long enough to take revenge…"
He pointed at Kafka.
"We start training."
The days that followed flowed like a river of blood that never stopped.
Eldric taught Kafka many things.
How to regenerate his body.
"Wounds are not your enemy," Eldric said while stabbing Kafka's stomach with a training dagger.
"Wounds are fuel."
Kafka collapsed many times.
But his body slowly learned to repair itself.
Then came blood energy cultivation.
Eldric showed him how to draw power from the ancient blood that saturated the air of Jottunheim.
Then natural energy.
"Energy doesn't only exist in your body," Eldric said.
"The entire world is filled with it."
He taught Kafka to absorb energy from the earth.
From the wind.
From stones.
Even from monster bones.
And finally,
crystal absorption.
Eldric tossed a monster crystal to Kafka.
"Absorb it."
Kafka almost died the first time he tried.
But week after week,
he grew stronger.
Eldric sat on a large rock watching him.
Kafka was meditating in the middle of a circle of glowing red crystals.
Energy flowed into his body like rivers finding the sea.
Eldric narrowed his eyes.
"This kid… the king's blood never lies."
He sighed quietly.
"What a ridiculous talent."
Kafka opened his eyes.
A faint crimson aura swirled around him.
Eldric grinned.
For the first time in decades,
he saw hope.
Hope that the world of Aethernox could still be saved.
And that hope,
was standing right in front of him.
Deep within the heart of Grand Aurelis, far beneath the cathedral whose walls were thicker than fortress stone, there existed a council chamber rarely opened.
Its doors were carved from ancient black wood, filled with engravings of angels holding swords.
Ironically,
the room was almost always used to discuss war.
Inside, candlelight flickered like souls waiting for judgment.
A long obsidian table divided the chamber.
At its far end sat Bishop Magnus.
His blind eyes faced forward.
Yet the pressure around him made everyone feel as if he could see far deeper than their faces.
To his left sat Arga.
The small crown of the Hero still rested on his head, yet his expression looked less like a champion and more like a man carrying a mountain on his shoulders.
On the right side of the table sat two Paladins.
The first was a tall man with long black hair tied behind his back.
His old armor was scarred with countless battles.
Darius Valen.
A veteran from the Paladin generation twenty-five years ago.
Beside him sat a young woman with short silver hair.
A black longbow leaned against her chair.
Two small axes rested at her waist.
Lyra Vexis.
An S-Rank adventurer of the new generation.
Magnus began the meeting calmly.
"Thank you for coming."
His thin hand rested on his holy staff.
"The world stands at a fragile point."
His head turned slightly toward Arga.
"And the duty of the Hero… is to ensure it does not collapse."
Arga nodded quietly.
Magnus continued.
"The Paladin Examination will begin in a few weeks."
"We must ensure the candidates understand the true threat."
He paused.
Then spoke the words slowly.
"The Demon King."
Silence swallowed the room.
Even the candle flames trembled.
Magnus turned toward the old warrior.
"Sir Darius."
"Tell the Hero… about Eldric."
Darius did not answer immediately.
His large hands rested on the table.
He stared at the floor as if something buried in the grave of memory had just been dragged back to the surface.
Finally,
he spoke.
His voice fell like a stone into a deep well.
"Twenty-five years ago…"
"Our Paladin squad was considered the strongest in the Church's history."
Arga leaned forward.
Darius continued.
"There were seven of us."
He raised his fingers one by one.
"A Saint healer."
"A mage who could summon storms."
"A dragon hunter from the north."
"A holy swordsman from the Solthera clan."
He paused.
His eyes trembled slightly.
"And me."
He inhaled slowly.
"And we were led by the strongest man among us."
"Eldric Vaelorian."
Arga's eyes widened.
Darius lowered his head.
"At least… before the Demon King of Jottunheim possessed him."
"We had no choice but to fight."
His fist tightened.
"We thought we were ready."
A dry laugh escaped him.
"We were wrong."
Lyra leaned back in her chair lazily.
"So how strong was he really?"
Darius did not answer immediately.
He looked at Arga.
"When we first saw Eldric…"
"He didn't even draw his sword."
Arga frowned.
"He just stood there."
"And our entire army… stopped moving."
Lyra raised an eyebrow.
Darius continued.
"Blood."
"Eldric's power was blood."
Arga instantly remembered someone.
Kafka.
But he said nothing.
Darius spoke heavier with each word.
"He could turn blood into anything."
"Swords."
"Spears."
"Arrows."
"Shields."
"Even living creatures."
He looked at his trembling hands.
"And he did it all… effortlessly."
The room became colder.
Darius closed his eyes.
"We attacked together."
"We believed numbers would overwhelm him."
He opened his eyes again.
But something dark lived in them now.
"We couldn't even force him to step back."
"His body regenerated no matter how many times we destroyed it."
Arga felt his throat dry.
Darius spoke again.
"In five minutes…"
He paused.
Then whispered.
"Five of us died."
Lyra whistled.
"Five minutes?"
"The strongest Paladins in the world?"
"Wiped out in five minutes?"
Darius slowly turned his head toward her.
Lyra shrugged.
"Sorry, but that sounds exaggerated."
"There's no way someone is that strong."
The room suddenly felt colder.
Darius stood up.
SCRRRRAK.
His chair scraped violently across the floor.
His hand grabbed the enormous sword on his back.
The blade was almost as long as a pillar.
When he pulled it free,
WHOOSH
Red flames erupted along its edge.
Lyra immediately sat upright.
Darius pointed the blazing blade at her.
His voice was no longer heavy.
Now it sounded like a volcano moments before eruption.
"Listen carefully, girl."
The fire reflected across the stone walls.
"My friends died there."
"They were not cowards."
"They were not jokes."
He stepped closer.
The pressure of his aura made the air burn.
"Eldric Vaelorian…"
He spoke the name like a natural disaster.
"…was the strongest Paladin who ever lived."
Arga froze.
"Paladin?"
Darius nodded.
"Yes."
"He was one of us."
His hand clenched.
"And that's exactly why he was so terrifying."
Darius glared at Lyra.
"So if you dare belittle them again…"
His sword moved slightly.
Flames cracked in the air.
"I will not tolerate it."
Tension filled the chamber.
Lyra looked at the burning blade.
Then sighed.
"Alright."
She raised her hands.
"I get it."
But curiosity still flickered in her eyes.
Finally,
Magnus spoke.
"Enough."
His voice was calm.
But the power behind it instantly crushed the tension.
Darius slowly lowered his sword.
The flames faded.
He sat again.
Arga remained silent.
Inside his mind—
Darius's words echoed.
Blood.
Weapons.
The strongest Paladin.
The more he heard it—
the more Kafka's image appeared in his thoughts.
Then,
TOK.
A knock came from the door.
Everyone turned.
The door slowly opened.
A girl stepped inside.
Her long hair flowed like night over her shoulders.
Her eyes were calm.
Yet something within them was far too sharp to be gentle.
Elara.
She stood in the doorway.
"Sorry for interrupting."
Her voice was soft.
But somehow,
the room felt colder.
Arga immediately stood.
"Elara!"
Relief filled his voice.
"You're awake!"
Lyra glanced at her curiously.
Darius narrowed his eyes.
Magnus…
smiled faintly.
Elara walked in quietly.
Her white dress moved like moonlight on water.
She stopped beside Arga.
And listened.
The meeting was nearly over when Magnus suddenly spoke again.
His voice was soft.
But it felt like a knife hidden inside a prayer.
"Arga."
Arga looked up.
Magnus faced him.
"If Kafka has truly become a demon…"
He paused.
"What will you do?"
At the same time.
In Jottunheim,
Kafka was training with Eldric.
They stood atop a black stone surrounded by blood demons.
Eldric crossed his arms.
He stared at Kafka for a long moment.
Then asked casually,
"If Arga has been completely manipulated by Magnus…"
He raised an eyebrow.
"What will you do?"
Two worlds.
Two battlefields.
Two friends who once shared bread in an orphanage.
And at nearly the same moment,
they answered.
Arga spoke quietly.
"If it comes to that…"
Kafka spoke quietly.
"If it comes to that…"
And then,
their words met the same destiny.
"I will be the one to kill him."
"I will be the one to kill him."
The sky of Grand Aurelis remained clear.
The sky of Jottunheim remained red.
But between those two skies,
a war more painful than death
was already waiting.
~To Be Continued ~