The Fallen Demon King's Revenge: Prologue of Loss and Obsession - Blade and Oath

The morning sun grazed the top of the ruined tower Babel. In the ashen sky, the sun offered no brilliance—only a diffuse, pallid light descended upon the earth below. Gehenna Wasteland—once a land ruled by the demon race—and already five days had passed since the three began their shared existence in this place. Vertias stood in the training hall on the third floor above ground. The ceiling opened to the sky, and the gray expanse was visible directly overhead. The floor was worn dark crystal stone—a peculiar black crystalline rock excavated in ancient times—bearing scars and scorched marks scattered across its surface. Traces of battles long past. This place had once been where the demon race honed their strength. In one corner of the training hall stood Valter. He was a deserter knight—one who had fled the Iron Crown Knights—and his wounds had not yet fully healed; the bandage on his left shoulder had only just been changed. Yet in his eyes dwelt a certain light cultivated over these five days. Was it the obsession to survive, or something else entirely? He gripped a wooden sword. Valter's reason for coming here was simple. Ten years ago, in the turmoil of war, his hometown's lord's mansion had been burned. At that time, he—a young knight then—had managed to escape. But it was only recently that he learned the one who had orchestrated that very turmoil was Vertias himself. When he learned this, Valter was seized with shock. Yet simultaneously, he felt a profound admiration. The power of the one who had burned his homeland was overwhelmingly absolute. From that power, yearning was eventually born. "We begin." Vertias's voice was quiet, yet it possessed a weight that dominated the entire training hall. He too held a wooden sword. Ordinarily, he should test his own marrow-strength—the ancient power hidden within the body—but measuring his opponent's ability required no more than this. Valter leaped. The Iron Crown Knights' stance—a technique of certainty. His footwork was without waste, his breathing rhythm precise. The training of the kingdom's knights was indeed sound, Vertias acknowledged. But acknowledgment and defeat were separate matters. The wooden swords crossed. A dull sound echoed through the training hall. Two exchanges. Three. Five. Valter's speed was certainly swift, but to Vertias it was as though the world had stopped. He saw everything—the movement of his opponent's muscles, the flow of marrow-strength, the rhythm of breath. Vertias took a single step forward. The movement was simple, and therefore perfect. Valter's wooden sword was sent flying. In that instant, the tip of Vertias's wooden sword was pressed against Valter's throat. "It is finished." Vertias lowered his wooden sword. Valter sank to one knee, breathing heavily. Yet—a smile played across his face. "Magnificent..." Valter's voice was filled with exultation. His gray eyes fixed upon Vertias. What dwelt in their depths was not mere respect, but something deeper and more perilous—an obsession. "You are indeed the real thing. The one who orchestrated that turmoil. A being of true power." When Vertias heard these words, his brow furrowed slightly. A strange fellow—he certainly felt that, yet simultaneously he could not help but sense something ominous. But to pursue it further would require time. Vertias cradled the wooden sword at his side and removed his outer robe. In the motion of wiping sweat, the scars running from his left shoulder across his back were laid bare. Burn marks carved deeply into his skin, and around them lingered something unnatural, a cold texture. The traces of a shattered magic core—the claw marks of a broken magical stone. Even now, ten years later, those claw marks lived within Vertias's body. Valter's gaze became fixed upon them. A moment of silence flowed. Within that silence, Valter's expression transformed. From exultation to something deeper. From obsession to yearning. A cool voice came from the wall's edge. "Next is my turn." Silvia Viola Christus stepped forward quietly. She was a woman who dwelt hidden in the depths below the ruined tower Babel, and for these five days had continued her investigation of the underground sections. She revealed nothing of the details, yet a clear change was visible in her eyes. Colder, deeper, more dangerous. Ten years ago, Silvia had lost both her parents in a certain incident, and while harboring revenge against their killer in her heart, she had hidden herself in this ruined tower. "I will not use a blade. Marrow-strength." Silvia's right hand was raised. A pale blue light kindled in her palm. Control of marrow-strength—a technique of high sophistication. Without the methods of ancient sorcery—knowledge developed in the age when humans and demons coexisted, now lost to time—such precision could not be achieved. "Try then." Vertias too refined his marrow-strength. From the depths of his body, a deep crimson light welled upward. Between the two, tension stretched taut. The very air of the training hall began to warp with a sensation like electricity. Silvia's marrow-strength was released like a bullet. Vertias received it with a barrier of marrow-strength. The impact sent cracks racing across the floor. The sturdy dark crystal stone shattered with sound. The durability of this training hall became evident. "Not bad." Vertias murmured. Silvia's attacks came in succession. Precise, without waste, with an accuracy like clockwork. Yet it was not clockwork but human craft. The techniques of ancient sorcery, thought to be lost, lived within her. Vertias devoted himself to defense. He was not using his full strength. Against an opponent of this caliber, full power was unnecessary. Yet he acknowledged her ability. Ten years ago, had there been anyone among his subordinates with such talent? He searched his memory. No. There had not been. "Let us end this." Vertias's marrow-strength swelled all at once. It was the moment when the true power that had been suppressed finally emerged. The entire training hall was dyed deep crimson, and the very air felt compressed. Silvia's defensive barrier crumbled in an instant, and she sank to one knee. "I understand. Your power is genuine." Silvia spoke with difficulty. Yet in her eyes there was no sense of defeat. Rather, an expression as though she had merely confirmed something. The training hall was enveloped in silence. The incomplete light of day stretched the shadows of the three long across the floor. --- That night. Silvia made her way alone to the third underground floor. She descended the spiral staircase. She passed through the marrow-vein chamber on the second underground level—a passage where magical power had once flowed in ancient times—and descended further. The third underground floor. She arrived before the sealed door. A circular black door. Fashioned from dark crystal stone, countless ancient characters were carved upon it. Those characters emitted no light, merely existed in silence. Beyond this door lay the secret she had sought for ten years. The sole clue to reach the one who had killed her parents. Silvia placed her hand upon it quietly. "Father... Mother..." Her voice trembled. Silvia Viola Christus, always composed and serene, revealed emotion for the first time. "I swear it. This vow. This revenge." Tears gathered in her violet eyes. Yet they were quickly wiped away. In those eyes dwelt deep anger and an obsession that would not fade. "The kingdom. The Ardent domain. The corruption of the Dawn Light Church. Bernadetta..." Names of hatred were woven one after another. Unquenchable anger toward those who had destroyed her clan. The weight she had carried alone in the depths of this ruined tower for ten years. "The answer lies beyond this door." Silvia channeled her marrow-strength. Pale violet light flowed from her fingertips, racing across the door's surface. The ancient characters responded faintly—yet the door did not open. "The time has not yet come." Silvia turned on her heel. Her footsteps echoed as she climbed the stairs. But midway, she encountered someone. Vertias was descending toward the depths. Whether he could not sleep, or for another purpose, was unclear. The two regarded each other in silence. While harboring doubt in each other's eyes, they understood they moved toward the same objective. "Cannot you sleep?" Vertias asked. "...Yes. I was conducting some investigation." Silvia's answer was brief. She revealed no details. Seeing her manner, Vertias did not press further. He could not trust her, but she was useful. That was sufficient. "Tomorrow we move in earnest. Prepare yourself." "Understood." Silvia departed. She climbed the stairs and vanished to the upper levels. Vertias watched her back recede. The scar on his left shoulder throbbed. Hatred toward the one who had orchestrated that turmoil rose faintly to the surface. (I cannot trust her... but she is useful.) Murmuring thus, Vertias advanced into the depths below. The long night continued still.

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Episode 3

Name: The Fallen Demon King's Revenge: Prologue of Loss and Obsession
Author: Novelia

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