The Fallen Demon King's Revenge: Prologue of Loss and Obsession - The Hero's True Face, The Truth of the Old Wound

Only three days had passed since that night at Trapessa Harbor. The information Walter had brought back—the whispers of the elder demon, Dmitol Vos's hollow eyes, and the carnage in the smuggler ship's hold—still lay settled in Vertias's mind, unorganized. Not gone. Simply waiting. But there was work to do today. White Fang Fortress. Northeast of the royal capital Ludisea, rising atop a rocky mountain—the headquarters of the Iron Crown Knights. Where Ardant reigned. The three had departed the ruined tower Babel before dawn, passed through a dimensional rift, and descended to the outer edge of the capital. They wore no disguises. This was distant reconnaissance. They chose a rocky outcrop that overlooked the fortress plaza and lay in wait. They timed it for when crowds would gather. Before midday, a voice echoed across the plaza. "——The remnants of the demon race must be eliminated without exception. It is the natural right of all who live in this kingdom." The moment that voice reached his ears, Vertias's entire body went rigid. The distance was vast. More than a hundred meters. Yet that voice arrived with a force that could split stone. He could see the man standing in the center of the plaza. Golden short hair caught the sunlight. Sharp blue eyes swept calmly across the assembled knights. Nearly one hundred ninety centimeters tall, clad in silver-white armor trimmed with crimson along every edge, his right hand resting on the hilt of the holy sword at his waist. His stance did not waver. His voice did not falter. The smile he turned toward the crowd was warm, like a priest expounding faith—and yet, beneath it, utterly devoid of anything human. Cold. Ardant. The living form of that man, seen for the first time in ten years. Something moved within Vertias's body. Moved—or rather, detonated. His marrow-force strained against its restraints. Heat like burning inside his veins spread from his arms to his chest, his fingertips trembling finely. It was not anger. It was something more primal—ten years of hatred and humiliation taking shape all at once, a fundamental impulse. The flames of that night. The demon city burning. The death cries of his subordinates. The sensation of falling through the dimensional rift—all of it surged back at once, roaring in his skull. He pressed his hand against the rock. His right hand gripped it with enough force to shatter stone. He clenched his teeth. ——Calm. If you lose control here, that's all there is. Seconds passed. Long seconds. His marrow-force gradually withdrew inward. But in exchange, his entire left arm burned with numbness. His fingers would not move. Sensation dulled. The price of forcing his power down by sheer will. Vertias pressed his forehead against the rock, steadying his breath. Silvia remained motionless beside him. Her deep violet eyes glanced at Vertias once, then returned to the plaza. She said nothing. Her expression did not change. Yet her gaze saw everything. Walter lay slightly behind Vertias, watching the plaza with an intensity that consumed him. In those gray eyes, something was slowly seeping through. "Master Vertias," He spoke in a low voice, barely audible. His right hand touched the hilt of his sword at his waist. "Do not move," That was enough. Walter's hand stilled. But his eyes never left the plaza. Ardant continued his speech. "The order of light—that is the duty we must fulfill upon this land. To sweep away the remnants of darkness, to cleanse the world by human hands. For that purpose, we continue to bear our swords." Applause erupted from the crowd. The assembled knights struck their spears in unison. The entire plaza filled with praise for a hero. ——Was he always like that, ten years ago? Vertias listened to that applause from a distance, suppressing the numbness in his left arm. --- They began their withdrawal when the speech ended and the knights began to disperse. The three circled cautiously around the outer edge of the fortress. Without speaking, each observed the castle walls. Vertias etched information into his mind. The main gate was guarded by roughly twenty sentries; the watch changed every two hours. A rear gate was visible on the fortress's eastern side—fewer guards there. On the west, a low gate for food supplies, through which supply carts passed. The knights' equipment was primarily standard iron armor, with only the higher ranks bearing magically reinforced gear. As they advanced through rocky shadows, Silvia remained constantly two steps behind Vertias. Her eyes were fixed on the fortress, but occasionally her gaze fell to his left arm. As the sun began to lean westward, the three walked along a desolate road away from the fortress. Silvia spoke. "Regarding your loss of control earlier," "I am aware," "Had you lost control in that situation, all three of us would be dead by now. When emotion bears fangs, it bites those closest to it," Her tone was blunt. Not accusatory. Simply stating fact. Vertias did not argue. Could not argue, more precisely. Silvia continued. "Ten years of accumulated rage. It is natural that you cannot suppress it entirely. But—if you are exploited for it, all is lost. If Ardant had noticed your presence, today's speech may have been a trap," "It was not a trap. He did not notice me," "Today, perhaps," Quiet words fell into the wasteland. Walter walked slightly ahead, listening to their exchange. His shoulders had grown subtly tense. "……There is one thing I must confirm," He spoke without turning. "When I reached for my sword, you stopped me, Master Vertias," "I did," "If my father had appeared in that place—I do not know what I would have done," Honest words. Which made them all the worse. Vertias looked at Walter's back. The scar on his left shoulder was barely visible through his clothes. That man, so rational and cold, was admitting he could not control his own impulses. "Such decisions are mine to make. You will not move. Under no circumstances, until I give permission," "……Understood," He obeyed. His tone did not change. But Vertias understood—Walter was obeying, but not accepting. It was nothing new, but today's events had widened that gap slightly. The three continued walking through the wasteland in silence. --- As they withdrew, Vertias's mind kept returning to one thing. Ardant's left arm. Throughout the speech, that man had gripped the holy sword's hilt with his right hand, keeping his left arm hidden within his cloak. Never once did he reveal it. Not when the crowd drew near, not when he spoke with his knights. It was an intentional concealment, made to appear natural. Walking beside Silvia, Vertias spoke quietly. "Did you see his left arm," Silvia considered for a moment before answering. "He kept it hidden within his cloak. He never exposed it once," "That old wound—I gave it to him in the battle ten years ago," The wasteland wind blew. Silvia's violet-tinged hair streamed in the breeze. "It has not yet healed, then," "There are wounds that marrow-force cannot heal. When we made contact, I drove my marrow-force into him—that kind of wound. If his body still rejects it, he has not fully recovered," Silvia's vertically-slit pupils narrowed slightly. The expression she wore when assembling something in her mind. "……In other words, your blade still remains within him. If marrow-force healing cannot touch it, it is a weakness. In close combat, if you attack from his left side—movements a normal opponent could manage may be difficult for him," Walter reacted immediately. "Then the next time we engage, we target his left," "When we engage next is for me to decide. If you move independently, the plan collapses," Brief silence. Walter said nothing. But the tension in his back increased slightly. The air between the three grew quietly heavier. Beneath the wasteland's gray sky, without adding another word, the retreat continued. --- They returned to the ruined tower Babel when night had deepened. Vertias descended first to the second basement level. The Marrow Vein Chamber—the room where marrow-force welled up from the dimensional rift flowing beneath the earth. Blue-white mist drifted low, and the walls of dark crystal stone glowed faintly. In the center of that chamber, Vertias knelt on one knee and concentrated his consciousness on his left arm. The numbness remained. His fingers were half-numb, dull as though sensation had been lost. He drew the power of the Marrow Vein Chamber slowly inward, channeling it through his arm. It was painstaking work. But he did not rush. He knew that haste would only prolong it. Gradually, sensation returned. While he worked, his mind moved. He organized what he had seen of Ardant today, piece by piece. He had not aged. In ten years, he had changed almost not at all. His command of marrow-force was masterful, his control of the knights unbroken. That weight, that overwhelming presence simply by standing there—unchanged. But his left arm was not whole. That was all. That alone remained as certain fact. Sounds came from above. Silvia was spreading maps. She had brought old maps of the fortress's surroundings, and now she was cross-referencing them with today's observations, confirming positions. The main gate, the rear gate, the food supply entrance—what they had verified by walking today was taking shape on paper. Another sound. The monotonous metallic scrape of a sword being sharpened. Walter must have remained in the war room. The Marrow Vein Chamber was quiet. Only the blue-white mist drifted soundlessly. Vertias moved each finger of his left hand one by one. Sensation was returning. Not complete, but usable. Two things had become clear today. Ardant's weakness—the old wound on his left arm. And the positions of the fortress's rear gate and food supply entrance. The first foothold toward the next phase had been obtained for the first time today. It was a tangible sense of progress. But at the same time, one other thing remained in his mind. The look in Walter's eyes when he watched Ardant give his speech. That single moment when his hand went to his sword's hilt. And afterward, those words: "If my father had been there, I do not know what I would have done." That man would lose control eventually. He knew it himself, and yet could not stop the thing driving him. Today, he had been stopped. But there was no guarantee he could be stopped next time. The plan had begun to move. But within that plan, one uncontrollable variable existed with certainty. Vertias rose to his feet and exhaled quietly into the darkness below. He carried both the sense of progress and the thorn within his chest as he began to climb the stairs.

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Episode 7

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

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