[100 Years Ago – The Great War of Avela]
On the cursed battlefield, where earth lay shattered and blood dyed the black banners red, two entities faced each other amidst a sea of corpses.
On one side stood the Demon King Igroth — the ancient darkness, who razed seven kingdoms with but a whisper of a curse.
On the other, the Hero of Avela Citadel — bearer of the sacred light from the Guardian God, the chosen one sent to slay the Demon King.
> Demon King (deep voice, smirking with contempt):
"So this is the Hero mankind put all their hopes in?
Not… bad to look at, at least."
The Hero said nothing.
The light radiating from his body alone was enough to ignite hundreds of demon soldiers around him like paper ash.
Two enemies faced off.
No warning.
Then — collision.
Light and darkness clashed midair, tearing through the sky and the land. Each time their blades met, the ground cracked open, the heavens groaned. No living thing dared approach — all were crushed beneath the pressure mixing holy brilliance and black miasma.
But after a time...
The Hero fell.
His breath, ragged.
His blood, streaming.
The Demon King — merely scratched.
> Demon King (coldly):
"Any last words, light?"
The Hero smiled... strangely.
> Hero:
"Do you know why Heroes are born?
To destroy Demon Kings.
And we — always win."
The Hero's body erupted in divine radiance — so pure it shook the very soil of the Demon Realm, igniting all in its wake.
> Demon King (startled):
"Self-detonation… Damn it… No time to dodge!"
Just then—
A shadow broke into the light, as if ripping through time itself.
He was small, clad in torn black armor, face half-concealed beneath a broken mask.
In his hand — a rusted blade, no larger than a child's toy.
Slash!
He plunged the blade into the Hero's left eye, then twisted and stabbed again — this time into the heart — just before the detonation could erupt.
And the very moment the holy explosion flared like a sea of fire—
he opened his mouth.
He swallowed.
Wave after wave of sacred light was… devoured by him.
The Demon King took a step back.
Behind him, the ten captains of the Demon Legions stood frozen, their bodies stiff as stone.
> Demon King (in his thoughts, stunned):
(The Hero's detonation… even I wouldn't dare touch it…
And he's eating it like it's porridge?!)
When the light finally faded, the Hero's corpse lay torn open, blood soaking his once-holy armor.
The figure raised his head — golden eyes blazing like a dead sun.
> Demon King (deep voice, slow):
"Who… are you?"
> Him (licking the blood from his lips, flatly):
"Saryx."
The air turned still.
> Demon King (frowning, mumbling):
"Sary… wasn't that the name of the weakest Logistics Demon?
A mere foot soldier… did this?"
> Demon King (louder):
"Would you join my Legion?
I shall personally name you our Secret Weapon."
> Saryx (shrugs, turning his back, voice languid):
"Sure."
---
Inside the Ironblood Grand Hall — the heart of the Bloodblack Castle, once host to hundreds of knighting ceremonies, thousands of executions, and blood-bound pacts that could never be undone — was now adorned with blood-inscribed banners, candleholders lit with soul-fat, and black stone floors polished until they mirrored the glowing red eyes of its warriors.
A banquet was held.
A feast reserved only for those whose deeds shaped history.
All eyes turned to the highest throne — a lone seat engraved with twisted carvings resembling the spines of a hundred different creatures.
And I sat upon it.
I, Sary.
A Lesser Demon.
A nobody.
One no one noticed, no one expected, no one ever placed hope in.
I didn't understand why I was here.
---
I remember...
I was just a nameless being among tens of thousands of Lesser Demons — the weakest caste in the Demon hierarchy, minds shattering from mere exposure to the pressure of a single Demon Soldier. I had no magic, no strength, no worth beyond filling a line on the "Pending Casualties" list.
But when war broke out — when the Demon King ordered full mobilization — I was shoved to the front lines, like all the others.
I thought I'd die that very first night.
But I didn't.
Not only did I survive, I…
---
…each time I opened my eyes, corpses lay at my feet.
Blood splattered on my tunic.
The soil, charred.
The light — warped.
There were no screams.
Only the smell of half-cooked human flesh.
I don't remember what I did.
Only a blank space.
A thin screech, like a blade, in my head.
A stab of searing heat—then darkness.
Then... I'd wake up again.
In the middle of a battlefield stripped bare, every enemy already dead.
And today — I woke up on a throne.
---
The cheers rose like crashing waves, but I heard nothing except the rhythm of my own heartbeat.
Below, ten captains of ten demon legions — warriors who survived by trampling over thousands of corpses — stood straight, hands on their weapons, eyes locked on me.
No one spoke.
No one smiled.
No one even breathed loudly.
And then—
The Demon King arrived.
---
The hall's light bled red as his form passed through the Gate of the Underworld. A pressure, thick as mists of death, smothered the air. The demon soldiers lining the main path collapsed to their knees, blood trickling from their eyes and ears like they were being tortured.
He approached.
Stopped three steps from me.
---
> Demon King Igroth, voice echoing like a thousand stone bells grinding together:
"Let all hear me."
I wanted to deny it, to stand up, to explain that it was all a mistake.
That I just… opened my eyes. And everything was over.
But I couldn't.
Because I didn't even understand myself.
---
> Demon King:
"This is the one who felled the Hero — humanity's final light, sent by the Holy Council and the Circle of Flame to erase me."
"The Captain of the First Legion challenged him in doubt…"
"And the result… lies before your eyes."
I looked down — and as he said, at my feet was a corpse.
Broad-shouldered, neck snapped, blood dripping from the mouth like a ticking clock.
He still gripped his axe — but his body was crushed, as if shattered from within by an unseen force.
I remembered nothing.
I remembered eating soup.
Chuckling at how the soul-steamed bread was softer than usual.
Then waking up on… a corpse.
---
> Demon King, continuing — voice sharp as decrees carved in blood:
"With strength like this, even a Lesser Demon is worthy of leading the First Legion — the elite force."
"Any objections?"
No one answered.
But I could feel it...
Beneath their gleaming armor, some captains had started to sweat cold.