[3,000 Years Ago]
In the ethereal heights where the mortal realm's breath mingles with celestial whispers, a lone figure cloaked in shadows stood firm on a jagged cliff. Next to him, Arshka, a warrior as imposing as a mountain, shared his gaze over the world below. Their eyes followed a heavily guarded carriage making its way to the Capital of Dawnfall.
"Are you certain he's in there?" the cloaked figure inquired.
"Our informants confirmed his presence. He hasn't been seen since the journey commenced," Arshka affirmed with confidence.
"Perfect. Leave me now."
"I can assist you," Arshka proposed.
"No. This is my destiny to fulfill."
With no further words, the cloaked man leaped off the precipice, surrendering to the pull of gravity. He descended towards the carriage like a meteor, the fierce winds sweeping back his hood to reveal features akin to a young God of Death. But where future indifference would harden his visage, his eyes now blazed with an intense, unquenchable fury. His murderous intent cascaded down the mountain like an avalanche, suffocating any soul within its reach.
BOOM! He smashed onto the carriage's roof with a force that reverberated through the earth, a divine impact that drove the escort horses into a wild frenzy.
"Who dares!" the captain roared, ripping his sword from its scabbard as his men followed suit, oblivious to the fate already sealed.
Unbeknownst to them, they were as good as dead.
In a breathtaking display of martial mastery, Raiking exploded into action. Thirteen soft, rhythmic blows resonated against thirteen steel breastplates within the blink of an eye. He had sown the seeds of entropy within their very beings before they even realized he had moved. By the time the guards raised their weapons, the carriage roof was a barren void.
"Where is he?!" the captain barked, his eyes darting through the shadows until they landed on the road ahead. There, Raiking stood, an unyielding phantom illuminated by the moonlight.
"Step outside, General," Raiking commanded, his voice a blade of ice. "Or watch your men crumble."
For a fleeting moment, disbelief shackled the knights. Then, one guard dared to step forward. "How dare you threaten the—"
His words vanished into nothingness, quite literally. Flesh, bone, and blood disintegrated into a ghostly dust, swept away into the night. His once-imposing armor clattered to the ground, a hollow shell.
"Every second you stall," Raiking declared, marking time with his divine will, "another returns to the earth."
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Three more knights turned to spectral ash, their armor striking the soil in a haunting, metallic dirge.
"Attack him!" the captain ordered, panic obliterating his discipline.
But he never swung. Raiking unleashed his aura, amplifying the decay he had sown in their cores. The entire remaining vanguard vanished into dust in unison, their empty armor collapsing around the carriage like discarded shells.
"What will it be, General?" Raiking taunted the silent carriage. "Will you meet your end with dignity, or perish hidden in the shadows?"
"Alas," a raspy voice echoed from the shadows of the dimly lit carriage.
The doors swung open to reveal a man draped in immaculate ceremonial robes, seemingly vulnerable in the harsh world of fighters. His eyes met Raiking's, devoid of burning hate, instead burdened with the weight of deep sorrow.
"Haven't you spilled enough of our comrades' blood?"
"Not until the King's head rolls," Raiking declared, his voice as icy as the abyss, "will there ever be enough blood to compensate for her loss."
"Then you've strayed far more than I had feared, my friend."
"Words are meaningless now. Ready your blade."
"Is this the lie you cling to?" the General asked softly. "Is this the pretense under which you massacred the others? Offering a sham duel to soothe your fractured soul? Your parents shed their blood to forge this kingdom. They would be ashamed of what you've become—and of the path she chose."
The mention of his parents' legacy was the spark that ignited a catastrophe.
A sonic boom shattered the stillness as Raiking vanished. In the blink of an eye, his palm drove into the General's chest. This was not a delayed execution. It was the unleashed, ferocious wrath of a grieving deity.
The General was launched into the air with hurricane force, crashing into the towering mountainside with an impact that tore through the earth. The cliff face groaned, collapsing inward, burying the man under tons of jagged stone and choking dust.
Through the dense, settling haze, Raiking strode forward. He halted at the edge of the crater, gazing down at the battered General.
"I said, draw your sword, mortal."
"I will not," the General wheezed, his voice shattered but his determination unwavering.
"I will not raise my sword against a brother."
For a brief, intense moment, Raiking's jaw tightened, as the immense power of his cosmic energy clashed with the heavy burden of his human sorrow. He inhaled deeply, his breath uneven and strained.
"If only the King possessed a fragment of your honor," Raiking whispered into the roaring wind. "May you find a master worthy of your loyalty in the next life... General."
The official did not curse him. Instead, the last expression Raiking witnessed was a gentle, tragic smile. He watched as a man he once called a brother—a man with whom he had laughed, shared drinks, and fought alongside—vanished completely into a cloud of gray ash.
A profound, suffocating silence reclaimed the mountain pass, only to be broken when the air shimmered and Arshka emerged from the void, bowing his head to the ravaged earth.
"Well done, Demon King," Arshka declared, pledging the loyalty of the north with his words. "Another of her conspirators has returned to dust. The next target awaits."
Raiking stood utterly still, his void-black eyes locked on the swirling dust of his fallen comrade. Gradually, the sorrow within his chest crystallized into an unyielding core of divine fury.
"Have you confirmed her location?"
"Yes, my liege. Our spies have tracked her to the Immerness Tavern in the north."
Raiking vanished, leaving only the biting wind in his wake. He was moving toward the most formidable pillar of the King's alliance. He had sworn on her grave to dismantle the kingdom's power piece by piece, ensuring the throne would never forget that their prosperity owed solely to her grace and nothing else.
And the next to confront this truth was none other than the legendary female commander of the Giant Clan, Dia'Tia.
---
As the echo of Raiking's soul-memory trekked through the icy northern realms, it faded away in the present moment. Princess Aneller and Sir Lerikmen sat rooted in astonishment, their understanding of the world completely shattered.
Every youth in Dawnfall grew up with the tale of the Compassionate General—a revered warrior who wielded his sword only so his descendants could know peace. His legendary creed, "Though strength rules, never forget why we battle," was the bedrock of Dawnfall's martial doctrine. The records were clear: he was a martyr, vanquished by the Ancestral Demon.
The shocking truth that the Demon Ancestor was none other than Raiking himself was both terrifying and oddly fitting. Who else could possess the earth-shattering audacity to rival legend?
Yet, the real terror wasn't merely in the revelation of the Demon's true identity, but in questioning their own judgment. If Dawnfall's holiest figure had once gazed into the eyes of the God of Death and called him "brother," what did it say about the royal archives that labeled him as humanity's foe?