On the battlefield, a name was whispered among demons and knights alike.
A legend.
To demons, he was a ruthless slayer.
To knights, he was the hero they looked up to.
To the empire, he was victory itself.
Laken Mercis.
First-born and only son of Duke Degan Mercis.
From childhood, he was trained relentlessly in the Mercis household sword techniques — a style known for its precision, discipline, and overwhelming finishing strikes. He mastered them all. By the age of twenty-one, he was chosen to lead imperial armies on the front lines against the demon forces.
The knights gave him a nickname.
"Umupondo."
Author Here, so uhm 'Umupondo' in my language it means "someone Great."
He led campaign after campaign.
Victory after victory.
And now, he returned home.
---
The streets of the capital were filled with cheers.
Citizens lined the roads, waving banners, throwing flowers, children sitting on rooftops just to catch a glimpse of the legendary duke's son.
Then he appeared.
Riding a white horse.
Behind him marched commanders and a multitude of knights dressed in black armor. At their center, Laken's golden armor shone under the sunlight, radiant and flawless. His helmet rested between his waist and bicep, one hand holding the reins.
Golden hair.
Golden eyes.
Calm expression.
He looked less like a soldier… and more like a figure carved from legend.
"Victory to the empire!"
"The empire's sun has returned!"
"Hail Laken Mercis!"
The cheers echoed endlessly as he passed.
He acknowledged them with a small nod, but his face remained composed. To him, war was simply duty. Praise meant little.
Soon, they reached the Mercis dukedom.
Maids, guards, and butlers lined the entrance. At the center stood Duke Degan Mercis and his wife.
Laken dismounted.
"Hello, father."
A faint smile.
"Welcome home, my son," the duke replied.
His mother stepped forward immediately and embraced him tightly.
"You're safe…"
They entered together.
A feast followed.
Music played.
Servants celebrated.
But as the night softened, his mother finally asked the question.
"When do you intend to marry?"
Laken paused.
Marriage had never crossed his mind.
After some gentle persuasion, he finally sighed.
"…I'll look."
Her face lit up.
"I'll suggest a few—"
He shook his head politely.
"If I marry, I'd like to choose myself."
She smiled warmly.
"Of course."
---
Later that evening, the duke summoned him privately.
"How did the war go?"
Laken explained calmly while a butler recorded every detail. Strategies, troop losses, demon movements, supply routes — nothing escaped his memory.
When he finished, the duke nodded.
"Prepare yourself. We've been summoned to the palace. You'll report directly to the emperor."
---
Two days later.
The palace was in uproar.
Servants hurried.
Guards stood in formation.
Nobles whispered.
The Duke of Mercis had arrived.
And with him…
Laken.
For the first time, the palace laid eyes on him.
Maids whispered.
"Is he even human…?"
"He looks like a god…"
Some knights frowned in envy.
"How is he that handsome…"
Others admired quietly.
But Laken walked calmly, paying no attention.
He had seen battlefields filled with death.
Palace whispers meant nothing.
They entered the throne room.
Nobles murmured.
"So that's the duke's son…"
"I heard he lives only on battlefields…"
"Does marriage even cross this monster's mind?"
Laken ignored them all.
He and his father bowed before the emperor.
Formal greetings were exchanged. War reports delivered. The emperor listened carefully, impressed by Laken's composure and clarity.
Eventually, the discussion ended.
"Duke Mercis, walk with me," the emperor said. "There are other matters to discuss."
The duke nodded and followed.
Laken excused himself.
---
As he walked down the palace hallway, he noticed someone by the window.
A woman.
Seated alone.
Drinking tea.
The sunlight touched her softly, her veil shifting gently in the breeze. Her posture was elegant, yet her eyes distant.
To Laken, she looked like someone… lonely.
So he approached.
"Hello, my lady. What would someone as elegant as yourself be doing enjoying tea alone?"
Aiya glanced at him.
Another noble.
Another suitor.
She ignored him.
Laken paused.
Then bowed slightly.
"Perhaps I misjudged. Please pardon my intrusion. I simply thought it unkind to leave a lady alone, but it seems my presence is unwelcome."
He turned.
"I'll take my leave. Please enjoy your tea."
Aiya blinked.
He wasn't persistent.
He didn't boast.
He didn't even ask her name.
Just genuine politeness.
"…Wait."
He stopped.
"You may join… if your offer still stands."
A small smile formed.
"Why, of course, my lady."
He sat beside her and poured himself tea.
"What brings you here alone?" he asked gently.
She answered without emotion.
"…Old memories. I was reminiscing."
"Oh? Would you be willing to share—"
Her gaze turned cold.
"Not once should you dare ask me such things. You may take your leave."
He immediately stood.
"My apologies. I spoke out of line."
He bowed.
And left.
Neither knew who the other was.
But the palace saw.
Rumors spread instantly.
"Laken Mercis sat with Princess Aiya alone."
Nobles panicked.
Soon, the palace flooded with sons of noble houses, all trying to win Aiya's favor.
The sisters laughed quietly at their desperation.
But destiny had already begun moving.
Not to make Laken her husband.
But someone… she might one day confide in.
And sometimes—
Even destiny can be wrong.
The story begins.
Will Aiya forget Kros?
Will she move forward with Laken?
Only time will tell.