TGD CH 03

That was the end of it.

Three days later, Prince Einar departed for Kiberos, the kingdom’s foremost battlefield. As he watched the carriage disappear into the distance, King Manus let out a long sigh.

The Lakenian Empire was far too powerful for a mere kingdom like Debia to withstand. They continued to resist with all their strength, but their chances of winning the war were slim.

Kiberos, which still belonged to the Kingdom of Debia, would not remain in their hands for much longer. Before long, it would fall.

But if the young prince met a heroic death on the battlefield, public sentiment would rally behind the royal family. That, in turn, would become a valuable bargaining chip when negotiating a peace treaty after the war.

Besides, the thought that he would never have to lay eyes on that foolish boy again brought King Manus a small measure of comfort amid the anxiety of the ongoing war.

Yes.

The war would end in defeat.

And Prince Einar would die on the battlefield.

Not a single person doubted it.

At least, not until the day their own stronghold fell into enemy hands.

The Lakenian Empire was the most powerful nation in existence.

It was the only state whose ruler bore the title of Emperor.

The current emperor had ascended the throne at the age of fifteen. Almost immediately, he launched a sweeping purge to seize control of the imperial court, which had been divided by competing factions, eliminating every internal enemy who stood in his way. By the time he reached middle age, his ambitions had grown beyond the empire’s borders. He sought to expand his dominion, and to achieve that goal, he chose conquest through war.

The emperor loved war.

He excelled at it.

And he waged it with ruthless cruelty.

In his eyes, his grandfather’s gentle rule had allowed the nobility to look down upon the imperial family, thrown the empire into disorder, and ultimately exposed its weakness to the surrounding kingdoms.

Thus, the moment stability had been restored within the empire, he turned his gaze outward.

Unfortunately for the neighboring kingdoms, the emperor was anything but incompetent. He possessed an exceptional eye for talent and judged people with remarkably little prejudice. Under his leadership, the empire achieved victory after victory, and his ambitions continued to advance without faltering.

That was why, when he declared war on the Kingdom of Debia—using a dispute between merchants as his pretext—he never once doubted his own victory.

After all, Debia occupied one of the most important trade hubs on both land and sea.

Nor was such confidence the emperor’s alone.

Kiberos, the kingdom’s most strategically difficult region to defend, was expected to fall before long. Once it did, the imperial army would be able to march straight to the capital without encountering any serious obstacles.

Within the empire, victory was already considered a foregone conclusion.

Of course, the emperor had never intended to destroy the Kingdom of Debia completely.

The distance between the empire and Debia was simply too great for the entire kingdom to be absorbed into imperial territory.

Instead, as he had done with several other nations, he planned to force Debia into signing a treaty that granted the empire favorable trade terms and substantial economic concessions.

For that reason, the emperor strictly forbade his soldiers from slaughtering civilians or engaging in looting.

Unless a nation was to be fully annexed, allowing chaos to continue after the war would only disrupt trade—and that would ultimately harm the empire’s own interests.

The empire expected everything to proceed exactly as planned.

But then, the appearance of a single individual shattered that certainty.

The Golden Demon.

That was the name the soldiers of Lakenia gave to that being.

The carriage carrying Prince Einar arrived at Kiberos not long afterward.

The city was saturated with the stench of death.

Once renowned as a flourishing center of trade, Kiberos had been devastated so completely by the war that its former beauty was no longer recognizable.

Upon arriving at Kiberos, Einar reported to the officers stationed within the allied camp and was assigned a tent of his own. It was far humbler than the commander’s quarters, but as always, Einar showed not the slightest interest. The noble officers, already familiar with the foolish prince’s reputation, regarded his arrival not with patriotic resolve, but with thinly veiled annoyance.

“Of course, Your Highness, protecting your life will be our highest priority. Still, in case the worst happens, I’ll teach you a few basic moves to defend yourself.”

The following morning, a knight approached Einar with an openly reluctant expression. Holding out a sword, he instructed the prince to take it.

The knight was the unloved son of a powerful count from the central nobility, a man his own father had deliberately sent to the front lines in hopes that he would never return.

The moment he heard that Prince Einar had been dispatched to Kiberos, the knight had understood the king’s true intentions and pitied the prince. But after meeting him in person and witnessing how utterly oblivious Einar seemed to his own situation, that sympathy quickly vanished. Long consumed by anger and despair toward his own father, the knight had long since lost whatever kindness remained in his heart.

Without a word, Einar accepted the sword.

Then he blinked once.

The cool weight of the weapon settled naturally into his hand, as though it belonged there. The moment he looked at the gleaming edge of its sharpened blade, his heart—one that had scarcely ever beaten faster than a leisurely pace—began to pound inside his chest.

For the first time, a faint spark of interest appeared on Einar’s face.

The knight never noticed.

Instead, he gave the sword a few careless practice swings and said, “Like this. Just swing it… something like that.”

With those half-hearted instructions, he left the tent.

It was advice utterly useless to a prince who had never received so much as a single lesson in swordsmanship.

The moment the knight departed, Einar stared at the blade as though entranced.

Blinking slowly, he murmured,

“Beautiful.”

He closed his eyes once more before opening them again.

The vacant haze in his blue eyes gradually faded, replaced by unmistakable focus.

A sudden thirst gripped him.

His throat went dry.

His mouth parched.

The world before his eyes blurred.

And instinctively—

he knew exactly what this weapon was meant to do.

The sword in Einar’s hand slowly began to glow with a radiant light.

For the first time, a smile appeared upon his beautiful lips.

It was not a beautiful smile.

It was a terrifying one.

“Enemy attack!”

A commotion suddenly erupted outside the tent, followed by the deep, resounding blast of a war horn.

Still gripping the sword, Einar lifted his gaze toward the canvas roof above him.

Enemy attack.

Enemies.

A sword.

The scent of blood.

Every one of them awakened something within him.

It felt as though a spring had burst open before his eyes.

Two days after Einar’s arrival, the defenses of Kiberos began to collapse, just as everyone had expected.

With the Lakenian army pouring forward like a tidal wave, the soldiers of Debia had no choice but to retreat.

Before long, enemy troops had broken through to the area where the senior officers were stationed, pursuing the retreating commanders at their heels. The knight who had handed Einar his sword fought beside him, cutting down enemy soldiers as they withdrew.

Einar, however, simply carried the sword without swinging it.

He walked at an unhurried pace, as though he were taking a leisurely stroll.

A desperate battlefield.

A foolish prince who refused to hurry.

The knight’s anger finally reached its limit.

In the end, he decided to abandon the prince and flee on his own.

Left behind, Einar was quickly surrounded by five enemy soldiers.

Glancing back and seeing the scene, the knight clenched his teeth.

He’s finished now. Damn it… But what does it matter to me? I’m barely managing to stay alive myself!

Trying to suppress the guilt of abandoning the prince by blaming his father and his own miserable fate, the knight looked back one last time, hoping only to witness Einar’s final moments.

Instead, he froze where he stood.

“Aaagh…!”

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Einar’s sword arm moved with effortless grace—swift, smooth, and impossibly powerful.

The nearest soldier’s head flew clean off.

For a brief moment, the headless body staggered forward, as though it had yet to realize it was dead.

Then blood erupted from its neck like a crimson fountain.

The remaining four soldiers stared in disbelief at their comrade’s twitching corpse before finally snapping back to their senses and charging Einar all at once.

It made no difference.

Death was the only outcome awaiting them.

Einar butchered them with movements that were at once graceful and horrifyingly cruel.

His cloak fluttered with every step.

Each swing of his sword sent blood spraying through the air.

By the time the blade had fallen four times, every soldier who had surrounded him lay dead—their heads severed or their bodies split apart.

The knight could only stare, his mouth hanging open.

Am I… seeing things?

It wasn’t just the knight.

Everyone who witnessed the scene rubbed their eyes in disbelief.

Then, as trembling gazes settled upon Einar’s face, every single one of them was overcome by instinctive terror.

Having slaughtered the enemy soldiers without the slightest hesitation, Einar stood with a faint flush coloring his cheeks…