Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Betrayed in the Storm
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"Brother! How could you do this to me!"
A man wailed amid the storm.
Blood streamed from one eye, and his guts threatened to spill from his gutted belly, but the pain from those wounds was minor.
The rage burning in his chest overshadowed it all.
This wasn't the end he had fought for. The man couldn't accept it.
Damian Renekht.
The bastard son of the deceased Emperor.
The lowliest among the nobility.
"Don't you know how much I contributed to you claiming the Empire!"
"I know."
Even at the brink of death, Damian's body shuddered at the voice sharp as a blade.
They had roamed battlefields together for years, yet he still couldn't get used to the killing intent radiating from the man.
The Empire's Greatest Swordsman, Michael von Edbalt.
The man who would ascend to the throne tomorrow.
"And yet!"
Michael's expression didn't flicker at Damian's blood tears.
That was just how the man was. He had worn the same face when beheading the vassal who had served him his entire life.
"It's the cleanest way."
A seductive voice drifted from behind Michael.
Not a single hair out of place, even in the pounding rain.
A translucent barrier cloaking her body blocked all external interference.
The Archmage, Rubia de Clarent.
The woman who would be called Empress tomorrow.
"The civil war birthed countless atrocities. Someone has to pay the price, don't you think?"
The Emperor had died without naming an heir, making civil war inevitable in the fight for the Empire's throne.
The reformists led by 1st Prince Michael, versus the traditionalists centered on the Empress and her children.
Both sides had committed horrific crimes in that war—kidnapping and torturing prisoners and civilians, drowning or burning entire villages.
"No speck of dust can mar the Emperor's throne. But the sticky grime piled up in the civil war can only be washed away with blood."
Rubia traced her upper lip with her index finger, then pointed it at Damian.
"So the second-most noble must take responsibility."
All the war's sins pinned on Damian, his death quelling any backlash.
'Damn bitch.'
Damian ground his teeth, glaring at Rubia. It was nonsense. He had burned countless enemies, sure, but he hadn't stooped to what could truly be called crimes.
"This is the final courtesy I can offer. It's a sacrifice for the Empire."
Beheading him personally. To the world, it would look like the Emperor executing a vile criminal.
"But before you go, let me share an amusing little fact."
Rubia said with a fresh smile.
He had a deep grudge against her. Regardless of her views, Damian had despised her for ages.
A wicked woman who treated subordinates' lives like flies. Why had heaven granted such peerless magical talent to her of all people?
"Anna and Felix. Remember them?"
Damian's brows twitched at the familiar names.
How could he forget? Though it had been over a decade since he last saw their faces, they were the only supports he had.
An unidentified explosion in the palace. It claimed many lives, but reformists and traditionalists just blamed each other.
Anna and Felix had died in its aftermath. Mere maid and butler—their deaths barely rippled the grand scheme.
They left only an indelible scar on Damian's heart.
He wandered the palace in shock for a time, then aimlessly beyond it, before accepting Michael's invitation to join the reformists.
He yearned for the war's swift end. The roadside corpses reminded him of Anna and Felix, robbing him of sleep.
"They didn't actually die in that explosion. I killed them."
Snap. Something inside Damian broke. For an instant, all sound vanished from the world.
"Why... why...?"
"I've never liked them. The way they fawned over you irked me."
Rubia spoke the truth with that same fresh smile.
Damian's gaze turned to Michael. No surprise on his face.
"...Was this your order too?"
"No. Rubia asked permission, and I didn't stop her."
In other words, Michael could have prevented it. But he hadn't. Despite knowing full well Damian's bond with them.
"But thanks to that, you awakened your hidden talent and joined the reformists. In the end, it worked out well."
Rubia felt no guilt. She was just curious about his reaction now.
'If only you'd become my consort sooner.'
She sent a telepathic message to Damian alone.
Her desire to claim him fully—that was why she killed Anna.
"I'll kill you, you damned bitch!!"
Hatred propelled Damian to his feet despite his broken body.
Green flames surged from his left hand, a black mass from his right.
The two powers twisted together into a massive spear that shot toward Rubia.
Kiiiiiing!! It clashed with her mana barrier. At least her head—he'd take that. It was all Damian wanted.
Clang. But a bell's toll from Rubia's hand erased his power without a trace.
"Keuaaagh!!"
Black-red blood gushed from Damian's mouth.
"See, Michael? I was right."
"..."
Rubia flicked the bell with a smile. Michael gazed down at Damian with cold eyes.
"An artifact unearthed from an ancient ruin years ago. Probably thousands of years old. Wonder what it was made to counter?"
"...Damian, this is the most important reason I must kill you."
Michael's blade grazed Damian's nape. A red line appeared, blood trickling down.
"The power the Empire forbade."
Black Magic.
Power derived from demons in another dimension.
Damian had no talent for aura or magic. His status among the Empire's powerhouses came solely from his contract with a demon.
[It's not too late. Kiss my foot, and I'll somehow spare your life.]
She took what was precious to him, then demanded he become hers. She cared nothing for others' will or feelings—a true villain.
So he had only one thing to say.
"All you'll ever have is my corpse, you filthy bitch."
Rubia's forehead vein bulged at his retort.
Snap. Purple lightning crashed from the sky.
"-------!!"
Damian screamed silently amid the thunderbolt.
Like thousands of needles stabbing his skin relentlessly. Rubia's mad obsession assailed every nerve.
All he could do was bite his tongue to stay sane.
As long as that mysterious bell tolled, he couldn't use Black Magic.
Now, Damian was just a frail bastard. A wretched thing huddled in a annex, alive but unable to die.
"I hoped it wasn't true."
"Even if it wasn't Black Magic, you wouldn't have... let me live..."
"You're right. I just hated that such foul power stained my path to the throne."
Ptoo. Damian spat blood-mixed phlegm at Michael's face. No loyalty as a vassal or brotherhood remained in him.
"This was your fate. It completes your worth."
Michael had never felt such emotions to begin with.
"Farewell, last Black Magician. My sole remaining brother."
Thud. With those words, Damian's world flipped.
* * *
Harsh sunlight pierced Damian's peace. As consciousness returned, he saw a vast plaza packed with crowds.
The plaza before the palace. Where the imperial family announced major matters to the public.
'Why... am I still...?'
His head was severed, yet Damian hadn't died.
But that was it. Impaled on a pike, he could only see and hear his surroundings.
Not Rubia's doing.
She could preserve his head from decay, but no modern magic could bind a dead soul.
"The Empire's laws are solemn and apply to all without exception."
Michael's voice came from behind.
He couldn't turn to confirm, but surely the man wore the Emperor's crown, looking down on his subjects.
"This holds for royals too. Damian Renekht used Black Magic, forbidden since the Empire's founding. He contracted a demon, polluting heaven and earth. The only punishment is death."
Rubia sat beside him, mouth veiled by a fan.
Mother of the realm. Having seized her coveted seat, she must be smiling all the fresher—and more hideously.
"Moreover, Damian Renekht and his subordinates committed countless atrocities during the civil war."
Sudden gusts whipped the plaza. Damian's head swung wildly.
He wasn't the only one mounted there.
His guerrilla comrades—all executed alongside him.
They had laughed and promised futures when the war ended.
Some freed to return home.
Some to open shops.
Some to care for aged mothers at last.
Some to rescue sisters from brothels.
All reduced to heads, shamed.
'Why, why, why...'
Crowned Emperor, why wasn't Damian's death enough? Why disgrace them too?
Damian wanted to ask Michael sincerely.
After Anna and Felix, they had filled his empty heart, if only a little.
Had it ended with just his death, his rage might not burn so.
But Damian could do nothing. A bodiless head. Consciousness alone meant nothing.
"The civil war is over. The Empire's subjects unite once more..."
In the silence of his scream, Michael's voice slowed. The world halted.
Birds in flight, cheering crowds, fluttering banners—all froze.
[Ah. My dear Damian. It came to this.]
A woman emerged from a rift in the air.
Her near-nude body sensually curvaceous, her face innocently girlish. Silken hair cascaded to her toes, skin gleaming like jade.
But her defining traits were the vertical-slit pupils, goat-like horns, and wings.
No lust emanated from her allure. Instead, it felt like thousands of maggots devouring the brain.
Damian knew the woman—no, the demon.
Ishtar.
Queen of Hell.
Ruler of 144 legions.
She floated lightly to him, cradling his head and kissing his forehead.
[Sad? Agonized? Furious?]
Ishtar buried Damian's head in her bosom. Her moan tickled his ear.
[Just say the word. I can make it all happen.]
She turned his head.
There sat Michael, dignified with sword in hand, and Rubia with her loathsome smile.
[I can give that wretch pain beyond death. Utterly, excruciatingly horrific.]
She turned him again, pointing at the plaza's masses.
[What of these fools? Just say it. I'll make them pay dearly for their insult.]
Then at his comrades' heads on pikes.
[Fear not. I am also the mistress of mercy. All you loved, all who loved you—I’ll reap their souls and grant you eternal paradise together.]
"Then."
A metallic rasp escaped Damian's lips.
Ishtar's power kept him alive, time stopped, speech possible.
"What's the price?"
Demons were honest. They valued deals. Desires demanded fair payment.
Ishtar lifted his head to meet her eyes. They sparkled brighter than any gem.
[The usual.]
Crack. Her smooth forehead split, a third eye emerging.
Unlike the others, it wasn't beautiful.
As if all Hell's loathing and hate fused into that glow.
[Everything.]
Not the first time. Ishtar had tempted him before.
He refused.
Even if dealing with other demons, never her.
Giving her everything meant Damian ceased to exist in this world.
Though his power stemmed from a demon contract, that he couldn't abide.
But Ishtar persisted. And came at his final moment.
When all was lost, offering power to reclaim it.
"I refuse."
His answer unchanged.
He craved Michael's and Rubia's deaths, their corpses burned to ash without trace.
But by his hand. Vengeance by proxy was pathetic.
[Aaah.]
Ishtar's cheeks flushed. Like a woman yielding to lust, excited moans slipped her lips.
[Yes, that's my Damian. The one I chose, the one I desire.]
Their lips met.
Her moist, soft tongue entwined his dry, stiff one.
[So I'll give you a new chance. Thrash about as you like.]
Her hand stroked his eyelids. Warm and comforting, for some reason.
At last, darkness fell.