The cold, iron chains bit into Asael’s wrists, heavy with the weight of their impending fate.
Beside him, Magnum, the Dwarf King, and Lily’s brother, their faces grim, trudged forward under the watchful eyes of their captors.
The beastmen guards sneered, their grips tight on the chains as they herded their prisoners forward like cattle.
Each step away from Beastwell Town felt like another step closer to death.
The road stretched endlessly beneath them, the sky an indifferent gray.
Hope dwindled with every footfall.
Steven and Giren clenched their fists, their bodies tense with restrained fury.
"We can''t just walk to our deaths!" Steven hissed under his breath.
Giren''s fingers curled around his chains, muscles flexing, ready to break free.
But before they could act, Asael raised a hand.
A silent command.
A warning.
The message was clear:
"Not yet."
They were not the only ones here.
The prison back in Beastwell had been filled with humans, orcs, dwarves, and elves—innocent souls who would suffer if they acted rashly.
If they rebelled now, Korran would not hesitate to slaughter them all.
So, with teeth gritted and rage swallowed, they walked on.
Enduring the jeers.
The mockery.
The looming specter of death.
The dirt path crunched beneath their feet as the convoy pushed forward.
The sun beat down.
The chains rattled.
And then…
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The air shifted.
A thick, black smoke slithered into the air without warning.
It was fast.
Unnatural.
"Hey, what''s going on?!" one of the beastmen growled, his ears twitching.
The smoke curled around them, creeping into every space, until—
Visibility vanished.
"I can''t see!" another beastman shouted.
Panic spread like wildfire.
The sound of shuffling boots and clinking weapons turned into cries of pain.
"Who’s hitting me?!"
"Stop swinging, you idiot! You''re hitting our own men!"
The darkness swallowed them whole.
A presence moved within the chaos.
The prisoners barely had time to react.
A strange sensation wrapped around them—gentle yet firm.
And then—
Everything shifted.
When Asael opened his eyes, the smoke was gone.
The beastmen were gone.
The chains were gone.
Instead, they stood in a completely different place.
The familiar dirt road had vanished, replaced by dense trees and thick undergrowth.
The air felt different.
The pressure that had been crushing their spirits only moments ago had lifted.
Kenta rubbed his wrists where the chains had been, his voice laced with confusion.
"What… happened?"
Magnum’s eyes darted around, his warrior instincts on high alert.
Then, realization dawned on his face.
"Teleportation." He exhaled sharply. "Someone used that spell."
Silence fell upon them.
They were free.
But the question lingered…
Who had saved them?
It was then.
A low, aged voice broke the tense silence.
"Oh! You''re correct, elf prince."
Everyone whirled around toward the source.
A figure stood before them, draped in flowing purple robes that shimmered faintly under the dim light, like liquid amethyst catching the last breath of dusk.
A deep hood obscured most of his face, but the presence he exuded was unmistakable.
Despite the frailty of age evident in the slight stoop of his posture and the weathered lines on his hands, there was an undeniable force about him.
Power radiated from his very being—not loud or oppressive, but patient, restrained, the quiet hum of a storm waiting to break.
Then, his eyes—sharp as steel, deep as the endless sky—glowed with an intelligence that seemed to pierce through flesh and soul alike.
Anne felt her breath quicken.
An inexplicable sense of familiarity gripped her, a whisper of recognition echoing in the back of her mind.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a breath.
The old mage smiled—not wide, not warm, but something in it sent a shiver through her bones.
"My name is Hemel, Saintess."
The title landed like a weight upon her chest.
He knows who I am? How?
Steven stiffened beside her, the realization dawning on him like a bolt of lightning.
His voice, usually steady, wavered between shock and disbelief.
"Wait… are you that Hemel? The Lord of the Magic Tower?"
A chuckle, low and knowing, rolled from the mage’s throat.
"Yes, as far as I know."
A silence fell over them, heavy with the weight of his words.
This was not just any mage.
This was Hemel—the Chief of the Magic Tower, the most powerful sorcerer in the human kingdom.
A legend whispered through the halls of scholars and warriors alike.
A man whose name carried the weight of countless victories, unfathomable knowledge, and the kind of magic that defied understanding.
That he would stand here, before them, outside his sacred domain—was unthinkable.
For a moment, his presence seemed to stretch time itself, making even the air too thick to breathe.
Before anyone could fully process the gravity of the situation—
Another voice rang out.
Not aged. Not slow.
This voice was young, strong, and commanding, like the steady strike of a war drum.
"Are you all alright?"
The group turned, hearts leaping into their throats.
Anne’s breath hitched.
From the veil of shadows, a lone figure stepped forward.
He was no ordinary man.
Silver hair, like threads of moonlight, caught the faint glow of their surroundings.
A regal red cape, embroidered with gold and bearing the proud insignia of the royal family, flowed behind him, barely rustling with each measured step.
There was something in the way he carried himself—an unshakable presence, firm yet effortless, like a mountain standing unyielding against the storm.
His gaze held no doubt. No hesitation.
Only the quiet, steady strength of a man who had been forged in the fires of duty and loss.
The silence stretched taut between them.
Anne’s heart pounded violently against her ribs.
Her lips parted, though no words came.
Steven was the first to move.
With a deep breath, he lowered his head in reverence, his voice steady but laced with a deep, aching respect.
"I greet the rising sun of the kingdom, Your Highness, Crown Prince."
A flicker of something passed through the young man’s eyes. It wasn’t pride. Nor relief.
It was something far heavier.
He exhaled slowly, and his next words carried the weight of a shattered past.
"I am no longer a Crown Prince, young Duke.
The kingdom no longer belongs to us."
His words were not just a statement.
They were a verdict.
A truth that could not be undone.
No longer a kingdom of men.
No longer a land of honor.
The Demon King had taken it all.