When the last beacon of light is extinguished and the brave are few, the true light shall awaken—Light so bright,it burns the dark along the stars.".
"And I believe that is you, my sire," said Knight Commander Alaric Kustoria, his voice firm, unwavering. "You are our light—the one who will lead us to glory. The one who will exterminate the Demon King and his cursed legion."
The Duke smirked, eyes scanning the battlefield from afar.
"I've never really believed in such folk tales," he muttered. "How could the world fall into darkness… when I, stand at the heart of this war?"
Boom. Boom...
Thunder echoed across the scorched sky, murmuring like drums of fate. The air trembled, not from the storm—but from the dread of what was to come.
"My soldiers are ready," Lucas declared, his voice rising above the wind. "Let this war be remembered—not as a tragedy, but as a message. That no one—not even the Demon King—can stand against us."
He raised his hand.
"SHOW THEM NO MERCY!" he roared. "KILL THEM ALL!!"
Thus, the war began.
The battlefield was a nightmarish spectacle—an endless expanse of fire and blood. The earth groaned beneath the weight of a thousand bloodthirsty demons, their roars shaking the sky. At their helm stood one of the Four Heavenly Generals—Karnak, the Bone Dragon, a towering monstrosity of fury.
Against them stood the hope of mankind: an alliance of warriors and knights under the iron command of Duke Lucas Kustoria.
The heavens wept ash, the skies torn open as if the gods themselves recoiled from the carnage below. Lightning slashed the clouds. Thunder roared in defiance. Yet amidst the chaos, one man stood still—untouched by fear or flame.
Duke Lucas watched from the cliffside overlooking the battlefield, his cloak billowing in the smoke-choked wind. At his side stood Knight Commander Alaric, steadfast as ever, and behind him, his young squire clutched the legendary blade—Balmung, its steel still stained with the blood of countless battles.
But his expression was not one of fear.
It was disgust.
Not at the enemy—but at the world itself.
The Duke was tired. Tired of war. Tired of watching men die. Tired of being a pawn in the games of the emperors.
He had lived his entire life in blood and steel. A legend born not from prophecy, but from survival.
And deep within him... he longed for peace. A life beyond the battlefield. A life he knew would never come.
...….
The ground split open.
A deafening crack echoed across the battlefield as the scorched earth fractured like broken glass. From the depths of the abyss rose a beast unlike any other—a creature forged in the heart of the world's rage. Wreathed in molten fire, with bones charred black and eyes glowing like hellfire, it towered above men and mountains alike.
The Bone Dragon.
A relic of apocalypse—believed long dead, now awakened by the chaos of war.
"R-Run! Run for your lives! The Bone Dragon has emerged!" a soldier screamed, his voice shrill with terror. "Get the Aura Knights! Bring them here, now!"
"You fool!" another snapped, his face pale. "Not even a hundred Aura Knights could bring that thing down! We're finished! We're all going to die! Where's the Duke?! Where is he?!"
Despair spread like wildfire. Steel-clad men dropped their weapons. Some fled. Others knelt, weeping and muttering prayers, clinging to the last embers of hope.
And then—light descended.
A blinding radiance tore through the battlefield, casting away shadow and ash. It was not warm. It was not gentle. It was merciless—a flame that judged all, enemy and ally alike.
Every soldier turned.
Every demon froze.
And then they saw him—a silhouette within the inferno.
The Duke had arrived.
His aura surged like a living inferno, wreathing his body in fire that danced with wrath and power. His title echoed across the field, whispered first by one soldier, then shouted by hundreds.
"The Flame Emperor!"
He didn't need to speak. He didn't need to command. His presence alone was a declaration:
Hope was not yet lost