Nakon dismounted his horse with urgency, his boots landing firmly against the dirt-packed ground. His breath hitched for a moment as his gaze settled upon the figure standing before him. Recognition struck instantly—this was Nathan. He had met him twice before during his visits to the capital, yet the sheer presence emanating from the man before him now felt vastly different.
It was almost inconceivable.
Why had they sent him? The Lord mander himself?
This was far beyond a mere response to their plea for aid—it was an overwhelming show of force, almost excessive. It wasn't just a high-ranking officer leading a campaign; it was the legend himself.
The soldiers behind Nakon were just as dumbfounded, their stunned expressions mirroring his own. They had all heard the rumors—the tales of the Lord mander who had supposedly tamed a dragon, the stories that painted him as something greater than human, something bordering on the divine. Most had dismissed them as nothing more than exaggerated myths, fabrications designed to elevate their already legendary hero into an even greater figure.
But now, standing before their very eyes, was a sight that no mere words could have prepared them for.
A dragon—a true dragon—stood there in resplendent majesty. Its golden scales shimmered under the sun's waning light, each one glinting like molten metal, its powerful wings partially unfurled as if the very air around it bowed to its presence. And upon the creature's back stood a man who, at first glance, hardly seemed human at all.
Nathan's long white hair fluttered gently in the wind, strands of silver-like silk catching the sunlight. His golden eyes—piercing and intense, with vertical slits carved into their irises—radiated an eerie, almost predatory brilliance that sent an involuntary chill crawling down Nakon's spine. No, not just him—the entire unit of soldiers behind him seemed to feel it too.
The aura that surrounded Nathan was suffocating. It was overwhelming, an unspoken dominion that weighed down upon the very air itself. He did not look like a mere mander, nor even a hero of legend.
He looked like a god who had descended upon the mortal realm.
As the fortress gates groaned open, the assembled soldiers could finally see him fully.
Standing beside him was a woman of unearthly beauty, her presence almost as striking as the dragon itself. She carried herself with an effortless grace, her features sculpted in a way that seemed almost unnatural—beyond mortal refinement.
Nathan, without so much as a word, leapt down from the dragon's back, landing soundlessly upon the ground. His panion followed suit, moving with the same effortless ease.
As if sensing its master's silent mand, the dragon reared back and, with a powerful beat of its wings, took to the sky. The resulting gust of wind sent dust and loose debris swirling around them, forcing several soldiers to shield their eyes as they watched in awe.
Nakon remained frozen for a moment, still trying to process what he had just witnessed, before instinct took over. He quickly stepped forward and dropped to one knee, lowering his head in deference.
"Lord mander."
His voice rang clear despite the weight of the moment, and, as if pelled by an unspoken force, every soldier behind him followed suit. A synchronized motion of reverence, hundreds of men kneeling before the one who stood before them.
It was no longer merely about rank or hierarchy.
Nathan had long since proven himself, carving his name into the annals of history through sheer might and dominion. He was not just the supreme mander of Tenebria's forces—he was the one who had instilled awe and fear into the hearts of all who stood before him. He had transcended mere leadership; he had bee a force of nature, a being whose very presence manded respect.
Before them stood not just a man, but the most powerful warrior of their nation. The second most influential figure in Tenebria, surpassed only by Queen Azariah herself.
And in this moment, as they knelt before him, there was only one truth they all understood.
Nathan came to a halt before Nakon, his golden eyes settling on the man with an intensity that left no room for pleasantries.
"I heard a Hero has appeared." His voice was calm, measured, yet it carried the weight of authority that demanded an immediate answer.
Nakon straightened under that gaze, nodding firmly. "Yes, Lord mander. Please, follow me inside. We should discuss this in private."
A carriage, already prepared for them, stood waiting nearby. The soldiers around them remained motionless, tense with anticipation as Nathan moved toward the vehicle. He stepped in without hesitation, his presence alone making the enclosed space feel smaller. Scylla followed right behind him, settling beside him with her usual silent grace.
Nakon climbed in after them, taking the seat across from Nathan. The moment the carriage door shut, he wasted no time in relaying the situation.
"We don't know his name," Nakon began, his voice grim. "He only gave us one demand—that we surrender control of the city to him, claiming it was his right as a Hero."
Nathan's expression didn't change, but the air inside the carriage seemed to grow heavier. "And what was your response?"
"I told him we have only one Hero, and it certainly wasn't him," Nakon said. "He laughed—mockingly—before declaring himself a Hero of the Empire of Light. He said he alone was worth more than the entire Demon Kingdom." Nakon exhaled sharply, his irritation evident. "When I asked him what a single Hero from the Empire of Light was doing here, he became enraged. He told me not to pare him to the 'weaklings of the Third Batch' and claimed he was from the Second Summoning—superior, stronger, better than all of them."
Nathan's gaze sharpened. "How old did he appear to be?"
Nakon furrowed his brows, thinking. "A bit older than you, Lord mander. I couldn't determine his exact age, but… he didn't seem well when he arrived. His physical and mental state appeared unstable. And then—without warning—he attacked us when we refused his demands."
Nathan's fingers tapped lightly against his knee, a thoughtful yet subtle gesture. "And then?"
"We held our ground," Nakon continued. "We didn't strike to kill, but we didn't let him take control either. He seemed… tired. It wasn't long before he retreated. But before he left, he made a final threat." Nakon's face darkened, his voice lowering.
"He said he'd return soon. And if we refused him again, he would slaughter every Demon in the city."
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
"It's been three days since he made that declaration," Nakon added. "Since then, we've been on edge, prepared for his return at any moment."
Nathan said nothing for a long moment.
A Hero from the Second Summoning, appearing out of nowhere, attacking a city, and demanding it be handed over to him? It made no sense.
What was he after?
Why this city?
And more importantly—why now?
Nathan sat in silence for a moment, piecing together the fragments of information before reaching a likely conclusion.
"It's highly probable that he fought someone—or perhaps multiple opponents—and lost," Nathan said, his voice steady and analytical. "He was forced to flee, wounded and vulnerable, and ended up here in Breistan by chance or necessity." He narrowed his golden eyes slightly. "The reason he demanded control over the city wasn't out of arrogance alone—it was desperation. He needed a secure place where he could recover and remain hidden from whoever was hunting him."
Nakon's eyes widened in realization.
That… made sense.
"It's plausible," Nakon muttered, the logic falling into place in his mind.
Nathan leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "He wanted to intimidate you into submission, but I don't think it was just an empty threat. If he's willing to go that far, he likely has some plan to force your hand." His voice dropped slightly. "He's short on time."
Nakon exhaled sharply. "So he just wants to use us as a shield against his enemies?" He sounded both incredulous and insulted.
"Yes," Nathan confirmed without hesitation. "He needs you to buy him time. The Heroes have extraordinary recovery abilities, far beyond that of ordinary warriors. Given enough time, his wounds will heal, and his strength will return." His gaze darkened. "Until then, he intends to use Breistan as his stronghold. And in the meantime, you'll be forced to deal with those hunting him—whether they want him dead or alive. Once he's fully recovered, he'll escape and leave you to deal with the consequences."
A cold chill ran down Nakon's spine.
"Wait, Lord mander…" Nakon hesitated, his voice now tinged with unease. "Are you saying that more enemies might e looking for him?"
"It's possible," Nathan admitted. "Maybe they haven't found him yet, but it's only a matter of time. However—" he paused, then continued with careful emphasis, "—as long as we don't give them a reason to, they shouldn't have any reason to attack us. They only want him."
Nakon let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Then… all we have to do is stall," he said, a small smile appearing as he saw a solution. "If we delay and let time do the work for us, someone will eventually e to reclaim him."
"That would be the wisest course of action," Nathan nodded. But a nagging feeling settled in his chest, a premonition that made him uneasy.
Rather than waiting passively, he wanted to question this so-called Hero himself.
"Let's discuss this further after you've had time to rest, Lord mander," Nakon suggested as the carriage pulled up to the castle gates.
Nathan gave a slight nod before stepping down from the carriage.
But the moment his feet touched the ground—
"Samael!"
A voice rang out, filled with excitement and urgency.
Before Nathan could react, a stunningly beautiful girl threw herself into his arms.
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