Report
Chapter 1: The Betrayal
"Brother! How could you do this to me?!"
A man's cry pierced through the storm. Blood streamed from one of his eyes, and his intestines threatened to spill from his abdomen, but the physical pain was insignificant compared to the agony in his heart.
This wasn't the end he had fought for. Damian Rineckt couldn't accept it.
The illegitimate child of the late Emperor.
The lowest among those of noble blood.
"Don't you know how much I've done to put the Empire in your hands?!"
"I do."
Even at the brink of death, Damian's body trembled at the voice sharp as a blade. Despite fighting together on countless battlefields, he had never gotten used to the killing intent emanating from those words.
Mikhail von Edenwald, the Empire's Greatest Sword.
The man who would ascend the throne tomorrow.
"And yet!" Despite Damian's tears of blood, Mikhail's expression remained unchanged. He had always been this way—even when he beheaded the loyal vassal who had served him all his life, his face hadn't flickered.
"Because this is the cleanest solution."
A seductive voice rang out from behind Mikhail. Not a single raindrop touched her; a translucent veil draped over her body completely blocked the raging storm.
Rubia de Clarent, the Great Mage.
The woman who would be called Empress tomorrow.
"The countless atrocities committed during this civil war... someone must pay the price for them, don't you think?"
The Emperor had died without naming an heir. Naturally, a civil war erupted over succession.
Led by Crown Prince Mikhail, the Reformists faced off against the Legitimists centered around the Empress and her children.
Both sides had committed horrific crimes. They kidnapped and tortured prisoners and civilians, submerged entire villages, and burned towns to the ground.
"The throne must be spotless, without even a speck of dust. But the filth accumulated during the war... only blood can wash it away."
Rubia traced her upper lip with her index finger, then pointed directly at Damian.
"So it's fitting that someone as noble as you should take responsibility."
They intended to pin all the blame on Damian and use his death to suppress any rebellion.
'Damn witch.'
Damian glared at Rubia, grinding his teeth. It was nonsense. While he had burned many enemies, he hadn't committed acts that could be called crimes.
"This is the last respect I can show you. This too is a sacrifice for the Empire."
Personally executing him. This would be reported as the Emperor punishing a heinous criminal.
"But before you go, let me tell you something interesting," Rubia said with a fresh smile.
Their ill-fated relationship ran deep. Regardless of what she thought, Damian had despised Rubia from the beginning.
An evil woman who treated the lives of subordinates like flies. Why had the heavens granted such unparalleled magical talent to someone like her?
"Anna and Felix—you remember them, don't you?"
At the mention of those familiar names, Damian's eyebrows twitched.
How could he forget? Though it had been over a decade since he'd last seen their faces, how could he forget the only two people who had ever supported him?
The mysterious explosion at the Imperial Palace had claimed many lives. The Reformists and Legitimists merely blamed each other for the catastrophe.
Anna and Felix were among the casualties. Just a maid and a butler. Their deaths didn't affect the greater political schemes.
They only left an indelible scar on Damian's heart.
Unable to overcome the shock, he had left the palace and wandered aimlessly before accepting Mikhail's proposal to join the Reformists.
He wanted the war to end quickly. Each time he saw victims strewn across the battlefield, Anna and Felix haunted his thoughts, robbing him of sleep.
"Actually, they didn't die in the explosion. I killed them myself," Rubia revealed.
Something snapped inside Damian. For a moment, all sound in the world vanished.
"Why... why would you...?"
"Because they annoyed me. The way they fawned over you was disgusting."
Rubia maintained her fresh smile as she spoke the cruel truth.
Damian's gaze shifted to Mikhail. He showed no surprise.
"Was this your order as well?"
"No. Rubia sought my permission, and I did not stop her."
In other words, Mikhail could have prevented it but chose not to—even knowing how close Damian was to them.
"But thanks to that, you awakened your hidden potential and sided with the Reformists. So in the end, it worked out well, didn't it?"
Rubia showed no remorse. She was merely curious about how Damian would react.
'If only you had become my consort from the start.'
Rubia's voice echoed in his mind, a telepathic whisper only he could hear.
Her obsession to possess Damian entirely—that was why she had killed Anna.
"I will kill you, you damn witch!!"
Even in his dire state, hatred propelled Damian to his feet.
From his left hand, green flames erupted; from his right, a black mist coiled and roared.
The two forces intertwined, forming a massive spear that shot toward Rubia.
A high-pitched screech filled the air as his attack collided with Rubia's mana barrier. At the very least, he would take her head—that was his sole desire.
Ding—
But at the chime of a small bell in Rubia's hand, Damian's power vanished without a trace.
"Urgh...!"
Dark red blood gushed from his mouth.
"See, Mikhail? I was right," Rubia said, flicking the bell with her fingers while smiling smugly. Beside her, Mikhail continued to look down at Damian with cold eyes.
"This artifact was excavated from ancient ruins a few years ago. It must be thousands of years old. Can you guess what it was made to counter?"
"...Damian, this is why I must kill you," Mikhail said, his sword grazing Damian's neck, drawing a thin line of blood.
"The power forbidden by the Empire."
Black Magic.
Power derived from demons in another dimension.
Damian had no talent for aura or traditional magic. The only reason he had become one of the Empire's strongest was his contract with a demon.
[Even now, it's not too late. Kiss my foot, and I might spare your life.]
Having taken everything precious from him, she now demanded he become hers. A villain who cared nothing for others' feelings or will.
There was only one thing to say.
"All you'll get is my corpse, you filthy witch."
A vein bulged on Rubia's forehead at his defiance.
Snap.
She flicked her fingers, and violet lightning struck from the sky.
"-------!!"
Damian writhed silently within the electrifying torment.
It felt like thousands of needles stabbing into his skin. Rubia's maddened obsession attacked each of his nerves.
All he could do was bite his tongue to stay conscious.
As long as that mysterious bell rang, he couldn't use black magic.
Now, Damian was just a weak illegitimate child—a pathetic being who had once cowered in the palace's shadows.
"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this," Mikhail murmured.
"Even without black magic, you wouldn't have spared me..."
"True. I simply didn't want such vile power used on my path to the throne."
Ptui.
Damian spat bloody saliva at Mikhail's face. No loyalty as a vassal or affection as a brother remained within him.
"This was destined to happen. Your value ends here."
Mikhail had never harbored such emotions to begin with.
"Farewell, last of the black magicians. My only remaining brother."
Thud.
With those words, Damian's world turned upside down.
Harsh sunlight disturbed Damian's peace. As he regained consciousness, he saw a vast plaza filled with countless people.
The Imperial Plaza—the place where the royal family announced important matters to the public.
'Why... am I still...?'
Though beheaded, Damian wasn't dead yet.
But that was all. His head was mounted on a stake, able only to watch and listen.
This wasn't Rubia's doing.
While modern magic could preserve a severed head from decay, it couldn't tether a dead person's soul.
"The Empire's laws are absolute and apply to everyone without exception."
Mikhail's voice came from behind.
Though he couldn't turn to look, he imagined Mikhail wearing the Emperor's crown, gazing down upon his subjects.
"This applies to royalty as well. Damian Rineckt used black magic, forbidden since the Empire's founding. He made a contract with demons, polluting heaven and earth. The only punishment for this is death."
Rubia was likely seated beside him, hiding her smile behind a fan.
The 'Mother of the People.' Now that she had obtained the position she so desired, her smile must be even more radiant—and sinister.
"Moreover, Damian Rineckt and his subordinates committed numerous atrocities during the civil war."
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the plaza, causing Damian's head to sway violently.
His wasn't the only head on display.
His comrades from the guerrilla unit were also beheaded.
People who had smiled and planned for the future when the war ended.
Those who had received pardons and would return home.
Those who dreamed of opening their own shops.
Those who could finally care for their elderly mothers.
Those who hoped to rescue their sisters from brothels.
All now reduced to heads mounted in shame.
'Why? Why? Why...?'
Why wasn't Damian's death enough, even after becoming Emperor? Why did they have to humiliate these people too?
He desperately wanted to ask Mikhail.
After Anna and Felix's deaths, these comrades had helped fill the void in Damian's heart, if only a little.
If it had ended with just his death, he might not have been so enraged.
But Damian could do nothing. Merely a head with consciousness—maintaining awareness alone meant nothing.
"The civil war is over. The Empire's subjects are once again uni...ted..."
As Damian silently screamed, Mikhail's voice gradually slowed, and all movement in the world came to a halt.
The birds in the sky, the cheering crowd, the fluttering flags—all frozen in time.
[Ah, dear Damian. It has come to this.]
A woman emerged from a rift in space.
A sensual figure, nearly naked, with an innocent face like a young girl's. Silken hair cascaded to her feet, and her skin gleamed like white jade.
But her most distinctive features were different: vertically slit pupils, a pair of goat-like horns, and two wings.
Despite her alluring appearance, she inspired no lust. Rather, it felt like thousands of insects were gnawing at one's brain.
Damian knew this demon's name.
Ishtar.
The Empress of Hell.
Ruler of 144 legions.
Walking lightly through the air, Ishtar cradled Damian's head and kissed his forehead.
[Are you sad? In pain? Angry?]
She held his head to her chest, her sultry voice whispering into his ear.
[Just say the word. I can make it all happen.]
Ishtar turned his head to face Mikhail, sitting majestically with his sword, and Rubia, wearing her detestable smile.
[I can inflict upon him a suffering worse than death. It will be unimaginably painful.]
She turned again, gesturing toward the people in the plaza.
[What shall we do with these fools? Just say it. I'll make them pay dearly for their insults.]
Then she pointed to his comrades' mounted heads.
[Don't worry. I am also the mistress of mercy. All those you love, all those who love you—I will gather their souls so you can all be eternally happy together in paradise.]
"Then..."
A metallic voice escaped Damian's lips.
That he wasn't dead yet, that time had stopped, and that he could speak—all of this was Ishtar's doing.
"What's the price?"
Demons are honest in their dealings. They value contracts. If you desire something, you must pay a fair price.
Ishtar lifted his head to meet his eyes. Her sparkling gaze was more brilliant than any jewel.
[As always.]
Crack.
Her smooth forehead split open, revealing a third eye.
It lacked the beauty of the other two.
Perhaps this was the light that would shine if all of hell's hatred and disgust were combined.
[Everything.]
This wasn't the first time. Ishtar had been tempting Damian for a long while.
But he had always refused.
While he had made contracts with other demons, he could not accept Ishtar's terms.
Giving her 'everything' meant Damian would cease to exist in this world.
Though he had gained power through demonic contracts, that was a line he wouldn't cross.
But Ishtar hadn't given up. Now, at his final moment, she came to him.
Offering the power to reclaim everything he'd lost.
"I refuse."
Damian's answer remained unchanged.
He wanted to kill Mikhail and Rubia. He wanted to burn their bodies until not even ashes remained.
But it had to be by his own hand to have meaning. Nothing was more pathetic than revenge carried out by another.
[Ahhh.]
Ishtar's cheeks flushed, a voice of ecstatic pleasure escaping her lips.
[Yes, that's how my Damian should be. The Damian I've chosen, the Damian I desire.]
Ishtar pressed her lips against his.
Her moist, soft tongue entwined with his parched one.
[So I'll grant you a new chance. Struggle all you want.]
Her hand gently closed his eyelids. For some reason, it felt warm and comforting.
At last, darkness embraced him.
