One year had passed since Prince Lleon Fernhart's exile. Yet the boy remained silent, his face pale as ever. Time had done little to heal what was broken inside him. Life in the Imperial Hounds was no better—cold, brutal, and without mercy. The fire in his eyes that once burned with purpose was now dimmed.
When Lleon first arrived at the Eastern Border outpost of the Imperial Hounds, he was met with many unfamiliar faces. Most of them were gone now—claimed by the horrors of battle. Only a few remained, and even their survival felt like an accident.
Velgrath Forest.
A name that sent shivers down the spine of every soldier stationed here.
It was known as the Forest of Death, a cursed boundary between the Empire and the Demonic Realm. No expedition into it went without bloodshed.
"Hey! You still kicking? You're not dead, right?"
A rough voice broke the silence.
A pinch on the side of his head forced Lleon to blink. Theodore Virellan, the ever-loud and oddly cheerful soldier, stood over him.
"Well, most of our squad's dead. The rest of us? Alive thanks to you, cold prince." Theodore grinned.
Lleon didn't respond. As usual.
"Cold and silent as ever," Theodore muttered with a shrug.
Nearby, a wounded soldier spat bitterly, "Curse this forest. Every time we go in, we leave more of us behind."
Their small unit had just returned from another expedition into Velgrath. No one welcomed them. No cheers, no relief. Survival was expected, not celebrated.
After reporting to their superior, the survivors dispersed, each one dragging their weary body back to their quarters.
Lleon walked in silence. Behind him, Theodore followed.
"Hey, cold prince," Theodore started again, "if you ever get out of here, what would you do?"
Lleon paused, then muttered, "There's no escape from this hell."
"Well… I heard something," Theodore continued, undeterred. "If you survive three years of service here, you get a chance. A fresh start. A new life."
"…"
"I overheard the commander talking with one of the old guys. He's almost done with his three years. Just a few days left and he'll walk free."
Theodore gave a faint smile.
"Good for him."
---
The Next Day
Dawn barely broke before the warning horns blared across the Eastern Border. Another demon assault.
The soldiers of the Imperial Hounds rushed to the battlefield, weapons drawn, eyes hollow from lack of sleep and too many losses.
And once again, Velgrath Forest roared with the sound of war.
The clash was brutal—screams, steel, and sorcery ripped through the air. Blood soaked the soil, the bodies of demons and humans piling together, indistinguishable in death.
Lleon fought like a phantom, his sword a blur, cutting down anything that charged at him. Every breath was a fight to stay standing. Every slash reminded him of the vow he once made.
By afternoon, the demon forces finally retreated, leaving behind a battlefield drenched in blood and silence. The air was thick with the stench of death.
Lleon stood among the fallen, blood on his blade, hands trembling. He was on the verge of collapsing when someone approached him.
It was Theodore.
But this time, his voice wasn't loud, nor was he wearing that usual smirk. He handed Lleon a waterskin silently.
"Maybe you were right," he said, eyes dark and voice low. "There's no escape from this hell."
He sat beside Lleon and looked at the battlefield.
"The man who was supposed to be free in a few days… he died today. I heard he used to be a knight. Had a family waiting for him."
Lleon remained silent, his thoughts drifting to the vow he had made long ago—the vow he'd etched into his heart the day he lost everything.
Then, for the first time, he spoke.
"If I turned that question back—what would you do, if you got free?"
Theodore blinked, surprised by Lleon's sudden question.
"I… I have a duty," he finally said, eyes fixed on the horizon. "A duty I have to fulfill. No matter what."
"I'll be free too," Lleon said quietly, his voice resolute. "You'll see. We'll make it out of here."
Theodore stared at him. For the first time, he saw not just the cold prince—but the fire that once made him royalty. There was determination behind that pale face.
He chuckled, a bit of life returning to his tone.
"Did you get hit on the head or something? That doesn't sound like you."
"Forget what I said," Lleon grumbled, turning away.
"Haha! I never thought I'd see the cold prince act this sentimental."
And there, in the ruins of battle and death, something began—
Something small, but genuine.
A new friendship
Days passed.
The demon raids never stopped. The stench of blood became a part of the air they breathed. But through it all, Lleon and Theodore fought side by side. Their blades swung in rhythm, their backs always guarded by the other. In the pit of despair that was Velgrath, a silent bond had formed.
They didn't speak often, but when they did—it was real.
One evening, after another harrowing skirmish, the two sat by a dying campfire, their bodies bruised and their armor stained.
"I've been thinking," Theodore muttered, staring at the flickering flames. "If I make it out of here... I'll join the Knight's Order in the Imperial Capital. Maybe then I can fulfill my duty."
He glanced at Lleon. "What about you? Got any plans, cold prince?"
Lleon remained quiet for a moment. His eyes were distant, lost in the fire. Then, he spoke—voice low and sharp.
"I don't know… but I have to. No—I must take him down."
There was weight in his words. The kind that cut deeper than any blade.
Theodore raised an eyebrow. "Ow ow, wait... Take down who?"
Lleon didn't answer. His silence said enough.
But in his mind, the image was clear—
The Demon King.
The one who conspired with his uncle. The one responsible for the death of his parents. The one behind his fall.
A vow reignited. A name etched in fire and hatred.