Away from the eyes of the nobles, Isla stood alone on the palace balcony, quietly embracing the cold night air.
The distant clamor of feasting echoed behind him—his younger brother Lucas was still somewhere inside, drowning in wine and laughter. In Isla's hand, a glass of deep crimson wine shimmered under moonlight, but he drank only a sip. His thoughts were elsewhere.
His most recent defeat had cut deep. On the surface, he stood poised and composed, the perfect prince. But inside—he was fractured. The shame of being defeated by the Mercenary King still gnawed at him. The Empire had sent armies, elite knights, even captains. And still, they lost.
A stain on their legacy.
It didn't matter that the Empire had the largest armies or the most land. They didn't have the strongest ruler. Not yet.
He raised his eyes to the night sky. A vast canvas of stars stretched above, and for a moment, he remembered—
The day he and Lucas narrowly escaped death.
The day the Wizard King saved them.
The day he realized: the world only respects strength.
That defeat burned something into him—a quiet fury, buried but unforgotten.
Suddenly, soft footsteps broke his thoughts.
A woman approached, her gait elegant, her presence calm.
Roselle de Agriche, eldest daughter of House Agriche—one of the Ten Noble Houses.
She greeted him with a small smile.
Without looking, Isla spoke, cold and blunt.
Isla:
"I'm not interested in arranged marriage."
His tone was ice. His stare, unflinching.
Roselle only chuckled lightly, unbothered.
Roselle:
"No worries, Your Highness. I'm not interested in that either."
Her voice was light, teasing, yet there was a sharp wit beneath it. She turned her gaze to the sky.
Roselle:
"The sky is beautiful tonight. The moon, even more so."
Isla followed her gaze. For a second, even his cold heart softened. The stars felt closer than the nobles inside. The moon—silent and watchful—felt like a better companion than any lord.
He gave a faint nod.
But then she asked—
Roselle:
"Then why do you look so gloomy?"
The silence that followed lingered like a blade.
Isla:
"I don't—"
Roselle (cutting in):
"Don't lie, Your Highness. I would know."
He turned to her now, curiosity flickering in his eyes for the first time.
Isla:
"What do you mean?"
She met his gaze calmly, her voice unwavering.
Roselle:
"I have the ability to discern truth from lies. "
Isla:
"A gift."
Roselle:(bitter smile)
"More like a curse."
She turned away, watching the wind play through the distant trees.
Roselle:
"What good is the truth, in a world ruled by liars?"
The words struck something in him.
They stood there quietly, two children of power—he, the future emperor, she, a noblewoman burdened by truth—both outsiders in a world polished by deceit.
Their conversation carried on, slow and meaningful. They spoke of the farce of politics, the rotten nature of noble alliances, the way truth was treated like a disease in court. And yet, despite the cynicism, something human bloomed between them. An understanding.
Later, they walked through the palace garden. In the moonlight, Isla paused and plucked a delicate, snowy bloom from the garden path. He turned to her—wordless—and gently tucked it behind her ear.
It was a small gesture.
But to them, it meant everything.
A spark.
Something neither of them had ever known before.
Something real.
Present Day
The wind howled across the barren land, dragging loose snow like wandering spirits. In the heart of this forgotten field stood a single man—Emperor Isla, kneeling before a monument of marble and silence. It bore her name: Roselle de Agriche.
His eyes shimmered, not from the cold, but from the weight of memories pressing down on him.
Even the burden of ruling the world was lighter than the regret he carried.
He had sacrificed everything in pursuit of power. Nobles, armies, friends...even her. The woman he loved. The only one who ever saw through him—who never lied, and never flinched when he didn't either. In the end, she died with a smile. Because she believed in their promise.
World domination.
Not for glory.
Not for vanity.
But because the world was broken. And they were going to fix it—together.
Now she was gone. And Isla—crowned in triumph—was more alone than he'd ever been.
Tears traced the line of his cheek, unhidden. He didn't care if the world saw him weep.
"Regret," he whispered, "is what makes a man."
He placed the bouquet gently before her stone. White lilies and red asters—the flowers she loved most.
Then, with slow breath and steady hands, he wiped his tears. And when he stood, the warmth drained from his face. His gaze sharpened. Cold. Controlled. The Emperor once more.
Behind him, movement stirred. A Hollow whispered something into the ear of Val, the Knight Commander. He turned, his expression grim.
Val stepped forward.
Val:
"An army is approaching. Around twenty thousand. Their leader remains unknown."
Isla didn't even flinch. His eyes remained locked on the monument.
Val:
"Should we fall back?"
A faint tug at Isla's lips. A smirk—but not of amusement. Of certainty.
Isla:
"No. It's the Iron Duke."
Val's eyes widened.
Isla:
"He's the only one who both hates me enough... and knows this place exists."
A secret burial ground. Hidden. Guarded. Sacred.
Isla:
"He knows I would die to protect her memory. That's why he's coming."
He turned now, finally facing his knight. His eyes—like frozen obsidian—held no fear.
Isla:
"That army is likely his secret force... reinforced with foreign aid, perhaps mercenaries or rebels."
A long pause. The cold wind whipped past them, but Isla stood firm.
Isla:
"So be it."
He stepped past Val, his black coat fluttering with the storm.
Isla:
"Summon the knights. Every last one. Let them know this ground is sacred."
"We will hold the line."
He stopped and turned back, eyes burning with fury and resolve.
Isla:
"And when the last traitor falls, let them know—"
"This land is sacred."
The Sacred Land of Agriche — Noon
Snow whispered across the barren fields, blanketing the forgotten land in pale silence. On the borders stood a modest fortress and a single wall—not to keep enemies out, but to keep the truth hidden. Emperor Isla had stationed only a handful of knights here. Too many would draw suspicion. This land was sacred. It was not meant for war.
But war had come anyway.
Across the frostbitten plain, rows upon rows of armed soldiers emerged—twenty thousand, flying no imperial banner. At their front stood two men: one clad in dark plate, radiating old power, and another in silver-white robes beneath a flowing mantle of snow fox fur.
Duke Helbrecht, the Iron Duke.
And beside him—the Winter Sovereign.
They had come to kill the Emperor.
From behind the fortress wall, the gates creaked open. Isla, dressed in black royal garb, strode out with cold grace. At his side was Val, the Knight Commander, and behind them—a disciplined formation of just one hundred elite soldiers. The other hundred remained behind, guarding the borders to ensure no secrets left this place.
They stood like a spearhead of defiance before an ocean of steel.
Isla stepped forward, just enough so his voice would carry.
Isla:
"So the day has come, uncle."
Helbrecht met his gaze without a flicker of hesitation.
Iron Duke:
"No bad blood, Your Majesty. It's just business. Under your rule, the nobles can no longer breathe."
Isla's eyes shifted toward the masked figure beside him.
Isla:
"And you?"
The Winter Sovereign reached up and unfastened his mask. Snow-white hair fell over his shoulders as his face was revealed. Behind him, the veils concealing the soldiers fell away, uncovering the full extent of the hidden army.
Winter Sovereign:
"The world is not ready for another war. But you're forcing it upon us."
The sky above grew darker, clouded and heavy despite the hour.
Then, behind Isla and Val—they emerged.
The Hollows.
Figures cloaked in shadow, faces obscured by bone-white masks, numbering around a hundred. Silent, still, yet radiating menace.
The Iron Duke narrowed his eyes.
Iron Duke:
"The infamous Hollows… Monsters hiding in the Emperor's shadow."
"Three hundred against twenty thousand. This isn't a battle. It's a massacre."
A pause. Then a grin.
Iron Duke:
"But you're still family, Isla. Surrender, and I'll kill you with mercy."
Isla laughed—quiet, sharp, humorless.
Isla:
"You've been out of war for twenty years, Uncle. Maybe your mind has slowed."
"The Empire you once knew is gone. In your day, a five-star Aura Master was the peak."
"Today, we have three six-stars.Even few,we may be stronger."
That silenced the field for a moment. Even the Iron Duke faltered.
He had only heard whispers of six-stars—beings who surpassed mortal limits, whose presence warped the battlefield. He had never fought one. Never seen one.
Today, he would face one of them.
Isla's gaze turned to the enemy ranks. The air grew colder—not from the snow, but from the rising pressure of war.
Isla (coldly):
"Then let it be declared."
"Duke Helbrecht of House Helbercht—once the Iron Duke—is hereby sentenced to death for high treason."
"And The title of Winter Sovereign is stripped and nullified."
The words fell like thunder.
Even with only three hundred at his side, Isla's voice shook the hearts of thousands.
He looked to Val, eyes like frozen obsidian.
Isla:
"Cut down as many as you can."
"Don't hold back."
Val stepped forward, his blade glowing faintly with aura. The Hollows began to move, silent as death. The snow trembled beneath them.
And from the heart of the battlefield, the Emperor raised his hand.
The war began.