Chains rattled in the dark.
A boy, barely sixteen, sat slumped in the corner of a stone prison cell blindfolded, shackled, and forgotten. His face, once bearing the pride of royalty, was pale as a corpse. His lips were dry. His eyes, hollow. There was no rage. No tears. Only silence.
He was Prince Lleon Fernhart of the Northern Kingdom.
Soon to be… no one.
His execution would begin at dawn.
The same people who once cheered his name would soon cry for his death. The kingdom he vowed to protect now called him a traitor. And the family he loved... was gone.
---
A few nights earlier…
The castle shook with screams.
Lleon bolted upright from his bed, instinctively grabbing the sword gifted by his father just weeks ago on his sixteenth birthday. Blood stained the marble floor outside his chamber. One guard lay dead. The other clutched his stomach, blood pouring from a deep wound.
"W-We're under attack... demons—!"
The soldier's eyes rolled back. His heart stopped.
Stunned and breathless, Lleon ran. Past the burning tapestries. Past the mangled bodies of guards and maids. Toward the royal chambers—his parents.
But when he arrived... it was already too late.
The King and Queen lay motionless, crimson staining the sheets. Standing above them, blade in hand, was Beelzebub, the Demon King himself.
"You..." Lleon whispered.
Beelzebub turned and smiled, as if he had been waiting for Lleon. The air was heavy_crushing. Terror washed over the boy like a tidal wave. A normal person might have died on the spot.
With a cry of fury, Lleon charged. He swung his blade with all the rage in his young heart.
Steel met flesh.
But when he opened his eyes...
The demon was gone.
And his sword—was buried in his father's chest.
"No... No, this isn't—"
The door burst open. Council members. Soldiers. And his uncle, Lord Xaviel Fernhart.
The room froze.
"You… what have you done?" Xaviel's voice trembled with horror—and triumph.
"It wasn't me!" Lleon cried. "I was fighting the demon, I—!"
"Seize him," a councilman ordered coldly.
Lleon dropped his sword. "Please! Listen to me! I didn't—!"
But no one did.
---
Execution Day
Word spread like wildfire. The prince—murderer of the King and Queen—would be executed by public decree.
Crowds gathered. Some wept in disbelief. Others screamed for justice.
"Kill that traitor!"
"He murdered our king!"
"Let him rot in hell!"
Lleon walked with his head lowered, chains clinking at each step. His eyes stared ahead, unseeing.
The platform was built in the heart of the capital. His uncle stood before the crowd, dressed in ceremonial black.
"My beloved people," Xaviel began, voice heavy with false sorrow, "our noble king—my brother—was slain in cold blood. Betrayed by his own son... by the one who should have carried on his legacy."
The people murmured. Some shouted. Others stayed silent, confused and fearful.
"But the Emperor himself has granted us justice. Today, the traitor will pay."
Executioners drew their blades. The crowd leaned forward.
Lleon closed his eyes. There was nothing left.
And then—
"Stop this execution at once!"
A clear, commanding voice echoed through the square.
All heads turned.
At the gates stood the Imperial Princess, Rose Lucernis, draped in silver and violet, flanked by a squad of elite Imperial Knights. The captain stepped forward, holding a scroll sealed with the crest of the Lucentia Empire.
The knights kneeled. Even the council members bowed.
"This letter," the princess declared, "is from His Majesty, the Emperor. Prince Lleon Fernhart's execution is hereby suspended by Imperial order."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Xaviel stepped forward. "But… Your Highness, he killed—"
"Are you questioning the Emperor's will?"
Her voice was cold, final.
"No, of course not…"
"The prince shall not be executed," she continued. "Nor will he be set free. By imperial decree, Lleon Fernhart is stripped of his title and heritage. From this day forward, he is no longer heir to the North."
Lleon raised his head, barely comprehending.
"He will serve the Empire… in the Imperial Hounds."
Whispers spread like wildfire. The Imperial Hounds—the death-squad stationed in the borderlands, where demons roam and survival is a curse. A place where criminals are sent to die fighting.
The Princess turned. "As for the new ruler of the North, Lord Xaviel Fernhart shall be crowned King, by grace of the Empire."
Xaviel smiled. Behind the mask of grief, satisfaction gleamed in his eyes.
---
A New Beginning
The borderlands were hell.
Ash-colored skies. Bloodstained soil. The howl of monsters beyond the blackened trees.
The Imperial Hounds were not heroes. They were outcasts. Murderers. Fallen knights. And now _ Lleon.
He said nothing as he arrived. No rage. No grief. Just silence.
Princess Rose had looked at him before he was taken away. There was something in her eyes. Pity? Guilt? Or perhaps… doubt.
But she said nothing.
At fifteen, Lleon Fernhart had lost everything—his family, his crown, his future.
But in this cursed place…
A new path awaited.
A path through blood and shadow.
A path to truth, to vengeance_
Or something far greater.
The life of the Imperial Hounds was hell itself. A place where death came like clockwork—swift, cruel, and merciless. Criminals, outcasts, and the forsaken were thrown into this pit to rot or perish.
Yet amidst the blood and fire, stood a boy.
Shackled by chains of betrayal and sorrow, stripped of his crown and name, Lleon clenched his fists as he stared at the desolate horizon.
"I will survive this hell..." he whispered to the wind, eyes burning with silent fury.
"I will not die here… not until I get my revenge. I will kill them… all of them… those who took everything from me."
That was the vow he made that day.
A vow not as a prince—but as a fallen soul bound by fire, blood, and vengeance.