Chapter 1: The Scars of the Past
The sun burned mercilessly over the village of Ifrit Empire, casting long shadows over the cornfields. A lone figure worked among the rows, his hands caked in dirt, his body slick with sweat.
Lucas wiped his brow, exhaling sharply. The heat was relentless, and fatigue clawed at his limbs with every passing second.
"Damn this."
This wasn't the life he had imagined for himself.
Once, he had been a student at the most renowned academy on the continent, training to become a knight. But that dream had crumbled two years ago when he ran away. Now, here he was—reduced to a farmhand in a forgotten village.
Lucas slammed the hoe into the soil with frustration.
"If I had stayed, I'd be a knight in the capital by now. A real warrior. Not some dirt-covered worker breaking my back under the sun."
But the academy wasn't just a place of learning—it was where his only friend had betrayed him.
His grip tightened on the handle.
Luthor Van Ecrias.
The only person who had ever stood by his side. The only one who had ever cared about him. And yet, in the end, Luthor had…
Lucas gritted his teeth. The anger boiled up again, just like it always did.
"Damn him."
He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. But the past had a way of sinking its claws into him, refusing to let go.
A voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Hey, bastard! Stop slacking off and do your damn job!"
Lucas turned to see one of the villagers glaring at him. He clenched his fists but forced himself to sigh instead.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm working."
He didn't belong here. Everyone in the village treated him like dirt, like he was his father's shadow.
Norman Vertona.
A criminal. A murderer. A traitor to the empire.
Lucas had spent his whole life trying to escape his father's name. Trying to prove that he was different. But no matter what he did, they only saw Norman's son.
And yet, Luthor…
Lucas shook his head again. He was done thinking about that bastard.
"Hey, you piece of shit," another villager called, walking over. "Come help me clean my hands."
Lucas didn't even bother looking at him. "I don't wanna."
The villager scoffed. "This attitude is exactly why your friend left you."
A simple sentence. Just words.
But something snapped.
Before Lucas could even think, his body moved on instinct. His fist collided with the man's jaw in a single, brutal motion. The villager collapsed instantly, hitting the dirt with a sickening thud.
The field fell into stunned silence.
Everyone stared at Lucas.
Not as a villager. Not as Harmin's adopted son.
But as the son of a monster.
For the first time in years, they saw it. The rage of Norman Vertona. The bloodlust that ran through his veins.
Lucas stood there, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His knuckles throbbed from the impact, but the pain was nothing compared to the storm raging inside him.
"Damn it…"
A tiring day indeed.
---
A Ghost from the Past
The sun had begun to set by the time Lucas made his way home.
The air was cooler now, but it did nothing to ease the fire burning in his chest. He wasn't just angry—he was tired.
Tired of the whispers.
Tired of the stares.
Tired of himself.
But as he neared his house, something felt off.
A group of knights stood outside, their armor gleaming in the fading sunlight. Imperial soldiers. Men from the capital.
Lucas' heart skipped a beat.
They didn't belong here. Officials never came to this village unless it was for taxes or conscription.
A cold chill ran down his spine.
He approached them carefully, masking his unease. "Hello, sir. May I ask why you're waiting outside my house?"
One of the knights, a tall man with a scar over his left eye, barely glanced at him.
"Our vice general has business with the resident inside."
Lucas frowned. Vice general? That meant someone high-ranking. Someone powerful.
His mind raced.
"Harmin never had connections in the capital… except for one person."
His throat tightened.
"Is it…" He hesitated, the words almost too painful to say. "Sir Luthor?"
For the first time in years, a part of him hoped.
But the knight's answer crushed it instantly.
"No."
Something inside Lucas twisted.
He forced his expression to remain neutral. "Then who is it?"
"We can't reveal that."
His frustration grew. "So can I enter my house?"
"You cannot."
That was the final straw.
Without another word, Lucas shoved the door open.
Inside, Harmin sat calmly on the couch, sipping coffee. But Lucas barely noticed him.
Because sitting across from him—
Was her.
Lucas froze.
Long, raven-black hair. Piercing emerald eyes. That same soft smile—the one that had destroyed his life.
His first love.
The reason he lost Luthor.
The reason everything fell apart.
His blood boiled.
"Been a while, Lucas," she said softly.
His hands trembled with rage.
"Who let this bitch inside my house?"
The air in the room grew heavy. The knights outside immediately reached for their weapons, but she merely sighed.
"I know you hate me, Lucas," she said, her voice carrying both sadness and something else. A flickering hope. "But I have a request."
Lucas laughed bitterly.
"A request?" His voice dripped with venom. "Get the hell out of my house."
Before she could say another word, he grabbed her wrist and threw her outside.
The knights moved, but she held up a hand. "No." She dusted herself off, that sad smile still lingering. "I've already made his life a living hell. I don't need to cause him more trouble."
Inside, Lucas sat heavily across from Harmin, his body still burning with anger.
"So, old man," he spat. "Why was she here?"
Harmin's eyes met his.
"She came to take you to the capital."
Lucas scoffed. "What kind of dumb shit is that?"
Harmin's expression didn't change. "Luthor is about to die."
The room turned cold.
Lucas felt his breath hitch.
His hatred—his anger—everything froze.
"What?" His voice cracked. "Luthor… dying? No. That's not possible. It can't be."
Harmin nodded. "It's true, my son. Your friend and brother Luthor is dying. And the reason… is an incurable curse."
Lucas' vision blurred. He knew exactly what that meant.
Harmin sighed. "You will understand once you go there."
Lucas' fingers dug into his palms. His entire body trembled.
But when he spoke, his voice was cold.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Even if his heart screamed otherwise.