The morning sun cast a golden glow over Castletown, its light piercing through the grand stained-glass windows of the Headmaster’s Office. Ashe sat at his desk, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, gazing out at the city below. The towering spires and bustling streets carried a sense of order, but beneath it all, shadows stirred—ones he had fought tirelessly to keep at bay.

The tranquility was shattered as the heavy doors of his office burst open.

A man strode in, uninvited, unwelcome, yet utterly at ease.

His presence alone soured the air.

Long golden hair cascaded down his back, woven with crimson gemstones that gleamed like coagulated blood. His sclerae were a deep, abyssal red, his irises a brilliant, predatory yellow that shimmered with malice. From his temples curled two massive crimson horns, each pulsating with a velvet aura, radiating power and contempt in equal measure. His regal outfit—adorned with gems, chains, and golden embroidery—shone like a star.

He was Lord Valor Crest, the Emperor.

“Hello there, mongrel,” Valor purred, his voice smooth as silk yet venomous at its core. He took a slow step forward, his gilded boots clicking against the marble floor. “It’s been a while. How is my dear friend doing?”

Ashe didn’t turn to face him, though his grip on the coffee cup tightened. His purple eyes flickered with silent fury, reflecting in the glass before him.

“I believe I told you years ago—you are not welcome here,” Ashe said coldly, finally setting his cup down. The slightest tremor rattled the porcelain, but his voice remained ice.

Valor’s smile widened, his sharp canines flashing. “Yes, yes, twelve years of bans, yet I always return. Tell me, Headmaster, how many times must we perform this ridiculous little play?”

Ashe exhaled sharply, finally turning in his seat to face the man he despised. His expression, though composed, carried a cutting edge.

"Doesn't the Emperor have better things to do?" Ashe asked, his voice dripping with undisguised disdain. "Perhaps sitting on his gilded throne, watching his people suffer and die, while you pretend to be a god? Please, leave—Lord Valor."

Valor chuckled, an infuriatingly amused sound. "You’re as entertaining as ever." His eyes gleamed with a twisted mirth. "But unfortunately—"

His smile sharpened.

“Please die.”

Ashe’s body seized—his breath hitched, his vision darkened.

In an instant, he collapsed lifelessly to the floor.

No wounds. No visible attack. No resistance. He was simply gone.

A stillness settled over the room.

A slow clap echoed through the chamber.

A boy strolled in from the shadows.

He was young, yet the air around him was ancient, unnatural—as if he did not belong in the flow of time itself.

He wore a crisp white shirt, neatly tucked beneath a black waistcoat, and his pants jingled with the weight of ornate pocket watches, each one ticking in perfect synchronization. His tan skin bore delicate stitch marks, as though his body had been assembled rather than born.

His glasses glinted, but it was his eyes that commanded attention—one sclera was pitch-black, while both pupils pulsed with eerie, glowing violet light.

His lips curled into a mocking smirk.

"You know," the boy mused, adjusting his glasses with a practiced flick, his glowing violet pupils gleaming with amusement, "I really liked that version of me. His ability was rather interesting. Shame."

With zero hesitation, he reached out and severed his own arm—a clean, effortless motion. The limb fell to the marble floor, yet not a single drop of blood spilled. The flesh did not twitch, did not struggle—as if it had never truly belonged to him in the first place.

Then, he turned to Ashe’s freshly lifeless body.

With a flick of his fingers, he removed Ashe’s arm as well, as though dismantling a broken doll. The severed limb dangled in his grasp for only a second before he grafted it onto himself.

The stitches lining his body tightened, pulsed, then fused, as if his flesh were mere clay, ready to be molded at his will. The transition was seamless, unnatural, the new limb responding instantly to his command.

He flexed his fingers experimentally. “Hah. A perfect fit.”

A deep, exasperated sigh filled the room.

"Must you always kill me?" Ashe’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and irritated. "Fucking bastard."

Slowly, the headmaster sat up, rolling his newly attached shoulder as if waking from an unpleasant nap. His body had shrunken—his new vessel too small, too young, barely able to reach his desk. His narrowed gaze held nothing but contempt for his unwelcome guests.

Valor let out an almost bored sigh, rubbing his temple. “Does it matter? You have endless clones. Honestly, I’m not even sure if this one is the real you.”

Ashe’s glare deepened, his fingers tightening around his coffee mug. "Of course it isn’t, you damn psychopath. But this vessel is my favorite, so you better not damage it."

Valor smirked. "Noted." He turned, surveying the grand office as if inspecting a kingdom. “Now then. Any interesting students I should consider… scouting for the Royal Army?”

Ashe scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Perhaps, but…” A slow smirk crept across his lips. "I do have the future King of Helheim as a student." His voice was filled with mocking amusement, his gray eyes watching Valor carefully. "The only ruler in the world besides you.”

A low chuckle escaped Valor’s throat. Then, his lips curled into a cruel grin.

“I see. Maybe I should go kill the child.”

Ashe’s expression darkened, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His grip on his coffee cup tightened just enough to crack the porcelain.

"Don’t you dare." His voice was low, dangerous. "I won’t allow a single one of my students to be harmed." His gaze sharpened like a blade. "It’s best you leave before Dr. Sanguine finds out you’re here.”

Valor sighed, rolling his shoulders in mock disappointment. “Ah, yes. The good doctor.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I forget… why does he want to kill me again?”

Ashe didn’t hesitate.

“You murdered his parents. His father was the Seventh Hero.”

Valor blinked, then hummed in vague recollection. “Did I?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “These worthless details are so hard to remember.”

He exhaled, almost bored, and stretched lazily. “Well, I suppose I’ll leave. As much as I hate to admit it, the forces you have here are equal to my Royal Army. Can’t be bothered with a war today.” He flashed one last, amused glance at Ashe.

“I look forward to our next chat… mongrel.”

And with that, Valor vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the faint scent of embers and arrogance.

Isaac sat inside a cozy diner, tucked away in one of the quieter corners of Castletown. The warm glow of the hanging lanterns bathed the small restaurant in a golden hue, the air rich with the scent of sizzling meats and freshly baked bread.

One of the perks of being a student at Castletown Academy was free meals—granted at any of the numerous establishments scattered throughout town. With three days before classes officially began, Isaac decided to enjoy the brief respite from combat, exams, and near-death experiences.

He sat at a booth near the window, quietly eating his meal—two shrimp skewers, their charred aroma mixing with the sweet tang of his grape juice. The world outside moved at its usual pace, students and citizens passing by in the twilight, their laughter and conversation a distant hum.

For the first time in a while, things felt normal.

Until they didn’t.

"Excuse me," a smooth, almost too polite voice murmured from behind him. "If you don’t mind, may I join you?"

Isaac froze, the hair on his neck standing on end. He hadn’t sensed anyone approaching.

His fingers instinctively curled around his glass as he turned around swiftly, expecting to find an intruder. But there was no one there.

His heart thumped in his chest. His senses weren’t wrong. He had heard someone.

Then, as he turned back to his table—

Valor was already seated across from him.

Isaac’s breath hitched. He hadn’t seen him move. Hadn’t heard a chair pull out. It was as if the man had always been there.

"Excuse me, waiter," Valor called out lazily, waving a gold-ringed hand toward a passing server. "I’ll have the same thing as the kid."

Isaac’s jaw tightened. His first instinct was to create a blood weapon—but there was no use. If this man had bypassed his perception completely, he was dangerous.

“W-Who are you?” Isaac asked, forcing his voice to remain steady. His mind raced through possibilities.

Valor tilted his head, his golden hair catching the light, the crimson gemstones woven within it gleaming. His red sclera and predatory yellow irises gleamed with amusement.

He sighed dramatically, resting his chin against his hand. "Do they not have public education in whatever shithole you crawled out of?" He clicked his tongue. "Another reform I’ll have to work on…"

Isaac’s fingers dug into the wooden table.

Stolen novel; please report.

The man smirked, finally introducing himself. "I am Valor Crest—the Emperor." His voice carried undeniable authority, but the casual, almost mocking tone sent a shiver down Isaac’s spine. "It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Isaac’s blood ran cold. The Emperor? Here? Why?

He narrowed his eyes, barely masking his suspicion. “Why would the Emperor be interested in me? And how do I know you're actually him?”

Valor’s smile twitched, amusement flickering behind his glowing gaze.

"Normally, I'd kill you for such an impertinent remark." He exhaled, tapping his fingers against the table. "But lucky you—I’ve taken an interest in you." His grin widened slightly. "I’m quite indebted to the Fafnir family, after all. A true shame what happened."

Isaac’s stomach churned. The mention of his family felt like a blade pressing against his skin. "You knew my family?"

Valor leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, his regal outfit shifting slightly under the soft glow of the lanterns. His expression was almost nostalgic.

"My seventh wife," he began smoothly, "was Elise Fafnir. A truly beautiful woman. To think… the child we had together would become the Sixth Hero."

Noah.

Isaac's heart pounded, his vision tunneling as the name dropped from Valor’s lips like a weight crushing his ribs.

Valor’s smirk remained unshaken, his piercing golden eyes gleaming like a predator toying with its prey.

"I remember speaking with your father once," he continued, effortlessly conjuring a crystal glass filled with deep, velvety red wine from the thin air, swirling it idly in his hand. The liquid reflected the dim restaurant lights, almost mirroring the eerie glow of his irises.

"He told me he would name his firstborn after that hero," Valor mused, taking a slow, deliberate sip.

Isaac’s stomach twisted, the weight of the name pressing against his chest. He swallowed, his expression darkening as he forced himself to respond.

"Yes… I remember. That’s where my brother got his name from," Isaac admitted, his voice laced with sorrow. His gaze flickered downward, the remnants of his meal forgotten. "Why bring this up…? He’s already dead."

For the first time, Valor’s expression shifted.

Amusement flickered into intrigue.

“Interesting…" he murmured, his voice low, almost purring. His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he studied Isaac closely, like a scholar observing an unexpected anomaly. "So that’s what you were told.”

His words sent a chill up Isaac’s spine. That’s what you were told.

Before Isaac could question him further, the waiter arrived, placing a plate of shrimp skewers in front of the Emperor.

Valor picked up his utensils with refined ease, cutting a small piece and tasting it. He chewed thoughtfully before letting out an unimpressed sigh.

“It’s… below average,” he remarked, waving his fork slightly. "I must bring you to my palace one day. A proper meal should not be this mediocre."

Isaac, still reeling from the implications of Valor’s words, shook his head. “The food tastes good to me,” he said simply, finishing off his last skewer.

Valor’s laughter was smooth, dripping with condescension.

“A fool who has only known shit will assume the first mildly shiny rock they see is a diamond," he said, setting his utensils down with quiet precision. “Truly, we must expand upon your palette.”

Isaac exhaled, pushing his plate aside. “I must ask—why have you approached me?” His voice was firm, though he could feel the weight of the Emperor’s presence pressing down on him. “I doubt it was just to schedule a dinner party.”

Valor tilted his head, amused by the attempt at directness.

“Oh, but it was,” he said lightly. "That, and to extend an offering for once you graduate."

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “An offering?”

“The Crows are becoming more of an annoyance lately," Valor sighed, as if discussing a minor inconvenience rather than a terrorist organization. "I plan to set up a task force to deal with them. Once you graduate, I would like you to assist them.”

Isaac stiffened. The Crows. The very name made his blood boil.

Yet, he hesitated.

“I’ll need to consider your offer,” he admitted carefully, his throat tightening. “It’s not the only one I’ve received regarding the hunt for the Crows.”

Valor’s golden pupils narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing across them.

“I do get quite jealous when my toys are played with by others," he murmured, his voice carrying an unsettling playfulness. He paused for just a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. "I have a tendency to break them if I can’t have them."

Isaac’s muscles tensed, his pulse quickening.

Then, Valor grinned, his expression mocking.

"Ah, look at your expression!" he laughed. "I’m only joking."

There was no way to be sure if he was.

Isaac exhaled slowly. “However, may I hear more about your offer?”

Valor’s grin widened, satisfied.

“Such good greed," he praised, leaning forward. “You may be from one of many bloodlines connected to me, but I’m glad to see my greed flows through you.”

Before Isaac could react, Valor grabbed his wrist, his grip unshakable.

A pulse of power surged through Isaac’s body. His veins burned like liquid fire, the sensation both agonizing and intoxicating.

"As the God of War, I place upon you my mark," Valor declared, his voice almost sultry, yet brimming with powerful authority. "From this day forward, you shall become my apostle."

A deep crimson glow erupted across Isaac’s right arm.

The sensation was immediate.

A long, segmented tattoo etched itself into his flesh—a grotesque crimson centipede, its sinuous form coiling around his arm, its jaws resting at the center of his palm, as if waiting to consume whatever lay before it.

Isaac gasped, his arm tingling, a strange energy flowing through him.

Valor sat back, admiring his work.

"I’ll be keeping an eye on you," Valor said smoothly, spearing the last bite of his meal with a fork and chewing leisurely, as if he hadn’t just branded Isaac as his apostle. His golden eyes gleamed, amusement flickering behind them. "Though I imagine… I’m not the only one interested in you."

Before Isaac could even process the weight of those words, Valor was gone.

The air where he once sat shimmered, as if reality itself sighed in relief at his departure. In his place, a sack of gold rested on the table, tied shut with a scarlet ribbon. A small note was tucked neatly beside it, written in a flourished, elegant script.

For the bill. The rest is a tip for the waiter.

Isaac barely registered the words.

His eyes were fixed on his arm, where the crimson centipede tattoo writhed across his skin as if alive. It pulsed faintly, heat radiating from it like embers smoldering beneath the surface.

His hands trembled, though he wasn’t sure if it was from shock, fear… or something else entirely.

Far above the city, atop the highest tower of Castletown Academy, Valor Crest stood alone.

The wind howled, tugging at the scarlet cloak draped over his regal form, but he remained unshaken, his gaze fixed on the world beneath him. The golden glow of street lamps and enchanted lanterns illuminated the town in a gentle light, the students below enjoying their fleeting moments of peace.

Valor, however, was lost in the past.

From the folds of his coat, he pulled out a set of seven lockets, each one a masterpiece of craftsmanship, their golden exteriors worn with age yet still pristine in design.

He flicked them open one by one, each containing a small, delicate portrait of a woman—each one different, each name engraved on the inside in flowing cursive script.

His eyes traced the faces of those long lost to time.

Isabelle Hermes.

Beatrice Evernight.

Selene Noctis.

Lillian Silva.

Valeria Astraea.

Lilith Blackthorne.

And lastly… Elise Fafnir.

His dearest wives.

The ones he had loved. The ones who had died.

A humorless chuckle left his lips.

"It’s a shame…" he murmured, tilting the lockets in the moonlight. "The majority of these bloodlines died out." He thumbed over Elise’s portrait, lingering just a bit longer.

"Though it seems Fafnir’s bloodline still has some fight left in them," he added, a glimmer of something unreadable in his golden gaze.

His fingers traced over the faint cracks along one of the lockets. A silent crack in his perfect, invincible image.

"Maybe… if I had been a better husband…" his voice was softer now, barely above a whisper. "...you wouldn’t have had to die."

His grip on the lockets tightened, his expression shadowed.

Then, his lips curled upward in mock amusement, as though laughing at himself.

"Though, I suppose it’s also your fault."

His gaze darkened, turning away from the lockets to the empty sky before him.

"You fools caused dear Isabelle to die." His voice was sharp, bitter as a blade dipped in old wounds and deeper regrets.

"It’s your fault," he whispered, golden eyes narrowing. "That dear Aria became the Sixth Apocalypse."

The night air pressed against him, the weight of memories far heavier than any crown he had ever worn.

He let out a slow exhale before snapping the lockets shut, slipping them back into his coat.

With one final glance at the town below, Valor Crest vanished once more.

Meanwhile, Isaac sprinted back to the dorms, his mind racing faster than his legs. His arm still tingled with an unnatural heat, the crimson centipede tattoo coiled around his flesh like a living brand. Each step he took echoed in his skull, but right now, there was only one person he could talk to about this.

Reaching Karma’s door, he banged on it urgently, barely catching his breath.

After a few moments, the door finally creaked open.

Karma stood in the doorway, his usual face mask still strapped firmly to his face, his crimson hair damp from the shower. A towel hung loosely around his waist, and steam from the bathroom drifted into the hallway behind him. He blinked at Isaac with an unimpressed expression.

“…What do you want?” he asked, voice flat and mildly irritated. “I was in the shower.”

Isaac stared at him, his panting slowing, before his brain caught onto something.

“…Wait.” He squinted. "Do you wear your mask in the shower?"

Karma folded his arms. “Yes. Yes, I do.” His tone was deadpan, as if daring Isaac to challenge him.

Isaac opened his mouth, closed it, then exhaled. “How have I only just noticed that?”

“Dunno. Maybe you’re slow,” Karma said, unbothered. “Anyway, what do you want?”

Isaac’s brows furrowed before he extended his arm, revealing the glowing, intricate tattoo wrapped around his skin.

“…I kinda became the Apostle of the Emperor,” he admitted.

Karma stared at the tattoo. His expression didn’t change.

There was a long silence.

“Why am I not surprised?” Karma sighed. He tilted his head slightly, then shrugged. “Alright, well, good for you.”

Isaac blinked. “That’s it?”

Karma yawned, stretching slightly. “Look, man, I woke up this morning and got a letter saying some girl wants me to be her soulmate for eternity. At this point, nothing fazes me.”

“…What?” Isaac blinked again.

“Speaking of which,” Karma continued, barely acknowledging Isaac’s shock, “can you help me out with something?”

Isaac crossed his arms. "S-Sure… I guess? What do you need?"

Karma walked back into his room for a moment and returned holding a stack of letters. The sheer volume of them made Isaac's eyebrow twitch.

“For some reason,” Karma said casually, “I keep getting letters from random girls. And also… a guy.” He waved the stack of envelopes lazily. “They keep asking me out. Any idea what I should do with them?”

Isaac rubbed his temples.

“You just wanted to brag, didn’t you?”

Karma gave him a half-hearted shrug, his tone completely flat.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Not like it matches you becoming the Emperor’s Apostle,"

Isaac sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

“…What are you gonna do with them?”

Karma glanced at the letters, then casually tossed them into a nearby trash can before pulling out a fire spirit.

"Burn them."

Isaac gawked. "Wait—aren't you at least gonna read them first?!"

"Nah," Karma replied, as the fire spirit glowed. "Not particularly interested, I don’t want to date random strangers I don’t even know."

Isaac couldn’t argue with that logic.

"Anyway," Karma said, rubbing the back of his damp hair, “I should probably get dressed."

Isaac smirked. “Yeah, good idea. You might get more love letters if people see you walking around in just a towel.”

Karma paused, processing that reality. “…Shit. You’re right.”

He turned back toward his room, muttering about how annoying fan letters were, before pausing in the doorway.

“Oh, before I forget,” he added, glancing back at Isaac. “Wanna train that new ability of yours tomorrow?”

Isaac hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah. Meet me at the training grounds.”

Karma gave a lazy wave before disappearing into his room, and Isaac turned on his heel, heading back to his own dorm.

As he walked, his gaze fell once more to the crimson centipede tattoo curling around his arm.

It pulsed faintly beneath his skin.