Echo 7 – The Fallen Throne. [12.0. Scarlet Requiem]
On November 26, 2024 By Fang Dokja In Arc 12. Scarlet Requiem
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This story contains themes and content that may be sensitive for some readers. Please read with caution and awareness of the following:
1. Themes of Emotional Manipulation and Guilt: Characters experience complex emotions, including self-sacrifice and the burden of keeping secrets, which may evoke feelings of stress or discomfort in readers sensitive to these dynamics.
2. Mentions of Assassination and Political Intrigue: There are references to attempted violence, assassination attempts, and high-stakes political tension, which may be unsettling.
3. Mild Profanity: The dialogue contains occasional instances of casual foul language.
4. Psychological Distress and Paranoia: The protagonist experiences moments of intense doubt, anxiety, and paranoia while processing her circumstances.
5. Power Imbalance and Emotional Vulnerability: Power dynamics between characters, combined with themes of protective selflessness and manipulation, may be triggering.
6. Allusions to Existential Questions: The story explores questions of control, fate, and identity within the game system, which may evoke existential concerns.
7. Psychological Manipulation and Threats: Characters experience mind games, verbal intimidation, and calculated cruelty that creates an atmosphere of tension and dread.
8. Implied Torture and Cruelty: While not all acts are described in detail, implications of prolonged suffering and emotional torment are present.
9. Themes of Power and Control: The story delves into power dynamics, including manipulation, domination, and political intrigue with potentially oppressive undertones.
10. Death of Characters: Sudden and horrific deaths occur, including the deaths of innocent or unprepared individuals. This may be distressing for some readers.
11. Heavy Themes of Betrayal and Survival: The narrative explores moral dilemmas, fear of betrayal, and the lengths to which individuals will go for self-preservation.
12. Graphic Violence and Gore: The narrative includes explicit and detailed descriptions of violence, mutilation, and bodily harm, including dismemberment and flaying.
13. Psychological Horror: Themes of terror, dread, and manipulation are pervasive, with unsettling depictions of cruelty and power dynamics.
14. Death and Torture: The story portrays extensive scenes of torture, both physical and psychological, leading to character deaths.
15. Themes of Sadism: A central figure in the story is driven by a sadistic need for control, pain, and suffering. This includes actions carried out for personal pleasure rather than pragmatic reasons.
16. Emotional Distress: Characters experience profound grief, despair, and helplessness.
17. Dark Themes of Power and Corruption: The plot explores power imbalances, systemic corruption, and moral decay within an imperial hierarchy.
18. Body Horror: There are vivid and disturbing descriptions of human anatomy, dismemberment, and bodily defilement.
19. Implied or Direct Mentions of Madness: The story delves into the unstable psychological state of key figures, including sociopathic tendencies.
This story delves deeply into the darker aspects of humanity, portraying a world where power, cruelty, and horror reign. Readers sensitive to these themes should proceed with caution. While no specific details of upcoming events or characters are spoiled, the narrative may provoke a strong emotional response.
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Status: Draft #1
Last Edited: November 26, 2024
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Velion Eleazar was back to his usual self, the weight of Light Valor’s earlier taunt seemingly shed like an old cloak. His expression softened, a quiet, understanding smile spreading across his face as he stepped closer to Bella. But there was something different this time, a faint shadow behind his eyes, a sadness that didn’t belong there.
“Bella,” he said gently, his tone carrying the warmth of sunlight after a storm, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s… one of the reasons I delayed coming to see you earlier. I didn’t want you to have to think about all of this.” He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encapsulate the storm of chaos and tension in the room.
Bella blinked at him, thrown for a moment. He looked genuinely regretful, as if the weight of hiding his troubles from her was as heavy as the burdens he already carried.
He sighed softly, his smile fading just slightly. “You already have so much on your plate, Bella. It didn’t feel fair to add to it. But that doesn’t excuse my choice to keep you in the dark. For that, I’m truly sorry.”
The sincerity in his voice hit her like a sucker punch. For someone so high-ranking, so beloved, to be apologizing to her—and with such heartfelt remorse—was disarming.
Bella crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him, though her voice was lighter than the expression she wore. “Velion, are you seriously apologizing right now? After everything you do for me on a daily basis? You make me homemade food, for fuck’s sake! Who else does that? Nobody. Nobody does that. And all this time, you’ve been dealing with that guy—” she jerked her thumb toward the direction Light Valor had disappeared—“without so much as a peep? How the hell am I supposed to feel about this?”
Velion’s lips quirked into a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. “I didn’t want to burden you, Bella. You’ve been through so much already.”
Bella threw her hands up. “Oh, right, because letting me live in ignorant bliss while the most psychopathic man in existence is throwing assassination attempts at you is so much better! I mean, it’s not like I would’ve noticed anything amiss, what with you still managing to bake cookies and make me feel like royalty every single day. Seriously, Velion, are you trying to make the rest of us look like garbage by comparison?”
He chuckled softly, though the sadness lingered in his eyes. “You’re exaggerating, Bella.”
“Am I?” Bella raised a brow, gesturing dramatically at him. “You’re the High Cardinal of the Crimson Church, a Royal Advisor to the freakin’ Emperor, and one of the busiest people in this room. Yet somehow, you’ve found the time to deal with political intrigue, dodge death, and whip up meals that look like they belong in a five-star restaurant. And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, mention the whole ‘Archduke-is-trying-to-kill-me’ thing? I could’ve at least pretended to be helpful.”
Velion tilted his head, his smile softening into something sadder and warmer all at once. “I didn’t want you to feel helpless or afraid. You have enough to handle, Bella. Protecting you means more to me than anything else, even if it means keeping certain truths from you. I only want you to be at ease.”
Bella stared at him, her usual sarcastic facade faltering as she tried to process the sheer level of selflessness radiating from this man. It was almost infuriating how perfect he was. She huffed, crossing her arms again.
“You’re impossible, Velion, you know that? Completely and utterly impossible. You’re sitting here, apologizing for being too perfect while I’m over here questioning every decision I’ve ever made in my life.” She waved a hand at him. “I mean, I knew you were a green flag, but you’re like… the emerald-encrusted goblet in a sea of rusted tin cups.”
That earned her a genuine laugh, a soft, melodic sound that chased away some of the tension in the air. “Thank you, Bella. I appreciate your… colorful metaphors.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just… don’t do this again, okay? If something like this happens, tell me. Even if it’s just so I can scream uselessly into a pillow while you’re out there being annoyingly heroic.”
Velion’s smile widened, though there was still a touch of that quiet sadness in his gaze. “I’ll do my best,” he promised.
“Damn right you will,” Bella shot back, though her tone was lighter now, less biting. Her mind was still racing, though, logic chasing itself in circles as she tried to reconcile everything she’d just learned. How much had she missed? How much had Velion been quietly shouldering while making her life as comfortable as possible?
But for now, she shoved those thoughts aside. She had plenty of time to stew in guilt and confusion later. Right now, Velion needed her usual wit and sarcasm to pull him out of whatever melancholy he was lingering in.
“By the way,” she added, “you owe me cookies for this emotional whiplash. And they’d better be the good ones, too. No raisins.”
Velion chuckled again, the sound warm and genuine. “Of course, Bella. No raisins.”
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The imperial ball was back on track, and Bella had to give it to the imperial family and their staff. They were freakishly efficient. It was like watching a circus act where the trapeze artist slips, and everyone gasps, but somehow the net appears just in time, and the show goes on as if nothing happened. People who had been wide-eyed and tense only moments ago were now easing back into polite chatter and wine glasses, the unnerving events conveniently swept under the lush carpets.
Bella, meanwhile, had found solace at the buffet. Stress-eating was technically a survival tactic, wasn’t it? It had to be. She shoved another canapé into her mouth and let her gaze wander. Across the room, Velion was talking to a small cluster of nobles and church members, his expression calm and serene as if he hadn’t just been the target of Light Valor’s sadistic, not-so-subtle flex.
He even smiled. That understanding, heartbreakingly patient smile.
God, it was infuriating.
“How is he fine?” Bella muttered under her breath, though her words were muffled by the pastry she hadn’t quite finished chewing.
“What’s that?” Grace, standing beside her, glanced down with a quirked brow.
“Nothing,” Bella replied quickly, stuffing another mini quiche into her mouth. Grace, of course, stayed at her side like a loyal guard dog—or perhaps like someone who’d been watching her stress-eating spiral for far too long and knew better than to leave her unsupervised.
Still chewing, Bella’s gaze shifted to Velion again. He was laughing softly now, a light sound that somehow managed to calm the small group around him. He was acting like everything was fine—like he was fine—and that was the Velion she knew. The same Velion she’d come to rely on, to trust in this insane world.
But something was wrong.
Her focus narrowed, and her mind began to piece things together. Velion was Velion. That much was certain. He hadn’t deviated from what she knew of him, from the version of him she’d encountered during countless playthroughs of Scarlet Requiem. Everyone else, too, was behaving as expected—the nobles, the servants, even the love interests she’d met so far.
Except for him.
Bella frowned, her jaw tightening as she swallowed her latest bite. Light Valor. Archduke of Malice. Poster boy for “Get therapy, you maniac.”
He was always a problem. Ruthless, unhinged, and unpredictably intelligent—a walking nightmare in every sense of the word. But he didn’t usually start like this. The Light she knew from the game didn’t begin unleashing his particular brand of terror until after the common route was over. Hell, Bella hadn’t even met all the love interests yet! And now, here he was, throwing assassination attempts at Velion before the story had even hit its stride.
It didn’t make sense.
Unless…
Bella’s stomach churned, and it wasn’t from the mountain of appetizers she’d inhaled. She set down the plate she’d been holding, her fingers curling tightly around its edge. Could it be another glitch? Like the one that had yanked her into this world in the first place? Like the Resets—dear god, the millions of Resets—that had thrown her into an endless loop of madness until she’d clawed her way out?
Her head throbbed at the memory. The game’s system, the Save and Load mechanics, were supposed to be her domain. She’d been the one with control, the one able to navigate the insanity of Scarlet Requiem because she’d been given the tools to do so.
But then the Resets had started.
And it wasn’t her doing.
The bastard responsible for breaking the game system… Bella hadn’t forgotten. She’d catch them. Oh, they wouldn’t get away with this. Not after everything she’d gone through.
Her eyes flicked to Light again, even though he was long gone, the space he’d occupied now filled with aimless nobles trying to look important.
Light was unpredictable, but Bella knew better than to let her guard down around him. That was the one thing she’d taken from his hellish route. Once you survived something like that, you didn’t forget. You didn’t forgive. And you sure as hell didn’t trust.
Grace cleared her throat beside her, breaking Bella’s spiral of thoughts. “Are you alright? You’ve been staring into the middle distance for a while now. And your plate’s empty.”
Bella forced a grin, though it probably looked more like a grimace. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”
Grace’s brow arched again, skeptical but mercifully quiet as Bella reached for another appetizer.
She had to keep herself in check. Stay logical. Survive. That was the goal. That had always been the goal.
But damn it, why couldn’t anything ever be simple?
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Bella popped another canapé into her mouth, chewing mechanically as a horrifying thought dropped into her mind like an anvil.
What if Light was the one responsible for the Resets?
The idea was absurd. Completely ridiculous. She almost wanted to laugh it off. Almost. But if her experience in Scarlet Requiem had taught her anything, it was to never underestimate the worst-case scenario. This world thrived on throwing players—well, her, now—into pits of despair. If Light was even remotely involved in the Resets, it would explain too much.
She swallowed her bite slowly, her throat suddenly dry despite the rich cream filling of the pastry. Her mind started spinning, tumbling through the possibilities.
For starters, Light was acting differently. That much was obvious. His route in the original game wasn’t supposed to kick off until way later. Sure, he was always the embodiment of a walking red flag factory, but his scheming, violence, and whatever that ball scene was supposed to be didn’t happen until after the common route. And now here he was, assassinating Velion—not even trying to be subtle about it—way ahead of schedule.
Why?
Bella’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. Her logical mind shoved the question into the pile marked “Things That Will Get You Killed If You Look Too Closely.” But curiosity poked at her like an annoying sibling.
Light was smart. Overwhelmingly intelligent. That was part of what made him terrifying. No, scratch that—it was the combination of his brilliance and complete lack of morality that made him a living nightmare. He didn’t just have raw power, though he had that in spades; he had the brains to weaponize it.
If anyone in this world had the capability to mess with the game system—break the rules, alter the timeline, force a million Resets—it would be someone like him.
Bella shivered involuntarily, the logical part of her mind building the case step by step:
1. The Resets weren’t her doing. That much was certain. She’d gone over it a hundred times. The Save and Load system was her ability. Her domain. And yet, the Resets had spiraled out of control, yanking her back over and over again.
2. Light was the only one acting out of place. Everyone else had followed the script perfectly, even Velion with his endless patience and homemade lunches. But Light? Light was breaking the rules just by existing.
3. He was powerful enough to do it. Archduke of Malice, overpowered villain extraordinaire. His raw strength was one thing, but add his genius-level intellect? He could probably hack reality if it meant entertaining himself.
Bella froze mid-thought, her heart sinking as the puzzle pieces started clicking together in her head.
Could he know?
The possibility made her stomach churn. If Light was aware of the game system—aware of her Save and Load abilities, the Resets, everything—then she was screwed. Completely, utterly screwed. Because if there was one thing Light Valor loved, it was toying with his “toys.” The idea of her being a player in his sandbox would amuse him to no end.
Her thoughts churned darker, even though she tried to suppress them. What if this was all his doing? What if he’d broken the system on purpose, just to see her squirm? Or worse, what if she wasn’t the only one capable of using it?
She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.
There wasn’t enough evidence to prove anything. This was just a theory, a terrifying shot in the dark. But Bella knew better than to dismiss it outright. In Scarlet Requiem, the worst-case scenario was usually the correct one.
And Light Valor was the worst-case scenario.
She let out a slow, shaky breath and set her glass down on the table. She couldn’t afford to panic, not here, not now. Her goal was to survive, and to do that, she needed to stay calm, stay logical, and—above all—stay the hell away from Light.
Well, that last part was easier said than done. But she’d figure it out. She had to.
For now, she grabbed another canapé and focused on chewing. Survival first. Theories later.
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Bella tapped her fork against her plate, the clink of metal on porcelain muffled beneath the hum of the ballroom. The imperial family had successfully wrangled the event back on track, but her mind was miles away. Should she dig into this theory about Light and the Resets? Or should she, you know, not poke the homicidal hornet’s nest?
Her gaze darted to where Velion was now chatting amicably with a group of nobles. He was smiling—calm, composed, and completely unbothered by the fact that he’d nearly been assassinated by the world’s most dangerous psychopath just days ago.
She envied his calm.
On one hand, there was the option to not die horrifically. That seemed like a good plan. Avoid Light, stay with Velion—he was practically the mascot of non-toxic love interests anyway—and secure a peaceful, if slightly ineffective, ending. Velion wouldn’t solve the Chaos Level issue, but he’d at least ensure she didn’t end up chained in a basement, eating…
She swallowed hard. Nope. Not going down that memory lane.
But if she stayed with Velion and ignored the bigger picture, what would happen to the rest of the world? Chaos Level wasn’t just a stat; it was a doomsday counter. Letting it max out would be catastrophic. She could already hear the fanbase screaming at her for prioritizing her own safety over saving the world.
“Bella, you’re so selfish!”
“How could you abandon everyone for a guy who bakes cookies?”
“Think of the children, Bella!”
She sighed and stabbed her fork into a piece of chicken. Saving the world sounded noble and all, but the thought of taking on Light in any capacity made her stomach churn.
The guy wasn’t just overpowered; he was creative with his cruelty. If she poked her nose into his business and he caught wind of it, her death wouldn’t be quick or painless. He’d drag it out, savor it, and maybe even turn it into some kind of performance art.
And yet… if she didn’t explore this theory, how would she ever know? What if Light really was responsible for the Resets? What if he had some kind of endgame that went beyond even the game’s original script? The man wasn’t exactly predictable. Hell, he’d already deviated from the timeline by going after Velion this early.
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Her logical mind churned through the possibilities:
1. Light knows about the Resets. If this were true, she was in deep trouble. He could use the Resets to trap her in an endless loop of suffering just for his own amusement.
2. Light doesn’t know about the Resets but is still responsible for them. In this case, he might be tampering with reality accidentally—or worse, deliberately—but without full awareness of her role in the system.
3. Light knows, is responsible, and is actively toying with her. The worst-case scenario. If this were true, her survival chances were about as good as a snowflake’s in hell.
4. It’s not Light at all, and she’s being paranoid. Possible, but unlikely. Light didn’t follow rules. Why would the laws of reality be any different?
She leaned back in her chair, the fork slipping from her fingers. So many questions, and no clear answers.
“Should I just… stay out of it?” she muttered under her breath, pretending to cough when Grace shot her a questioning glance.
If she prioritized her own survival, that meant keeping her head down, sticking close to Velion, and avoiding Light at all costs. She could live a quiet, semi-happy life and let the rest of the world deal with the fallout. But could she live with the guilt?
On the other hand, if she decided to investigate further, she’d be putting herself directly in Light’s crosshairs. He’d notice eventually. He always did. And when he did, she’d probably end up as another tally on his gruesome body count.
Her thoughts spiraled darker. What if her interference triggered something worse? What if the game glitched even harder? What if Light found a way to exploit the Resets to make things even more horrifying? The man didn’t need encouragement to be creative.
But then there was the flip side—what if she uncovered something critical? Something that could help her finally take control of this broken system and stop the madness?
She stared at the untouched food on her plate, her appetite completely gone. It was a gamble, plain and simple. Either she stayed safe and let the world burn, or she risked everything to find answers.
For now, though, it was all just a theory. Nothing was confirmed. Maybe she was overthinking things. Maybe Light wasn’t the architect of her misery.
And maybe pigs could fly.
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The grand hall of the imperial palace was dimly lit, the air thick with tension as the Charlemagne family gathered for their latest clandestine discussion. The lavishly decorated room was the perfect setting for backroom politics, where whispered words held more weight than the clinking of golden goblets. The Emperor sat at the head of the table, his usual confident and composed demeanor marred by a faint scowl. His family had never been known for unity, but when it came to the common enemy, Archduke Light Valor, they found themselves surprisingly in agreement.
“I still don’t understand why Light stays here,” Emperor William Charlemagne muttered, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair. “With all the power and wealth he has, why not just take it elsewhere? His presence here is a constant thorn in our side.”
Crown Prince Caesar Charlemagne leaned forward, his brow furrowed as he tried to piece together the puzzle. “He’s always been a man of extreme ambition, but there’s something about him. He’s not just a noble; he’s untouchable.” His voice dropped to a near whisper, “Why does he even stay? He controls nearly half the empire’s resources, commands the loyalty of every major noble house, and yet he does nothing. The other Dukes? They can’t even move against him.”
Prince Henry, sitting to Caesar’s left, snorted, rolling his eyes as if the solution were obvious. “Isn’t it simple? He’s playing a long game. He doesn’t need to leave. He’s already a king without the crown. What better position could he be in than this? Why ruin the only power that matters?”
“But he doesn’t want to be an emperor,” Prince Arthur piped up, his voice quiet but sharp, as though weighing each word carefully. “He doesn’t seem to care about the throne. He could’ve taken it ages ago. But he hasn’t. He’s content as a Duke, as a power in the shadows. That makes him unpredictable, and frankly, dangerous.” Arthur glanced at his father, searching for a reaction. “I don’t know what his endgame is, but it’s not what we’re thinking.”
The Emperor shifted in his seat, his face a storm of frustration. “And we can’t let this go on forever. He’s too powerful, too entrenched. Even with the backing of the Church, we can barely control him.”
Empress Delilah, sitting at the other end of the table, remained silent for a long moment, her face pale and unreadable. She was always the calm one in these discussions, a trait that allowed her to think more strategically than the others. But even she could not hide the subtle tension that clung to her. “He’s a threat to our entire empire. We’ve tried everything—alliances, backroom deals, public relations—and nothing works. He doesn’t bend. He doesn’t break. What do we do next?”
Prince Edward, who had been unusually quiet until now, finally spoke up, his voice laced with both disbelief and a hint of irony. “Why not go after him directly? The Azure Empire would be more than happy to take a slice of his territory, and he’s certainly not doing us any favors by keeping them at bay.” He paused, considering. “If we can break his hold on the nobles, maybe we could convince the Azure Empire to assist us. They’ve been eyeing us for years.”
Emperor William looked up sharply, his gaze piercing. “We tried that once, Edward. The last thing we need is to push Light into a corner. The only thing keeping the Azure Empire from invading us is him. You want to risk the entire empire’s future for a chance to remove one man?” He shook his head in frustration. “We need to think smarter than this.”
Crown Prince Caesar shot his brother a look before turning to his father, trying to regain the conversation’s focus. “Father, I don’t think it’s about the Azure Empire at all. Light’s not interested in war, not in the traditional sense. He’s not a conqueror. What if… what if he’s waiting for something?” He paused as if considering his own words. “What if he’s already won?”
Prince Henry snorted again. “Won? He’s in the exact position he wants to be in, Caesar. He is the power in this empire. He’s not trying to take anything, because he already has it.”
The discussion continued, voices rising and falling as they all bounced ideas around like a game of political ping-pong. Yet there was one constant: Light’s name hovered over them all like a dark cloud, and despite their wealth, their influence, and their vast resources, none of them had the answer.
“Does anyone here have a solution?” the Emperor asked sharply, looking at each of his children, his voice low but filled with quiet menace. He was a man used to control, but now that control was slipping away, slipping into the hands of a man who had everything.
Even Empress Delilah, who had always been so composed, shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “The only thing we know for certain is that Light Valor is dangerous. If we continue to underestimate him, we will lose everything. If we don’t act soon, I fear we may never get another chance.” Her eyes met her husband’s, and for a brief moment, they both understood the gravity of what had to be done.
Finally, Princess Charlotte, who had been mostly silent through the entire discussion, leaned forward. “What if we ask the Church for more direct support? Archbishop Velion has been a great ally, but perhaps his influence could help unite the Church and the Crown. Light has made it clear he’s willing to kill for power. If the Church strengthens its position, maybe—just maybe—we can make a move against him.”
Empress Delilah raised an eyebrow. “And what if Light comes after the Church next? The last thing we need is for him to turn their power against us.”
There was a moment of silence before Prince Edward spoke, his voice cautious. “I think we can all agree, we need something more than just talk. We need action. But how do we get him to move—without exposing our hand?”
“Simple,” the Emperor said, his voice suddenly steely. “We find his weakness. Every man has one. Even Light Valor.” His eyes flashed with a dangerous gleam. “And once we find it, we use it.”
Everyone nodded. No one in the room was unaware of how dangerous their situation had become. But for the first time in a long while, the imperial family was united in one purpose: destroy Light Valor, before he destroyed them all.
And in that moment, they knew they’d do anything to see it through.
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The grand halls of the imperial palace were filled with whispers, their murmurs barely audible against the clang of armor and the rustling of silk. But the whispers spoke of a single name—Light Valor. Even before he was officially of age, the rumors about him had already begun to stir like a violent storm gathering on the horizon. He wasn’t just a duke. He was the duke—the one who commanded respect, who held the hearts of nobles and commoners alike in the palm of his hand. He was everything one could desire in a man: wealth, power, physical beauty, intellect, and a cold, detached air that made him almost untouchable.
To the imperial family, especially the two younger princesses, Alice and Diana, he was a target. They had been taught since birth that diplomacy and charm were the true weapons of the court, and Light Valor, the most sought-after bachelor in the empire, was the key to securing a powerful alliance. So when the two princesses were assigned the delicate task of approaching the Archduke with offers of marriage, they thought it would be a simple matter of sweet words and seductive smiles. After all, he was a man like any other, wasn’t he?
But they would soon learn just how terribly wrong they were.
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Five years ago, the sun hung lazily in the sky, casting long shadows over the Crimson Empire’s opulent streets. It was a beautiful day, the kind that would make any noblewoman blush and dream of waltzing in silk gowns. But Alice and Diana, two of the empire’s most intelligent and strategic princesses, had far more pressing matters on their minds.
“Do you think this will work?” Alice asked, her voice smooth and confident, though her fingers tightened around the hilt of her parasol.
Diana, the younger of the two, shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes scanning the grand manor ahead of them. “Why not? He’s the most eligible bachelor in the empire. Surely he’ll entertain a proposal from us, even if it’s a political one.”
“Let’s just make sure we’re not… overdoing it,” Alice said, her gaze narrowing as they approached the gates of Light Valor’s estate. “He’s not like the others. He doesn’t entertain visitors often.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why he’ll listen,” Diana replied with a sly smile, clearly determined. “We’re different. We’ll show him why he should want us on his side.”
They entered the estate without a sound, their footsteps muted by the thick carpet of ancient wood that lined the floors. The atmosphere inside was cold, eerily so. The servants who passed by had their heads down, avoiding eye contact as if they knew better than to engage with the women.
“Do you think he’ll be here?” Alice asked, her voice barely above a whisper as they walked deeper into the house.
“Of course he will. He always is,” Diana answered, her voice almost too cheerful for the occasion. She was nervous, but she hid it well.
They reached the drawing room, a lavishly decorated space with high ceilings and windows that looked out over the vast garden. Archduke Light Valor was nowhere to be seen, but a servant greeted them, bowing low with the practiced grace of someone who had seen too many noble guests come and go.
“I shall inform His Grace of your arrival,” the servant said, disappearing into the next room before they could offer a word of protest.
The minutes stretched on. Every tick of the clock seemed louder than the last, each second adding weight to the air. Diana fidgeted with her gloves, her eyes scanning the room restlessly.
When Light Valor finally appeared, it wasn’t with the fanfare they had expected. There was no heralding of his arrival, no flashy display of grandeur. He simply stepped into the room, his presence filling the space in a way that made the very air feel heavier.
He was tall, effortlessly handsome, and unnervingly still. His face was impassive, his eyes cold as they flicked over the two princesses, taking in their attire, their posture, their every movement. It was as though he saw everything and nothing at the same time.
“Your Grace,” Alice began, her voice steady despite the tremor she felt deep within her. “We are honored by your presence. We’ve come to discuss a matter of great importance.”
Diana gave a small curtsy, her smile unwavering. “An alliance, perhaps. One that would benefit both our houses.”
Light Valor’s gaze flicked over them again, and for a moment, neither princess could tell if he was even listening. The silence stretched on for a beat too long.
“You want something from me,” he said at last, his voice smooth, almost bored. “Tell me, what do you think I would want from you?”
His words hung in the air like a challenge, a puzzle that neither princess knew how to solve. Diana’s eyes flickered nervously, but Alice—ever the strategist—held her ground.
“Marriage, Your Grace,” Alice said, choosing her words carefully. “A political alliance, of course. You have wealth, power, influence. We offer you something far greater—a position that ties you not only to the heart of the empire but also to its very future.”
Light Valor didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, moving closer to them in a way that felt too deliberate, too controlled. The air around him seemed to thicken with every step.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper now, “what makes you think I care for such things? Marriage. Power. Influence. They are just words, aren’t they? Empty promises. You want to use me for your schemes.”
A shiver ran down Diana’s spine, but Alice maintained her composure, though her heart pounded in her chest.
“We believe it would be mutually beneficial,” Alice said, attempting to sound confident. “A partnership for the good of both our families. We can offer you—”
Before she could finish, Light Valor suddenly reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her cheek in a motion so quick, so unexpected, that it left her breathless. It wasn’t a gesture of affection—it was something far colder, far more unsettling.
“You think you can bargain with me?” he asked, his voice taking on an edge that made the room feel suddenly very small. “You think your family can use me as a pawn?”
The next few seconds passed in a blur. Diana gasped as Alice stiffened, but before either princess could react, Light Valor’s hand fell away. He turned, and with a cold smile, said, “You’ll learn, eventually. Nothing is free. Nothing comes without a cost.”
Later that night, a grisly display would serve as the Empire’s reminder that the Archduke’s patience was never to be tested. The princesses had underestimated him, and now they would pay the price.
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The screams of the commoners who saw the horror the next morning still echoed in the back of the Emperor’s mind. The bodies of the princesses were arranged grotesquely in the town square, their faces frozen in expressions of pure terror, their bodies butchered beyond recognition. The wolf symbol burned into their skin was the final touch, a message clear and simple: do not disturb me.
The imperial family had never forgotten that brutal reminder. No one had dared approach the Archduke since. Light Valor had made it clear: if you don’t entertain me, I will dispose of you.
And the game had changed forever.
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The morning had dawned without warning, the sun’s pale light cutting through the mists of the Crimson Empire like a blade. The town square was still, the air thick with unease, when the first cries of horror echoed across the cobbled stones.
“What is that? What—”
A woman’s scream. A man’s shout.
At first, it was only a whisper, carried on the wind, the kind of hushed sound that makes the hair on the back of one’s neck rise. But then, it grew louder. A chorus of terror rose from the crowd, desperate and choking. The people were pushing and shoving, scrambling toward the town square, where something—something horrible—waited for them.
And then, they saw it.
In the center of the square, beneath the faded stone arches, the mutilated bodies of the princesses lay in grotesque display. The scene was a tapestry of gore, an artistic nightmare crafted with unspeakable precision, designed to churn the stomach and shatter any semblance of dignity or respect.
The bodies had been butchered, torn apart like ragdolls. The princesses—once the delicate darlings of the empire, their beauty envied and their futures bright—were unrecognizable. Their skin had been flayed in such a manner that the muscles and sinews beneath glistened in the harsh light of the morning, their faces twisted in a frozen expression of agony. The air around them was thick with the coppery scent of fresh blood, mingling with the scent of death and rot.
Their heads—those once graceful, regal heads—were no longer perched atop their necks but impaled on stakes, driven through their skulls with such force that they stuck out like macabre trophies. The eyes, wide open, were glassy, locked in an eternal stare of terror, the pupils blown in shock, the last sight they would ever see now preserved forever in glassy horror. Their mouths, wide and gaping in a final scream that would never escape, were filled with blood—red, viscous, and thick.
But it was the arrangement of the bodies that sent a fresh wave of nausea through the onlookers.
Chunks of flesh—meat, raw and bloody, hacked from the princesses’ bodies—were strewn around them like discarded remnants. Limbs had been torn from their sockets, separated at the joints, and scattered carelessly, as though the very concept of human dignity had been erased. Bones had been cracked open, and the contents spilled out like entrails—guts, intestines, organs—arranged in cruel, calculated patterns. A heart had been placed in the center, stripped bare, still pulsing faintly as if it were a twisted clock counting down to the inevitable.
The forensics were grim, though they came too late to save the princesses. Experts would later conclude that the princesses had suffered extensively before their deaths. The damage to their bodies—deep, brutal, and precise—spoke of someone who had taken their time, who had enjoyed their screams. The worst of it was the brand—the mark of the wolf, seared into their skin with such force that it left the impression of hot iron behind, a symbol of ownership, as though they were no more than cattle to be slaughtered for amusement.
“Light Valor,” the people whispered, the name passing through the crowd like a chant, a dark prayer.
A strange, almost eerie calm settled over the crowd, though the blood in the air was thick and choking. The silence after the initial outbursts of horror felt wrong. It was too quiet. Too still. People stood there, frozen, not sure if the nightmare before them was real, if the screams were still echoing in their heads or if they had somehow slipped into some kind of waking dream.
No one moved. No one dared to.
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Inside the castle, the imperial family was already aware of the display. The news had traveled fast—too fast, in fact. When the Empress had heard the cries of the commoners, she had already known. She had seen it before.
Her youngest daughter, Princess Charlotte, stood beside her, eyes wide with disbelief, her hand clutching the hem of her gown as if she might crumble at any moment. “Mother… how…?” Her voice was hollow, cracked. “How could he—”
The Emperor, too, was silent, his face a study in rage and frustration. He had always known that Light Valor was dangerous, but this? This was beyond what even he had expected. A public execution—no, a public display—of two princesses, his daughters, was an act of pure, sadistic violence that could not be ignored. Yet there was nothing the Emperor could do, nothing that could be done.
“Nothing is free,” the Archduke had said, his words etched in the back of the Emperor’s mind, a reminder of his own helplessness. “Nothing comes without a cost.”
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The commoners had begun to leave the square, but none of them could forget the grisly sight. Some of them vomited as they fled, their stomachs turning at the brutal scene they had witnessed. It wasn’t just the sight of mutilation that shook them—it was the message behind it.
The town square had been transformed into a grotesque work of art, and the artist had signed his name in blood.
The town guard arrived, but they were powerless. They too stood frozen in place, their faces pale and twisted in horror. They had been trained to fight wars, to protect the people—but this? This was something beyond them.
In the days that followed, rumors began to spread. They spoke of the Archduke’s cold detachment, of his madness. But more than anything, they spoke of his power. His control. He was untouchable, a god in human form, capable of destroying anyone who crossed him, and yet never once raising a hand in retaliation. He was a hunter, and the world was his game.
And the people knew, deep down, that he wasn’t done yet.
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Weeks later, the imperial family would receive word of the Archduke’s most recent act of violence. He had rejected all offers of marriage, all political alliances, as he always did. But now, the message was clear: he was more than just a dangerous enemy. He was a man who could not be contained. No one, not even the Emperor, could touch him.
For the imperial family, it was a bitter truth. They had underestimated Light Valor, believing that they could outsmart him, that they could control him with their wealth, their power, their influence. But they had learned too late that in the game he played, there were no rules. There was only him—and his endless, insatiable need for the thrill.
And the only thing he would ever offer them was death.
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The air in the room was thick with tension, the kind that comes just before something unthinkable happens. The servants, too terrified to speak, stood in the corners, holding their breath. They knew better than to disturb him, knew that the slightest slip-up could mean the end for them. But still, they dared to watch, dared to see the face of true madness.
It was the first time they had received word of a new assassination attempt against the Archduke—this one sent by the rival House of Ludenhall, a house desperate to regain its dwindling influence in the empire. Word had spread that Light Valor was in a foul mood. He hadn’t been “entertained” in days, his usual amusements having grown stale. The high nobles thought themselves safe now, free to scheme behind his back. But they didn’t understand what he craved—what he needed.
Boredom.
He could not stand it. Not for a moment. He was a man driven by something darker than hunger, something far more insidious than lust. And when he grew bored, when the world failed to captivate him, he did what he did best. He killed. He butchered. He maimed.
The assassin came in the dead of night, cloaked in black. He had been sent by the House of Ludenhall with one simple task: eliminate the Archduke. No one had ever succeeded before, but it was worth the try. It was always worth the try.
But that night, the world would change for him.
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The assassin crept into the mansion, using every trick he’d learned over the years to avoid detection. He was careful, methodical, calculating—everything Light Valor was not. He had heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. But what was a man of such power but a target? A man too arrogant to believe that his life might end in an instant. He would be just another failed attempt. Another name added to the list.
He had no idea what waited for him.
The mansion was silent, a deathly stillness in the air. The only sound was his breath, shallow and quick, as he made his way toward the Archduke’s private chambers. He had done his research, studied every move of his target. This was going to be easy.
The door was ajar.
The assassin took a breath, preparing himself, reaching for the hilt of the knife. But as he pushed the door open, he froze.
The room was empty. At first.
Then he saw it.
The walls. They were covered in paintings. But not the kind of art that would make anyone pause. No. These were grotesque, nightmarish depictions—horrible scenes of violence, carnage, and mutilation. Images of men and women, torn apart in ways that defied the mind, their faces twisted in pain, their eyes wide with terror. Some were half-eaten, their limbs missing, their organs sprawled across the floor like discarded toys. Others were impaled, skewered on spears, their flesh pierced like soft fruit. There was no relief in the scenes, no escape from the brutality.
It was like staring into the face of a monster—and realizing that the monster was watching you too.
The assassin’s heart hammered in his chest. Sweat poured down his face as he slowly turned toward the center of the room.
And there, sitting in a chair, was Light Valor.
He was lounging casually, his legs stretched out in front of him, his face a mask of complete indifference. He was reading a book. Or pretending to. The assassin couldn’t tell.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Light Valor was sitting there, completely unaware of the intruder—at least, that’s what he thought.
The assassin moved swiftly, stepping behind the Archduke, knife raised, ready to strike.
But before he could even make contact, the Archduke’s voice cut through the silence, as cold as ice.
“Did you think you could kill me?”
The assassin froze, his hand shaking. His breath caught in his throat.
How could he know? He hadn’t made a sound.
Slowly, the Archduke lowered the book, his gaze piercing through the assassin as though he were nothing more than an insect. A small, pitiful thing.
“I’ve been waiting,” Light Valor said, the words dripping from his tongue like venom. “You think you’re the first to come here? The first to try?”
The assassin’s pulse quickened. There was no time. He couldn’t stop now. He lunged forward, his knife aimed straight at Light Valor’s heart. But in the blink of an eye, Light Valor was on his feet, moving with a speed that was terrifying for a man his size.
The assassin never saw the blade coming.
It was a cruel twist of fate—the Archduke had been waiting, yes, but not for a fight. He had been waiting for the thrill. The excitement of the hunt. The assassin’s demise was a mere footnote in a story that had no end.
The Archduke caught the assassin by the wrist, the bones snapping beneath his grip with a sickening crack. He smiled, a dark, predatory grin that stretched across his face, revealing teeth too sharp, too perfect.
“You’re so eager,” Light Valor whispered, his voice a soft, mocking coo. “But you failed to entertain me.”
In a single motion, he twisted the assassin’s arm, breaking it in two, and the man cried out—one final, desperate cry.
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The next morning, the mansion was eerily quiet. The staff had already begun their usual tasks, moving about the halls with precision. But when they entered the Archduke’s private quarters, they stopped dead in their tracks.
The assassin was dead. His body had been dissected, laid out across the room in a grotesque pattern, like some macabre puzzle. His limbs had been severed, his organs torn from his body, and arranged with meticulous care on the floor. His eyes had been removed—carefully, almost tenderly—and placed in a small glass jar, like precious jewels.
And above it all, there was a single note, scrawled in blood:
“Am I entertained now?”
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The servants were left to clean up the mess, but they never spoke of it. No one spoke of it.
For they all knew one thing: Archduke Light Valor did not kill for power. He did not kill for revenge. He did not kill for wealth or control. He killed for pleasure.
He killed for the thrill of the hunt.
And he would always find a way to make the world play his game.