“Nien! Nien! Nien!” The silver-haired man barked, slamming his fists against the table as he stood within the command bunker to direct his troops.

Roland was at his wits end, surrounded by his officers all anyone had to give him was bad news.

His main army was defeated at Windermere with those that managed to evacuate suffering almost fifty percent casualties before linking up with his reserves.

Then there was the fact that all lines of logistics were cut off to Rolanda, effectively isolating and grounding their airships, rendering their Air Force ineffective.

And finally, the last nail in the coffin, his city was surrounded, abandoned by the High Table with thousands of what remained of his military dying to a mysterious symptom that only affected those of the pure bloodline.

But then why was he spared? Was it because of his noble lineage? Roland didn't know, all he knew was that the war was lost and the Black King was no longer answering his calls.

“Milord…” Garnet Lamperouge, liaison of House Lamperouge and one of Roland's longest supporters began, “Should we… surrender?”

“Surrender?! Have you taken leave of your senses madam?!” General Grimm spat, a balding officer newly appointed as Marshall to defend their capital from the Selfian threat.

Lamperouge narrowed her purple eyes, the woman tempted to smite the man who dared speak so brazenly to a member of nobility.

“Garnet, it's fine, Grimm has a point,” Roland said through gritted teeth, “Selfia would rather torture and hang me on the side of her palace wall than ever let me surrender peacefully.”

Is what Roland said, but in truth, the thought of Selfia laughing at him while giving him the middle finger irked him to the core. In fact, he'd rather kill himself than ever allow himself to be subject to such humiliation.

“Then what are your orders, my fuhrer?” Colonel Cazador Hoffman asked, an influential man who had served him well in his previous campaigns against the Cintelli Theocracy. “The fifth reserves and kindersoldat stand willing and waiting. Your excellency need only give the word and we would go gladly to our deaths.”

“Eager to join your son, Colonel?” Lamperouge said, drawing the ire of the non-awakened man.

“And would could you mean by that Lady Lamperouge?”

“Your son ran out to face our enemy, remember? And what did that achieve?”

“My son died a hero in defense of the fatherland!” Hoffman retorted, pointing a gloved finger at the awakened woman, an action which, under normal circumstances would spell the man's death. Yet these weren't normal circumstances. “Delaying the enemy which is more than I can say for those pitiful assassins you call mage officers.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“You have a lot of bravado for an unawakened, perhaps because of the stress your senses have taken leave of you, colonel.”

Roland closed his eyes, contemplating his choices as his officers began to bicker.

Finally, Roland opened his mouth , prepared to cut through the backdrop of arguing.

“You will fight to the last,” the words echoed through the chamber, freezing the audience of commanders and nobles in place.

Yet these words didn't come from Roland but rather the bald man wearing a white suit and mask that shielded his eyes.

He looked different than last Roland saw him, but there was no mistaking that ego and suit.

“You!” Roland spat, pointing at the smug man grinning without a care in the world, “GUARDS! SEIZE THAT MAN!”

Cazador Hoffman and the officers moved, drawing their sidearms and weapons yet that was as far as they got before they were frozen in place.

“Rude, is that anyway to treat a friend? I dare say you wound me,” The Black King said, sauntering across the room and past the frozen guards.

Roland unconsciously shrunk back, finding that he couldn't breath as a crushing pressure fell on his shoulders.

“Y-you! Where have you been?!” Roland let out, stuck in place as two firm hands planted themselves on his shoulders. “You were supposed to bring me victory! Bring me an empire! Instead you abandoned me as thousands of my men have been ravaged by some Selfian bio weapon and her army comes knocking at my door!”

The Black King chuckled, casually pushing over the frozen Hoffman who fell to the ground stiff with a thud.

“Abandoned? Oh no, I have a purpose for you King Roland,” The Black King said, his tone almost sarcastic as he addressed the noble. “A purpose, which is what we all crave don't we?”

“Purpose?! Selfia will have me tortured! My purpose was to lead the empire into a new dawn! To be its king! I did everything you asked for Project Khloros, gave you men, and supported your expeditions and this is how you repay me?!” Roland snapped, his anger momentarily triumphing over his fear. However, Roland was quickly reminded of the power dynamic as he fell to his knees.

“And I delivered no? An empire under your command which I gainsay was more than thy ever deserved,” The Black King said, casually taking a seat in the chair meant for Roland across the room, “Every promise I've made I kept, it is not thine fault you pissed it away.”

Roland bit his tongue, pushing his mangled silver hair back and controlling the outburst that would have sentenced him to death.

“What… Do you want?” Roland asked, barely containing the seething hatred beneath his calm veneer.

“Victory,” The Black King replied as a black clad figure with green eyes seemed to materialize into the room. “This is thy knight, he will assist you when you take to the field tomorrow to ensure… you perform as needed.”

“What?” Roland's face twisted with confusion. “You expect me to commit suicide?!”

The Black King laughed, his face revealing a cruel grin that had been hidden beneath his calm veneer. “That's the thing my dear King… you're already dead.”

Roland's eyes pulse, the red-eyed prince doubling over as something pulled at his very soul.

The tip of well polished boots filled Roland's vision, the only thing he could see with his head to the ground before his view was lifted up by a finger to stare at the face of Queen Slayer, the man who had murdered his grandmother.

“You live because I allow it. You breathe because I say so. If you deviate from my will, what befell your red-eyed brethren will befall you too, after all-” The Black King smiled as he moved Roland's head to face a familiar silver-haired woman with a golden sword at her side.

“M-mother?!” Roland could scarcely believe it.

“-I created this empire for one singular purpose,” The Black King said, his golden eyes turning red, “To serve me.”