The battlefield was unrecognizable. The ground was shattered, deep cracks splitting through the ruins. Dust and debris filled the air, the aftermath of two titanic forces clashing with everything they had.

In the distance, Liones lay on the fractured earth, his body broken and bleeding. His once-mighty arm was gone, severed from his body, his golden fur matted with blood. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling heavily. The fight was over.

Samson stood a few feet away, towering over him like an immovable force. His massive fists were clenched, his gauntlets still radiating faint traces of mana from the final blow. He exhaled, stepping closer to his fallen opponent. His expression was unreadable—part respect, part finality.

Liones weakly turned his head, his eyes filled with the weight of his own mortality. He looked down at the empty space where his arm used to be, the crimson pooling beneath him. He let out a bitter chuckle. "Tch… I've lost… haven't I?"

"Now..." Samson exhaled, towering over the fallen beast. "Tell me. Where did you learn the knowledge of mana? Who gave you the information?"

Liones's lips curled into a weak grin. Despite his state, he chuckled, a hollow sound laced with resignation. "Hahaha... You're very straightforward, Samson." His voice was hoarse, each word costing him more of his remaining strength. " perhaps… I must tell you then, before I die."

Liones shifted his fading gaze toward the sky, as if accepting his fate.

"Among the elves…" he began, "there was a noble… an elf of high status. He came to me. He gave us the knowledge of mana magic. He was the one who revealed the secrets of the princess and her bloodline."

Samson narrowed his eyes. "A noble elf?"

Liones coughed, blood dripping from his mouth. "Yes... but he never told me his real name. He used a fake one—Livio. He wanted the princess dead. He told me everything—the secrets of King Arathorn's lineage, the power she holds. The ability to tip the balance of the world itself."

Samson's jaw clenched. "Why would an elf betray their own kind?"

Liones laughed bitterly. "Power... greed... the usual things that drive men to madness." His body trembled slightly as he forced out more words. "King Arathorn… his mana was limitless. His power was beyond that of any mortal. But do you know what was even more forbidden?"

Samson's eyes sharpened. "What?"

Liones's voice dropped into a whisper. "Resurrection magic."

Samson's brows furrowed. "Resurrection magic? What for?"

Liones's fading eyes darkened. "My people… I wanted that power... The power of King Arathorn's infinite mana. Not just to annihilate whole armies… but to undo death itself. The forbidden spell is too great, no one has ever successfully cast it. It demands a sacrifice—a heavy cost."

Samson remained silent, listening.

Liones's voice weakened further. "But… if I took the princess's royal blood—her pure mana… maybe… just maybe… I could have…"

His vision blurred.

"I lost… my kingdom… my people…" His breathing became ragged. "I was willing to do anything… to bring them back…"

A flicker of memory returned to him.

Liones' Flashback – The Fall of His Kingdom

He remembered fire.

Screams.

His people—slaughtered.

Demons. Hellhounds. They came like a never-ending tide of darkness, their fangs and claws tearing through his warriors.

Liones fought. His roars shook the battlefield, his claws slashing through fiendish flesh. He tore apart demons by the dozens, his sheer might dominating the battlefield.

But it wasn't enough.

The numbers overwhelmed them. The sky burned red as fire and destruction rained upon them.

His people cried for him.

"SAVE US!"

Liones raised his bloodied hand toward the heavens, his body drenched in the lives he failed to protect. His warriors fell, one by one, consumed by the demonic horde.

And then—he watched as they were devoured.

Their screams. Their pain. Their end.

The Present

The memory faded. Liones opened his eyes, looking up at the sky.

"But… is it possible?" he whispered. "To bring them back?"

His bleeding hand twitched.

"My people… were taken from me by the Demon King's armies. My kingdom was erased. The world has no hero anymore—King Arthur… is gone. No one is here to save us."

His breathing slowed.

"This world… is cruel. A never-ending war. We fight… for the sake of our people. But the Demon King will rise again… and when he does… who will stop him…?*"

Silence.

Samson stared down at the fallen beast king. His expression softened, just a little.

"You were strong…" Samson murmured. "And for what it's worth… we will avenge you. Liones, the Beast King."

Liones let out a weak, tired laugh.

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"Hah…" His head tilted slightly. "Then I hope… your fists will strike true… Samson…"

And with those final words, his body stilled.

The King of Beasts had fallen.

A gust of wind carried his last breath into the ruins.

Samson exhaled deeply, looking down at the once-mighty warrior who had been both a fierce enemy and a noble king.

Then, without another word, he turned away.

From the distance, Mikael emerged from the shadows, his short swords still slick with blood. His sharp eyes scanned the area before he spotted Samson, standing tall over Liones's fallen body.

With a smirk, Mikael sheathed his weapons and jogged over.

"Master! All clear!" Mikael called out, his voice laced with exhaustion but still carrying his usual cocky tone. "Guess we killed most of them… and some of the cowards ran for their lives."

Samson turned to him, nodding approvingly. He placed a heavy hand on Mikael's shoulder, giving him a firm pat.

"Great job, Mikael."

Before Mikael could respond, Aidan came rushing toward them, his expression tense. His clothes were covered in dust from the collapsing ruins, his katana still gripped in his hand.

"Master! It's Artreus and the princess…!"

Samson and Mikael both turned sharply, sensing the urgency in Aidan's voice.

"What happened?" Samson asked, his tone serious.

Aidan hesitated, glancing toward the collapsed ruins of the fortress. His voice was quieter this time.

"They fell."

Falling Into Darkness

The world was nothing but an endless abyss of darkness.

Artreus's body twisted as he plunged into the unknown depths, the shattered remains of the castle crumbling above him. The cold wind howled around him, and debris fell alongside him like shooting stars plummeting toward the void.

And then—he saw her.

The princess's unconscious form tumbled lifelessly through the air, her long white hair flowing like silk against the abyss.

His instincts kicked in.

Artreus dove, pushing his body through the weightless fall, stretching his arms toward her. His heart pounded in his chest as he reached further, his fingers just inches away—

Almost there…!

With one final push, he caught her.

Her fragile body pressed against his, cold and unmoving. Her breathing was faint, but still there.

He exhaled in relief, but it was short-lived.

They were still falling.

Artreus turned his head downward—only to see an underground river rushing up to meet them. The waters roared like an unstoppable beast, the current swirling dangerously.

"Hold on!" he whispered, though he knew she couldn't hear him.

With no time to think, he shifted his position, wrapping his arms around the princess and pulling her close. He twisted his body midair, turning himself so that his back would take the impact.

The river's surface shattered as they crashed into the water.

A deep splash echoed in the darkness as the river swallowed them whole.

The cold was instant.

Artreus felt the breath leave his lungs as he was pulled under, the river's current dragging him downward. His arms remained locked around the princess, shielding her from the force of the impact.

Darkness surrounded them. The cold seeped into his bones.

But he refused to let go.

The water rippled as Artreus emerged, gasping for air. His lungs burned, his body heavy with exhaustion, but he pushed forward. His grip on Princess Guinevere remained firm as he swam toward the riverbank, each stroke fueled by sheer determination.

Finally, his feet touched solid ground. He dragged himself and the princess onto the shore, collapsing onto his knees. His breath came in ragged gasps, his drenched clothes clinging to his body.

His first instinct was to check on her.

He placed a hand on her chest, feeling for any movement. A moment later, he let out a sigh of relief.

"Still breathing… Phew," he muttered. "We managed to survive the fall."

He leaned back, letting his head rest against the cool ground as he took a moment to gather his thoughts. His body ached, and his limbs felt numb from the freezing water.

But now wasn't the time to rest.

He sat up, finally taking in his surroundings. The cavern around him was vast, the ceiling too high to see clearly. Strange glowing moss clung to the walls, casting a faint, eerie light over the area. The underground river continued deeper into the cavern, its dark waters flowing endlessly.

"Where the hell are we?" he murmured.

He looked up, his gaze tracing the distant height from which they had fallen. The ruins were far above—too far to climb.

"No way in hell I'm getting back up that way…" he sighed. His only option was to follow the river and hope it led to a way out.

A sudden chill ran down his spine, making him shiver. His clothes were soaked, and the damp air only made it worse.

Then he remembered—the princess.

He turned quickly, eyes scanning her face. Her pale skin looked even colder than before, her body still unmoving.

"Crap, I should've taken care of her first!"

He jumped to his feet and looked around for anything useful. His eyes landed on a pile of old, damp wood nearby. It looked like it had been washed here by the river, probably from a long-forgotten structure.

"This will have to do."

He gathered the driest pieces he could find and set them in a pile. Taking a step back, he raised his hand. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, the blue sparks dancing between them before he released them toward the wood.

FWOOSH.

A campfire sprang to life, its warm glow flickering in the darkness.

Artreus let out a satisfied breath before turning back to Guinevere. He gently lifted her, carrying her closer to the fire.

Kneeling beside her, he raised both hands toward the flames, letting the warmth seep into his frozen body. The heat felt like heaven against his cold skin, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Well…" he muttered to himself. "Now we just have to wait for you to wake up, princess."

He glanced at her, watching as the firelight cast soft shadows across her delicate features.

For the first time, he had the chance to really look at her.

Her long white hair cascaded around her, damp but still impossibly soft-looking. Her pointed ears peeked through the strands, a clear mark of her royal elven bloodline. Her skin was as pale as the moonlight, her delicate features almost too perfect to be real.

And then, of course, her big chest.

Artreus froze.

His face flushed red as he suddenly realized how dangerously close he was to the princess.

"Uh—w-whoa, okay—" he stammered, immediately averting his eyes.

Why did he suddenly feel like a pervert?!

He cleared his throat, shaking his head violently as if that would get rid of the thoughts.

"Focus, idiot," he scolded himself, rubbing his hands together as if that would help him regain composure.

Now, all he could do was wait.

And hope that Princess Guinevere woke up soon…

…before he accidentally died from embarrassment.

A Few Moments Later…

The dim glow of the campfire flickered, casting soft, wavering shadows against the cavern walls. The quiet sound of water trickling through the underground river filled the silence.

Guinevere stirred.

Her delicate brows furrowed slightly as a faint breath escaped her lips. Slowly, her purple eyes fluttered open.

Her vision was hazy at first, the world around her unfamiliar. She could feel warmth—the soft heat of the nearby fire against her skin. As her senses returned, she lifted her gaze, scanning her surroundings.

A cave. A fire. A figure sitting nearby.

A man—no, a boy—with damp, messy hair, his clothes still slightly wet from the river.

Artreus.

He noticed the movement and turned his head toward her.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Finally, you're awake… Princess."

Guinevere's vision fully cleared as she sat up slightly, her body still weak. She blinked, studying him.

"Where… am I?" she murmured, her voice soft but firm.

Then, her gaze sharpened slightly.

"And… who are you, child?"

Artreus froze.

His eye twitched.

Did she just—?!

His smirk vanished, replaced by an immediate look of annoyance.

"Oi—don't call me a child!" he snapped, crossing his arms. "I'm the one who saved you from those mana users and bandits up there, remember?! You'd still be tied up like some ritual sacrifice if it weren't for me!"

Guinevere tilted her head, intrigued by his reaction.

"Hmph. Is that so?" she mused, glancing at him more closely.

His frustration deepened. "Damn right it is. And if you're gonna call me anything—"

He straightened up, placing a hand on his chest.

"Remember the name. I'm Artreus Reigns."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

Guinevere's eyes widened slightly.

"…Artreus… Reigns?"

Her voice lingered on the name, her expression shifting.

Something flashed behind her gaze—something unreadable.

She didn't say anything else.

She just stared at him.

As if recognizing something.

Or remembering something.