“Cyran the berserker, eh?” the young man said as he entered the dark chamber.

He was clad in iron armor, an Astrian emblem carved proudly on his chestplate. His sword was steady at his side. Lengthy golden locks draped around his shoulders. His electric eyes were like sapphires, and his appearance was so feminine that one could hardly tell he was a man. He raised his lantern, illuminating the room.

The stone walls were covered in blood. The floor was covered in blood. The entire room was bloodied, a male figure standing in the center. He was chained to the ceiling, and aside from a bag covering his face, he was stark naked, covered from head to toe with scars and bruises. On his left breast was a brand, burned into his flesh with a scorching iron. To the left of him was a table, and on it were various sharp tools and irons. A torture chamber.

“You have received a summons from the king,” the armored man said firmly.

“...”

The figure remained silent. He looked dead and lifeless, and one would have thought he was dead, if not for the small breaths he gave off every few seconds.

“Oh, that’s right, my apologies. Let me get that off for you,” the young man said, reaching to the prisoner’s head and removing the bag.

The man’s face was still mostly obscured by the long black hair that had grown out over the time that he had been imprisoned, and his bushy beard also continued to mask his face. He spoke, not looking up at his visitor.

“...I want nothing to do with that contemptible bastard, Delric,” the man named Cyran said spitefully, “I served under him like his loyal dog, willingly offering my life to him, doing whatever he so pleases... and lo, behold, the fruit of my loyalty.”

His arms moved slightly, causing a chiming sound in his shackles, as if he was trying to gesture to the living hell before him, but was unable to due to the fact that his arms were chained up and bound to the ceiling to begin with.

Two years ago, Cyran the berserker had been charged with war crimes, and was handed over to the king’s torturers. Confused, he attempted to plead to the king on his knees, trying to convince him he was not guilty of such a crime, to no avail. In the end, he realized his true reason for charging him. Fear. Delric was frightened of Cyran’s strength and power over the army, fearing that he may he may have more power than even he himself. Since then, he had been locked down in this room, being visited by the king’s torturer every so often, lamenting over the fate he was left with.

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“I’m afraid news doesn’t travel down here, but King Delric is long dead,” the armored one announced.

Cyran looked up, shocked, “Long dead?”

He nodded, “About a year ago, he was assassinated by a masked assailant. His son, Anael, was coronated and has risen to the throne. I am the captain of Anael’s Royal Guard, Luciel Arcantus.”

“Arcantus… you’re Damien’s-”

“His son, yes. He told me all about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, the great berserker.”

Cyran almost accepted the young captain’s praise, but he decided to return to the matter at hand.

“Enough small talk, Arcantus. What exactly does Anael want with me? I have been locked down in this chamber for years, being fed only enough to be kept alive, and kept alive only to suffer. Does he not see that, I am, in this pitiful weakened state, of no use to him? Just take a look at this body of mine. I am in no shape for battle.”

This was right. He had only been fed the bare minimum for the past two years, and his figure had deteriorated and grown thinner.

Luciel rubbed his chin, “Hmm… that may be true, but who said anything about battle?”

“What is it, then? A public execution? Or perhaps a ‘private execution?’” Cyran joked. If not for battle, that could be the only other reason for summoning him.

Of course, he had no problem with that, since he would likely perish in this chamber anyway. It would merely speed up the process. In fact, he had attempted suicide on multiple occasions over the course of his imprisonment, if only to escape the mindless pain that was inflicted upon him whenever the torturers entered his chamber. Evidently, he never succeeded.

“Actually… you are to live in service of Anael as his servant and retainer.”

Retainer? the former berserker thought, looking confused. What kind of bullshit is he trying to pull?

“I know, I know, I was a bit uneased by his decision as well. It’s not as if you have another option anyway,” Luciel said, reaching for his sword, “I’ll let you down from there now.”

The young captain merely touched the handle of his saber, and the chains were instantly broken, dropping Cyran to the ground.

“What the hell was that?” Cyran asked, getting up from the ground.

“Why, I’m quite fast, is all,” Luciel said, offering his hand to the awkward naked bearded man before him.

“...How modest,” the berserker responded, still dazed by what had just occurred. He took Luciel’s hand, pulling himself up off the ground.

“Now then, you can’t go meeting Anael like that. Let’s clean up that filthy body and get you a change of clothes.”