The elderly man with gray hair, dressed in a light blue robe infused with magic, stood near the window, deep in thought. His gaze, characterized by dark brown eyes, was fixed on a distant point beyond the horizon, occasionally illuminated by flashes of lightning. At a certain moment, accompanied by a roll of thunder, his thick eyebrows furrowed, reflecting his deeply contemplative expression. He closed his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh filled with concern.

//Knock-Knock-Knock//

However, his contemplation was abruptly interrupted by a loud knock on the front door. There was only one person capable of pounding on the massive stone-wood door with such force, rivaling the intensity of the raging storm outside: Samuel Tarkos, the Captain of the Imperial Guard, formerly an esteemed adventurer.

//Knock-Knock-Knock//

"Old man! If you don't open the door right now, I swear on your mother's grave, I'll find a way to kick her out of here!"

Indeed, it was Sir Samuel Tarkos without a doubt. A physically imposing figure, bolstered by muscular strength and fueled by testosterone. Unfortunately for the old mage, such physical attributes left no room for tact or respect for his elders within Sir Samuel's mind.

//Knock-Knock-Knock//

"I'm not joking, old man! If you don't hurry up and let me in, I'll defile this damn door right now!"

Helplessly shaking his head, the old archmage reminisced on how, centuries ago, he would have gladly dispatched anyone who spoke in such a disrespectful manner with acidic magic, while ensuring their consciousness remained intact through healing spells. However, time had passed, and his approach had changed significantly.

//Knock-Knock-Knock//

"You asked for it, you old fart! I'm taking off my pants! I warned you!"

The muscles around the mage's left eye twitched rhythmically. He walked towards one of the wall shelves where his magical staff, known as the "Thunder's Limit," was displayed. Among wind mages throughout the empire, this legendary artifact held great renown.

Carefully removing the staff from its mount, the mage tilted his head towards the ceiling of his office, closed his eyes, and muttered a few barely noticeable phrases. The staff trembled slightly in his hands, and its tip's sphere emitted a faint bluish glow, absorbing mana from its owner's body. The air filled with the scent of ozone.

The old mage leisurely opened his eyes, matching the color of the staff's magical sphere, which also emitted a dim blue glow. A light, fleeting smile briefly appeared on his face, but quickly vanished without a trace. He then confidently took five steps on the stone floor towards the door and infused a significant amount of mana into the magical lock. The door gradually opened silently, revealing a face that caused the strongest wind mage in the empire to blush.

The scene before his eyes was unforgettable, even amidst the thunderstorm. Sitting with his back turned was a man in his mid-thirties, pants lowered. If it weren't for the mithril armor and the half-meter-long adamantium greatsword lying nearby, his physique could be mistaken for that of a young ogre. Manners were not a concern. In the adventurers' guild, a bounty of thirty silver would be placed on his head, case closed.

In that moment, as Captain Tarkos experienced initial shock and agony, his gaze met the old Imperial Archmage, who stood by the open door, clutching his renowned battle staff. The Archmage seemed unaffected by the naked servant cowering before him. He stood there, tilting his head back and whispering quietly. The scent of ozone returned to the air once more.

(The Kadogan Empire, Central District, Capital City of Rin, Imperial Palace)

The thunderous rumblings had been shaking the grand chamber for over five hours. On either side of the throne, twenty columns stood tall like ancient titans, steadfastly supporting the trembling ceiling. Seated on the throne, crafted in the likeness of a dragon's open jaws from pure mythril, was the ruler of the land—the thirteenth emperor of the great human empire. Centuries ago, his ancestors had vanquished the Demon King and banished his minions to the distant desert lands in the south. In those perilous times, they had shown unwavering bravery in the face of annihilation. And now, he would not yield to the elemental fury that raged on.

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He refused to retreat and seek refuge in the underground shelters beneath the palace. Instead, donned in his ceremonial battle armor, an exquisite fusion of gold and mythril, and armed with a two-handed war hammer, he seemed to defy nature itself while sitting upon his throne. Nature's unstoppable force clashed against his resolute will. Her determination challenged his unwavering resolve.

When the previous emperor, a young lad with blue eyes, perished at the onset of the war between the empire and the elven kingdom, few saw in the twenty-year-old youth a worthy heir to the throne. His siblings skillfully wove webs of intrigue, familiar with the treacherous game of power. Manipulating the economy, inciting unrest among the masses, and exerting religious pressure on rivals—nothing was beneath them in their quest for the illustrious dragon throne. In stark contrast, he chose the path of war.

The fair-haired young man, known as the Golden-Maned Lion by the elves, led the imperial assaults into the heart of the elven forests, wielding his two-handed hammer at the forefront of every battle. As the future emperor, he later forged a peace treaty with the elven elders. Returning to the capital, he reunited fathers and husbands with their families, marking the end of the bloody conflict. It was he who had the unwavering support of the people, the army, and eventually the noble houses, becoming the sole worthy ruler to ascend the dragon throne. His two brothers were executed for their crimes against the empire during the war, while his sisters, under the pressure of the Empress Mother, renounced their claims to the throne and were exiled to distant provincial counties.

"Damn old man! By the gods, even your mana has its limits! And when I catch up with him, I'll shove this staff right up your scrawny a-a-Ah-ah-ahh-Ass!!!"

//Electric Discharge Level 10//

Two figures emerged from the passage to the right of the throne. The venerable archmage strode proudly towards the emperor, his serene expression and centuries of wisdom evident in his gaze. In his right hand, he held his trusted companion, "Thunderous Threshold," while with his left hand, he dragged Captain Samuel Tarkus of the Imperial Guard across the marble floor by his leg.

The Emperor raised his left eyebrow, and the mage offered a slight bow. While others would be expected to kneel, such deferential rituals no longer applied to a man who had lived for over fifteen hundred years.

"Your Majesty," the mage spoke with significance in his voice.

"Pirellius," the Emperor replied, nodding respectfully.

"I assume that at your command, this unruly anomaly has appeared in my tower? I have spent the past year trying to unravel this mystery. To my surprise, I found no trolls, ogres, cyclopes, or orcs in the lineage of this young man," the Emperor remarked.

"Pirellius, that's enough. Release the captain, whatever his transgression may be. It is evident to the naked eye that he has endured enough. It may partly be my fault as well since I ordered your swift presence," the Emperor continued.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," the mage responded, releasing the leg of the infamous captain, still affected by electric paralysis. After a few seconds, the captain regained control of his body and quickly composed himself, kneeling before the Emperor.

"Your Majesty! By your command, Court Archmage Pirellius Soreus..."

"Samuel. May I ask why you are kneeling before your Emperor with your pants down... And for heaven's sake, captain, while there are no delicate ladies present, you should pay better attention to personal hygiene," the Emperor interrupted.

"I apologize, Your Majesty!"

"Very well, you are dismissed. Leave Pirellius and me alone," the Emperor commanded.

"As you wish, Your Majesty!" the captain rose, casting a spiteful glance at the archmage, pulling up his pants, and nonchalantly making his way towards the exit of the throne room.

"Now, Pirellius, what can your brilliant mind and centuries of experience tell me about this thunderous phenomenon in the skies? Has the gods unleashed hell on earth for our sins, as High Priest August was trying to convince me earlier?" the Emperor inquired.

"I highly doubt that the so-called gods have any concern for ordinary mortals, regardless of our sins or any alleged demonic rituals involving our mothers and sisters, Your Majesty," Pirellius replied.

"Well, I'm glad I didn't summon you earlier in the presence of the High Priest," the Emperor remarked.

"That is indeed true, Your Majesty. However, there is something I can share with you about this extraordinary occurrence," Pirellius continued.

"I'm listening," the Emperor said, adopting a serious expression. The old mage took a deep breath, his face reflecting the weight of the many years he had lived. His thoughts ventured far beyond the limited time granted to most mortals.

"I witnessed a similar storm many centuries ago, Your Majesty. Even then, as a prominent air mage, it would be difficult for me to mistake this phenomenon for anything else. It occurred about a hundred years prior to the great war with the demons. It was during such a storm that the world witnessed the birth of a Demon Lord of unprecedented power. He had the ability to command the other twelve lords with his sheer might alone. This demon subsequently became the first and only King of his kind."