Chapter 1: The Return of Riorem Velic

Crackle, crackle.

With a dry sound, flames leapt onto the pillar.

For a brief moment, fire rippled across the ornately carved sculpture.

Then the blaze shot up to the ceiling in an instant.

With a fierce roar, beams collapsed one by one.

Boom! Boom boom!

The once-sturdy roof came crashing down with a deafening noise.

Wood that had once been part of a royal fortress collapsed into a pitiful heap, engulfed in flames—

Just like the ruins that man had walked through on his way here.

The man was walking through a half-collapsed hallway,

Dodging toppling furniture, or cutting down knights lurking behind pillars.

“Aaaaah!”

“Please, spare me!”

Screams and the clash of steel followed in his wake.

Crimson blood and smoldering ash constantly messed up his jet-black hair.

And yet, there were moments when everything went quiet.

At those times, the man would pause.

Standing amidst corpses and ruins, he would wipe the blood trickling down his cheeks

And neatly smooth down his hair.

Tap, tap.

His even, composed footsteps echoed over the marble tiles, stained with heat, death throes, and blood.

Soon, the man reached the end of the hallway—

A place thick with the cries and stench of blood.

It was the entrance to the detached palace where he had once stayed for so long.

A soldier, who had just cut down a knight, noticed the man and saluted.

Following his lead, everyone in Areté Kingdom’s military uniform presented arms in his direction.

That was always the way when welcoming this great general—

The one hailed as the incarnation of the God of War.

But here, in Felbiche Palace, there were far more people who knew the man better than the soldiers of Areté.

So, it was only natural that someone, filled with rage, hurled a curse.

“Traitor!”

A maid, her throat already half-severed, shouted.

“You bastard, worse than a worm—how could you…!”

Thud.

A dull sound followed as a spear pierced her back.

Blood bubbled from her pale lips.

Even in the moment of death, the maid glared at the man.

As if she would curse him even beyond her final breath.

The man passed by her without a flicker of emotion.

He didn’t even glance at the woman who had once shared a piece of bread with him,

Her head now hanging limply.

He entered the long corridor of Felbiche Palace.

The hallway was filled with corpses.

Even at a glance, it was at least double the number found in any other palace.

‘Probably second only to the guards stationed in front of the Grand Duke.’

It made sense.

What was here was the most priceless treasure the Grand Duke possessed.

The man’s blue eyes stared down the hallway.

Beyond this scene of carnage stood a tightly shut door.

The door to the drawing room—one he could never enter without bowing his head.

The man stepped forward, crushing scattered corpses beneath his feet.

The lime-coated white door grew nearer.

A burning heat climbed up his throat.

At last, he let out a long breath.

Finally…

It took a long time.

A very long time.

It had taken him an eternity to return here—

This hallway he had walked since childhood now felt impossibly distant.

But the man had made it back through flame and blood, through screams and chaos.

Because that was the price to see what waited beyond that door once more.

He approached the door and knocked.

It was a flawlessly clean knock, yet the stench of blood inside and out made it feel disturbingly out of place.

And the voice that responded was no different.

“Come in.”

A voice as cool and composed as metal drifted through the door.

The man felt his heart pounding violently.

Gloved fingers gripped the doorknob.

The oiled handle turned smoothly in his hand.

And the grand door opened in silence.

The drawing room revealed itself—white wallpaper and furniture, elegantly contrasted with red fabric decorations.

And there she was.

Exactly as she had appeared in his dreams.

“So you were here, my lady.”

His low voice echoed in the room.

It was sharp, almost like a beast growling.

Red-painted lips curled into an elegant curve.

Then, from between them, came a soft and gentle voice—

A voice as perfectly refined as a finely tuned instrument,

Entirely unlike the harshness in the man’s tone.

“It’s been a long time, Riorem.”

His throat convulsed.

Everything before him was familiar.

The slender figure seated upright on the sofa,

Her meticulously braided red hair and ornate dress,

That serene smile, as if the stench of blood hanging in the air didn’t even exist.

Riorem Velic found himself struggling against a deep, bone-engraved instinct.

He wanted to fall back into old habits, to behave as he once had before her—

To bow low, beg forgiveness, and end it all that way.

Even though he had done all of this just to stop being that person.

Even the slightest lapse, and he feared he might fall to his knees.

If she looked at him with those golden eyes—gentle at first glance but cold as metal.

If he saw that face, smiling as if the burning palace, the screaming people, even the corpses strewn beneath their feet, were none of her concern—

Riorem would turn back into the eighteen-year-old boy who once stole her foot towel to pleasure himself.

He would drop to his knees and bow his head without hesitation.

But not today.

Today, he stood tall.

His stiff legs moved forward.

Thud, thud.

Hard footsteps echoed across the soft carpet.

“You seem well, my lady. Seeing how you’ve had time to dress even as the duchy lies in ashes, I assume you were doing even better before.”

“It wasn’t all that bad.”

The woman, Chernea Antoinetta del Peroa, answered in a calm, almost whimsical tone.

You wouldn’t think her country had lost a war, or that the maids who served her for years had been slaughtered.

But Riorem wasn’t surprised.

That was just the kind of woman she was.

“The Grand Duke of Peroa passed about an hour ago. He pitifully tried to swap clothes with a servant, but I found him. And helped him… rest.”

“Oh dear. He really should’ve thought more carefully about who Areté would send.”

“And is that why you stayed behind, my lady? Because you knew it would be me?”

“No,”

Chernea replied, eyes drifting to the stain now spreading across the carpet— a trail of blood left by Riorem’s steps.

Even with a man soaked in blood standing before her,
even as his every footfall bled into the floor, death still didn’t feel real.

Instead, a question she had carried since the day war was declared became ever clearer.

With a voice mimicking kindness but devoid of emotion, Chernea asked:

“Was it really necessary for you to come?”

She couldn’t understand this situation.

That Areté’s king had chosen to invade the Peroa Duchy wasn’t strange.

The Grand Duke had no talent for war, especially given the duchy’s strategic location.

Their military was so weak they were treated like pigs lying prone before predators.

But for the great general of Areté himself—the man known as the God of War—to personally lead the army into battle?

Chernea couldn’t make sense of it.

Riorem Velic could’ve earned far greater glory elsewhere.

Like in the Kingdom of Messenia, which had fallen into the hands of Prince Alpheios.

“Ha.”

Riorem let out a scoff, hollow and amused.

“I didn’t expect you to take it seriously.
But I didn’t think you wouldn’t remember at all.”

Clack.

A gloved hand seized Chernea’s chin.

Their eyes met by force, and in Riorem’s blue irises, a chilling gleam flashed.

“I told you. I’d find a way.”

“A way?”

Chernea echoed the words like a child learning to speak.

Riorem’s lips twisted.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

This woman—this creature who lacked anything resembling emotion or humanity—

She would never understand the long, brutal path he had walked to return here.

She didn’t even remember what had happened.

And that was why Riorem had come back.

To bring down the woman who once pretended to be human only toward him—

The woman who made him run away—

To drag her back down beside him.

And…

To show her just how thoroughly she’d ruined his life with the desires she planted inside him.

Riorem pulled out a chair opposite the sofa and sat, legs spread slightly.

It was a posture that teetered beyond arrogance into outright disrespect, but Chernea didn’t seem to care.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up. That’s not why I came here, anyway.”

Her long legs shifted, lifting her dress in a graceful arc that revealed her bare calf.

Then Riorem said, coldly:

“It’s time you realized what situation you’re in, my lady.
You’re quite clever—so I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly.
Still, this must be your first time… becoming a slave.”