Along a southern road, winding through mist-covered hills, a dark carriage moved at a measured pace.The imperial standard fluttered above its roof—a golden serpent on a crimson field, symbol of the power of the Valtherion dynasty.

  Inside, the Third Imperial Prince, Leopoldo Valtherion, struck the armrest in fury.His young, arrogant face was twisted with humiliation.

  "Damn it…" he muttered through clenched teeth."Humiliated by that high-voiced princess… by that Douglas bastard… and by my own sister."

  Rage boiled within him. He had traveled to the kingdom hoping to win the favor of Princess Elizabeth—perhaps even secure a political alliance.Instead, the visit had been a disaster.He had been treated like a spoiled child and then dismissed entirely.

  You'll see, Elizabeth…When the Empire claims these lands, I'll make you pay for every slight. I'll make you beg for mercy.

  The carriage swayed gently, the rhythm of hooves and the whisper of wind through the trees the only sounds breaking the silence.

  Until, suddenly, everything stopped.

  The coachman shouted—cut off mid-cry.Then came the clash of steel.

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  A scream.The thud of a body hitting the ground.And then a metallic roar that made the earth tremble.

  "What is happening?" Leopoldo exclaimed, pulling back the curtain.

  What he saw stole the breath from his lungs.

  The imperial escort lay shattered along the road—broken spears, horses with their throats slit, soldiers impaled by their own swords.The air was saturated with mana, so dense that the carriage itself trembled beneath its pressure.

  And among the corpses, advancing at an unhurried pace, walked a man wrapped in a black cloak.His gaze was cold; his golden eyes gleamed with a predatory light.

  General Jackal—commander of the Empire's special forces.

  The prince felt his throat tighten.His voice emerged thin, fractured by fear.

  "Jackal…? Wh–what does this mean?"

  The man stopped before the carriage, his sword still dripping blood.A faint smile curved his lips.

  "My dear prince," he said in a tone of polished courtesy, edged with mockery, "your death serves a purpose."

  "My… death?"

  "Indeed." Jackal raised his blade, its edge burning with the blue radiance of pure mana."Through your noble sacrifice, the Empire shall gain a just cause to declare war upon this kingdom."

  The prince barely managed to open his mouth before the blade descended in a perfect arc.

  The sound was dry. Final.

  The body fell to one side.The head rolled through the dust.

  Jackal wiped the blade clean, studied it for a moment, and murmured,

  "A soldier does not choose whom he kills… only the cause for which he kills. Glory to the Empire."

  Then he turned away.

  Around him, his men—black-clad phantoms—began setting the carriage ablaze.The flames rose high, staining the night sky with a crimson glow.