Year 249, Age of the Hero.
The world had remained unchanged for days.
The sky burned in shades of grayish red, unmoving—like an open wound that refused to close. It was not the warm red of sunset, but something unsettling, heavy, as if the heavens themselves had been stained by something the world wished to forget… and could not.
The wind drifted silently across the plains.
Tall grass bent gently in its wake, forming slow waves that stretched toward the horizon. In the distance, the great city of Warwick stood in quiet majesty, its white walls reflecting the crimson light with a dull, almost sickly glow.
It appeared untouched.
And yet, even from afar, the city seemed to be holding its breath.
On the outskirts, upon the open meadow, a small gathering of nobles shared an improvised banquet.
A brief respite.
A necessary one.
The tables were arranged with elegance, goblets filled, plates served—yet almost no one ate. Conversations rose and faded quickly. Laughter rang too loudly, too forced, as though trying to drown out something none of them wished to name.
Two armed knights stood watch at a distance. Their posture appeared relaxed, but their eyes returned again and again to the sky.
As if waiting for it to change.
It did not.
Among the ladies dressed in silk and fine embroidery, one maiden stood out effortlessly.
Curly brown hair caught the reddish light. Emerald-green eyes shone with a life that seemed to defy the sky itself.
Her green dress spun around her as she laughed, twirling across the grass as if the day were no different from any other.
As if war did not exist.
“Your Highness, please be careful,” one of the knights said with a nervous smile. “You might trip.”
The young Princess laughed lightly.
“Carl, if we stop smiling just because the world looks sad… then we’ve already lost,” she replied. “Peace still exists. And while it does… we should cherish it.”
She did not speak from ignorance.
But from will.
A few steps away, the two knights exchanged glances.
One looked toward the crimson horizon.
“It’s been ten days since the Battle of Mireya… and the sky is still like this.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the other murmured. “Not even in the old records.”
“They say it means the Demon King still lives.”
The wind blew stronger, stirring the banners resting beside the tables.
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“And the Baker girl?”
Silence fell between them.
“If Rosette has failed to slay him… then something went wrong.”
“She’s the kingdom’s finest blade after Ken,” the first replied, though his voice lacked conviction. “She couldn’t have failed.”
“I hope you’re right…”
The Princess had stopped spinning.
She had heard them.
She approached, a faint expression of displeasure crossing her face, though her eyes still carried a stubborn light.
“Why do you doubt Rosette?”
Both knights immediately lowered their heads.
“We do not doubt her, Your Highness.”
“I’ve seen her fight,” she insisted. “She’s terrifying when she holds a blade. You don’t know her determination the way I do.”
She clenched her fist, and for a moment her youthful pride overcame the unease in the air.
“My sister, the Queen… and Rose will defeat the Demon King. I’m certain of it.”
But the sky did not answer.
It did not change.
Then it came.
Distant at first.
Then clear.
Hoofbeats.
Many of them.
The sound shattered the conversations at once. A lady dropped her goblet, wine spilling across the table like a dark stain.
“What is that…?”
The musicians stopped playing. Laughter died.
“Richard!” one of the knights shouted.
Both immediately stepped in front of the Princess, blades drawn.
From the horizon, a squadron of riders emerged at full speed. This was no ceremonial formation. It was the desperate charge of men who had ridden without rest.
The horses breathed heavily.
Their armor was covered in dust… and dried blood.
Panic spread among the nobles like an invisible fire. Some ladies stumbled backward over their own dresses. A young noble fell to his knees while trying to stand too quickly. Others ran without direction before instinctively gathering behind the two knights.
As if the steel of those blades were the only thing separating them from death.
“Protect us…” someone whispered, voice trembling.
“Close ranks!” one of the escorts ordered.
The tables were abandoned. Cloths dragged by the wind. Goblets rolled across the grass.
The Princess did not step back.
She remained standing.
The leader of the riders dismounted and approached slowly.
Blades rose.
The nobles held their breath.
Some closed their eyes.
“Do you dare interrupt your Princess’s rest?” she asked, her voice firm despite the pounding of her heart.
The man drew his blade.
The others followed.
Several nobles gasped, clutching at the knights’ backs, hiding without shame.
The tension became unbearable.
And then—
The blades fell to the ground.
One by one, the riders knelt.
The leader bowed his head.
“Your Highness…”
His voice trembled.
“King Frederik… and Queen Mage Alice of Warwick… have fallen in the Battle of Mireya.”
The wind stopped.
A goblet struck the ground and shattered.
“No…” a lady whispered.
“Not only Their Majesties,” the knight continued. “The Xaria Tribe has been annihilated.”
Horror spread through those gathered like a shadow.
The Xarian warriors.
Warriors who had never known defeat.
“That’s impossible…”
The leader drew a slow breath.
“By decree of succession… from this moment forward…”
He bowed even lower.
“Her Majesty Camil of Warwick is now our Queen!”
The breeze returned, lifting the maiden’s curly hair.
She was no longer smiling.
Her green eyes rose toward the red sky, as if trying to understand when the world had changed without asking permission.
One by one, everyone knelt.
“Long live Queen Camil of Warwick!”
The young Princess who had been laughing among the grass moments before stood motionless.
The joy had vanished.
In its place, something heavier was born.
Responsibility.
“Please return with us to the castle, Your Majesty,” the leader said. “You must swear before the Gods.”
Camil remained silent.
She looked toward the distant city.
Then at the sky.
And finally asked,
“What news do you have of Paladin Rosette of House Baker?”
The knights hesitated.
The leader answered.
“She has been declared a traitor to the crown.”
The air seemed to grow colder.
“According to the Order of the Mage Kings… she allowed the Demon King’s manifestation.”
Whispers began behind the queen.
“That… can’t be true,” Camil murmured.
“The Five Great Kingdoms have already been informed,” the knight continued. “Rosette Baker is now considered an enemy of the world. If she is found… she is to be executed alongside the Demon King she accompanies.”
The red sky seemed to darken further.
Camil closed her eyes for a moment.
She remembered a girl training with a blade far too heavy for her small frame.
She remembered her laughter.
Her oath.
When she opened her eyes again, the Princess was gone.
Only the Queen remained.
“Prepare my return to the castle.”
Her voice was firm.
Because the world had changed.
And somewhere beyond that crimson sky…
the true story was only just beginning.
