Prologue(1)

"Release me if you dare, you insolent mage. I will drown you in darkness. Even a single sheen of light will fear crossing you."

A hoarse voice echoed, enveloping the former silence within itself, strangling and killing it.

A raised platform stood along the ancient stones of the Aeron Palace like an anomaly. It attracted countless gazes that held nothing but rage and contempt.

The reason it enjoyed so much attention was not because it stood below a dome so heavenly that any mortal would subconsciously avert his gaze. Neither, it was because a ray of light from the peak fell upon the platform.

Instead, it was a man wrapped up in a dark robe that garnered the hostility of the crowd.

The dark robe did not reveal an inch of his skin, and he seemed like an evil villain who was bent on destroying the world. Even the thick beam of light stopped a few inches away from him, as if it was afraid of touching him.

The flaring ice chains continuously trembled and twisted around his dangling hands, while his body shook from the invading suppression brought along by it.

The four pillars around the platform constantly powered the chains, burning the shiny blue Demonic Beast Cores littered around the platform. The intricate and mysterious runes along the edges wriggled as if they were alive.

"Do you know to whom you speak? Living in your rat holes, you Umbras have forgotten the terror of our will and swords."

The old man stood straight, hands held behind his robust back, almost touching a few strands of his dark hair that cascaded down like a waterfall. He wore a maroon robe, smudged with an Aeron crest above its breast pocket.

The crest of House Aeron was strange with indefinite spiral sketching on its black background. There were millions and millions of white dots stretching around the small crest.

Many researchers and enthusiasts of the Siara Continent tried to unravel the meaning behind it over the years, but they failed to do so.

In response to the proud words of the old mage, the man just spat on the ground. A mocking grin gradually crept up on his face.

"Your wills and swords, my ass. Dark fears no element, while we, the children of darkness, fear no man on the continent of Siara except our Umbra King."

He raised his clumsy head to reveal gleaming green eyes behind the strands of hair that stuck to his face. They lacked any pupils, but still appeared full of life, capable of piercing through the thick curtains of night.

"Then I believe I will have to take the honor in my hand. Let me be the light that shines upon your darkness, and let me be the nightmare that will haunt you each night if you shall be lucky enough to be granted upon one."

The hands that were serenely resting on the mage's back swept up in a grasping motion. Even the wind around the hall moved with the sharp gesture of his hand.

He burned the mana inside of him in an intricate manner, channeling it through countless acupoints in a matter of seconds. A fierce blue flame danced on his hand, giving away some yellow flashes of the dying oxygen.

The temperature of the entire room was brought up second by second as the flames squirmed around his hands.

One step at a time as it echoed in the silent hall, he reached next to the imprisoned man. Raising his hand to put it on his sternum, he declared in a firm voice, "This flame will burn your pride into ashes, churning out the secrets your heart holds."

With that, the silence that hung around the walls fell, and the suppressed moans of the man in black was the only thing that struck the ancient walls.

The tiniest fragment of flame invaded the imprisoned man's body, coursing through each of his internal organs, leaving behind only destruction.

Those green eyes held so much pain that it was almost materializing, but he refused to even let out a cry for help. "Tch, tch. Just like a candle it flickers, and like a mortal it burns. You think your puny little flame can burn the body that was forged through darkness."

The mage's face fell further as he heard him mocking his flame. He raised his other hand in an attempt to increase his agony, when a nonchalant voice interrupted him, "That's enough. You can find yourself a seat now."

"Your Majesty, give me a chance. I will smother him this time."

"You have done well enough. Now don't let me repeat my words, and fuck off to your seat."

The voice held boundless majesty unlike before, rejuvenating the lost silence, as it slipped around the hall like a medieval blanket.

Then it broke again, like a beautiful melody; its remnants still hovering in the air.

"Even if you dig out his intestines and make a harp with them, he won't surrender. Don't embarrass yourself any further."

On the ancient throne sat a tall middle-aged man with a lazy expression. The aura emitted by him was noble and imposing, and there was no one in the hall that could match him.

He was the king of the Great House Aeron. A man sworn to the power of the blood raging within him, and a slave to the virtue that comes along with it.

The man ruled his subjects with an iron fist. The ones who preached darkness feared him while the ones who knew nothing but honor admired him.

With a single sword, he had suppressed the other Great Houses, and some feared him more than the emperor himself. He was said to have trained the most terrifying and lethal army of warriors in the history of the Siara Continent.

Still, it was not the sharp edge of his sword that they feared. They feared him more unarmed, on a battlefield, where he played the strongest, fiercest, and invincible.

The old mage clenched his fist, and put it around the crest in salute. He gave a final glare to the man, and backed away to his seat. He knew better than to anger the terrifying man for his willful pride.

Looking at him sweating fiercely and backing away, the imprisoned man spat out again. This time, there was overwhelming strength to his action, and it was a disturbing question as to where his dried body mustered so much saliva. "You pussy. Look at you running away. Hahaha…"

"You are too loud," King Aeron said. "Tell me who spread that rumor and I might spare you."

"Even if I had known that, I would not say it under the fear of a threat." Those green eyes held a firm conviction.

King Aeron nodded slightly, and gestured to a knight.

He nodded and walked down, with hands rushing towards the hilt of the sword. There was a solemness in his pace, a subtle aggression, hidden beneath the mask of metal he wore.

The imprisoned man heard the familiar sound of sword parting and raised his head. The mocking smile still edged his lips, and the pride he carried never faltered. "The King of Aeron, the Lord of the South."

He spat out before continuing, "The one who sings of honor and justice. Is this how you treat us? With betrayal? Let me tell you, killing me today would be the most foolish thing you do. Let this envoy share a song with you. It is called the Song of Darkness. You must have heard of it."

The entire hall suddenly erupted with chaos, and everyone stood up from their seats. They were all the veteran mages of the Great House Aeron who possessed the power to kill thousands of men with a slight gesture of their fingers.

However, at this moment, they were too shocked to notice that even their backs were drenched with cold sweat. 'The Song of Darkness.' It was not merely a song. It was basically a declaration of full-fledged war.

It was said that whenever this song was sung, nothing but darkness and destruction prevailed there.

They quickly turned around to look at their king, and found him still sitting calmly on the throne with the same indifference.

"Don't embarrass me. Sit down. It's just a song. Let's appreciate the busker with our attention, shouldn't we?" King Aeron said softly, his voice laced with coldness.

Everyone sat down uneasily. They felt as if needles were piercing on their buttocks, but it remained true that they feared this man more.

The imprisoned man had his head lowered, unbothered by the commotion caused by his words. He slowly parted his lips and slowly a despairing sound echoed.

"When darkness undresses around the sky,

It rains despair,

Naked and cold;

It slips through every corner,

Like a tide came undone,

There's only destruction that follows,

And ruins that stay."

The sound stopped. The hall adopted an eerie silence. It was a calm that signaled towards a raging storm. The low melody of the song still had not disappeared from the hall, and the remnants still thrummed in their ears.

They all looked at the dark and tortured silhouette, suddenly wondering if it was really worth provoking this demon, who knew nothing of the language of pain.

Clap! Clap!

The sound of claps cut through the hall, bringing everyone out of their trance.

"Well done. Worthy of praise. Since our friend here sings so well, give him a perfect cut. Remember don't stain the stones of Aeron House with his filthy dark blood."

The imprisoned man did not speak any retort. He silently gazed as the scythe of death came closer, step by step that echoed hollowly.

Shaking his head with a helpless smile, he sang sadly.

"Embrace me o' mother darkness,

For your son's time has come,

He has failed you,

Failed the fellow Umbras,

As his head lay helpless,

Under the metal edge of a mortal,

Who desires his warm dark blood."

The knight stood in front of the man, whose biceps were bigger than his thigh, and paused for a second. He clenched his hands to feel the cold metal, reassuring himself that the man in front of him was imprisoned and unarmed.

He burned his mana, as the edge of the sword shone with a different shine.

Raising his head he sliced through his neck like butter, and he saw the head fall—green orbs-like eyes staring lifelessly above the ceiling. They did not have any fear even in the face of death but a strange nostalgia.

It was not his first time killing someone, in fact, he had already lost the count. But he never remembered seeing a man without a single shred of terror in the face of death.

Looking at the shower of black blood pouring out of his headless neck, the Knight quickly summoned his mana, and froze it in the air, lest they stain the stone. With a clench of his hands, the fragments of frost crumbled, and drifted to follow the man into the sky-above-sky.