Chapter 12: Little Sword Saint (Prologue)

A noble's carriage rolled to a stop by the front of Everbright's estate. A symbol of blue aura sword was emblazoned on the Coat of Arms hung on both sides of the exterior, and the large wheels were rimmed with elegant silver. At the front, the carriage driver held a whip with one hand, and the reins of the black stallions that pulled the carriage in the other. 

Each and every single detail of the carriage carried the steep aesthetic sense of a noble family whose rank was not low. However, as if to mar perfection, bloodstains and gashes were left at the front where the wheels met the axles and the reinforced metal of the carriage underside. 

Annoyed, the driver got off the carriage and proceeded to wipe off the bloodstains to an almost unreasonable standard before stopping when he was satisfied. Only then did the driver move to the carriage door, open it, and then bow to the side as a young man walked out with an indifferent gaze. 

His name was Martin Dale, of the Dale Family. He'd arrived at Everbright with a specific task handed down to him through his own family and a coalition of other noble families. 

Justification was all that was needed to rebel against a weakened Everbright, and Martin was tasked with turning the first cog in a larger wheel. 

There were no hard feelings between the families, nor were there any disputes worth putting themselves forward, but rather, it was a necessity. 

Everyone was a reflection of their upbringing, and to Martin, strength was all that mattered. 

The world was cruel and humanity was already on the brink of ruin by the dark fog and the monsters that dwelled within. 

Pests who couldn't contribute were not worth notice. 

Though Duke Everbright earned respect, the respectable thing for Duchess Everbright to do was abdicate power rather than stubbornly hold on to past glories. To give way to the next powerhouse capable of defending Amaranth of the six border cities of Aletera was the noble thing to do.

Whether Duchess Everbright felt responsible for Duke Everbright's condition or not was irrelevant to Martin. He didn't even care for the greed of other families vying to usurp Everbright so long as they had the power to do so. If Duchess Everbright were truly practical, she should have just let herself die rather than let the noble Duke suffer mortal injury. 

Martin clenched his teeth, recalling the first time he'd met Duke Everbright. 

That man who slaughtered his adversaries like a lone wolf through a battlefield had been Martin's role model in Amaranth. 

That absolute power, that prestige, all of it was admirable, and that was why Martin couldn't understand. 

Cynically, Martin's expression twisted into a scornful frown. 

Martin adjusted his tailcoat, broad shoulders straightening as he proceeded forward into Everbright's estate. 

Why should the strong protect the weak?

Why should they suffer and die for those less capable?

If all who were left of humanity were cowards, the frail, and the feeble, mankind was dead- Let the dark fog take them all.