From a Broken Engagement to the Northern Grand Duke's Son-in-Law

Before Lea’s arrival…

Lancelot, Hans, and the arena fighters approached the final gang hideout.

The stench hit them first—the same putrid mix of violence and desperation that had marked all the others.

Lancelot surveyed the ramshackle building and shrugged. “Nothing to it.”

He’d been intimidated when his captain first assigned these hulking fighters to accompany him. But now, standing here, he realized it was simply a matter of efficiency.

Get in, clean up, get out.

He’d only just crossed the threshold into becoming an Aura Master. With these fighters—all mid-level Experts—backing him up, what could a street gang possibly do?

Right. Of course.

Lancelot nodded to himself as he yanked his spear free from a fallen gang member’s chest.

Blood dripped from the weapon’s tip, each drop hitting the stone floor with a soft pat.

He wiped the blade clean with practiced efficiency before turning to address the others. “Looks like we’ve swept everything here. Let’s mov—”

The words died in his throat.

In the corner of the hideout, a man with long, straight hair knelt beside a corpse, lifting the body.

“…Dead.”

“Hey!” One of the arena fighters stepped forward, suspicion sharpening his voice. “Who are you?”

The moment the fighter’s hand touched the stranger’s shoulder—

Splat!

The fighter’s upper body simply ceased to exist. One moment he was whole, the next he was scattered across the walls in chunks of meat and bone.

The stranger straightened slowly, blood now speckling his fingers. His eyes—hollow, sunken things—regarded the fighter’s remains with cold dispassion.

“Send my regards to my boys. I doubt they’ll hear you, but still...” His gaze drifted across the room, taking in each familiar face among the dead. “Lexion. Mark. Rom. Penia… You’re all gone.”

Despair threaded through his words, yet his expression remained utterly blank—a mask of controlled emptiness.

“I hope you’ve all found peace.”

He rose to his feet with fluid grace, those dead eyes settling on Lancelot and the remaining fighters. Each step toward them carried the weight of inevitability.

“Well, I can’t say it’s a fair trade, but... I should at least get revenge, shouldn’t I?”

“You crazy shitter.” The arena fighters snarled, hands moving to their weapons… but none charged.

They hadn’t even seen the attack—just its aftermath. An unsettling chill settled over them like a shroud.

Lancelot, however, watched the man with growing dread. The others might have missed it, but he’d caught that split second when the stranger’s hand had transformed into a gaping maw, swallowing the warrior whole.

A Demonkin?

His throat went dry. If this man was truly one of the Demonkin, they were all dead. 

Lancelot might have achieved the rank of Aura Master, but he was barely more than a novice. Against a Demonkin, he was hopelessly outmatched.

Dammit... I’m not the captain.

Louis had somehow managed to hunt Demonkin while still an Expert, but Louis was a freak of nature. Lancelot was painfully, vulnerably normal.

As Lancelot tensed, pulling Hans behind him for protection, the man moved again. His hand stretched and distorted, becoming that same grotesque mouth from before.

Swoosh—

The elongated limb shot forward like a striking serpent.

“Rrgh!” Lancelot reacted on instinct, spinning his spear to intercept the attack.

Clang—

The giant maw slammed against his weapon with bone-jarring force. The impact revealed the appendage’s true form—a writhing, tooth-lined horror.

The man’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Impressive. To block that... you must be a Master, then?”

“How ‘bout you shut your mouth and just disappear?” Lancelot snarled through gritted teeth.

“I can’t do that. I still have my revenge to claim.”

“…Bloody hell.”

Lancelot’s face twisted in fury as he rotated his spear in a practiced flourish. The spinning weapon forced the man’s arm back until it returned to its normal human shape.

“Hmm... a Master. This could take some time.” The man muttered to himself, then seemed to reach a decision. He produced a small vial from his coat, shook a pill into his palm, and swallowed it without hesitation.

Crack.

The sound of the pill crunching echoed through the hideout. Simultaneously—

“Guh...!”

The man doubled over, clutching his chest as if his heart were tearing itself apart. 

Scales erupted across his skin like a spreading disease. His neck and hands writhed, stretching into unnatural proportions.

And then—

Krawwwrrrrrr!

A three-headed monster with reptilian hide burst into existence where the man had been.

It was one of the Demonic Realm’s most feared creatures, something that even a lone Aura Master could not hope to defeat—a Bahamut.

The Bahamut released a roar that shook the very foundations of the building.

“Well, isn’t this just perfect.”

Lancelot let out a hollow laugh. Of all the rotten luck in the world, he was now facing a dragon.

* * *

“Hraaaah!”

He charged without hesitation, spear leading. Standing still would only guarantee death. A preemptive strike was his only chance.

Blue Aura gathered at his spear’s tip like captured lightning, rocketing toward the Bahamut in a brilliant streak.

But the beast had no intention of playing target. It unleashed a piercing howl that shattered Lancelot’s technique like glass.

“Ugh!”

The backlash sent him stumbling, his balance shattered.

In that moment of vulnerability—

Craaash—

The monster’s enormous claws tore through the stone street as if it were paper, sending chunks of paving flying like deadly shrapnel.

“Dammit...!”

Caught in the epicenter, Lancelot twisted desperately, barely avoiding the worst of the attack.

The first strike had failed, but there was no time for regret. Lancelot found his footing and poured Aura into his spear, concentrating the energy at its tip until it blazed like a star.

“Here I go!”

A lance of blue light erupted from his weapon, cutting through the air toward the Bahamut’s flank.

Shhhk—

The beast, utterly unfazed, countered with a casual swipe of its tail.

Boom—

Lancelot flew backward, crashing through the wall of a nearby building in an explosion of stone and timber.

Krrack.

As the structure partially collapsed in a cloud of dust and debris, Hans screamed.

“Sir Lancelot!”

But through the rubble, Lancelot burst forth like an avenging spirit. Blood streamed from a dozen wounds, but his will to fight burned as bright as ever.

“Hoo... Almost died for real. How am I supposed to win against something like that?”

He gripped his spear and closed the distance again.

The Bahamut’s three heads roared in unison, spewing a venomous killing intent so thick it seemed to physically press against them.

The other fighters froze, paralyzed by the sheer malice radiating from the creature.

“Uh... wh...?”

As they faltered, the Bahamut’s tail swept across them in a lazy arc, snuffing out their lives like candle flames.

But Lancelot was different. His eyes blazing with determination, he raised his spear high above his head.

The weapon shimmered in the air, then plunged downward, leaving a golden trail as it struck toward the Bahamut’s central head.

Kra-koom!

The beast’s head snapped back from the impact.

Lancelot seized the opening, unleashing a flurry of consecutive attacks in a blur of motion.

Bang! Shrrk! Boom!

But the Bahamut would not fall. Another of its heads lunged forward, razor-sharp fangs sinking deep into Lancelot’s arm.

“Aagh!”

Blood sprayed in crimson arcs. Hans and the surviving fighters bellowed in unison.

“Stop it!”

Finally jolted from their paralysis, the fighters charged. They struck at the Bahamut’s legs and flanks with desperate fury.

Clang! Thud! Crack!

But this was no mere beast. It was a true Demonkin, an artificial catastrophe given form.

A shockwave pulsed outward from its body, sending the fighters flying and leveling everything within a hundred feet.

As his consciousness threatened to fade, Lancelot screamed through the haze of pain. “Hans! Get back! You can’t win against this thing!”

But Hans shook his head. “No! I’m a member of the Special Taskforce! I can’t let you protect me forever!”

“That doesn’t mean dying uselessly! Run!” Lancelot roared.

But Hans didn’t listen. He drew his sword and rushed the Bahamut with reckless courage.

Lancelot bit his lip until he tasted blood, watching the man charge toward his death.

Move. I have to move.

As Lancelot tried to force strength back into his numb limbs, something changed. Transparent threads began to descend from the sky like falling snow.

They drifted down with deceptive gentleness, but Lancelot could feel the impossibly sharp Aura they contained.

Of course he could—he’d felt it before, in the training yards of the North.

Standing at the center of those threads was his former liege, the living legend of the North.

Lea Praha.

“Sorry. I’m a little late.”

She landed with effortless grace, clad in azure armor that seemed to drink in the light. Her eyes shimmered with blue Aura like captured starlight.

“You held up well, Sir Lancelot,” Lea said, her gaze finding him where he lay behind her.

The continent’s greatest talent had entered the battlefield.

* * *

Shhhk!

The fine threads Lea had created sliced into the Bahamut like razor wire, leaving countless wounds across its hide.

“Krwoooaaar!”

The Bahamut let out a colossal shriek and spewed a torrent of fire from its massive jaws.

Fwoooosh!

Flames hot enough to melt steel rushed toward Lea in a wave of destruction. In that instant, she drew her sword, took a long, measured breath, and unleashed her aura.

The temperature around her plummeted. The biting gales of the North—a fierce cataclysm in their own right—began to rise from the tip of her blade.

Shwaaaaaa—

A wave of frigid cold washed over the Bahamut’s flames, extinguishing them as if they were nothing more than candles. The air, which had been scorching moments before, crystallized into ice.

At the center of it all, Lea stood without so much as blinking.

She kicked off the ground and swung her second sword. The Aura of the northern gale struck one of the Bahamut’s three heads, carving a massive gash that reached bone.

“Krawwwrrrrrr!”

The monster thrashed in agony. Lea didn’t waste the opening, her blade moving in perfect arcs.

Dozens of transparent threads filled the air, weaving a net of death that began to slice the Bahamut to pieces.

Shk-shk-shk-shk—

Neither its heavy scales nor the infamous regenerative ability of Demonkin offered any protection against Lea’s Aura.

It was a one-sided slaughter.

At this rate, it would be a perfect hunt.

But the Bahamut, it seemed, had one final card to play. As Lea’s attacks rained down, it unleashed a sinister killing intent and began to swell in size.

An immense amount of energy gathered in its massive maw, crackling with enough power to level city blocks.

For the first time, a flicker of tension crossed Lea’s face. As she considered her options, Hans and the other knights rushed forward, trying to disrupt the beast’s attack.

Their strikes were pathetically weak, but they were enough to divide the Bahamut’s attention.

“Grrrrrr—”

The beast turned its head, its gaze shifting to the insignificant humans daring to challenge it.

And in that moment, Lea drew upon the deepest reserves of her power.

Upon reaching the mid-level of an Aura Master, a new technique had surfaced in her mind—something that existed at the very edge of possibility.

Fwoooooosh—

A power that only she, in all the continent, could wield blossomed from the tip of her sword.

Along the path her blade had traced, flowers of ice bloomed in impossible beauty.

Fsssssh—

K-k-k-k-k-k-krak!

“…Ha.”

A cold mist escaped her lips.

Lea exhaled slowly, her eyes fixed on the Bahamut. It stood completely frozen, transformed into a perfect statue of ice—an ideal specimen for studying the Demonkin.

The battle was over.