The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

James stood in the center of the battlefield, wild laughter pouring from his throat like a broken dam. His eyes, bloodshot and gleaming with a deranged glint, scanned the chaos around him. People writhed, fell to their knees, some already unconscious — all bound by chains that pulsed with black, oozing energy.

He raised his arms, the black chains that slithered out from him rattling like cursed serpents.

"This…" he cackled, "is an SS-rank spell… Bred and nourished from the life force of thousands! Each chain is cursed, and with every passing moment…" He stomped his foot, making the ground pulse darkly, "it will get heavier. You'll feel your soul being pulled, drained, slowly... until there's nothing left. Hahaha!"

Ariana gasped, her eyes dilating in horror.

"No… it can't be…" she muttered.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at James. Her memories returned in a painful rush—an image buried deep in the darkest archives of the Continental List. A burnt, disfigured man who had once laid waste to three cities before being subdued by the Saintess herself.

The report said he had vanished. Killed. But here he was.

James.

The mad bastard of Choir.

Her body strained against the chains, veins bulging, mana screaming to be released—but the chains tightened, reacting to her effort.

"Damn it!" she hissed, biting her lip as she glanced around—dozens had already collapsed, their skin pale, energy leaking from their bodies like mist.

James ignored them all, his gaze fixed on one group the Black Knights. They stood, barely flinching, wrapped in chains, but their postures hadn't wavered.

James tilted his head like a curious dog.

"You're not panicking," he muttered, licking his dry, cracked lips. "What's this… Are you thinking I'll target you first? That's cute. But no—"

He pointed his blade toward Emilia.

"I'm going to kill her."

Emilia glared at him, brows furrowed, lips trembling with rage. "Why are you doing this, James?"

His eyes twitched. Then suddenly, he erupted—voice booming, spit flying as his face twisted with pure hatred.

"SHUT UP, BITCH!"

He slammed his foot again—this time, cracks formed in the earth, bleeding dark energy.

"It's all because of you! You ruined everything! You humiliated me, you damn slut!"

He laughed again—high-pitched, broken, like metal scraping glass. His arms flailed as he paced in a crooked circle, speaking with manic gestures.

"You… you WHORE… who picked men by their looks! You chose that emotionless bastard when men from every continent came crawling to you! You rejected fantasy for a damn statue!"

He held his stomach and doubled over, tears of laughter forming in the corners of his eyes.

"And then—then you dared to scream about love and ran away. HAH! You deserve EVERYTHING that's coming!"

"You bastard!" Jess snarled through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare talk to her like that! I'll kill you!"

She took a step forward, but—

CRACK!

A sharp slap, faster than a blink, echoed through the air. Jess was sent sprawling, blood spurting from her lip.

"SHUT UP, WHORE!" James bellowed, veins bulging from his neck. "Did I say you could speak?"

Emilia's eyes widened. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, breath shallow, heart pounding. No one had ever spoken to her like this—no one had ever looked at her like that. She knew she had made mistakes, but this…

James raised his sword.

"I'VE HAD ENOUGH!"

Mana exploded from his body. A thick, black aura surged like a tsunami, distorting the air, shaking the earth beneath them. It roared with the sound of damned souls, howling through the chains as the spell reached its peak.

He swung his sword down with devastating force toward Emilia.

WHOOMMM!

A seismic pulse erupted—the very air cracked.

The ground caved in, buildings shook in the distance, and a wave of mana capable of flattening an entire city swept outward.

Emilia closed her eyes.

She braced herself for death.

Then—

BOOOOOOOM!!!

A shockwave of white force collided with the descending blade.

Dust exploded. Rocks flew. The air quaked.

When the dust cleared—standing in front of Emilia—were the Black Knights.

Four of them, shoulder to shoulder, two with swords raised, forming a living wall between her and death.

Their armor steamed, their blades humming with residual force. Chains still clung to their limbs, but their footing was firm, immovable.

James staggered back a step.

"What…?" he hissed, lips curled. "You broke free from the ground... but the chains—they still bind you!"

He grinned, twitching.

"You can't escape. As long as I delay you… Hah! You're all finished. It's only a matter of time."

But the Black Knights remained silent. Calm. Their swords pointed straight at him. Their eyes bore no fear—only resolution.

One of them, the captain, spoke.

"Delay all you want, monster. It won't matter."

Emilia, still stunned, whispered, "…Why?"

The captain didn't look back. "Because… no matter the cost… we swore to protect Her Highness?"

James sneered, his madness flickering, teeth clenched.

"Fine. Then I'll crush your hope."

He raised his sword once more.

But this time… he realized something.

A shift in the air.

A rumble… no, several…

And in the distance—others were breaking free. Magic circles shimmered. Reinforcements had arrived.

James's smile faltered, just a little.

And for the first time, doubt crept into his wild eyes.

The moment James raised his sword again, a voice rang out — low, cold, and sharp enough to cut through the air like a blade.

"I doubted it… but still, I gave you the benefit of the doubt."

The air shifted.

A chill rolled in like a creeping storm. The ground trembled slightly, but not from power — from fear. A wave of cold, heavy as death, wrapped around everyone like chains they couldn't see.

Then came the sound.

TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP.

Footsteps. Calm. Slow. Terrifying.

From the far end, through the mist of smoke and blood, a man walked in. His body was drenched in blood. His white hair clung to his face, swirling like ghosts dancing in the wind. His sword dragged behind him, leaving a scar on the ground.

Eyes wide. Breath caught.

Someone whispered, "L-Lord…?"

Another voice, barely audible, followed. "Kael…"

He stood still, and his eyes locked onto James with a gaze that felt like falling into a pit with no bottom. There was something off in his expression — too calm, too cold — like the silence before a massacre.

Then came his voice.

"Well done, Lo— no, no. Let's skip the pleasantries."

A smirk curled up on his lips, but there was no humor in it,only madness.

"Let's just call you… Mr. Fucker James."

Kael stepped forward again, slowly lifting one hand. His fingers formed a small pistol sign, aiming at his own head with eerie calm. His smile stretched a little wider.

"You had guts," he said, voice dropping lower.

"But tell me—"

He tilted his head, just slightly, like a man trying to hear a dying scream in the wind.

"Do you have the balls of steel… to go through what's about to happen to you?"

No one moved.No one breathed.Even the cursed chains around the others seemed to flinch.

Kael's smile didn't fade. It got worse — it became something unnatural. Like a man enjoying a joke only he understood.

Then… he spun his hand once in the air, like winding up a music box, and softly said the word.

"Unlock."

And that was the moment every heartbeat froze.