Vengeful Ascension: The Rise of a Demon Emperor

The grand dining hall of Baron Elric Vauhan's manor was alive with the sounds of laughter and clinking goblets. The chandeliers above cast a warm, deceptive glow, as if masking the sinister undercurrent beneath the celebration. A long table, heavy with platters of roasted meats, fine wines, and golden embellishments, hosted the self-satisfied nobles of the Alliance of Blood and Coin.

At the head of the table sat Baron Elric Vauhan, his thick fingers adorned with rings as he lifted his goblet, his lips curled in triumph. To his right, Countess Marlisse Aylen swirled her wine delicately, her calculating gaze lingering on the other nobles. Lord Tiberius Grath, hulking and boorish as ever, sat with his massive arms crossed, a toothy grin stretched across his face.

The smug camaraderie among them was a silent pact. A pact sealed with blood.

Baron Vauhan finally rose to his feet, raising his goblet. "A toast! To our glorious triumph!" His voice boomed, carrying an air of smugness. "Adrian Falter, the empire's so-called 'hero,' lies dead in a forgotten village. The emperor's golden boy is no more!"

The nobles erupted into cheers. Wine sloshed as goblets clinked together, their voices rising in a cacophony of laughter and applause.

"It was almost too easy," Marlisse murmured, taking a measured sip of her wine. Her voice, though soft, carried across the table. "Adrian and his pitiful band walked straight into our trap. As expected, of course."

Lord Grath let out a low, rumbling laugh. "A whelp with no proper lineage, daring to stand against us? Mohan was the backbone of that team, and without him, they crumbled like dry leaves."

Viscount Reynard Celdain chuckled, resting his chin lazily on one hand. "Let the commoners grieve their precious hero. Soon enough, they'll realize their hope was always an illusion."

The laughter grew louder, echoing off the high stone walls. Baron Vauhan's pride swelled visibly as he sank back into his throne-like chair. "With Adrian gone, the emperor's grip on the empire will weaken. His shining knight is dead, and the people will know despair."

"You celebrate too soon," came a smooth, cutting voice.

The nobles turned toward the far end of the table, where the cloaked priest of the Divine Kingdom of Sucaria sat. His silver eyes gleamed faintly under the hood, his expression unreadable.

Baron Vauhan scowled. "What do you mean, priest? The boy is dead. We have won."

The priest's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Yes. Adrian Falter is dead. But victory often blinds men to what lurks in its shadow."

Countess Marlisse tilted her head, her brow arching. "Care to elaborate?"

The priest leaned forward, his silver eyes sharp. "Symbols are not so easily destroyed. Adrian's death will be a torch passed to others. It will ignite something far more dangerous than hope: conviction."

For a fleeting moment, the nobles' laughter faded, the shadows of doubt creeping in.

* * *

Far from the gilded halls of Vauhan's manor, Lucas sat alone in the Arvendale barracks. The cold stone walls seemed to press in on him, the flickering torchlight doing little to chase away the suffocating guilt weighing on his chest. His twin blades rested on the bench beside him, their edges dulled and stained with dried blood.

Rowan, the emperor's trusted commander, stood nearby, his silhouette sharp against the torchlight. "Lucas, you need to focus," Rowan said, his voice firm but not unkind.

Lucas's hands trembled as he buried his face in them. "They're gone… all of them. Adrian, Kael, Seraphina, Kiera—they're all dead." His voice cracked, the words heavy with anguish. "I should've stayed. I should've fought harder."

"You couldn't," Rowan said sharply, stepping forward. "Adrian ordered you to escape, and you obeyed. You survived."

Lucas's head shot up, his hollow eyes meeting Rowan's. "For what? To come back and tell you how we failed? How we were nothing against him?"

Rowan's jaw tightened, his frustration barely contained. "Because we need to know what happened." His voice softened as he crouched beside Lucas. "You're alive for a reason, Lucas. What you saw—what you know—gives us a chance to fight back."

Lucas's lips pressed into a thin line. The images were still raw: Seraphina's body collapsing, Kael's cries swallowed by darkness, and Adrian—Adrian giving everything he had, only to fall.

He clenched his fists. "It was him. Krynos. One of the Lower Seven. He killed them all like it was nothing. And Adrian…" Lucas's voice faltered. "Adrian didn't give up. Not until the very end."

Rowan placed a steady hand on Lucas's shoulder. "Then let's make sure his sacrifice wasn't in vain. The nobles think they've won, but this isn't over. Not by a long shot."

* * *

In Ulcea City, Emperor Maximus sat alone in the war chamber, the faint glow of candlelight casting deep shadows across his face. Before him lay a detailed map of the empire, the borders lined with pins marking countless battles.

But tonight, his focus was on the crumpled report in his hands. Adrian Falter—dead. His knights—slaughtered.

The emperor's fingers dug into the parchment. "How did this happen?" he murmured, his voice trembling.

He had placed so much hope in Adrian. The boy had been a symbol—a living reminder that even in the darkest times, a single spark could light the way. Now that spark was gone, snuffed out by forces he could not yet see.

A knock at the chamber door broke the silence. "Enter," Maximus said, his voice low.

Rowan stepped inside, his posture rigid. "Your Majesty, we have confirmation. It was Krynos, the Bone Architect, who struck Adrian's team down. But there's more."

The emperor's gaze lifted sharply. "More?"

Rowan hesitated. "The mission itself… was a setup. Approved through falsified channels, likely orchestrated by the Alliance of Blood and Coin."

Maximus rose to his feet, his expression thunderous. "Traitors."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Rowan said grimly. "And they think they've won."

The emperor's fists clenched at his sides, his voice a low growl. "They will learn the cost of their treachery."

* * *

Back in Vauhan's manor, the celebration stretched late into the night. Goblets were drained, tales of triumph retold, and smug laughter echoed through the halls.

Baron Vauhan sat back in his chair, a self-satisfied grin on his face. "Let the emperor send his armies. Let his people weep. Without Adrian, the empire has lost its sword."

The priest of Sucaria watched silently, his expression inscrutable. "And what happens when someone else picks it up?"

Vauhan waved a dismissive hand. "There's no one left. The boy's legacy ends here."

The priest smiled faintly, though it held no warmth. "We shall see."