“Whoosh!”

Compressed again and again, a ball of intense flame shot forward, trailing a searing red tail. The moment the pent-up fire touched the stone wall of the orc stronghold … 

“FWOOSH!”

It exploded violently. The long-restrained flames stretched out like a beast freed from its cage. At the same time, the wind hidden inside erupted outward, pushing the fire across a wider area.

“Grrr?”

Startled, the orcs blinked. The sudden blaze was unfamiliar, almost surreal. Its wave-like surge confused them, an unnatural phenomenon they couldn’t immediately grasp.

“KRAAAAH!”

Flames and wind engulfed the orcs who had been standing idle, too stunned to react. Screams burst forth. The firestorm licked over the walls, orcs, and their huts. In seconds, part of the vast stronghold had been devoured.

At that sight… 

“Whoa!”

“Totally amazing!”

Andre and Sol, who had just leapt down from the cliff, let out shouts of awe. The fiery spectacle their prince had conjured exceeded even their expectations.

Alfred landed behind them, a few moments later. Despite the chaos, he smiled warmly and bowed his head.

“You’ve grown, Your Highness. Congratulations.”

The red flames reflected on Alfred’s face as he turned to face the approaching orcs. His eyes shimmered with a quiet, deadly resolve.

Was this why he had come? To protect the prince in case he died or was wounded?

Was this his personal will, or had the Iron Corps issued new orders?

Had the royal family reevaluated the prince? Or had they simply postponed an earlier verdict?

Whatever the case, it was clear their force had grown stronger. That was what mattered.

Meanwhile … 

“Fire? How…?”

Count Balzac stood dazed, stunned by the flames that now consumed part of the orc stronghold. Horns blared from every direction. The fortress came alive with screams and confusion. Sparks flew everywhere.

The prince tilted his head slightly, casting a sidelong glance at the Count.

It had been a long road to the stronghold. They had walked for two days, barely exchanging words. The Count had spent the time swinging his sword, lost in contemplation.

He’d had more than enough time to think.

If he hesitated now, he would be left behind.

Their eyes met.

“Lead on. I shall guard you at your side.”

“Shrrring”.

The Count drew his white blade, his expression steadfast. That was all the confirmation needed.

Behind him, the Azure Wing Knights, several battle mages, and a number of northern knights stood with grim determination. Perhaps it was the roaring flames, or the bloodbath to come, but tension clung to them. Their skin flushed red with the heat of anticipation.

Their eyes were alive.

[Sub-fate: Count Balzac’s dissatisfaction, fury, and unjust treatment has been devoured! The scale of rebellion and defeat is reduced! Large fate-devour score acquired! A new sub-fate “Faith” has emerged!] 

[Azure Wing Knights: Sub-fates of sloth and arrogance consumed! Massive fate-change score achieved! Sub-fates of Training and Combat are steadily growing!] [Andre and Sol: Sub-fates of Swordsmanship and Combat Instincts sharpened further! A new fate begins to stir!]

Fate cried out, loud and violent.

Yet none so loudly as …

[Sub-fates of Defeat, Destruction, Retreat, Death, Loss, Mockery, Curse, and Despair have been devoured in bulk! Massive fate-change score acquired! Your fate now demands investment!]

[Sub-fates of Victory and Strategy ignite and grow ever larger through the flames!]

His own fate.

The loathsome, twisted destiny inherited from a tyrant was now being devoured. Rewritten.

One after another, fate-change points accumulated.

He poured them into one thing.

[Fate-change score invested into Winds of Fate, Victory, and Fortune!] 

[The three fates merge, bringing a storm of triumph and luck to the battlefield!]

A destiny bent toward victory.

“The wind.”

“There’s wind blowing.” 

It was an odd realization.

Knights and mages, poised to fight, glanced about. They were surrounded by thick trees, there should’ve been no wind.

Yet a breeze blew, from behind, and it grew stronger.

“Fwhoooosh”!

The flame the prince had thrown was caught by the wind. It surged outward, wider and more fiercely than before.

As if it had been waiting.

The firestorm at the edge of the stronghold flickered and spread with the gust. A sudden updraft exploded upward, howling toward the sky.

In front of it …

The prince.

His eyes were half-lidded, his expression enraptured. A red smile curled on his lips like the fire he wielded.

It was as if he had waited for this wind …No, as if he had summoned it.No one questioned it.

The sheer intoxication in his face and posture made it feel like divine will. Even if this wind was no more than a natural phenomenon, his presence made it feel like a miracle.

His hair, dyed red from the firelight, fluttered wildly.

Then, as if completing a ritual, the prince snapped back to awareness.

“I will walk to the end. Guard me.”

He raised his greatsword and stepped forward, into the flames.

And the fire moved aside, a path opened.

The orcs’ cries of agony echoed through the air, surrounding his steps like a symphony.

He walked … Unwavering.

As his enemies burned, their screams created a terrible harmony around him.

The massive sword in his hand rumbled low, like a beast. The crimson fire that wrapped around his form stood alone as the one beautiful thing in the midst of this nightmare.

“Tyrant…”

Someone muttered without thinking, and flinched.

It suited him, but it wasn’t a name to say carelessly.

However …

“Yes. I am a tyrant.”

The prince nodded, acknowledging the title openly. But instead of rejecting it, he offered a warning.

“Then watch closely. See for yourselves, whether this tyrant burns your lives… or the evils of the Empire.”

He added , 

“It will not be lukewarm warmth. It will be a wildfire that scorches everything.”

And finally, 

“If you will follow me, then protect me to the end. If you fear me… then let me die. That’s all.”

With that, he continued forward.

“Step. Step”.

Each footfall rang with clarity.

“CRAAASH”!

An orc broke through a burning structure, its body ablaze.

“KRORARA!”

Despite the searing pain, it raised a weapon and charged toward the prince.

Slice.

Even amidst chaos, the sound of a clean cut echoed. 

The orc’s body fell, split cleanly in two.

Behind it … 

“I shall serve you to the end.”

Count Balzac.

There was not the slightest doubt in his eyes.

The prince nodded, and kept walking.

More orcs came …Burning …Screaming.But he walked among fire, screams, and steel.

His protectors fought back, striking at every threat that approached.

It was an uncanny battle.

The one who had ignited it, did not swing his blade.

He walked.

And those behind him felled every orc that rushed forward.

In the deepest hut of the stronghold, an orc watched the unfolding chaos.

Others surrounded him, standing guard. He was larger than the rest, one and a half times their size. A chieftain.

Even he was being protected. He bared his fangs as he stared toward the prince.

“He’s the master of that fire?”

“Yes.”

“A great mystery. How many of the tribes remain intact?”

“…Most are engulfed in flame.”

“Then they will not survive.”

Despite the words, his eyes remained icy and calm. A chill radiated from his body, causing frost to form in the breath of the other orcs.

“What news from the Lords of the Frozen Lands?”

“Nothing. The Eskimos haven’t responded.”

“…I see.”

Even with betrayal from their allies, the chieftain did not grow angry.

Why?

The orcs around him grew tense.Their insides boiled with rage.

Why wouldn’t their leader show the same fury?

Could he not hear the screams of their kin outside?

Orcs were never known for patience.

“Chieftain! I’ll kill you and become the new leader! I’ll save our people!”

One orc roared and pointed his weapon not at the enemy, but at the chieftain.

In an instant …

“Crack”

The challenger froze … Encased in ice.

That was the end of it.