Deus Necros

Ludwig walked toward the throne, each step echoing softly across the polished stone floor of the massive hall. The distance felt longer than it actually was, not because of space, but because of weight; of attention, of expectation, of power pressing down from above.

At the far end sat the ruler of all the lands of Lufondal. A man with hair the color of a ripe field of wheat, neatly kept despite the years.

Eyes tinted with the deepest blue of the open sea, calm on the surface yet hiding unfathomable depth beneath. Around him radiated an aura that did not merely exist; it commanded. It ordered and ordained power as naturally as breathing. It was not the sharp pressure of a Swordmaster’s killing intent. No. This was something far older and heavier. The presence of a ruler who held down the skies for his people and trampled the ground where his enemies dared to hide.

“ENTERING! Ludwig Heart, Hero of Tulmud, and the Peace Bringer!” a herald howled, his voice amplified by magic and carried effortlessly through the vast chamber as Ludwig advanced.

The reaction was immediate. Everyone in the massive hall began clapping, the sound swelling into thunderous applause. Cheers followed, voices rising together in practiced enthusiasm.

They praised the young man who fought for freedom, for peace, for the preservation of lives. To them, this was the face of a clean victory. A story with a satisfying ending.

However, the person in question was desperately holding onto what felt like sanity. The noise grated against him. The expectations pressed in from every direction. Irritation coiled tighter and tighter in his chest, simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over with every step closer to the throne.

“Looks like you’re becoming more and more famous,” Kassandra said quietly as she slipped away from Ludwig’s side.

Her movements were smooth, practiced, as she took one of the seats marked with the sigil of the Black Tower Academy. The distance between them was small, but deliberate. From here on, he stood alone.

Next to the massive throne stood another chair. It wasn’t as grandiose as the throne itself, but it was unmistakably elevated above all others in the hall. No noble seat rivaled it. The Queen of Lufondal occupied it, a woman who looked as though she could mother the world itself and never once complain of the burden. A soft, genuine smile formed on her face as she watched Ludwig approach, her eyes warm with something dangerously close to kindness.

Unlike the dragon-like temperament radiating from the Emperor, the woman clad in an emerald dress adorned with silver and gold embodied serenity. Her presence was soothing rather than overwhelming. It felt as if the calm flow of a quiet river had been carved into human form. Beautiful, though clearly middle-aged, she outshone most ladies in the palace without effort. Comparable to Lust herself in her human form, yet stripped of overt desire, replaced instead by maturity and depth. Ludwig couldn’t help but lower his gaze when their eyes met, an instinctive reaction rather than a conscious choice.

Behind the imperial couple stood the next generation. The Second Prince, the Third Prince, and the royal princess were positioned neatly beside their parents, each carrying their own presence.

The Second Prince stood out immediately. His physique alone commanded attention. He was far larger than the Third Prince, the same one who had traveled with Ludwig to the Deep West, fought Envy, and survived Lust.

The Second Prince looked like a man who had never once left the knight training grounds. Muscles like tree trunks stretched beneath ceremonial armor, his frame massive enough to seem almost excessive.

He reminded Ludwig of Ravi, Thomas’s brother, a towering figure who felt like he could brace the palace on his shoulders if it ever began to collapse. And yet, despite that intimidating build, his presence was little more than a firefly’s spark when compared to the blazing sun that was the Emperor beside him.

The Third Prince smiled when he caught sight of Ludwig and lifted a hand in a small wave. Alexander. He had been the closest member of the imperial family to Ludwig thus far. No words were exchanged. A single glance of recognition was enough. Ludwig inclined his head slightly, acknowledging him without drawing attention.

When Ludwig reached the raised steps before the throne, he stopped and lowered himself onto one knee. The stone was cold beneath him. He bowed his head, facing the Emperor properly at last.

“I greet the Sun of the Empire and its moon,” Ludwig said.

The words came smoothly, practiced. Etiquette drilled into him relentlessly by Silva, who had been adamant that Ludwig learn every proper form. Especially after the last time he stood in this hall, when he had faced the Emperor directly without kneeling or greeting, a fact unknown to most but very much remembered by those who mattered.

No wonder the Second Prince had never liked Ludwig. He would inherit the throne one day, and to him, the idea of a subject standing before his father without proper deference was more than a personal slight; it was a precedent. Disrespect, once tolerated, would not remain isolated. What Ludwig had done unknowingly then would one day be turned against him deliberately. The Second Prince’s gaze carried that understanding clearly, sharp and resentful, a calculation rather than simple anger.

“You grew stronger,” the Emperor said.

The words were simple, almost casual, yet they carried weight. They were not praise, nor accusation, but an observation spoken by someone who measured strength not in rumors or reputation, but in presence. Ludwig felt it immediately, the subtle pressure of that gaze pressing inward, testing, evaluating.

“Only for the benefit of the Empire,” Ludwig replied.

His answer came without hesitation. It was the safest truth available, framed carefully. His tone was steady, controlled, though his heart continued to hammer against his ribs as if trying to escape.

“I heard of your achievements,” the Emperor continued, “and confirmed them with the Holy Order. Rise.”

The reaction was immediate. A ripple passed through the hall, surprised murmurs, subtle shifts in posture, the quiet rustle of silk and armor. It was well known that when the Emperor addressed a subject, they remained kneeling. Always. Tradition was law here.

“From our last encounter,” the Emperor said, his gaze never leaving Ludwig, “I remember you not wanting to kneel. I shall not force it.”

That did more than surprise the audience; it unsettled them. A subject of the empire not kneeling before its lord was not merely unusual. It was dangerous. Ludwig could feel the attention sharpen, the atmosphere tightening like a drawn bowstring.

Ludwig rose slowly, deliberately, aware of every movement. As he straightened and met the Emperor’s eyes directly, something unpleasant stirred inside his chest. The longer he held that gaze, the heavier his heartbeat became. Each thud echoed in his ears, loud enough that he was certain others must hear it too.

“The Third Prince had told me,” the Emperor said, “that you fought and beat something that… is stronger than I.”

The words were delivered calmly, but the implication was anything but. The hall seemed to lean in.

“That is exaggeration, your highness,” Ludwig said, placing a hand over his chest in a formal gesture.

“Are you saying that my son lies?” the Emperor asked.

The tone edged toward anger, but only on the surface. Anyone familiar with the Emperor would recognize the subtle amusement beneath it. A test. A provocation.

The Queen raised a hand to her mouth, attempting, and failing, to conceal her smile.

“No, your highness,” Ludwig replied. “I dare not.”

“Seems like your heart is beating powerfully,” the Emperor observed.

Ludwig’s jaw tightened. He was painfully aware of it now, the pounding in his chest refusing to settle.

“I’m ashamed to not be able to control it.”

“It wants to fight,” the Emperor said, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “To fight me, that is.”

The shift was instantaneous.

The hall tensed as if struck by lightning. Knights and guards, some previously hidden among the nobles, revealed themselves without hesitation. Hands snapped to sword hilts. Aura stirred, subtle but unmistakable. The air thickened, pressure bearing down from all sides.

Ludwig swallowed.

It wasn’t that he wanted to fight the Emperor. He knew better than that. But something deep inside him, something feral, something old, ached to test itself against that overwhelming presence. A fighting spirit awakening at the worst possible time.

Here. Now.

That would get him killed.

“It is merely excitement to see you, your majesty.”

“Tell me,” the Emperor said, “with all honesty. Would I have won if I were to fight that which you call the Usurper?”

The question struck like a blade wrapped in silk. There was no safe answer. If Ludwig said yes, he would be lying. Usurpers were not beings meant to be defeated by humans. If they were, they would have been erased long ago. If he said no, he would be shaming the Emperor himself.

A dire predicament… and a dangerous one at that too.