The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

Ravian finally rose to his feet after enduring both the pain of advancing in rank and the agony that had plagued his soul ever since his return from the Nightmare World.

His clothes bore several bloodstains from his ascension to the Ninth Rank, while the crown above his head continued to flicker intermittently into view in spectral form, its two crimson gemstones gleaming beautifully and drawing the eye.

With that crown hovering above him, his tall yet proportionate frame, sculpted but not excessively bulky muscles, beautiful white hair gleaming beneath the moonlight, and crimson eyes steady within an expression that remained calm despite everything he was enduring, he resembled a crowned prince.

He was the living embodiment of what determination and pride became when they took root in a man who had nothing left to fear and nothing left to care about.

’I swear I’ll make you regret every bit of suffering you’ve put me through, Fate,’ Ravian vowed as he clenched both hands into fists. ’And blame no one but yourself, because you were the one who targeted me first.’

...

Meanwhile, in the carriage yard beside one of the outer gates of the Viera Empire’s capital, the City of the Black Rose, Isabelle stood at the head of a group of young men and women, their positions behind her making it obvious who was in command.

Two young women and two young men stood behind her.

One of the young women wore a yellow dress that fell to her ankles, covering every intimate part of her body without clinging to her figure, a choice that reflected both her self-respect and the value she placed on the privacy of her noble form. The dress beautifully complemented her red hair, which flowed freely down her back and swayed in the breeze, while the strands untouched by the wind rested across her shoulders. A long cloak made from smooth, lustrous fabric draped behind her and covered her entire back, yet it did not diminish her beauty in the slightest.

Her amber eyes were fixed upon the pale, radiant moon as she contemplated countless matters known only to herself, lending her an air of mystery and lethal coldness that prevented any fool from venturing within six feet of her.

This was Lysandra—a thorned red rose.

One could admire her breathtaking beauty only from afar; approaching her or attempting to touch her would leave one painfully wounded... perhaps even fatally.

Beside her stood a more radiant young woman, though not in the way one might initially imagine.

The woman standing calmly beside Lysandra was Evelyne.

She wore a beautiful green dress, but unlike Lysandra’s simple yet absurdly captivating yellow gown, Evelyne’s consisted of multiple layers and was adorned with jewelry from hem to neckline. A graceful black hat rested upon her head, while she held a small paper fan in one hand and gently cooled herself with it.

A beautiful black mesh veil fell across her face, though it did nothing to conceal the lovely smile she wore as she spoke with Lysandra.

Anyone who looked more closely would also notice the jewel-like green eyes behind that veil, along with the faint sorrow within them that had yet to disappear completely.

The two women stood side by side like noble sisters born to the loftiest of families, an impression reinforced by their exquisite clothing and captivating features.

What the surrounding travelers did not know as they stared at their arresting beauty, however, was that both women were seasoned and lethal Ninth-Rank warriors disguised in noble attire, awaiting their return journey to the border so they could rejoin a battle that had yet to show any sign of ending.

Yet Lysandra’s cold and threatening aura was not the only thing preventing the young noblemen nearby from approaching.

Two young men barely into their twenties stood before the women, carrying an air of violence and lethal coldness unmatched by any of the other male travelers around them.

The first was Kael, the Death Squad’s foremost assassin, with a scar across his eyebrow and jet-black hair. Two daggers hung openly at his waist, one hand resting upon the hilt of one of them while his cold gaze swept across everyone around him.

Beside him stood another young man who was far quieter and more withdrawn yet no less dangerous, as the signs of battle upon his body and the wounds covering his hands—exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt—made abundantly clear. A longsword rested at his waist, one hand poised to draw it at any moment, while his beloved gleaming metal shield hung across his back.

The second young man was, of course, Elias, the Death Squad’s armored close-quarters fighter and a Ninth-Rank warrior just like Kael.

Every member of the group appeared somewhat irritated because of the news they had received that night, which had prompted orders for them to return to the camp earlier than planned.

Kael stared at Isabelle, their Seventh-Rank current leader, for several seconds, appearing somewhat reluctant to voice what was on his mind, especially when Isabelle could easily slap him to death with a casual swing of one hand.

”Ahem!” Kael coughed as he stepped forward to stand beside Isabelle and attract her attention.

Unlike the others, who were all dressed in ordinary civilian clothing, Isabelle wore the same metal armor she used on the battlefield, with her icy-blue bow hanging across her back and practically screaming the word ”archer” to everyone nearby.

That was precisely why Kael had approached her.

”Lady Isabelle, um—” Kael began hesitantly as he drew closer.

Isabelle turned toward him with a tired expression.

”What is it, Kael? Speak.”

Kael scratched the back of his head like a fool who had no idea how to express what was on his mind without sounding insulting.

”My esteemed and mighty lady, honored leader of our group... aren’t we supposed to be leaving in disguise?” Kael finally asked.

Isabelle frowned slightly, failing to understand the point of his question. She ignored his opening flattery, knowing full well that he had yet to reach whatever nonsense he was working toward.

”Of course, Kael. Why else would I have fighters like you wearing those civilian clothes?” Isabelle replied.

”Then why are you wearing an outfit that screams, ’To the battlefield!’ when we’re supposed to be sneaking out?” Kael asked, snapping into a military salute as he delivered the words ”To the battlefield!” before returning to his usual manner of speaking.

Isabelle regarded him with a flat expression.

”Isn’t it obvious, you idiot?” she said abruptly.

”Huh?”

Kael did not understand why she had insulted him.

”How is a group of nobles like you supposed to leave the capital without a damned high-ranking guard like me escorting you?!” Isabelle finally demanded through clenched teeth, furious with this foolish soldier despite his supposed experience as a seasoned Ninth-Rank veteran.

Silence hung in the air for a moment as all four of them stared at Kael.

”Oh,” Kael said with an apologetic smile. ”So that’s how it is.”