In the center, Valeria City the capital of the valerius empire, where The Grand Castle Valerius Dome stood as a monumental marvel of high-magic architecture, suspended at the absolute epicenter of the empire. The colossal dome was not built from ordinary stone, but from pristine white world-marble that literally breathed with condensed mana, causing veins of liquid starlight to pulse beneath its polished surface. Filigrees of real, enchanted gold lined the monumental spires, tracing ancient runes of protection. At the absolute apex of the structure, hovering weightlessly, sat a massive, trapezoidal mythril-crystal. It continuously pulsed with cosmic energy, casting faint, concentric rings of golden auroras across the sky to form an absolute anti-hostility barrier, a divine defense system that would instantly vaporize or violently repel anyone harboring even a shred of malice toward the empire.
Perched atop floating watchtowers that defied gravity were members of the Royal Garrison, elite guards whose physical and magical prowess easily rivaled that of A to S-rank adventurers.
Deep within the luxury of his private room, Prince Damien stood before a floor-length mirror, admiring every aspect of his reflection.
"Damien... you are absolute perfection," he whispered to his own reflection, a conceited smirk playing on his lips. "The world will envy you. They will crawl to your feet. Everyone will kneel."
On his grand lounge chairs, two women of glorious, fair-skinned beauty Lady Aurelia and Lady Iris sat looking at him with dazed, adoring eyes. They rose and approached him, their expressions completely devoid of their usual noble pride, replaced only by absolute devotion.
"Oh, my Lord... of course, you are more perfect than any other living being," Aurelia whispered, standing closely beside him.
Iris stepped forward, looking up at him with a submissive smile. "Yes, my Lord... we exist only to serve you. We are your willing followers."
Damien smiled condescendingly, his gaze remaining on the mirror. 'Idiots,' he thought sneeringly. 'These daughters of two High Dukes are nothing but foolish toys. It's so easy to manipulate them with my looks and the forbidden spell-tome of [Charm] I accidentally unearthed when I was five. With this, I can control them however I please. The throne is practically mine.'
Suddenly, his face contorted with a flash of pure irritation as a single thought crossed his mind. 'Except for her... the only woman who remains completely immune to my teasing and skills.'
"Solenne..." Damien blurted out, his voice dropping into a dark, deep growl.
The two women flinched at the sudden change in his demeanor. "Solenne? What is it with that prudish wench, Your Highness?" and other woman asked aggressively, trying to draw his attention back to her. "Forget about her and play with us instead."
Massaging his anger away, Damien’s face shifted back into a warm, gentle mask. He turned around, patting Aurelia’s cheek and gently brushing Iris's hair. "Haha, you are entirely correct... Well then, why don't you two wait here while I attend the royal court? I shall return to accompany you later."
As he turned his back to them, a dark calculation brewed in his mind. 'You two will make magnificent political pawns. Aurelia, with her mature intellect, is perfect for diplomatic negotiations. And Iris, though naive, is so adored by her father that the High Duke will grant any request she asks without question. Ah... I truly am the chosen one, far exceeding any summoned Hero!'
Damien quickly adjusted his royal coat and left the room.
Waiting just outside the door was Kael, the ex-hero.
Damien smiled smoothly at him. "Heh, good work guarding the perimeter, Kael. Make sure the servants quietly escort both of them back to the front gates once they are ready to leave."
Kael bowed slightly, his eyes somewhat lifeless. "As you wish, Master."
Damien lightly slapped his own cheek, shedding his twisted, manipulative aura and forcing a gentle, warm, and loyal expression onto his face to hide his true nature. "Good. Let's go see the Emperor."
Beyond the grand corridors lay The Empyrean Throne Hall, a vast chamber that completely transcended mortal imagination. The ceiling was a literal window to the upper cosmos a shifting tapestry of real-time galaxies and burning nebulae held in place by ancient spatial magic. Flanking the room were colossal pillars carved into the likeness of the primordial gods, their chiseled eyes glowing with condensed divine mana. Instead of a simple fabric carpet, a long pathway woven from shimmering crimson fire-silk stretched across the floor, rippling like soft, harmless liquid flame with every step taken upon it.
Floating several feet above a dais of solid, glowing gemstone was the throne itself forged from the core of a fallen star and encased in unmelting divine ice. Sitting atop it, looking down with an aura of absolute arrogance, was Emperor Theodoric Valerius. He was old, but his advanced age was a dangerous illusion; his oppressive aura was heavy enough to distort the gravity around the room. Theodoric was a legendary veteran warrior one of the few who had fought directly alongside the previous Hero to strike down the last Demon King.
"Rise, my children," Theodoric commanded, his voice echoing like thunder beneath the cosmic ceiling.
The three candidates for the throne stood up from their deep bows. Though the Emperor had three wives and countless mistresses, only three of his children possessed the qualifications to inherit the empire: Damien Von Valeria, Ingrid Sicilia De Val, and Zerc Mon Ta Val.
Damien was the son of the first Empress, Beatrice Von Valeria, a woman of pure Valerius nobility who commanded immense political charisma and the backing of the empire's oldest, highest-ranking noble factions.
Ingrid was the daughter of the second wife, Astrid Sicilia. Long ago, Astrid was a political hostage taken to secure a peace treaty between the northern barbarian tribes and the empire. Though she faced severe discrimination due to her foreign culture, Astrid proved her strength, eventually earning a powerful standing for herself and her daughter, Ingrid, who grew up to be a fierce, unyielding warrior.
Zerc's mother was Talav Monta of the Monta Clan, from the rugged Monta frontier borderlands. Like Astrid, Tala was taken to secure peace after her clan rebelled against the empire. Initially a mere mistress spared only because her exotic beauty captured the Emperor's heart, Tala used her ruthless wit and seduction to climb the ranks to become the third wife. She had systematically brainwashed Zerc to be cold, strong, and calculating to survive the court. While Zerc was physically weaker than his siblings, he was an absolute apex genius in magic and military strategy.
"Yes, Father," the three answered in unison.
The Emperor looked down at them from his floating throne. "The summoning of a new Hero is drawing near. I expect you all to be prepared for what is to come."
Damien felt a jolt of shock echo through his mind. 'Wait... the Demon King hasn't even officially launched an invasion yet. Why is he summoning a Hero now?'
Ingrid stepped forward, her brow furrowed. "Father, the Demon King has not yet marched upon our lands. Why must we trigger the ritual ahead of schedule?"
The Emperor caught Zerc's smug expression and gestured slightly, knowing his youngest son already understood the underlying play.
"Are you a fool, big sister?" Zerc mocked, his tone dripping with arrogance.
Ingrid's gaze turned razor-sharp, a volatile, dangerous aura leaking from her body. "You...!"
Zerc merely chuckled, entirely unbothered. "Ooh, terrifying. Hahaha."
"Enough," the Emperor uttered a single word.
Instantly, the oppressive weight in the room vanished. Ingrid forcefully reeled her leaking mana back in, and Zerc immediately corrected his posture, behaving himself.
The Emperor sighed heavily. "With a temper like that, Ingrid, you still have much to learn about acting like a proper princess. And you, Zerc looking down on your opponents will only leave you blind on the battlefield. Do not take things so lightly." Theodoric then shifted his gaze toward Damien. "Look at your elder brother as an example. He moves in silence, yet always ensures he reaps all the rewards for himself."
The Emperor studied his three children with a cold, piercing glare. 'Each of them has their own hidden darkness... but the one who resembles me the most is Damien. I still remember the exact look on the previous Hero's face when he died.'
Theodoric let out a low, grim smile. "A Hero is ultimately an asset a tool to ensure our empire continues to grow stronger, keeping our neighbors from growing bold or looking down on us. Keep that in mind, my children. Use every possible means available to you."
All three siblings smiled in unison, their ambitions ignited. "Yes, Father."
The Emperor waved his hand dismissively. "Dismissed."
As the three left the throne room, Theodoric leaned back, letting out a heavy sigh. "Haah... a massive storm is approaching this empire, isn't it? When that time comes, I only hope I am granted a good death."
"Do not speak of such grim things, Your Majesty," a graceful, melodic voice echoed from the west entrance.
Stepping into the light was Tala Monta, her exotic beauty completely untamed by age. She approached the throne with a slow, calculating gait, the heavy silk of her gown sweeping across the crimson fire-silk floor. "I hope you don't speak of death... at least not until my son sits upon that throne."
Theodoric burst into a boisterous, echoing laugh. "Hahaha! Tala, come here."
He gestured with a heavy hand, and Tala stepped up to the dais, leaning against the armrest of the frozen star-core throne. The Emperor placed a firm, possessive hand over hers, his grip tight enough to show his absolute dominance. "Haah... you are as sharp and ambitious as ever."
Tala lightly caressed the frozen ice of the throne, her eyes flashing with a dangerous, predatory gleam. "I hope you keep your word, Your Highness. You promised not to interfere."
Theodoric looked up at her, his expression shifting from amusement to cold detachment. "Of course I won't. I will not intervene in the battle between our children. I want them to experience the true weight of the struggle. Whoever emerges from the ashes will be the strongest ruler this empire has ever seen."
Tala let out a soft, satisfied hum, a dark smile spreading across her lips. "You are entirely right, Your Majesty."
Despite the numerous Royal Guards standing at attention throughout the room, neither of them cared. In this court, anyone who dared to show even a flicker of reaction or spread a single word of gossip about the royal family was instantly beheaded.
Theodoric stared blankly ahead into the vast cosmic ceiling, his heart completely cold. "in the end... the strongest are not those who merely possess power. But the one who can survive until the very end is the strongest. Once you are the last one standing... you can rewrite history to make your stories sound as heroic as possible then power and authority follow"