The former Marquis of Grepa , who significantly strengthened his power through a marriage alliance with the former Crown Prince-turned-Emperor, made his first order of business to expand his estate.

The mansion, once grand yet reasonable in scale, had transformed into something more befitting of a palace rather than a mere noble’s residence. With this, the Grepa family ruled over the western territories as if they were kings.

Any other noble house attempting such a move would have been branded as traitors, but no one dared to point fingers at the Emperor’s father-in-law—except for the Emperor himself.

Fortunately, the former Emperor had shared a rather close relationship with the previous head of House Grepa.

Thus, the House of Marquis Grepa enjoyed influence on par with that of the dukes, and its great mansion stood as a symbol of that power. However, it was now reduced to ruins, half-destroyed in battle against the beastman warrior Tiwan.

“I have no face to show my predecessor…”

Standing amidst the collapsed remnants of the mansion, Fried Grepa let out a bitter sigh.

As he gazed at the ruins, his eyes slowly shifted forward.

Kneeling before him was the very beastman chieftain responsible for this devastation—his body impaled with swords.

“Damn it all…”

Tiwan, the chieftain of the beastmen, was filled with utter disbelief.

He was among the top ten warriors of his kind—one of the greatest masters in the beastman tribes.

The Warlord had warned him that the House of Grepa might have a hidden master among their ranks, but he had not been overly concerned.

How could a mere human master possibly stand against him?

Even if he had been surrounded by five human masters, he had full confidence that he could kill the marquis and still escape unscathed.

And in truth, when he finally faced the so-called Grepa masters, there were only three—including the marquis himself. The other two had barely managed to inflict any real injuries on him. His confidence had not been mere arrogance.

But did he lose because Marquis Grepa was exceptionally strong?

If that had been the case, he wouldn’t have felt this resentful.

“…Are you truly a master, or just a merchant of swords?”

The marquis’s mastery lay in Sword Manipulation.

The distinction between wielding a single sword with finesse and commanding multiple swords was a common one among masters. Sword Manipulation, in itself, was nothing particularly special—many masters possessed such an ability.

The problem was the swords he used.

Tiwan struggled to rise, but his body refused to obey.

Curses layered upon him, venom coursing through his veins, steadily consuming his life force.

For a beastman chieftain—for him—to be poisoned?

His tribesmen would laugh if they ever heard such an absurd tale.

Even if he ignored the poison and curses, was his body otherwise intact? No.

His right arm was completely frozen solid. His left arm was severely burned.

Forcing himself to lift his head, Tiwan glared at the marquis.

Floating around Fried Grepa were ten swords, each hovering ominously in the air.

And among them, not a single one was an ordinary blade.

Demonic swords, sacred swords, legendary weapons.

Some radiated frost, others spewed flames. Some exuded deadly curses and venom, while others bestowed overwhelming blessings upon their wielder. These were mythical blades spoken of only in legend—and yet they orbited this single man.

“I could accept anything else… but why, of all things, do you have the Lang’a Sword ?”

A weapon from ancient beastman folklore—the very sword said to have slain a dragon at the hands of a beastman warrior.

Why, in the name of the ancestors, was that blade now in the hands of a human?

“Who knows?”

Fried Grepa smirked.

“His Majesty happened to acquire it somewhere. And, well—our dear hero isn’t much of a sword collector, so it ended up with me.”

His tone was laced with mockery.

“Beast, you dare lay your hands on the Empire?”

“You must have lost your minds.”

“Do you think this is the end? This sword is just the beginning. From this moment on, your kind will lose everything.”

“If His Majesty is merciful, you beasts will be spared—only to live as our slaves.”

“If not, then beastmen will become nothing more than a myth, a forgotten race in history, just like the giants.”

According to ancient records, the giants, once rulers of the continent, overstepped their bounds and dared to challenge the Dragon Lord.

As a result, they were driven to extinction.

Fried Grepa found the comparison fitting. The beastmen’s fate was shaping up to be much the same.

“Kugh… Human, you defeat just one chieftain, and you think yourself victorious?”

“Do you think the fall of one man makes the beastmen weak?”

“And what if it does?”

“Hahaha! Then you are gravely mistaken!”

“Our Warlord is far stronger than I am! And more than that—when our guardian deity awakens, your kind will meet its end—!”

Before Tiwan could finish his sentence, the Lang’a Sword sliced through the air, severing his throat.

His final words died in his mouth, lost to the wind.

“So the beasts have a guardian deity, too?”

“I suppose I should inform His Majesty.”

With the mansion in ruins, locating a communication crystal to contact the imperial palace was going to be an absolute hassle.

But since he had survived today thanks to the Emperor’s gifted swords, a small inconvenience was a price he was willing to pay.

Ah… but speaking of which.

Was the princess safe?

Well.

His Majesty would have handled it.

“My lord.”

Fried turned to see the two masters who had been knocked aside by Tiwan’s earlier attack.

They approached him, bowing their heads in shame.

“Shall we begin restoring the mansion?”

“No. Gather the knights and scour the western territories.”

“Kill every beastman you find.”

“I will join you shortly.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Your Highness, do not leave my side. No matter what.”

Ari, a cadet of the Imperial Academy, tightened his trembling grip around his sword.

The academy—the sacred institution founded by the Emperor himself—was now drenched in the stench of blood.

His friends, his seniors, his juniors, his instructors—all the people he had shared laughter with just yesterday—now lay cold and lifeless on the ground.

“Why… why is this happening?”

“Still resisting? You have good eyes.”

It was all his fault.

The winged beastman standing before him—the one who wielded a massive greatsword with just one hand—spoke as if granting mercy.

“My only target is the princess.”

“Hand her over, and I will spare your life.”

“Shut up!”

He had slaughtered everyone.

And now, he dared to speak of mercy?

Did he truly expect Ari to hand over the princess in exchange for his own life?

Laughable.

The Emperor had entrusted him with an order.

“Protect the princess.”

But that wasn’t the only reason.

At first, he had merely watched over Princess Rael out of duty.

But in the time he spent by her side…

She had become something much more.

She was kind. Compassionate. Considerate of all.

She was a princess who shared her light even with the common folk.

She was not someone who should die in a place like this.

Clenching his teeth, Ari steadied his resolve.

“Now, I finally understand what it means to stand at the threshold of mastery.”

The Grandmaster, the Headmaster of the Academy, had fallen to this beast.

There was no way someone like him could defeat this enemy.

But if he threw everything away—his body, his life—

At the very least… he could buy the princess time to escape.

“Do you mean that?”

Ari’s turbulent thoughts shattered at the sound of the princess’s voice.

“Hm?”

“Your Highness!”

“Ari.”

Gently gesturing Ari to stop, Princess Rael stepped forward.

“You will let Ari go?”

The boldness of her words made the chieftain of the hawk beastmen pause for a moment before he nodded.

“Of course. I do not speak falsehoods. I swear upon our guardian deity.”

“Your Highness, no!”

Ari instinctively moved—his body desperate to stop her.

He tried to block her path, to stand between her and the enemy.

But Rael raised her hand.

It was merely the delicate motion of a girl who had never trained with the sword.

Yet, Ari could not move.

There was a weight in her presence, an undeniable authority in that single gesture.

“Keep your promise.”

With those quiet words, Princess Rael took a step forward.

No.

No, no, no.

He had to stop her.

He had to—

But then what?

What would happen next?

If he blocked her way, what could he possibly do afterward?

No matter what, they would all die.

The princess had chosen to sacrifice herself to save him.

What was he supposed to do?

Live?

Alone?

The Headmaster, the instructors, his fellow cadets—

All of them were dead.

Why should he be the only one to survive?

Why?

If he acted now, he would die a meaningless death.

But if he cowardly chose to survive—

Would that kind of life have any meaning at all?

The Emperor had commanded him:

“Protect the princess.”

And yet—what was he doing now?

The princess stood there. Right in front of him.

And what was he doing?

As his thoughts spiraled, Ari caught sight of the beastman’s greatsword moving.

Before he could even form a conscious thought—

His sword moved first.

A surge of aura—far too powerful for an Expert— exploded forth, crashing down upon the beastman.

For a fleeting moment, the beastman flinched.

And in that brief opening—

Ari charged forward like a bullet.