Ren sat on the castle walls, staring at the crimson horizon. The aftereffects of the battle still lingered—ashes drifting in the air, the faint scent of blood clinging to the wind.
Yet, something else haunted him.
Ramiel’s words echoed in his mind.
"What are you?"
Ren clenched his fists. He didn’t know what that energy was. He didn’t even remember tapping into anything. But the way Ramiel looked at him… the way the demon had recoiled in fear…
Something was wrong.
Behind him, heavy footsteps approached.
“You’ve been sitting here a while,” Rex said, his voice still a little hoarse from the battle.
Ren glanced back. “Feeling better?”
Rex smirked. “I’ve had worse.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the stone. “You looked ready to kill something back there. What happened?”
Ren hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
Rex raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, he turned to the castle below. The grand hall was alive with movement—warriors, scholars, and strategists rushing to prepare for the battles ahead. The war had only begun.
Then—
Dong. Dong. Dong.
The bells of the capital rang.
The summons had begun.
The great hall of the kingdom was filled with the strongest warriors in Frya.
At the head of the room, standing before a massive war map, was Commander Michael—the Sword of Frya. His presence alone silenced the chamber.
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Before him stood the Nine Pillars of Frya.
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Ramiel, the Pillar of Lightning – The human warrior who commanded storms. His hammer had ended the three-star demon with a single blow.
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Azrael, the Pillar of Death – A shadow among men, his race unknown. He spoke little, yet none dared stand in his way.
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Gabriel, the Messenger of Frya – A human whose words carried divine weight.
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Raphael, the Pillar of Healing – A fairy with magic that could mend even the most shattered bodies.
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Uriel, the Librarian of Frya – An elf whose knowledge of magic was unrivaled.
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Raguel, the Pillar of Judgment – A beastkin whose wisdom decided the fate of the guilty.
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Selaphiel, the Pillar of Exorcism – A dwarf who specialized in purging unholy forces.
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Jegudiel, the Strength of Frya – A lizardfolk warrior whose raw might shook the battlefield.
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Barachiel, the Pillar of Frya’s Blessing – A merfolk touched by divine power.
These were the champions of the kingdom—chosen by their deeds, moving only by Michael’s command.
Michael’s gaze swept over the warriors before him. Then, he spoke.
“The Demon Lords have taken their territories. We take them back.”
He motioned to the map, marked with nine cursed territories.
“The enemy has fortified these lands,” he continued. “Each of the Four-Star Demon Lords has carved out a domain, gathering their forces for war. Their locations are set.”
He pointed to the regions one by one.
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Eallonia – A cursed wasteland, thick with necrotic energy.
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Shadow Region – A place where even the bravest warriors fear to tread.
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Perfect Valley – A deceptive paradise, hiding horrors beneath its beauty.
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Ancient Forest – A land swallowed by nature, home to forgotten creatures.
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Slelghard – Once a mighty kingdom, now a fortress of demons.
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Ash Plane – A wasteland of eternal fire and ruin.
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Edara – A ruined battlefield, steeped in old magic.
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Boiling Realm – A land of molten rivers and endless suffering.
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Sky Realm – A floating continent, suspected to be where the Demon King himself resides.
“The war will be fought on all fronts,” Michael declared. “Nine teams will be formed—each led by a Pillar.”
His words sent a ripple through the room. The warriors braced themselves, understanding the weight of what was coming.
“You will depart in three days.”
Ramiel cracked his knuckles. “About time.”
Raphael sighed. “So much work to do…”
Azrael remained silent, watching everything with piercing eyes.
Michael continued, his gaze firm. “You have your assignments. Your duty is clear.” He paused. Then, for the first time, his voice softened. “Frya is depending on you all.”
Ren exhaled slowly. This was it.
The war had begun.
And soon—he would learn the truth about himself.