"If you want peace, then prepare for war!" the Eternal Emperor declared, his voice thundering across the grand courtyard.
"Stand up for me as I have stood up for you! My blood, my strength, my very life, I dedicate all for the glory and unity of our Empire.
I call upon you now, champions of our divine cause, to rise in a Holy War!
Let your hearts burn with righteous fury! Rise together as an unstoppable force! The gods have ordained this sacred struggle and bestowed their blessings upon us.
Through our unity, faith, and unwavering resolve, we shall strike down this looming evil and remind the world that the Central Continent remains unbroken, unyielding, and eternal!
Let this day echo through history! Let our enemy tremble at the might of the Central Continent, united under one will—my will! For the Empire! For glory eternal! For victory!"
Albrecht jerked awake, his heart hammering against his ribs as the sharp thud of metal embedding into wood resonated through him.
He blinked rapidly, disoriented, eyes widening at the scene before him.
"Did you not hear me, barkeep? We want mana beer, not that watered-down piss you serve!"
The loud voice came from a bulky man across the counter. A wicked grin stretched across his scarred face as he stared at Albrecht.
The knife he had just driven into the wood was tightly gripped in his hand. The man's breath reeked of alcohol, sharp and sour, making Albrecht even more uncomfortable.
He had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten here, or why this man was threatening him.
He glanced around frantically, taking in the rough wooden beams, flickering torches, and worn tables scattered across the room.
Albrecht's thoughts spiraled, his chest tightening as he clutched the counter for stability. Every sound and smell felt too sharp to be a mere hallucination. Yet nothing about this made sense.
The man in front of the bar slammed his fist on the counter. He had to say something, anything.
"I-I'm sorry, but I can't help you," Albrecht stammered, his voice trembling.
The other two men beside the bulky one laughed, one of them already helping himself to a handful of bread from a nearby basket.
But Albrecht's mind was elsewhere, still reeling as he took in his surroundings. Behind him stood a shelf lined with even more bottles, while in front of him sprawled a large, dimly lit room.
'This place doesn't look like earth, more like some kind of medieval tavern… or inn,' he thought, his gaze darting around.
Judging by his position behind the bar and the expectant looks from the men, he seemed to be the owner or bartender.
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Suddenly, a hand shot out, grabbing Albrecht by the neck. His heart raced as he felt himself dragged forward across the counter.
"You dare mock me, innkeeper?" the man growled.
"I said we want mana beer. Either you bring it, or we'll start smashing things until we find it ourselves."
Behind him, one of his companions effortlessly hurled a wooden table against the wall, causing it to shatter into splinters.
Albrecht's breath caught in his throat.
'Impossible,' he thought, his mind racing.
'No human can throw a table like that.'
Just as the leader's grip tightened around his neck, a sharp voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"I came for a drink and place to rest, not to watch drunken fools destroy a tavern."
The grip on Reinhard's neck loosened, and the three drunkards turned around. An old man with gray hair and beard stood by the door, leaning on a simple wooden staff. His cloak was tattered, and his boots were worn.
As the three thugs walked toward the old man, Albrecht's eyes darted to the swords strapped across their backs. The way they moved, confident and dangerous, made his stomach ache.
His thoughts raced, and he grasped for something, anything, to make sense of the situation. He felt a cold, creeping dread. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
'I'm screwed… totally screwed.' he thought.
The gangster's drunken breath still hung in the air. Their weapons were raised as they stood in the middle of the room, just between him and the old man near the Inn's entrance.
Albrecht's pulse pounded in his ears. For a fleeting moment, everything seemed frozen, the world caught in the stillness of anticipation.
Then something happened.
A flash.
A thin glint of golden light cut through the air so fast it was almost imperceptible. The room seemed to hold its breath, the moment suspended like a fragile thread about to snap.
Then, a dull thud echoed across the room before Albrecht could register what had happened. Three heads hit the floor, trailing blood that splattered across the wooden boards and floor.
Their bodies remained standing for a heartbeat longer, swaying unnaturally before crumpling like broken puppets. Albrecht hadn't even seen the sword that beheaded them.
The old man suddenly stood almost in front of Albrecht. A faint golden shimmer danced along the edge of his blade before vanishing entirely.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Albrecht couldn't speak. His legs felt rooted to the floor, his heart beating uncontrollably.
'H-he just killed them…'
His body was paralyzed, but not from fear alone. Something else rooted him to the floor.
A quiet, horrified awe.
The clean precision. The silence that followed. The way the blood fanned out across the floorboards like a red blossom.
It should have disgusted him.
But instead… he just watched the heads rolling across the floor.
Not with excitement. Not with joy. Just sharp, deliberate focus. Like a child, watching something forbidden for the first time.
When the old man stepped further forward, his movements were slow and deliberate. His boots barely made a sound against the wooden planks.
"You must be the new owner."
His voice was calm, too calm.
"Apologies for the mess."
His gaze drifted down to the corpses with no more concern than one might spare for spilled wine.
Albrecht could only stare, his mind scrambling for a response that wouldn't get him killed.
The old man, no, this killer, lifted his head, studying him with unsettling eyes.
