Chapter 1 - Introduction (Patreon)

I couldn’t believe that after everything that happened, I got captured by a bunch of useless schmucks. How humiliating. I, the Herald of Darkness, Conqueror of the Eternal Plains, Slayer of the One-Eyed Titan, Scourge of Light, had been captured by a bunch of idiotic but opportunistic heroes, led by the most annoying person I ever had the displeasure of meeting, Lancelot Lightsoul himself. 

“Come on, Byron, just tell me where the Eternal Core is, and the pain will stop,” Lancelot said in a compassionate tone, completely sincere, which was rather annoying considering my body was still burning as a result of the beating I had received. It was amusing just how easily so-called heroes resorted to torture —sorry, enhanced interrogation— when they needed to extract something from their prisoner. 

“N-no…” I murmured exhaustedly, acting like I hadn’t seen the way his eyes brightened with satisfaction at my display of weakness. He wanted the Eternal Core, one of the strongest artifacts in the world, and the only hope he had for it was me, and I wasn’t speaking.  

“I don’t enjoy your suffering,” he said, and I could read the sincerity in his eyes. Funny enough, that made me hate the situation even more. Being a prisoner was bad enough, but my enemy didn’t even have the decency to hate me. He treated me like furniture, a means to an end, and nothing else. 

And nobody treated me like that. 

It was the whole point of becoming a Dark Lord. I hated the idea of being one of the nameless mooks, living and dying without any impact. Of course, I was smart enough to admit that if I had been born into a better family, maybe I would have chosen a more benign way to it, maybe a Knight, or a Scholar. As the bastard son of a disgraced peasant, I wasn’t exactly swimming in options to become someone that mattered. 

So, I chose the path of darkness, making sure that everyone knew my name, until for good or ill, I mattered. 

I hated Lancelot for exactly that reason. He was everything I was not. Born to a minor noble family, recognized as the reincarnation of the previous hero, blessed by unmatched raw power, mentored by some of the strongest warriors and mages, supported in his every action to the point that he was engaged the only princess of the Empire, poised to inherit the throne itself. The fact that his party was filled almost completely with sexy and available women, each of them a master of their craft, just drove the difference deeper. 

The entitled shit was everything I hated. Everything he had was simply presented in a silver platter. 

… including my ignoble defeat and capture. 

It was what rankled me most about my situation. I had been fighting nonstop almost for a month against my rivals in yet another coup attempt —the title of Dark Lord doesn’t promise and long and comfortable life— when my rivals broke the unofficial rule of engagement and helped Lancelot and his trope of nubile idiots into our battle, at that point, forcing me to fight against an alliance of light and dark. 

It was shameful, because it was a move outside of my calculations. I didn’t expect it, I wasn’t prepared for it. Even after pulling all the stops, I failed to defeat them, though I would like to think that I had given a good fight. When the battle ended, more than half of my traitor rivals were dead, most of the others, including Lancelot, were badly wounded. Impressive considering several of my rivals were stronger than me in terms of pure magical power was concerned, not to mention the absolute dominance Lancelot was able to display. 

They were shocked when I pulled all the stops and started fighting really ugly. Not ugly in the traditional Dark Lord sense, which meant Demons and hostages and forbidden curses. No, I fought ugly in a way I did when I was just a skinny boy in the abandoned streets, trying to survive alone. Invisible caltrops, spits, childish insults, crass distractions, poisons, traps… Anything as long as it worked.  

Of course, the real difference was the way I approached the magic. Lancelot had been trained in one of the sacred traditions of the Empire, exclusive for the heroes of light. It was not too different for my rivals. Many of them came from noble families or belonged to ancient organizations, with corresponding hidden arts and sacred techniques. 

I had a mishmash of techniques that I stole, beguiled, copied, deduced, even invented. They insulted me for it, of course, even going as far as to call me Peasant Lord —only where I can’t hear after I made several very convincing examples of the ones stupid enough to challenge me on my face. I would admit that my fighting style lacked the majesty and the grace that the others displayed. But it worked well with my opportunistic mindset, enough that I was able to defeat enemies that were supposed to be above my weight class. 

While I was lost in my thoughts, Lancelot was standing above me, a frown on his face. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please tell me where is the Eternal Core is, and I’ll set you free as long as you vow not to attack the Empire anymore,” he said, something I had no trouble disbelieving. Not that I believed he was lying, he was idiot enough to actually believe my vow. 

The queen, on the other hand, was a completely different matter. Queen Sapphire was a mediocre mage, but she was ruling the empire with an iron fist covered in a thin layer of velvet for the last two decades, directly after the disappearance of the old king. She was one of the few people I respected, not that it prevented me from hating her in a burning passion. I was almost sure that the situation of my downfall had been engineered by her. 

She was a formidable woman more than she was a formidable mage, keeping the palace functioning singlehandedly despite the dysfunctional political situation in the Empire, especially with the chaos of the council. As a bonus, she was total MILF, perfect legs, smooth skin, and a large bosom to die for, all circled by her flowing blonde hair and shining blue eyes. 

She usually accompanied Lancelot on the interrogation sessions, but this time, she was absent, replaced by Emma, one of the most accomplished elementalist mage I ever had the pleasure of fighting against. She was smooth, strong, and elegant, if a bit predictable for my tastes. She was a redhead with a thin, almost fragile body that hid a fiery temper and some impressive assets. 

Also, she was Lancelot’s childhood friend. 

She nursed a painfully-obvious crush on Lancelot, of which the idiot managed to miss easily. She wasn’t the only one in their little troupe that was crushing on him, but hers was stronger than the other girls in their adventuring party, a party that was consisted on almost exclusively of women who had feelings for Lancelot; something that so-called Bastion of Light was either unaware of it, or so repressed that he never even tried to take advantage of it. 

Idiot. 

Of course, Emma was unhappy today, because she and Lancelot were accompanied by Queen Sapphire’s daughter, Aria, who Emma hated with a great passion, because in addition to her other impressive traits, Princess Aria had a title that Emma was willing to kill for.

Lancelot’s fiancee. 

Unlike the others that were watching me with vindictive or uncaring eyes, Princess Aria’s eyes were filled with compassion, unhappy with my imprisonment. Though it wasn’t true empathy, more like the gaze she would spare for a wounded dog. I was alive, and I was in pain, which triggered her overdeveloped sense of responsibility, but never to a point that she actually tried to stop my torture, or heal me without permission from her precious fiancee. More than once I had heard her begging Lancelot to stop torturing me, but that meant nothing, especially since she had the right to order the guards to stop. She was the only princess of the Empire, after all.  

She was soft, naive, and lacking a spine.

However, she had some good traits. She was one of the most accomplished healers I had ever seen, capable of raising anything short of true death. And, just like her mother and the rest of the girls in their group, she was a true vision of beauty. Like her mother, she was a blue-eyed blonde beauty, but unlike her mother, she was more reasonably proportioned, or at least I assumed so, as her conservative dressing didn’t leave a lot of space for guessing. 

Princess Aria looked like she was about to say something, when the door opened, and a girl dressed in a revealing leather armor stepped in. Isolde, the most famous tracker of the Empire, and one of the best even compared to the ones with decades more experience. She was a natural. And, like the other girls, she was a part of Lancelot’s party, though unlike the others, I didn’t know much about her. She was rather hard to read. The only thing I knew about her was her explosive temper. 

“There’s an emergency council meeting, and queen needs you all to join,” she informed them in her usual calm, almost emotionless tone. From the way every other occupant of the room looked at me like they were blaming me, it wasn’t hard to assume that I was the reason for the said meeting, probably pushing for my execution. I doubted that even Lancelot was stupid enough to actually reveal the presence of the Eternal Core to a bunch of greedy politicians.  

But it meant that the time was ticking for me, but for them as well. 

“Thanks, Isolde, helpful as always,” Lancelot said as he walked toward the door, leaving her blush prettily, contrasting her usual dour expression. “Can you finish up here and activate the spells before leaving our guest alone,” he added. Alone, because unlike a regular prison, my cell was in a forbidden tower, only accessible by people allowed by the Queen herself, which meant Lancelot and his band of lovesick ladies, and no one else. They didn’t dare to allow anyone else, rightfully afraid of me revealing my secrets to one of their opponents for revenge. 

Admittedly, it was something I might actually do, so I couldn’t blame them for the idea. 

Aria and Emma followed Lancelot and left my cell, leaving me alone with Isolde. “So, do you think they are going to have a quick threesome before the meeting, they left in a hurry,” I said mockingly. 

The response exploded on my ribs in the form of one of her boots. “Silence,” she ordered. 

“Someone is cranky, did someone stayed out of the rotation last night,” I said. “Maybe Emma took too much of Lancelot’s time. She was limping today,” I mocked, only to be silenced by another attack, this time back of her hand exploding on my face. “Did I hit a sore spot?” 

“Shut up!” she shouted as she punched me. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” she continued, each repeat punctuated by another punch, enough to strain me against my chains. I just laughed, earning another set of punches. It was a good feeling to win, I decided. I might be the one that was receiving the punches, but she was the one that was hurting more. It was an asshole move, as I was sure that Lancelot was too weak to actually sample the goods the girls around him was more than happy to offer, but Isolde was just insecure enough to actually believe that the rest of the group was having orgies but leaving her out. 

Like anyone with half a mind actually trying to keep her out of an orgy. She had a horrible demeanor, but that didn’t change the fact that she was extremely beautiful. But I continued goading her, because it was a part of my plan. 

 “Truth hurts, doesn’t it,” I said, ignoring my bleeding. “You have spent countless sleepless nights to track his enemies, while he spends countless sleepless nights plowing his sexy fiancee and slutty best friend.” 

I stopped only when I felt her blade pressing against my throat. “One more word, and I kill you,” she warned. 

“Really,” I answered. “That’s the best you can do, beating a man in chains.” 

“I’ll show you,” she said angrily even as she reached down and forced my chains open. “Stand up, we’re going to fight, and I’m going to teach you a lesson.” I felt my magic rush back in, soothing my wounds, and for the first time, I felt like I had a fighting chance. Pity that I was in the heart of the Empire. Even if I was in a perfect state, escaping would have been a legendary feat. While wounded, exhausted, and unarmed, simply suicide. 

But I had a plan. I raised my hands like I was preparing to punch her, only to receive a mean right hook. I stumbled down, my hand pressing against my own pool of blood. “Stand up,” she ordered, but I made a show of breathing loudly like I was trying to catch my breath. Meanwhile, unnoticed by her, I was already drawing several runes. 

I stood up when they started to glow slightly. Thankfully, Isolde was having too much fun venting her anger by punching me, again and again, to actually pay attention to her surroundings. 

Twenty minutes I resisted collapsing, no matter how many punches I received. When I finally received an uppercut hard enough to threaten my consciousness, I threw myself in the same pool of blood, and dispelled the runes I had drawn earlier. I was half delirious when Isolde locked me in my chains once more and left the room. 

A burst of manic laughter escaped my mouth even if each gasp hurt like a dagger. Because, even with the chains in place, I could feel my magic. A mere trickle compared to my full potential, but it was still infinitely more than what I had available. I finally had a fighting chance. Now, I needed to decide on my next action. 

Ironically, I would never have the opportunity if Lancelot hadn’t been an idiot and properly fucked his prospective harem to satisfaction…