The crimson flames of war licked the shattered walls as the Demon King's shadow army surged toward the breach in the city wall. Hamel half-knelt on the ground, leaning on his broken holy sword. Blood oozed from the cracks in his armor, staining the ground beneath his feet red, once his own. Not far away, his lifelong enemy, Bermut Leonhardt, was besieged by three high-ranking demons. His silver-white lion-patterned armor was covered in claw marks, and his spear trembled precariously.
"Bermut!" Hamel suddenly erupted with his last remaining strength, dragging his broken body toward the chaos. The light of the holy sword reignited in his palm, not to fight for glory, but to block the sharp claws piercing Bermutt's back. Sharp demon nails pierced his chest, and warm blood splattered on Bermutt's stunned face.
"Why..." Bermutt's voice trembled. He had never imagined that he would be saved in the moment of his life by the very rival he most desired to surpass. Hamel grasped his wrist and pressed the bloodstained holy sword into his hand. His eyes lost their former fierceness, replaced only by a heavy charge: "Don't let... this land... fall into the hands of demons. I swear... to put an end to the last demon king, for... everything we have all protected." Before he could finish his words, his body transformed into a golden speck of light, dissipating in the smoke. Bermut clutched the sword, still tinged with Hamel's warmth, tightly, his nails digging into his palm, and he swore a vow in his heart that he would never break.
Time slipped by like an hourglass. Three hundred years of wind and frost washed away the bloodstains of the battlefield, but the vows made became clearer in the dust of history. On a drizzling morning, in a small wooden house in a remote village, the cry of a baby pierced the silence. When the child opened his eyes, a trace of age unbecoming of a child flashed in them-Hamiel, carrying with him all the memories of three hundred years ago, had returned to a world still shrouded in the shadow of demons. He gazed out the window at the hazy mountains in the distance, his fingertips unconsciously curling, as if he could still feel the weight of the holy sword he once held. This time, he no longer fought alone, nor did he need to sacrifice himself for hope, because he knew that the opponent he once protected was fulfilling their shared oath, and his rebirth would bring a new turning point to this war that spanned three hundred years.
