Ludwig’s consciousness slammed into the memory like a battering ram hitting castle gates. One moment he was standing in the ruined Bastos Manor, the next he found himself imprisoned in a body not his own—trapped within the Knight King’s armored shell, seated upon a throne carved from a single block of black volcanic stone. The seat was cold as death itself, its jagged edges biting into the King’s armored thighs.
Gigantic statues made of stone adorned the walls of the throne. Each stood thrice the height of a man, their weapons—massive halberds and broadswords—crossed over the throne in a silent vigil. The air smelled of ozone and old blood, thick enough to choke on.
Then—BOOM!
The double doors exploded inward, torn from their hinges by some unimaginable force. A Tibarian knight stumbled through, his once-gleaming armor now dented and slick with black ichor. He collapsed to one knee, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps.
“Your Majesty,” the knight croaked, his voice raw with desperation, “it’s time.”
The Knight King rose.
Ludwig felt the power in those movements—the way the King’s muscles coiled like steel springs beneath his armor. Behind the throne rested his weapons: a tower shield forged from meteoric iron, its surface etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly blue, and a sword—no, a monster of a blade—that stood taller than most men. The Knight King grabbed both without hesitation, his grip so tight the leather wrappings on the hilt groaned in protest.
Then, Ludwig saw it.
Tibari was burning.
The city sprawled beyond the palace gates, or what was left of it. Towers that had once scraped the heavens now lay in shattered ruins, their broken spires jutting from the ground like the ribs of a long-dead beast. The streets writhed with movement—thousands, tens of thousands of twisted figures shambling through the wreckage. They were the Knight King’s people, or what remained of them. Their flesh sagged off their bones, mouths stretched into grotesque, tooth-lined maws that dripped black saliva. Some still wore the tattered remnants of their old lives—merchant’s robes, scholar’s tunics, the armor of the city guard—now all reduced to the same mindless hunger.
And at the heart of the horde, standing atop a mountain of broken siege engines and corpses, was him.
The Gluttonous Death.
The creature was a mockery of a king—emaciated to the point of starvation, his sickly green skin stretched taut over a skeletal frame. A jagged crown of jade spikes sat crooked atop his skull, digging into his scalp. His eyes were pits of endless black, his grin a rictus of needle-sharp teeth.
But it was the sword that made Ludwig’s borrowed breath catch.
The weapon pulsed in the Gluttonous Death’s grip like a living thing, its three jagged blades gnashing together like the jaws of a rabid beast. Each movement sent arcs of dark energy crackling through the air, the very space around it warping from its presence.
The Knight King didn’t hesitate.
With a roar that shook the crumbling palace, he leapt from the balcony, his sword raised high. The impact of his landing sent a shockwave through the first wave of corrupted, their bodies bursting apart like overripe fruit.
There was no need to speak, as the entity had already breached the city, the people were dying in droves, turning to those wretched beings, consumed out of their vitality and health and left with nothing but a forever hungry food seeking husk.
The Knight King charged forward, jumping from the highest point of the palace into the first city section, his sword coming down with incredible might.
Tens of thousands of enemies swarmed the Knight King, many of them were his own people, yet right now they were consumed and defiled with the power of the Gluttonous Death.
With a screaming, dejected, and wrathful roar, the Knight King raised his weapon against his people. The people who turned into nothing but beasts.
He swung down, each strike a perfect example of mastery. A single sword swing would cleave, cull, and decimate two, three, and even a dozen foes at times. Each blow, a perfect replication of the other. Each swing carried the exact same weight, force, and power.
And he swung, and swung, his whole body covered by blood and slime and the cries of his people and screams as he continuously slashed and crushed.
Each swing as strong as the other, the first blow, perfectly replicating the hundredth blow.
Like an inexhaustible machine, the Knight King culled and struck down while the Gluttonous Death remained in the back, sending more and more of the Knight King’s people to their deaths.
Through it all, the Gluttonous Death watched, his grin widening with every life extinguished.
Finally, the square was cleared.
Only after the area was cleared did the rage of the Knight King refocus itself on the Gluttonous Death, and with a single leap, he flung himself forward, a classic use of [Summersault Slam] against the Gluttonous Death.
The Gluttonous Death raised his weapon up, easily blocking the incoming Knight King and stopping him in his tracks right in front of him.
“You devil-spawned fiend!” the Knight King roared, raising his sword. “What compelled you to come to this sacred land?”
The Gluttonous Death’s laugh. “Compelled? Oh, King,” he crooned, “it was quite the opposite. I was invited.”
With a speed that belied his emaciated frame, he struck.
His sword met the Knight King’s in a shower of sparks, the impact sending tremors through the ground. The King countered, his blade moving with practiced precision—only for the Gluttonous Death to laugh and casually parry with one hand.
“Your people hungered, little king,” the monster taunted, his black eyes gleaming. “Not for food, not for gold—but for chaos. For the thrill of the hunt, the ecstasy of destruction. You gave them safety. You gave them boredom.”
A kick—deceptively slow, almost lazy—connected with the Knight King’s shield. The force of the blow dislocated the King’s shoulder, sending the massive shield hurtling through the air like a discus. It smashed through the palace gates, embedding itself deep in the throne Ludwig had occupied moments before.
The Knight King didn’t scream. He didn’t falter. With a sickening crunch, he wrenched his shoulder back into place, his teeth bared in a snarl.
“You lie,” he growled. “Tibari wanted for nothing!”
The Gluttonous Death’s grin turned feral. “They wanted everything.”
Their blades clashed again, each strike sending shockwaves through the ruined city. The Knight King fought with the desperation of a man who had nothing left to lose, his sword a blur of silver light. But the Gluttonous Death moved like smoke—dodging, weaving, always one step ahead.
“Your people, ones who you brought so much to, ones you gave everything to, ones you came from and became a ruler of, did you not think that they had nothing else they hunger for?” the Gluttonous Death said as he swung his weapon at the Knight King, though it looked slow, each blow was enough to force the Knight King a step sometimes two back.
“I provided them all they would ever need! Food! Glory! Wealth and prosperity!”
“But you forgot something important, which is what called me!” the Gluttonous Death said.
The knight King desperately blocked. “You forgot their insatiable desire for more! Though my brother was supposed to come here, as your people who had everything wanted more. They didn’t hold Greed higher than they held Gluttony; they weren’t greedy for more of what they have, no, they were gluttonous for power! Power you didn’t relinquish, power you ruled with for a thousand years! Am I right? Elf?”
“It was a thousand years of peace!”
“A thousand years of oppression!”
“A thousand years of good harvests and prosperity!”
“A thousand years of the same boring food, and the stagnation of power!”
“A thousand years of wealth!”
“A thousand years of monotony!”
“You’re insane!”
“And you’re too drunk on your power and life to realize that you’re oppressing the natural instinct of man. They seek wealth, but eternal wealth wouldn’t be enough; they seek a long life, yet even immortality isn’t satisfying for them. They seek peace, but rejoice in war and destruction. You made life easy for them, and for that, they resent you; they called upon me without any of them even knowing. They grew stronger than any nation, yet were forbidden from spreading their wings; they grew wealthier than any, yet no joy could be found in what they purchased; they grew complacent but were forbidden from acting out.”
The Knight King tried to fight but was easily blocked and forced to a standstill against the jaws of the Gluttonous Death’s sword, which easily grabbed the sword with its teeth.
The Gluttonous Death peered closer with his face on top of the crossed swords and added,
“Oppression of perfection is oppression still, and for that THEY HUNGER! THEY HUNGER FOR FREEDOM! Though they foolishly would seek the flames like moths to the fire, their hunger beckoned! Their hunger called and I answered! For they didn’t want the stagnation of peaceful water! BUT THE ENDLESS TURMOILS OF THE SEA!” The Gluttonous Death twisted his weapon The moment the Knight King tried to pull it back, his weapon snapped in half.
The Knight King’s sword shattered, with one half in his hand and the other away, allowing The Gluttonous Death’s weapon to continue its arc, carving a deep gash across the King’s chest. Blood sprayed, hot and crimson, staining the cobblestones.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—
“YOU WILL NOT CORRUPT THEM!”
You will not corrupt them!” he roared out, and immediately a massive aura began materializing around the Knight King, then suddenly it began solidifying, hardening, and taking physical form.
The gash on his chest was mended by the aura, which stopped the bleeding and cauterized the wound. The sword, which only had the hilt and half the blade, was reinforced into a physical aura blade that had substance and density.
The Knight King’s armor began shining through for a moment as it began to gain pieces and bits of aura, yet sadly, there wasn’t enough left to fully coat his armor.
“I’ll free my people, even if I have to drag you back to the hell you came from, myself!” The two collided their weapons one final time, yet Ludwig couldn’t see the rest.
Their final clash lit up the sky—a cataclysmic explosion of light and darkness that tore at the fabric of reality itself.
Then—
Darkness.
Ludwig gasped, his consciousness slamming back into his own undead body. right in front of him was the Knight King, who seemed to have a different air about him this time.
[Your Understanding of [Aura] Grew Slightly]
[Your Understanding of the Tyrant Blade Technique Grew Slightly]