The rain came at dawn.Thin, dirty rivulets that washed blood into the gutters but couldn't cleanse the stench.
Leonhart stood in the courtyard, bare-chested, rainwater mingling with the crimson stains that marked his skin.His breath came in slow, controlled rasps.His body ached — but pain was a language he'd long since mastered.
"Again."His voice was hoarse, but his hand did not waver.
The recruit before him — a boy barely older than sixteen — hesitated.His wooden blade trembled.
"Again!"Leonhart's shout cracked through the courtyard like thunder.The boy lunged, desperate and wild.
Leonhart caught the strike with the flat of his palm, twisting, and sent the boy sprawling into the mud.
Gasps rose from the gathered crowd — the broken, the forgotten, the desperate souls he had gathered in these dark days.They watched, not with fear, but with something colder.Hunger.A desperate hunger for the strength this fallen prince embodied.
Leonhart exhaled, chest rising and falling."Get up," he commanded.His gaze swept over the others."You want to survive? You want to see tomorrow? Then bleed for it. Fight for it. Because no one — not the nobles, not the crown, not your gods — will save you."
Rain pattered harder now, masking tears on the faces of some.
Widow Fang, standing in the shadows, let out a rasping chuckle. "Turning gutter rats into wolves, are we?"
Leonhart didn't look at her."I'm giving them what no one gave me."His voice was quieter now, rough."A chance to bite back."
Later that evening, as torches flickered against the cold stone walls, an unexpected visitor arrived.A man draped in a tattered cloak, face hidden beneath a hood.
Donmar bristled at the sight, hand already on his hilt."Who the hell—?"
But the man raised a gloved hand."I come bearing the Black Sun's mark," he rasped.
The courtyard fell silent.Even Leonhart's gaze sharpened.
The Black Sun.A name whispered in fear — a faction of exiled knights and cast-off nobles who had long been written off as madmen and terrorists.
Leonhart stepped forward."Show me," he demanded.
The stranger drew back his hood, revealing a face seamed with old scars — and a pendant hung around his neck: a black disc, cracked down the center.
"It's true, then," Leonhart murmured. "Even the Black Sun crawls from its hole when the world starts to burn."
The man's smile was jagged."We've been waiting for the right flame. And you, Prince Leonhart… you burn brighter than anyone."
Donmar spat to the side. "And what does a bunch of has-beens and ghosts want with us?"
The emissary's eyes glittered.
"To join you. To make your war ours. We have blades. We have men. And we have hate. More than enough to feed your cause."
Leonhart studied him in silence, muscles tight with unspoken tension.His mind flickered — back to the palace halls where he was cast out, back to the friends who betrayed him, back to Evelyne's cold eyes as she turned her back on him.
"Why now?"His voice was a low growl.
The emissary stepped closer."Because we, too, have nothing left but vengeance. And because your enemy is ours. Evelyne, the crown, the entire rotting corpse of this kingdom — it all needs to fall. We will raise your banner if you will have us."
A heavy silence fell.The rain had stopped, but the weight in the air was suffocating.
Leonhart's fists clenched at his sides.More pawns. More swords. More blood to spill.
He should have hesitated.Should have considered the danger of inviting such unstable forces into his growing army.
But instead, something in his chest — cold and furious — whispered:Take them. Use them. Burn everything if you must.
Leonhart looked up, meeting the emissary's gaze.
"Swear it," he said, voice raw. "Swear on your broken sun that you will follow me — not as a puppet, not as a usurper — but as the king of this damned rebellion."
The emissary knelt, pressing his forehead to the wet stones.
"By blood and shadow, we swear. Lead us, and we will die for you."
The crowd murmured.Some with awe.Some with fear.But all felt it — the shifting of tides.
Donmar muttered under his breath. "Damn it, Leonhart… you're not building a resistance. You're building a monster's army."
Leonhart's lips twitched — a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Good. Because when we tear down this world, I want them to choke on the monster they made."
Across the city, Evelyne felt the change as if the air itself had thickened.She stood on her balcony, cold wind tugging at her dark hair.
Her informants' reports lay scattered at her feet.Names and symbols she recognized — and some she had prayed were dead.
"Black Sun…" she whispered, voice tight.
Her hand pressed against her chest, where her heart pounded a furious rhythm.
Leonhart… you really mean to make this a war.Fine. But know this: I will not lose. Not to you. Not to anyone.
Her nails dug into her palm until blood welled.
"I will crush your rebellion — and when I do, I'll make you watch as everything you built burns."
The wind howled.But it was not loud enough to drown out the storm gathering beneath the surface.Not loud enough to hide the fact that, even as they stood on opposite sides, their hearts beat the same brutal rhythm.
Two monsters. Two tragedies. Racing toward the same inevitable ruin.
And the city?The city would bleed for their sins.