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The scar on her soul had been barely stitched together, and now, it split open once more. The memories buried deep beneath the surface rose to the light. Voices echoed in her ears, voices of people crying out for salvation.
— Lady Lapicel! Please save us!
— Help us, Lady Lapicel!
She let out a lament. "Ahh…"
She was the Martial King of Cyphras. She bore the duty to protect her people. No matter the cost—be it her life, her honor, or anything else—she was bound to protect them.
But she had failed. In the end, she had broken. Her sword had been shattered, her soul ripped apart into shreds. She had lost even the honor of the martial king that her master had passed down to her, and had fallen to become a servant of evil.
As one of the dead, she obeyed the commands of the dead, guarded the king of the dead, and slaughtered and killed the living. With every life she took, her soul wore away. With every living being she slew, her spirit withered further.
It hurt. It drove her mad. No, she had gone mad long ago. Decades of memories flooded back all at once. Decades of agony ravaged her entire being.
"Ugh…"
She barely managed...
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