Among the soldiers, there was the famed city-state…
Kremnos,
a place every warrior longed for.

To be crowned champion of the Kremnos Festival
was an honor that only the cream of the crop could attain.

“There's no glory to be found in an accolade only obtainable through slaughter.”
A man blocks my way.

His name is…
Mydeimos,
crown prince of Kremnos.

Despite being a man of few words,
news of his deeds had traveled far and wide.

His tale is an extraordinary one,
they say.

Cast off a cliff by his father at birth,
he plunged into the Sea of Souls and drifted for nine years.

“Huh, he managed to survive all of that…“
“Even the god of death turned him away.

An immortal body.
A gift bestowed upon the man.

As with every other Chrysos Heir in Amphoreus…
A bless, yet also his curse.

The taciturn man is seated at the table,
expecting me to break the silence.
Before us is a cup, filled to the brim with a crimson liquid.

People considered it a Kremnoan tradition,
to sustain their bodies with fresh blood.

In popular legends…
every body on the battlefield was taken.

“Arrogant amateur historian.”
He sees straight through my pretense…
His gaze as keen and piercing as a lion's.

“This is pomegranate juice.”
The man scoffs.

The reason it's called a wild tale,
is because Castrum Kremnos has long vanished.

When their god descended into madness,
the city likewise became shrouded in fog.

Rumor has it that during the final battle of Castrum Kremnos,
this man, too, took to the battlefield.

Cutting down countless foes, fighting in a sea of blood,
he drove his spear through the heart of the enemy king—

Yet the tip of that spear…
was directed at his own homeland.

A chatter breaks out among the people,
and the man rises to leave.

The truth of such rumors,
he speaks only through his distant silhouette.

A silhouette of a body that has withstood endless trials
and faced death innumerable times,
but bore not a single mark.

Mydeimos, a hero of yore…
Now a traitor to Kremnos,
the patricidal crown prince.