“To die for glory is not eternal sleep —”
This is a lie all Castrum Kremnos keeps.
“The world after death is superior to reality and basks in light.”

But such vague poems the crown prince would not easily believe.

“Cowards who dare not look death in the eye…”
He declared thus on the day he returned from the stream of souls.
“Longing for a martyr's heaven and reciting self-deceiving stories…”

His words are sacrilege reincarnate,
More arrogant than his blood and family —
“True warriors should treat that paradise with spite.”

Many followers thus stop,
No longer following his steps.

For they feel this young man's words,
Compared to poems, are even more absurd.

A body immortal,
Equals not “perfection.”
The man braved dangers endless,
Simply to seek his weakness.

In his greener days
With more amateur skills,
In crises where death denied him even after kills,
He learned why “curse” is a synonym for “blessing,”

For he saw that visage of terror
at life's closing.

The man seems unmoved
when his past is mentioned.
Having braved death nine times,
He who was once lacking,
Now excels above everyone else, still rising.

Yet,
When asked if he's still as ticklish as when he was a child,
He does not answer.

It's a wild tale he won't care to opine —
It's said that Castrum Kremnos has secrets divine,
Through which the king's power has passed,
A one-man army, by strength in their bloodline.

“Therefore, a traitor who does not inherit the throne,
Is a king most infirm.”

As the protagonist hears these words,
He refutes not, but openly responds:

“These are not rumors unfounded.
But will they matter if my deeds eclipse those of all other kings,
achieving glory beyond?”

“Never turning back in war, he seizes all our glory.”
That rumor in the war camp of fury,
Often casts a shadow on the man's heart, indestructible and fiery.

When campaigns become mired in terror,
He sends his army to places safe and secure,
Yet alone he goes to fight, knowing death can touch him ne'er.

The Kremnoan Detachment who follow him in livery,
All die in bed, devoid of glory.
They have their share of grudges upon death,
But the man has no regret, none necessary.

“Your glory lies not in death but in my hands.”

The dust settles,
And Strife calms.
A deathly quiet covers his father's realm,
And the man alone returns home.

A question seems to sound, from shadows of the past around —
“Did you already walk that Flame-Chasing Road, O King?”

Atop the throne,
The man mutters alone —

“There's nothing else worthy of the hunt,
For I am the blazing fire at the journey's end.”

As it has been foretold,
He killed the king to become a king, and killed the god to become a god.

His eternal destiny — is to be crowned in blood.