Elden Lord of Cinders

How long had it been?

In the endless darkness, the consciousness called Rykard slowly opened his eyes.

But even with his eyes open, there was nothing ahead of him but blackness.

Just like his life.

No—there was something else. Hunger.

That maddening hunger, the kind that felt as if it could devour the entire world.

The massive serpent body stirred, and Rykard's mind cleared a little. Staring into the void, he found himself slipping into memories of the past.

Rykard had not been born this way.

He was once human. He had a happy family, even a complete childhood.

His parents lived in harmony, his brother and sister were close and respectful, and he himself had been born into the Carian royal family, with access to the finest resources from birth.

And because his upbringing was good, he carried no terrible vices. His abilities might not have stood out among demigods, but in the Lands Between he was an elite—especially adept in matters of governance.

By all rights, with such a start, his life should not have ended like this.

Entombed in a serpent's belly, merged with that fell serpent itself.

So how had it all come to this?

He thought back to the day Radagon left.

To be fair, Radagon had not been a bad father. Quite the opposite—he treated all three of his children with genuine care, one might even say with excellence.

Otherwise, Radahn would never have been so proud of sharing his father's red hair. Rykard, while not as fiery as Radahn in that respect, had never objected when painters emphasized the flame-red of his own hair in portraits.

And that was precisely why Radagon's departure felt so unforgivable.

It was also the core reason why he and Ranni both resented the Golden Order.

They could never forgive the golden goddess who had stolen their father away.

But if that had been all, Rykard's dissatisfaction would have remained just that—resentment. By then, he was already grown and not so reckless as to take extreme action.

Even later, when his mother descended into madness, his discontent deepened, yet he still dutifully served under the Golden Order.

Family was family, and politics were politics. Rykard kept the two separate.

But as he grew older, he began to notice shadows beneath the harmony of his parents' marriage.

For instance, the Carian Knight's Shield—designed with both holy and sorcery resistance.

At the time, the marriage alliance had placed the Golden Order and Raya Lucaria in their honeymoon period. With foreign wars pressing, the Academy and Carian factions had joined forces, a rare time of unity.

And yet, in this very context, the knights sworn to the Carian queen carried shields resistant to both holy and sorcery.

If it had only been sorcery resistance, one could claim it was to guard against potential traitors from the Academy. But holy resistance…

In those days, only one man at the Academy wielded holy incantations with enough power to threaten his mother.

And he was versed in both sorcery and holy arts.

How those two had come together under such circumstances, why they later seemed so affectionate, even bearing three children together…

Rykard had no answer.

The vigilance had been real. The love had been real. The care had been real. And so too had the betrayal of their family.

It was complicated.

But in the end, for all these reasons, though he resented Radagon's departure, Rykard managed to accept it.

Even after his mother went mad, he continued to serve under the man, while still tending to her as best he could.

If the tale had ended there, it might have been called a passable story.

But ill fortune rarely comes alone.

Just when he had finally come to terms with it all, ready to lend his father a hand at Volcano Manor, taking on the dirty work…

His sister found him and told him the message she had received from the Two Fingers.

The Two Fingers wanted the Demigods to fight each other.

Just like in the days of Marika and the Gloam-Eyed Queen, they were to compete for the right to become the new god and the new lord.

It didn't matter if he refused to fight. Once a new god and lord were chosen, all the rest would naturally become sacrifices.

To be honest, Rykard didn't care much about the others—especially those of the Golden Order. Even without such a command, he had never liked them.

But when it came to his own siblings, that was different.

Ranni knew this well, which was why she came to him and revealed her thoughts and plans.

Rykard agreed.

Yet with that agreement, dissatisfaction began to take root in his heart. He couldn't help but grow doubtful—not only of the Two Fingers, but of the Greater Will behind them.

Why should they, because of a single command, be forced to slaughter one another like beasts in a cage, simply for the amusement of a distant power?

The so-called guidance of grace, the arrogant, hollow words of the Fingers, and everything else that had been forced upon them…

Were these things truly righteous?

And in his doubt, he heard the serpent's whisper in his ear, tempting him to pluck the fruit of blasphemy from the tree.

Yes, blasphemy was no good thing—the serpent itself admitted as much.

But at the same time, it flicked its tongue and asked: if he did not walk the path of blasphemy, then how else could he resist the fate imposed upon him?

Rykard wavered.

What followed was the story everyone knew.

Many years ago, the Black Knife Assassins slipped into Leyndell and carried out the Night of the Black Knives...

And Rykard too took part.

Afterward, his sister sent him the Beast Claw as thanks—a relic capable of deflecting Destined Death. With it as his foundation, he planned to challenge the one who held that very power far above in the crumbling city in the sky.

Maliketh, the Black Blade.

Marika's Shadow Beast.

Its greatest triumph had been defeating the Gloam-Eyed Queen and her Godskin army, then sealing Destined Death within its own body. It was a being so mighty that even Demigods looked up to it.

And because it carried Destined Death, it alone could kill Demigods outright.

So even with the Beast Claw in hand, Rykard still had his doubts.

For even without Destined Death, the Black Blade was a formidable foe. And while Rykard bore the name of Demigod, his actual combat strength was… well...

Not promising.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—he didn't need to think on it long.

Because before he even saw the Black Blade, before he had even set foot in Farum Azula, he was utterly crushed on the battlefield by a Demigod that had risen from the Subterranean Shunning-Grounds.

Not only beaten, but driven all the way back to his doorstep, so much that Radahn had to rush from distant Caelid to rescue him by striking Leyndell's army from behind.

And in that moment of desperation, Rykard made his choice.

He merged with the serpent, hoping that by devouring its strength he could transform into a being mighty enough to repel the capital's army.

He thought he was ready. He was, after all, a Demigod. Even if he could not fully consume the serpent, without Destined Death he could not truly die. At worst, he would be torn out again.

But he had underestimated the serpent.

Gravely underestimated it.

From the very beginning, the serpent had known it could not kill him—and it never intended to.

What it wanted was to break his will. To dig out the doubt and fear within his heart, and when the weakness showed, swallow him whole, merge with him, and become eternal and undying, so that it might fulfill its own design.

And in the end, the serpent succeeded.

It had lured him into studying blasphemy, encouraged and supported his rebellion, even shared its strength with him—gradually eroding him piece by piece.

Then, once they had become one, it exploited his confusion and fear, carving open a hole in his heart.

If things had only ended there, the situation might not have been so dire.

Rykard might have been weaker than most, but he was still a Demigod. He could at least resist the Serpent.

But...

His sister was half-dead, unable even to maintain her doll form.

The Academy had fallen into rebellion, Caria suffered defeat after defeat, and his mother had been imprisoned in the Grand Library.

His brother, who had come to support him, was forced back—and after returning to Caelid, was struck by a foul weapon that turned him into a beast that survived only by devouring corpses.

One after another, each piece of news shattered Rykard's heart.

And through those cracks, the Serpent slipped in its tongue.

It pried into his spirit, twisting his mind, pushing him further and further down the path of blasphemy.

The Gelmir Knights were the first to notice.

They were his sworn knights, the ones he trusted most, his most loyal and valued subordinates.

He had even consulted them—not only about the Shattering, but about whether he should walk the path of blasphemy.

And their answer had been the same: though the Serpent was reviled throughout the Lands Between, though blasphemy was an undeniable crime, they still chose to believe in him.

But by the time Lloyd reached Volcano Manor, not a single Gelmir Knight remained.

Why? Because the Serpent had devoured them all.

It lured in the knights who wished to save their lord, using itself as bait, then twisted Rykard's mind so that he himself consumed them, one by one.

Rykard's spirit cracked further.

Shaken, unsteady, he teetered on the edge of complete ruin.

And then came the final blow.

Whether it had been the Serpent's plan all along, or fate, or both—no one could say.

What was certain was that, many years ago, Rykard met a dancer from a distant land.

He fell in love with her at first sight and took her as a concubine.

It had not been forced, yet he could feel clearly that she did not love him.

To win her affection, Rykard tried everything—gifts of jewelry and clothing, tender words, constant attention—but nothing worked.

She accepted him, she embraced him, she did not resist the marriage, but she did not love him.

Until the day she saw him take the form of a Serpent.

In that moment, her long-indifferent eyes suddenly shone with light.

To be plain—

The instant he became a Serpent, she fell in love with him.

After that, she stayed by his side as a human, even bearing him children.

That woman was Tanith—mother of Rya.

Her twisted desire was a fallen one.

To be fair, Tanith's inclination was not malicious in itself. She had never acted upon it before, perhaps never even realized it lay within her.

But that bizarre craving became the last straw that broke Rykard.

He had lost his father, his mother, his family. He had devoured his own knights.

He had committed unforgivable sins, taken on the form of the Serpent, and been cursed and abandoned by the world.

And at that moment, Tanith embraced him.

The love he had once sought in vain became the only thing left to him.

So, after that embrace, he became the Serpent.

The Serpent who had lost everything.

The Serpent who thirsted for vengeance.

The Serpent who longed only for Tanith's affection.

To please her, he turned his lair into a grotesque charnel ground, transformed his once-holy sword through ritual into a writhing Blasphemous Blade, and even crafted a carefully rehearsed, villainous speech to match his new role.

And now...

It was the perfect time to use that speech.

As his consciousness returned, he sensed the Serpent locked in battle outside.

He didn't know with whom, but it had to be a "champion" Tanith had cast into the pit to be devoured.

Judging from the clash outside, this champion was strong—too strong for the Serpent alone.

That meant it was time for him to make his entrance.

As the first bar of life was emptied, the Serpent's head slumped to the ground.

But its massive, towering body did not fade away.

After a moment, it began to writhe again.

"Oh... oh..."

The voice sounded like someone just waking from a long sleep.

The serpent's mountain-like body slowly twisted, revealing at last the massive face that had remained hidden on its back during the previous battle.

Its eyes opened, and it gazed at the small figure before it, the one holding the Serpent-Hunter spear.

"Not bad..."

Rykard stretched out a human arm sprouting from the serpent's body, reached into its gaping jaws, and grasped a sword hilt.

With the sound of flesh squirming wetly, he drew out a blood-red holy sword, its surface crawling with human bodies that writhed like worms.

As the blade slid free, half-digested chunks of flesh fell from it into the lava, where they were consumed with a hiss.

Gurgle—gurgle—

The magma bubbled as the sword was lifted before him.

Then, staring at the tiny figure ahead, he raised his head and spread his arms wide.

"Join the Serpent King, as family!

Together, we will—"

"—hm?"

His words froze.

Because behind that tiny figure, he suddenly saw three more silhouettes.

And they looked... familiar.

Silence.

The three figures in the distance simply stared at his pompous display without saying a word.

Rykard looked back at them in silence. After a long pause, he slowly raised his other hand—and slapped himself across the face.

Boom—

Sparks burst, the magma trembled.

It hurt. This was no dream.

Coming back to his senses, Rykard went quiet again, then shoved the Blasphemous Blade back into the serpent's mouth, turned his body, and tried to hide his face as if he didn't exist.

But the serpent would have none of it.

What do you mean, brother? I just took a beating, and now you're chickening out?

It began thrashing, twisting violently, trying to force that face back into view.

And so, before Lloyd's group, the giant serpent started fighting itself—

One side twisting to conceal its face, the other straining to reveal it.

Even the two human arms growing from its body grappled with one another, each trying to drag the other out.

After a long struggle of self-wrestling, the serpent's will finally prevailed, wrenching Rykard's face forward once more.

Under its influence, he was forced to draw the Blasphemous Blade again and face the four standing before him.

Another long silence followed. Perhaps it was the serpent's grip on his mind, perhaps his own refusal to face reality.

Either way, he raised the holy sword and muttered:

"Ha... such a pitiful illusion. Do you think this will frighten me?

I am Rykard, Lord of Blasphemy! I will never be swayed by these false phantoms..."

Silence.

After a brief exchange of stares, the Queen of the Full Moon drew her staff and spoke coldly.

"Wake him."

The two beside her slowly nodded. Then—

The radiant full moon.

The frozen dark moon.

And the Greatstar crashing down from the heavens.

All struck that massive face at once.

Boom—

...

[Upto 20 chapters ahead for now]

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