Three years ago...
A masked man sat atop a hill, surveying the approaching figures with a satisfied smile. Clad in full armor and armed to the teeth, these were underlings from various mafia factions intent on seizing Demon's territory.
"Lucky," he muttered, pulling a small device from his pocket and inspecting it. "This little contraption, crafted by the esteemed Azakura, packs enough punch to level a two-story building. With this, clearing out these pests becomes much simpler."
With determination, the man advanced as the enemy's underlings tightened their grips on their weapons.
"Get him! Capture him alive! No, kill him! Bring me his head!" shouted one of the enemy leaders, urging his men forward, unaware of the impending danger.
"Che-chewing gum, checheche-" His annoyance spiked as his phone interrupted with an irreverent ringtone he couldn't change.
"I heard you're in the thick of it. I know you want to test that thing, but try not to turn their skulls into mush—I need them intact," the caller stated abruptly before the connection abruptly cut off.
Frustration mounting, the man swiftly dodged an attack from behind and gracefully countered with a lightning-fast kick to an enemy's face. His movements were fluid, his demeanor cool and collected.
—
"What the—did he just take out that guy with one kick? What kind of training has he been through in three years? How is he so powerful?" Kurt whispered in awe, almost fainting at the sight.
"You're going to faint for real when you find out he's fighting with a three-kilogram chain on each leg," a woman next to him divulged.
Gasp!
The man gasped in disbelief at the revelation. "He's a monster."
"No, darling. He's Demon's partner, Conan Takashi."
—
"The moment you step into Demon's domain, you seal your fate," Conan declared, surveying the fifty lifeless bodies strewn around him. It had taken him just half an hour to dispatch them using only his small sword, though he regretted not being able to utilize his new weapon.
Since the news of Demon's demise, Conan Takashi had devoted himself to relentless training and relentless killing—to uphold the legacy of the White Monarchy, to satiate his festering rage, and to honor Demon's memory.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!" A man older than Conan by two years charged at him with a gleaming chainsaw.
"You madman, what do you intend to do with these corpses?" Conan inquired, wiping blood from his arm—blood splattered due to the short reach of his sword, a detail he despised.
"You call me mad, yet you dispatched them in such a bizarre manner," the man smirked, gesturing to a corpse with an eye gouged out.
"He gave me a mean look—what else could I do?" Conan feigned innocence, failing to deceive the man who had served beside him since he ascended as king.
"Stop hanging around the Pillars; their dramatics are rubbing off on you."
"HEY ZEUS, I CAN HEAR YOU! WHO ARE YOU CALLING DRAMATIC?" Kurt Cinco bellowed from a nearby perch, accompanied by the Pillars Saphora and Ethan—always present during skirmishes, though Conan had rarely called upon them in three years.
