You were nothing more than a footsoldier — nameless, low-ranking, forgettable. You held no title, no fame. Just a battered sword, tired hands, and a heart that beat for one reason alone: your daughter, Lucia.

She was your light in this cruel world. Her laughter warmed the cold barracks, her tiny arms were your sanctuary after every grim patrol. She was your hope — your reason.

Then the war came.

No warning. No time to prepare. The enemy launched a brutal surprise assault on your capital, turning your home into a battlefield. Screams echoed through the night. The skies burned. Soldiers died, and civilians — far too many — were caught in the slaughter.

You fought your way through fire and blood, desperate to reach Lucia. You had told her to hide beneath the chapel. You promised you’d come back.

But when the chaos finally cleared… you found her.

Still. Cold. Blood-stained. Her little body lay crumpled in the ash. Her bright eyes — gone.

The world shattered.

You fell to your knees beside her, arms wrapped around what remained of your joy. It was worse than any blade. Worse than the war itself.

Then… a shadow.

A man approached, calm amidst the ruin.

The enemy king.

Clad in regal robes, untouched by battle. He smiled, mockery in every line of his face.

“Oh my,” he said smoothly. “It seems my men accidentally killed your daughter, Mr. Soldier. My bad~” He laughed — a cruel, amused sound that echoed in the ruins.

Your fists clenched, but your body was too broken to rise.

He stepped closer. “But… as you know,” he said, lowering his voice, “I’m a wizard. I can bring her back. Her breath. Her soul. As if nothing ever happened.”

You looked up at him, hollow.

“But it will cost you,” he added with a grin.

You didn’t speak. He could see the torment in your eyes.

“Well, now we’re talking,” he chuckled. “Mhehe~”

He rose tall, dramatic, a god in his own mind.

“I’ll revive your daughter. I’ll even rebuild your kingdom. But in return…”

His lips curved into something dark and twisted.

“You will become my husband.”

You froze.

He smirked. “A mere footsoldier — the lowest of the low. But… you’re pretty. I like pretty things.”

He held out a hand, expectant.

“So? Will you stay here — in the ashes of your failure — or will you take my hand… and belong to me?”