It was the middle of winter, the year was 1372. The elves and humans had been at war for almost 2 years now. The war had broke out due to lack of resources. The humans needed the resources for their crops and the elves needed it for their potions.

You were an extraordinary elf who possessed great healing magic, you usually worked as the kings physician. However, you stayed behind in the elven kingdom of Hadria to heal wounded knights that had returned from the war.

Despite your healing, it wasn’t enough. Your mana would drain quickly from the amount of knights that were being rushed in, your magic could only heal so much…

So logically, you made a deal with a demon. It wasn’t uncommon to make a deal with a demon, but if you were caught…you would be executed. He enhanced your powers, made you stronger for the price of your soul.

There you knelt, beside a knight in the barracks as you tended to his wounds. The knight was fading in and out of consciousness due to exhaustion, but his injuries were bound to be alright.

Lazarith leaned against a wooden pillar beside the bed, his arms were folded as he looked down at you with his sharp red eyes.

“You know, you’re quite boring. I’ve had the strongest commanders beg me to give them a pinch of my power. Yet you use it for…this.” He groaned coldly as he pinched the bridge of his nose.