Zeon's mind snapped back, dragging him to a dim, foul-smelling alley. The air was thick with the stench of rot and smoke. Trash scattered across the cracked stone floor, rats scuttling between broken crates. Shadows loomed like jagged teeth against the walls.

He was nine, pressed into the corner of a building, his small body sprawled against the cold stone. Hungry, exhausted, every muscle trembling from fear and hunger. Thugs prowled the alley, laughter dripping with malice, their boots scraping and echoing like distant thunder. He huddled tighter, arms wrapped around his knees, wishing the shadows would swallow him whole.

Zeon slowly sprawled across the grimy alley floor, his small hands trembling as he reached for a scrap of moldy bread. "F…food…" he whispered weakly, voice barely audible over the rats skittering nearby.

The thugs noticed him and turned, sneering with cruel amusement. "Huh? Look at this elf kid," one jeered, stepping closer, boots scraping against the cracked stones. Their laughter echoed harshly, sharp and mocking, bouncing off the walls. "He must be useless… abandoned like this… pathetic."

Zeon's stomach twisted with both fear and hunger, his small chest heaving. He clenched his fists, trying to ignore the taunts, but the cold reality of the world pressed down on him like a weight heavier than the stones around him. Every laugh, every mocking glance pierced deeper than the chill of the alley.

Suddenly, one of the thugs stepped closer, a cruel grin spreading across his face. Without hesitation, he slammed the heel of his boot into Zeon's back, forcing him painfully against the cold, cracked ground. "Just die already, hahhh!" he sneered, stepping again and again, each blow sending shivers of pain through Zeon's small frame.

"Ahhhhhhh! Nooooo!" Zeon screamed, tears spilling from his eyes, his vision blurring with despair. Hopelessness radiated from him, a raw, piercing weight pressing on his chest. His body shook violently from the repeated strikes, each step of the thug grinding into him like a cruel drumbeat of suffering.

But even in the face of such relentless cruelty, Zeon refused to give up. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he continued to crawl, sprawling across the alley floor. "F…food…," he whispered, his tiny hands stretching now desperately toward the moldy scrap of bread. Each movement was agony, each inch forward a battle against both his fear and the bruising reality beneath the thug's boot.

Despite the hopelessness in his eyes, a flicker of stubborn determination burned deep inside him… the hunger driving him forward, refusing to let him surrender.

The thug sneered, crouching slightly as he repositioned himself closer to Zeon's trembling hand, reaching desperately for the moldy bread with all strength he got. "You don't give up, do you?" he hissed, his grin twisting into something darker. "Let's see if you can survive… without your right hand. Ahhh hahahaha!"

His boot slammed down hard onto Zeon's tiny hand, crushing it against the cold, rough alley stones. Zeon screamed, a raw, shattering cry: "Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhh! P-please… please… let me eat…!" His voice was choked with pain, his fingers crushed and bleeding, trembling as he clutched the bread.

From the side, another thug, his ally, stepped forward, voice edged with frustration and faint pity. "Hey… hey, that's enough. He's just a kid! He wants to live!"

The first thug's face twisted in anger as he turned toward his ally. His eyes burned with pure malice. "What did you just say?" he growled, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him, the air thickening with tension as his boot scraped against the alley's stones.

Zeon whimpered on the ground, tears mingling with blood, heart hammering as the shadow of further pain loomed over him. Yet, buried deep beneath the agony, a flicker of determination sparked in his eyes… a stubborn refusal to die, even in the face of this cruelty.

Zeon's vision blurred with tears, his body trembling as he tried to make sense of the pain. What did I do to deserve this? he thought bitterly, his small chest heaving. I didn't do anything wrong… Mother… Father… where are you? Maybe I should have joined you… wherever you are.

Despite the darkness pressing in around him, a part of him clung desperately to life. He couldn't let go—not yet. His jaw clenched tightly, teeth grinding against the ache of his crushed hand, the broken fingers still clutching the moldy bread as though it were his only lifeline.

The first thug, having momentarily turned his attention to his ally, whipped back toward Zeon, a cruel grin twisting his face. "Ohhh… crying like a baby, huh? Hahaha… baby!" he jeered, his voice low and mocking, each word like a whip against Zeon's heart. He tightened his grip on the collar of his ally's dress as if drawing power from his own malicious laughter, eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

Zeon flinched at the sound, but something deep inside him stirred—a flicker of defiance that refused to be crushed, even under the weight of pain, fear, and hopelessness.

The thug sneered, stepping closer. "Ohh... since your right hand and those fingers are already broken, let me help you relieve the pain."

He raised the pocket knife, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim alley light.

Zeon's eyes widened in horror. "No... no, please... stop!" he cried, his voice cracking. He struggled to stand, but his battered body betrayed him, legs trembling before collapsing again. His strength wasn't enough.

One of the bystanders at the alley's edge shouted desperately, "Hey, hey! Don't do that!"

But the knife-wielding thug only scoffed. "What are you talking about? Let the kid die! I'm doing him a favor... for god fucking sake!" He turned his gaze back to Zeon, lips curling into a cruel grin.

Zeon's tears blurred his vision. His chest ached, breaths ragged as he whispered, both broken and oddly calm, "Mother... Father... it looks like I can join you now..." He closed his eyes, a sad, almost relieved smile forming through the pain.

And then....

A heavy thud shattered the moment. A fist slammed into flesh, followed by guttural cries of agony. "Ahhh! Arrgghhh!" The thugs' voices echoed through the alley, like air torn from their lungs by the impact.

The thuds came one after another.... thud.... thud.... thud.... each one deep, heavy, and merciless. Zeon forced his eyes open. Through the haze of pain, he saw an elf.... calm blue eyes, long flowing hair. He knew that face.

It was King Albedo.

For some reason, Albedo's concealment skill that prevents the other elves from seeing him as a king had never worked on him. As he looked closely. The King, only nine hundred years old at that time, moved with the grace of a seasoned fighter. His fists cut the air with fluid precision, striking like a storm, yet his gaze remained calm.... unwavering.

Each punch landed with brutal force. The thug was slammed flat against the ground, his body crushed like a pancake under the weight of Albedo's power. The final blow sent him skidding across the pavement, battered violet with bruises. Gasping, broken, the man staggered up and fled into the night.

Albedo brushed the dust from his knuckles and spoke in his cold, even tone.

"Hmm.... you should have picked someone your own size."

Then his eyes shifted, settling on Zeon. Calmly, he walked closer.

"Kid.... are you okay?"

Zeon's body stiffened. His eyes widened, fear and defiance colliding inside him. His voice shook, but his will held steady.

"H-hey.... what do you want?"

Even weak and wounded, Zeon stood ready to protect himself.... trembling, but unyielding.

Albedo's calm voice cut through the silence.

"Hmmm… hey kid. Do you still want to live?"

Zeon's swollen eyes trembled. Tears streamed down his face as he nodded, his lips quivering.

"Y-yes…" he whispered, his voice weak, broken, but still clinging to hope.

Albedo smiled faintly, stepping closer. He knelt down before the boy and pulled a potion from his side bag. Without a word, he uncorked it and gently poured it over Zeon's shattered right hand.

Smoke rose as the liquid hissed against torn flesh, glowing a soft red. Zeon gasped as warmth spread through his bones. His broken fingers twitched, then clenched into a fist. He stared at his hand in disbelief.

"M-my hand… it's better now…"

Overwhelmed, Zeon looked up with watery eyes.

"Th-thank you, Mister King—I mean… stranger."

Albedo chuckled softly, closing his eyes for a moment.

"What do you think of becoming a hero in this kingdom?" he asked. With a flick of his hand, he tossed a fresh loaf of bread toward Zeon.

Zeon caught it, staring at it with wide eyes. For a moment, his face darkened—hesitation, disbelief, distrust. But hunger won. He said nothing. He simply bit into the bread and savored every piece as though it were the last meal in the world.

Albedo watched quietly, then stood.

"All right then. If you follow me… your life will become stable. You'll be a hero. You'll have money—more than enough."

But Zeon didn't answer. He just kept eating, crumbs on his lips, his eyes still shadowed.

Albedo smiled faintly, then turned his back, walking farther away.

Suddenly, Zeon's weak but determined voice broke through the silence.

"...Mister... I will become the hero."

Albedo paused. He tilted his head slightly, as if amused, before slowly turning back to face Zeon. The boy was standing... his body trembling, hands shaking, yet his eyes held a faint fire.

"Ohhh... good," Albedo said with a calm smile, eyes closing for a moment as if in thought. "But if you join me and become a hero in the future... you will only hate me. You will claim I forced you into it." His smile lingered, sharp and knowing, as his gaze fell on Zeon again.

Zeon lowered his head slightly. His eyes darkened, yet he gave a small nod.

"Ahhh... alright," Albedo whispered. "From now on... you will become the most powerful assassin hero this kingdom has ever seen, kid."

Zeon's trembling legs carried him forward, step by step, until he walked closer to Albedo.

The memory faded... the flashback ended.

Meanwhile, as Zeon's mind reeled back to reality, he let out a roar, his voice shaking the air. His body was still pinned to the ground by the obsidian blade of the golem, yet his hands never loosened. He clutched the sword deeper into his own flesh, his teeth gritted in pain.

"I… will not fall! Haaaaaa… for the kingdom!"

With a furious surge, he pressed harder. The blade cracked, shattering in two, leaving only half buried inside his body. The breaking force sent a burst of energy outward, and the golem staggered back, caught off balance.

In that instant, Zeon's dual daggers materialized into his grip, glowing with deadly light. He leapt forward, blood trailing from his side, and spun into a furious assault.

"Haaaaaaa… Ultimate Blade Dance!"

His blades carved arcs of pure destruction, tearing into the golem with relentless speed until its stone body cracked and shattered to dust.

When the last fragments fell, Zeon collapsed to one knee, breathing raggedly, chest heaving with exhaustion.

And then he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible.... "Did I... did good, my lord?"

His face darkened with exhaustion, shadows settling over his expression. The weight of battle finally crushed him. With no strength left to stand, his body gave in, and he collapsed to the ground.... unconscious.