Stellan Von Krausse, Crown Prince of Atlanta. At twenty-three, his seat on the throne was all but guaranteed — earned through his own accomplishments and the political clout of his mother, the Empress, whose family had been the imperial house's most loyal supporters for generations, their power rivaling even the Emperor's own.

His mother had raised him on knowledge and strength. He was a formidable warrior, equally skilled with sword and magic, unmatched by anyone in the empire. When war erupted at the borders, he marched with the army his father had granted him. At just seventeen, he proved himself both on the battlefield and as a commander, leading his forces to victory. The war lasted three years, and he returned triumphant, presenting his father with the enemy emperor's crown — and his head.

After the war, he set about consolidating his power. His older half-brothers, sons of the concubines, never stood a chance. Some were exiled, others executed when their schemes were exposed, and several concubines were expelled from the palace entirely. No one dared oppose Crown Prince Stellan. Yet even at the peak of his power, his downfall began — all because of a woman.

The woman was the wife of his half-brother Harry Roman, son of the first concubine. Harry had never competed for the throne; he'd inherited the title of Marquis from his maternal grandfather, who had no other heirs. Harry arrived at the palace newly married to Agnes Olsen, a beautiful young woman with an angelic smile. Stellan wanted her immediately. She'd been his childhood love, and the moment he saw her again, those old feelings came rushing back.

Whenever the opportunity arose, Stellan approached Agnes, playing the gallant gentleman, whispering sweet words that left her confused. She insisted she loved her husband, yet couldn't resist the crown prince's seduction.

Before anything reckless could happen, Agnes and Harry returned to the marquessate. Their marriage seemed perfect — until Harry suddenly changed. He went from loving to irritable, cold and distant. When Agnes told him she was pregnant, he was overjoyed at first, but one night he came home accusing her of infidelity, calling the child in her womb a bastard. She swore the baby was his. He didn't believe her, and under that relentless pressure, she lost the child. She was devastated, and to finish destroying her, Harry brought his mistress into the mansion — a woman who played the victim at every turn, blaming Agnes for fabricated falls and false assaults. When Agnes saw her husband taking the mistress's side, she'd had enough.

She fled the mansion and sought out the one person she knew would protect her: Stellan. He didn't hesitate, spiriting her away to a country house outside the capital where he looked after her and seized the chance to grow closer. But soon Harry came searching for her, claiming his mistress had deceived him — that it was she who'd planted the idea of Agnes's infidelity. He'd grown distant because of her lies, and when he'd told the mistress he was cutting things off because his wife was pregnant, she'd insisted the baby wasn't his and led him to a restaurant where Agnes was dining with a man she embraced in farewell. That alone was enough to convince Harry of his wife's betrayal.

Agnes swore the man was her brother. She told Harry it was too late — she was giving the crown prince a chance now, the one man who'd actually believed her. But Harry refused to give up, begging for forgiveness, until the scorned mistress attacked Agnes with a dagger. Harry threw himself in the way, taking the blade meant for his wife.

Agnes nursed Harry through his unconsciousness. When he woke, she stayed at his side until he healed, and moved by his willingness to die for her, she decided to give him another chance.

Stellan didn't take it well. He'd done everything to protect her — had even risked his position as heir to help her divorce. When she left with her beloved marquis, Stellan followed, intercepting them on the road. He attacked Harry's guards and took Agnes by force.

After leaving Harry unconscious, Stellan carried Agnes away. When the marquis came to, he reported what had happened to the Emperor. At first the Emperor didn't believe it, but Harry gathered allies and pressured the Emperor into withdrawing his support for Stellan and dispatching a squadron to help recover Agnes.

When they finally tracked Stellan down, the two men dueled. Harry was outmatched from the start and took heavy wounds, so Agnes begged for his life, promising she'd go with Stellan willingly. Stellan was elated — she finally understood they were meant for each other. But when he stepped forward, she drove a magic dagger into his heart, one that sealed all his mana and prevented any recovery. Stellan died in the arms of the woman he loved. Agnes and Harry returned to the capital with his body and the knights' testimony that Stellan had attempted to murder the marquis and held Agnes prisoner.

The council convened with the Emperor, and since the crown prince's actions had tarnished the imperial reputation, the Emperor had no choice but to pardon Harry. With the court's support, Harry fought for the throne through intense political maneuvering, intrigue, and danger, eventually securing his place as crown prince and ascending to become emperor. He achieved his happiness with the woman he loved.

"What a pathetic end for someone who'd clawed his way to the top," he murmured to himself.

Stellan stood before the mirror. An attractive face — dark hair that made his yellow eyes stand out, and a well-built body. How had this man squandered everything, letting himself become obsessed with a woman whose only asset was a pretty face? She wasn't even particularly intelligent or powerful. But none of that mattered now. Here he was, inhabiting Stellan Von Krausse's body through some unexpected twist of fate, and behind him, a pair of shadows rose from the floor, their eyes gleaming white. He smiled — a slow, wicked curve of his lips — because even without his demon body, he still had his power.

A few days had passed since this new life began. His former name was forgotten, and now he was simply Stellan Von Krausse, Crown Prince of Atlanta. Not a bad deal, all things considered — Stellan had been a man of considerable achievement, and he intended to keep it that way.

According to the memories he'd inherited, Stellan had already consolidated his position as heir to the throne, though rivals still lurked. For now, he remained at the frontier camp. The war was over, but soldiers loyal to the fallen enemy were regrouping, trying to reignite the conflict.

The captain of the first legion entered the command tent where Stellan stood studying a map of the region. Captain Lizardi was a man no older than thirty, a loyal warrior who'd followed Stellan since joining his ranks.

"The rebels have been spotted to the north, Your Highness," Lizardi reported.

"Good. Prepare to move out — we're not letting them escape," Stellan ordered.

"Your Highness, Duke Von Kleist sent a message. Since the rebels are near his territory, he's already dispatched his own troops to neutralize the threat," another soldier informed him.

"Von Kleist?" Stellan considered this. "Fine, but we're still going. If they capture one alive, we can use him for information. Get everything ready."

The captain nodded and left to carry out the order. Stellan lingered in the tent, letting out a breath. He'd only been in this body for a few days. It had taken some time to get his bearings, to understand where — and when — he was. But he was starting to like this place. It gave him the chance to keep testing the limits of his power.

Everything was ready for the march north when the enemy ambushed them halfway there, springing their trap on a narrow mountain path. They used magic to trigger a landslide. The soldiers scrambled to get clear, but the trail was too narrow. Stellan cast a barrier above them, holding back the avalanche of rock long enough for his troops to escape.

Seeing the barrier, the enemy charged head-on. The clash of swords and bursts of magic erupted around Stellan. One rebel lunged at him, but the prince sidestepped the blow and struck back. The man felt something like a whip crack across his chest — and when he looked down, blood was soaking through his clothes, his skin split open in thin, precise lines.

"What the hell?" He looked up at Stellan.

The prince's hands were empty. His sword was still in its sheath.

"Sorry about that." Stellan shrugged. "Fair play was never really my thing."

More lashes struck the man — across his back, his sides, his face — dropping him to the ground. Before him, a black vine covered in thorns coiled through the air like a living thing. Before he could scream, it wrapped around his throat, the thorns biting into his skin. His eyes found Stellan, who watched with a vicious smile.

Other rebels rushed the prince, but this time Stellan drew his sword and met them with startling speed. When the enemy commander saw his men falling, he called the retreat.

"Don't pursue them," Stellan ordered. "Tend to the wounded — quickly. We need to keep moving."

His soldiers obeyed. Stellan stepped away from the group, and from his shadow, a pair of white eyes blinked open.

"Find the ones who attacked us." His smile turned sharp. "And enjoy the meal."

"As you command, Your Majesty," a spectral voice answered.

His shadow peeled away from him, and more followed, splitting off in every direction. They slithered across the mountainside, swift and silent, until they reached a clearing where a group of rebels had stopped to rest. The shadows rose from the ground, forming tall, grinning shapes with rows of enormous teeth. When the rebels saw the creatures emerge from the trees, there was nothing they could do. Only the echo of their screams remained.

Meanwhile, Stellan and his troops pressed on toward the north. At this pace, they'd arrive by nightfall.

To the north, knights bearing shields emblazoned with a dragon fought to hold the border against rebels trying to force their way through. These were no ordinary soldiers — every one of them reinforced their offense and defense with magic, and they were more than strong enough to push the enemy back. Their commander, an older man with white hair and gray eyes, watched calmly from horseback as his troops drove the rebels into retreat.

"Your Grace, the prince's forces are headed this way." A messenger bird had delivered the report.

"Good. In the meantime, hold the line. If you can, take their captain alive," the man ordered.

The rebels were forced to fall back when word reached them that the duchy's troops would soon be reinforced by the Crown Prince of Atlanta. But just as they turned to flee, Stellan's forces arrived, cutting off their escape. The prince ordered the attack and dismounted to fight on foot, carving his way through the enemy lines. He needed to push this body — to rebuild the strength and reflexes he'd had in his previous life. Complacency wasn't an option if he planned to keep his position as heir to the throne.

Stellan dealt killing blows without hesitation. There was no need to take prisoners today. His troops had the advantage — the rebels had been fighting for hours and were running on fumes. In the end, only a handful escaped, and Stellan ordered his men not to pursue. Splitting up wasn't wise when the enemy might have a trap waiting.

"Your Highness." A white-haired man reined in his horse near the prince and dismounted. "Greetings. I am Duke Von Kleist. Welcome to my territory."

"Duke, I heard what was happening and came personally to assist. I'm grateful you held the line until my arrival," Stellan replied.

"The honor is mine, Your Highness. It's my duty to protect this land," the Duke assured him.

The Duke led Stellan back to his camp and spread a map on the table. He pointed to a spot deep in the mountains.

"Few people know this, but there's a network of caves in this area. I've come to believe the rebels are using them as a hideout."

"That tracks. My own scouts haven't been able to locate them anywhere to the south." Stellan indicated the terrain around his own camp.

"If you'll allow it, I'll send my best scouts to investigate. The moment they find anything, you'll be the first to know."

"Then I'll leave it in your hands, Duke. I trust you." Stellan accepted the offer.

According to the story he knew, Duke Von Kleist had been the imperial family's most reliable ally for years. That loyalty had earned him a seat on the court and a role as one of the Emperor's most trusted advisors.

The Von Kleists weren't just politically important — they were a family of powerful mages, their bloodline carrying the legacy of an ancestor who'd been a demon. Every descendant was born with gray eyes and white hair, proof that their progenitor had been demon royalty. Stellan understood the value of keeping the Duke on his side — something the original Stellan had forgotten, all because he'd gotten obsessed with a plain, graceless girl.

Well, that's how protagonists work — adorable and stupid. Men must be truly desperate to fight over a woman like that. He made a face of disgust.

That night, Stellan and his troops rested at the Duke's camp. Miles away, at the Von Kleist mansion, a beautiful young woman with white hair and gray eyes stood at her window. Darkness blanketed the grounds, the only lights coming from guards making their rounds before returning to their posts. They were securing everything they could — the wind was picking up, turning cold and fierce. A storm was coming.

A soft knock came at her door. At her permission, a maid with black hair and dark eyes stepped inside.

"My lady, all doors and windows have been secured. Don't forget to close yours and draw the curtains," the maid said.

"I will, Amelia. Any news of my father?"

"He's still in the north. The rebels have pushed into the duchy's territory, and with this storm, it'll likely cause complications," Amelia replied.

"Then we need to prepare. If the storm hits hard, Father will need fresh supplies and materials to restore the camp."

"I'll have everything ready at first light. We'll leave as soon as the storm passes," Amelia assured her.

The young woman nodded. After closing the window, she stood in silence, watching the sky darken as the wind grew more violent. It was going to be a restless night.