Scene fades in from black, soft glow of lanterns flickering in an underground kingdom carved in marble and gold. We enter the great Dwarven capital, Dwargon — a bustling city of stone, steel, and roaring taverns echoing with life. The screen slowly pans toward the royal palace, where King Gazel Dwargo stands before a round table of generals, tension thick in the air…
King Gazel stood with arms crossed, his cape flowing behind him like a banner of steel authority. His brow was furrowed as he addressed his generals.
"We underestimated them," Gazel said sternly. "That man… Yujiro Hanma. And Lady Milim Nava… she could level this kingdom if she felt like it. We must treat them with the respect they command. I've made my decision."
There was silence. Some generals glanced at one another uneasily.
General Balgor slammed his fist on the table.
"With all due respect, my King! That man is dangerous. A walking disaster!"
Gazel turned to him, eyes sharp as a forge-blade.
"Exactly. Which is why we treat him as an honored guest. Befriend him… or at the very least, keep him entertained."
The room fell quiet again. The decision was final.
A dwarf spy, clad in dark gear and goggles, burst into the war room moments later, panting.
"Your Majesty! I found them… Yujiro and Milim. They're in an elf bar… the Sapphire Velvet."
Gazel nodded calmly.
"Send soldiers. Tell them I've prepared a feast. The best meat, the best wine, and our finest silver. But…"
He stepped closer to the nearest guard. His voice turned low, serious.
"You will treat them with the utmost respect. Do you understand?"
The soldier nodded, though his knees trembled beneath the royal pressure.
The Sapphire Velvet — a luxurious elven bar lit with magical orbs. Soft music from silver harps drifted through the air. Elven ladies in silken gowns laughed and poured drinks, their delicate eyes glittering with curiosity and mischief.
Yujiro Hanma sat at the bar, an unmoving mountain of muscle and menace. His blood-red hair cascaded down his back like a war banner. He sipped quietly from a crystal glass, untouched by the flirtations of the elven ladies clinging to him.
"Strong… but weak at heart," he muttered to himself, ignoring their compliments. His eyes scanned the room like a predator bored of prey.
Meanwhile, Milim giggled as she spun around on a stool, chasing butterflies of light created by a mischievous elven bartender.
"Unnnncleee! Look!" she pointed. "This one made my drink sparkle! Heehee!"
Yujiro didn't even blink.
Just then, the tavern doors swung open.
Clanking footsteps echoed in, and the bar fell into stunned silence.
A squad of armored Dwargon soldiers stepped inside, scanning the crowd. Sweat already glistened beneath their helms.
"They're here…" the captain whispered.
One soldier approached Yujiro and Milim's table. He dropped to one knee, armor clanking.
The bar froze.
"My Lord Yujiro Hanma… and Lady Milim Nava…" the soldier said, voice trembling. "His Majesty, King Gazel, has personally invited you to the royal palace. A feast awaits you… with the finest wine Dwargon can offer."
Whispers broke out across the tavern like wildfire.
"Yujiro… Hanma?"
"The one that beat all the demon lords and true dragons!"
"And Milim?! THE Demon Lord?!"
People who had been drinking, dancing, and joking now froze, faces pale. Some realized they had tried flirting with Milim or joking near Yujiro—and the horror set in.
Yujiro raised his glass slowly, the muscles in his forearm flexing like coiled snakes.
He looked at the soldier with a half-smirk.
"Wine and meat, huh?"
The soldier's knees buckled.
"Y-y-yes, my Lord…!"
Yujiro stood. A towering god of destruction in motion. He cracked his neck slowly.
"Lead the way."
Milim bounced up and latched onto Yujiro's arm like a kid to her dad.
"Oooooh, I love feasts! Let's go, let's gooo~!"
As they walked out, the bar erupted into relieved gasps.
One elf girl clutched her chest.
"I… I was about to sit on his lap… I would've died!"
Outside, a luxurious obsidian-black carriage with golden dragon trim awaited. Pulled by glowing magma-steeds, it was normally reserved for visiting kings. Tonight, it carried something far more volatile.
Yujiro climbed in, ducking slightly to fit. Milim followed, still holding his arm.
Inside, velvet cushions, enchanted lights, and silver platters of fruits and sweets awaited. Milim squealed with joy.
"They really did prepare everything!"
Yujiro grabbed a goblet of wine, swirled it, sniffed… then downed it in one gulp.
"Not bad," he muttered.
The carriage rolled forward, echoing wheels against the Dwarven stone. Outside, citizens stared in awe, clearing the path. Mothers pulled children away, elders whispered in dread.
"That man is the Ogre who makes even Demon Lords cautious…"
"And Milim… that's the Destroyer of Worlds…"
Inside the castle, King Gazel stood by the banquet hall doors, hands clasped behind his back. He wore his royal armor, polished and proud. His advisors looked on nervously.
"You sure this is wise, sire?" one asked.
"Wise or not," Gazel replied, eyes locked ahead, "they are already here."
The heavy iron gates of Dwargon creaked open with a deep, echoing groan, announcing the arrival of something... different. Soldiers stood in formation on both sides of the stone path like unmoving statues, their armor glinting under the lantern light, hearts thundering in their chests though they dared not show it. The wind blew softly, but the air was thick—every guard could feel it. Something was coming. Someone.
The carriage pulled by two obsidian-scaled dire beasts stopped with a rumble before the grand steps of the castle. It was a regal black carriage, trimmed with silver, and bore no symbols. It didn't need to. Everyone already felt who was inside.
King Gazel Dwargo, the Iron Fist of the Dwarves, stood at the top of the steps, his two most trusted generals flanking him—General Drogun, the Stonebreaker, and General Varn, the Steel Sentinel. They were battle-hardened, proud, and brave. But tonight? Their throats were dry, their hands slightly clammy, and their eyes never blinked. Yujiro Hanma was about to step out.
Before the king could gather his thoughts, the door of the carriage swung open.
Milim Nava was the first to jump out, giggling like a child at a festival. She twirled midair and landed with grace, her pink hair bouncing behind her. Her cheerful energy rippled through the soldiers' formation like a breeze in a wheat field. Some of them blinked in disbelief.
"That's… that's one of the strongest Demon Lords?" one soldier whispered behind clenched teeth.
"She looks like a kid."
"A kid who could blow this whole place up with a sneeze," another hissed.
Milim grinned, her eyes scanning the formations. She waved.
And then... he came.
Yujiro Hanma.
The air shifted the moment his foot hit the stone path.
He stepped out slowly, hands in his pockets, his towering frame unfolding like a beast emerging from a cave. Every eye was locked onto him. Every breath in the courtyard stopped for a second. He wasn't wearing armor—he was armor. He didn't carry a weapon—he was one.
His back straight, shoulders wide, the trademark red lion's mane of hair fluttered in the breeze. And that smirk. That terrifying, untouchable, unshakable smirk. The smirk of a man who had never known fear.
Even the wind dared not howl.
Gazel had been in war. He had faced dragons. He had stood against Demon Lords.
But now, his instincts screamed one thing: Predator.
Still, he stepped forward with the pride of a king. Hiding the tremor in his soul, he raised his hand.
"Yujiro Hanma. Lady Milim," Gazel said with a steady voice, "I welcome you to the Kingdom of Dwargon. It is an honor to have you both."
Yujiro's eyes locked on him. For a second, just a second, the smirk vanished. Then he reached out.
Their hands met.
Gazel was a king. His grip was strong.
But Yujiro's grip?
It was like shaking hands with a living mountain wrapped in thunder. A current, raw and primal, surged through Gazel's arm like lightning. He didn't flinch—but in his mind, it felt like his bones were screaming.
Yujiro released him.
That smirk returned.
Milim skipped beside Yujiro, humming.
"I'm hungry~!" she chirped.
Gazel smiled faintly and turned. "Then allow me to show you to the feast we've prepared."
The long banquet table gleamed under golden chandeliers. Dozens of platters covered it—steaks so perfectly seared they still sizzled, roasted beasts garnished with glowing herbs, bread warm and soft, sauces imported from across the world. And the wine—bottles of Dwargon's finest, each aged over a century.
Yujiro sat without a word. Milim dove in like a happy child, her plate piling higher than her head within seconds.
Gazel sat across from them, his generals on either side. Sweat trickled down one general's temple as Yujiro began slicing a steak with his fingers, tearing it apart with precision and grace.
Gazel cleared his throat.
"So, Yujiro," he began carefully, "Your name has spread like wildfire. Around the world, dojos are opening in your name. They teach your martial arts. Some even worship your strength."
Yujiro didn't look up. He chewed. Drank some wine. Swallowed.
Then he finally spoke.
"This wine," he said, swirling the glass and taking another sip, "...is very good."
Gazel's smile widened. "I'm pleased to hear—"
But then Yujiro turned his head, slowly, eyes gleaming like polished obsidian.
"Tell me, King," he said in a voice low and ancient, "what is power… to you?"
The words hit like a hammer on stone.
Milim stopped. Her fork hovered inches from her mouth. She didn't even blink. Her aura shrank, and the whole room froze. Soldiers outside paused, birds outside the window flew away.
Silence.
The generals' faces tensed.
It was a test.
Gazel felt it in his soul.
Answer wrong… and this monster of a man would kill him.
He took a breath. The wine glass trembled in his hand—but not from fear. From the weight of the moment.
Then, he spoke. Slowly. Calmly. Wisely.
"Power…" Gazel said, his voice deep and firm, "is not strength alone. Power is the will to protect what must be protected, the wisdom to lead without tyranny, and the ability to inspire even those who fear you."
Yujiro blinked.
Gazel continued, leaning forward slightly, locking eyes with the Beast himself.
"But power without purpose… is just destruction. And destruction without reason is not power. It's emptiness."
A pause.
"I do not fear you, Yujiro Hanma," Gazel said. "I respect you. Because even monsters… choose where they aim their fangs."
Silence.
Yujiro stared.
Then… he smirked wider.
"Heh… not bad," he said.
Milim giggled.
"Ooooh~ I like this one!" she said with a mouth full of meat. "Gazel, you're smart!"
Gazel exhaled slowly.
His generals, unaware, had been holding their breath the whole time.
Yujiro raised his wineglass and looked at Gazel.
"To kings who don't kneel."
Gazel nodded and raised his own glass.
"To monsters who choose not to destroy."
They drank.
And the feast… continued.
But from that night on, every soldier in Dwargon whispered the same thing:
King Gazel stared into the eyes of the Beast… and earned his respect.