The One Above All

The platform of Highmont City Station was crowded, noisy, and alive.

But around one man, there was silence.

He stood alone.

Tall. Still. Untouchable.

A worn coat hung over his broad shoulders, the fabric faded with time and a small, shabby bag rested in his grip.

His face, though handsome, bore the weight of battles no one would ever fully understand. Nothing about him suggested wealth or status.

And no one dared come close.

Still some women glanced at him, drawn by the sharp lines of his face and the quiet danger in his presence. But the moment their eyes met his icy green pair, they quickly looked away.

His gaze was too cold.

Too empty.

As if he had already seen hell… and walked out of it.

"Veyron Blackthorne, twenty-one years old, has been found guilty of disobeying military orders and violating discipline because of personal emotions, thus endangering national stability and committing treason."

"He is therefore sentenced to death by hanging. His title, honors, and recognition as Meridian's Legendary Warlord are hereby revoked!"

"Yes! An obstinate, self-righteous criminal like him doesn't deserve to live!"

"Hang him!"

"Crucify him!"

The hollow echoes of the military court replayed in his mind.

The voices of the high council. The whispers of betrayal from those he called brothers—clear, sharp, and unforgotten.

Veyron didn't blink.

Six years ago, he had stood at the peak of Meridian's army. From a nobody with an unknown background, he rose up the ranks.

He became the youngest marshal in Meridian's history. Fearless. Dauntless. A one-man army that had made enemies tremble.

Allies revered him.

Children sang his name.

And the nation… called him its Legendary Warlord.

---

Until they decided to destroy him.

---

Silas Sinclair.

The name surfaced like a wound that never healed.

His brother. His comrade. The one man Veyron trusted without question was murdered. Brutally.

His head was displayed like a trophy at the borders for all to see. It was left there for several agonizing days.

Others had also fallen beside him, slaughtered and humiliated in the same manner.

Soldiers who had given everything to protect the nation, cast aside like ashes.

---

Veyron's grip tightened around the shabby bag in his arms as the memory burned.

---

When he learned about the news, his fingers had trembled so violently that night he nearly crushed the communicator in his hand.

But the army had ordered a retreat.

"Losses are too great," they said.

"No reinforcements. We repeat, no reinforcements."

"Stand down."

---

Stand down?

After everything those soldiers had sacrificed?

After the blood they spilled for Meridian?

They wouldn't even bring them home to give them a befitting funeral.

---

So Veyron disobeyed the orders, and he went alone.

---

That night… the border turned into hell.

He showed no mercy.

Not when they begged.

Not when they ran.

Not when the ground turned red beneath his feet.

By dawn, thousands had fallen by his hands. Blood ran like rivers. Bodies piled like mountains.

And above them—

The flag of Meridian stood tall.

"Silas, look, I have avenged you."

"If there's another life… we fight again."

"I will kill the enemies, shed my blood and sacrifice my head for you."

"Rest well, my brother."

---

Tales of the Legendary Warlord who charged alone into the enemy's camp and annihilated them all spread across the country.

Cities whispered his name. Songs of praises were sung. Children dreamed of being like him. The country called it heroism.

But the army? They called it a mistake.

---

Because this time—

Veyron had become something they could no longer control.

---

They claimed his actions had led to tense relations between the two countries.

However, all that was just to have a valid reason to strip him of his title and destroy the killing machine they created.

And that... was exactly what they did.

---

But six years later, Veyron Blackthorne now stood outside the city's train station.

Official records claimed his death sentence was commuted to an early release for,

"Good conduct."

A lie so clean it almost sounded true.

---

But Veyron knew better. Only those who understood the inner workings of Meridian's military knew that was far from the truth.

---

He stepped forward as the announcement rang through the station.

"Train 1234 preparing for departure."

The crowd surged and he moved with them—calm, steady, and silent.

Like a storm waiting to happen.

---

This time… he wasn't returning for Meridian. He was returning for a promise. To fulfill the last wish in the letter his brother, Silas had written to him in blood-stained prints.

And when it is fulfilled—

He would make the entire nation kneel!

---

VROOM!

The taxi sped off leaving behind a cloud of dust, but Veyron didn't move immediately.

Instead his gaze lingered on the house before him. It looked dilapidated, quiet, and wrong.

He glanced down at his phone.

The address was correct.

But this…

This wasn't the house he was expecting.

"Aunt Jasmine…" his brows furrowed slightly in confusion.

He could clearly remember that years ago, his aunt's letters had been filled with excitement about the new house she had acquired.

He had even sent money back then, his entire salary every month without fail. So how did it come to this?

A murmur pulled him back. Low and uneasy voices. Veyron lifted his head, and only then did he notice the small crowd gathered outside the house.

Neighbors were watching and whispering, but no one stepped in.

"Robert is a beast…" one woman said under her breath.

"He drinks, gambles, and beats his wife almost every night."

"I heard sometimes he doesn't come home for days. He is definitely keeping another woman outside."

"Tch… Jasmine is so unlucky to have a useless husband like him. She is too good for him."

Veyron's eyes darkened.

"But why doesn't anyone stop him?" a younger voice asked.

Silence followed. Before,

"Do you want to get involved?" someone scoffed. "That man is crazy."

Veyron's gaze swept across them. Not one of them met his eyes.

Tch... Cowards.

Then—

A sharp sound tore through the air.

SMACK!