Vol 1 Chapter 1: Prologue – Iron Lady

"One must be dirty… for the world to be clean."

The 1000th year of the Iron Calendar.
The autumn wind blew not coolly, but sharply, like the whispers of thousands of souls swallowed by tyranny.

This world was built from the bones of the little people. From mothers whose children were stolen, from villages burned for taxes, from tears considered betrayal, and from blood that was never judged. Behind the thrones of the nobles, there was always a floor sticky with the blood of those who could not speak.

And amidst the ruins of dead law,
She appeared.

That night, Baron Porco's small palace was silent. Not because of peace, but because all voices had been silenced by death. Red footprints etched themselves into the white marble, forming a long path leading to the small teak throne that now trembled.

Her steps were unhurried, but sure.
Her black dress parted at the waist, allowing for a calm yet menacing movement.
Her hair was as black as charcoal—it didn't absorb light, but swallowed it. And her eyes...

Red.
Not because of the devil.
But she was holding back too many tears to let out on her own.

"Your life is over, Baron Porco."

The voice wasn't a scream, nor a shout.
It was the voice of a young girl... who had learned to kill without hating.
Who had forgiven the world... enough to dare to defy it.

Baron Porco shivered, his face like crushed clay with fear.
His swollen belly heaved, his breath ragged like a letter of forgiveness never written.

"Don't... don't come near me! You—you monster! Iron Lady!"

He screamed, but no one answered.
His last soldier, terrified to death, drew his sword and charged.

One silent step.
One bend of the wrist.
The sword flashed, and the wet sound of tearing flesh echoed.
The arm was thrown, hitting the marble with a dull thud.
Blood sprayed, staining the stone pillar with a red trail.

"Drawing your sword," the girl said coldly, "means being prepared to lose your hand."

She didn't scream. She didn't roar. She simply spoke… like a teacher fed up with seeing a foolish student.
The Baron fell to his knees, kissing the hem of the hunter's black robe. Tears streamed down his face.

"Forgive me! I was only an intermediary! I… I was ordered to!"

The girl laughed.
Not from her mouth, but from the bitterness that lingered in her chest.
The sound was dry—the laughter of someone who no longer believed in mercy.

"You stole children from their mothers' arms,"
"Sacrifice them to false gods,"
"Hear their wailing and take it as praise."
"And you call yourself innocent?"

Her gaze pierced, not the body… but the depths of the heart.
She saw something even the perpetrator couldn't see—the sin hidden in justification.

"I'll tell you… Please forgive me…" the Baron said, trembling.

The girl lifted the Baron by the collar and said,

“Tell me—WHO IS BEHIND ALL THIS!”

She angrily shouted at the Baron.

“The mastermind is…”

But before the Baron could utter the name of the power behind all this—
Crash!
A dagger flew.
It ripped through the air.
It struck the back of the Baron’s head.
His skull was punctured.
Blood gushed.
His body collapsed.
Dead.
Too fast.

The assassin stood.
A soldier who had seemed to be dying.
He tried to flee. But...
Crash!

The sword pierced his back.
Blood gushed like a belated prayer.
His body fell.
Silence reigned once more.
The black-robed girl stood alone among the corpses and sins yet to be cleansed.

“How many times do you have to learn?” she whispered to her reflection on the floor.
“Forgiving your enemy… is a form of cruelty to those you protect.”
“Perhaps… I was wrong. But I can’t wait for the world to be right.”

She was silent.
Not out of doubt.
But out of exhaustion.
This world gave her no choice.
Only blood understood its language.

And that night,
A tyrant died.
But the world didn’t become lighter. Only lonelier.

Her name is not recorded in the history books.
But those who lost her will remember her.
As a nightmare for the powerful.
As a hope for those who cannot speak.

She was no hero.
She was no demon.
She stood in a silent room.
Now filled with corpses and blood.
She stared coldly at the bodies.

“This is not victory.”
“This is just one more wound I must bear so the world doesn’t hurt my sister.”

She was just an older sister…
…who wanted to protect her sister from a world that knew no love.

She was the Iron Lady.
The hunter.
The shadow.
And—unbeknownst to anyone—also an exiled princess from a tyrant’s court…
…who would awaken as Sophie Stronghold.
And as the shadows of night began to fade, far away in another palace, a girl with sky-blue eyes began to blink in her deep sleep. The world would soon see another side.