who are you

Zed woke up to the golden rays of sunlight spilling through the towering windows of his lavish white room. The sheer curtains billowed gently, letting in a crisp morning breeze. The air smelled of fresh linen and the faint scent of roses, but instead of feeling refreshed, he felt drained. His body ached, his limbs heavy, and the dull throbbing in his skull reminded him of the price he had paid. 

He sat up, rubbing his temples, only to catch his reflection in the mirror across the room—his usual sharp gaze was dulled, dark circles weighing under his eyes like bruises of exhaustion. 

With a sigh, he muttered, "Come forth." 

Immediately, the shadows at his feet rippled, and from the inky darkness, two figures emerged. 

Zander, ever composed, adjusted the cuffs of his crisp butler uniform, his silver hair tied neatly. He carried himself with elegance, the picture of effortless grace. 

Copy One, on the other hand, was already on his knees, his forehead nearly touching the polished marble floor. 

"Master! I beg for your forgiveness!" Copy One pleaded dramatically, his voice filled with exaggerated guilt. 

Zed narrowed his eyes, utterly thrown off by the sight. "What the hell happened while I was asleep?" 

Zander, standing off to the side, took a measured breath, his lips curving ever so slightly. "Well… where do we begin?"

Zander leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and began recounting the previous night's events with a composed tone. He spoke of the noble gathering, Jimmy's arrogance, the near conflict, and of course, how Copy One had creatively dealt with the situation under the bridge.

Zed listened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as a small smirk tugged at his lips. By the time Zander got to the part about Jimmy blindly crashing into poles while trying to run back to White Beauty, Zed let out a low chuckle.

"He really pissed himself?" Zed asked, rubbing his forehead in amusement.

Zander nodded. "Like a terrified little pup."

Copy One, however, remained unmoving, still kneeling with his head bowed.

Zed raised a brow. "Alright, what's with the whole 'begging for forgiveness' act? Stand up already."

Copy One didn't lift his head. "I… I'm sorry, Zed. You had to take all my pain. I know how unbearable that must have been. I should have gone with the plan instead of handling things my way." His voice was low, thick with guilt.

Zed sighed, shaking his head. "It's fine, really. If anything, I should be the one apologizing."

Copy One finally lifted his head, confusion flickering in his crimson eyes. "For what…?"

Zed looked him straight in the eye. "For ever doubting you. I thought you wouldn't be able to handle Roadie, and I was wrong. You did more than I expected. I'll always believe in you from now on."

Copy One clenched his fists, his vision slightly blurred as unshed tears welled in his eyes. His voice, however, was steady.

"Zed… I will become so strong that our enemies will lose all hope of winning."

Zed smirked, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Then keep getting stronger."

Just then, a knock echoed through the lavish white room.

Zed's eyes sharpened, and without hesitation, he pulled his copies back into his shadow. "Get in," he called out.

The door creaked open, revealing Sir Edgar, clad in his signature golden armor. His presence alone carried a weight that demanded attention.

Zed crossed his arms and met his gaze. "Sir Edgar. What brings you here?"

Edgar took a step forward, his expression unreadable. "Master Zed, Lord Martis wishes to have a word with you. If you may."

At that name, Zed's posture stiffened slightly. He had heard of Lord Martis—Sir Jaeger had told him plenty.

Lord Martis—the sword of the King.

A being shrouded in mystery, his name alone commanded fear and respect. They whispered that he is the strongest in Celestia, the only known individual to have reached the Paragon Tier. A level of power so unattainable that it bordered on the divine. But Zed knew… there was more to this man than met the eye.

He didn't want to meet him.

Every instinct in Zed's body told him to walk away — but in this place, under White Beauty's gaze, he had no right to refuse. So he accepted.

After Edgar left briefly, Zed dressed quietly, bracing himself. Then the two made their way through the corridors of White Beauty — its halls carved with gold and elegance, yet feeling colder with every step.

Finally, they arrived.

Edgar stopped in front of a tall, pearl-white door veined with soft gold — regal and imposing, yet deceptively silent. He turned to Zed with a slight nod.

"He's waiting," Edgar said, then gently pushed the door open.

Zed stepped inside.

The door closed behind him without a sound — and suddenly, the light felt thinner.

It wasn't the room.

It was him.

The chill that crept over Zed's skin came not from the air — but from the man standing near the center of the chamber.

There he was.

A figure in his early forties with immaculate white hair falling to his shoulders, and deep green eyes that carried the weight of a thousand judgments. He stood tall, unmoving, with the silence of a predator that never needed to roar.

Zed had felt pressure before. He had felt Sir Jaeger's aura, had fought monsters, faced the weight of death.

But this?

This was different.

This was divine judgment.

And if Jaeger was a knight…Lord Martis was the executioner.

Martis glanced at Zed and spoke with calm precision:

"Take a seat."

His voice wasn't loud. It wasn't angry.But to Zed, it felt like a hundred swords hanging inches above his head—silent, suspended, and ready to fall with the slightest wrong move.

Zed swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped forward, forcing his legs to move. He sat down across from Martis, trying to steady his breath.

Then came the question.

"Who are you?"

Zed blinked. It wasn't the question he expected.He hesitated.

"I… I'm Zed Ravenh—"

Before he could finish, a wave of pressure hit him like a train.

Just a sliver of it.

Enough to crush the air in his lungs. Enough to make the ground tremble faintly beneath his feet. It wasn't even hostile—it was surgical. Controlled. Purposeful.

Zed's chair screeched slightly as he clenched the arms, trying not to fall to his knees.

Martis didn't blink.

He asked again, this time slower, sharper, each word weighted like stone.

"Who. Are. You?"

Zed grit his teeth and answered again, voice low but steady."I'm Zed. Zed Raven—"

The pressure doubled.

The air grew thick, like he was being drowned in silence. His spine screamed. His heartbeat slowed. Breathing became an effort.

Martis didn't move from his seat. He simply looked at Zed with those piercing green eyes, and the world felt like it was collapsing around him.

"Do you think I can't see your real self?" Martis said, voice calm — almost disappointed."That hideous curse festering inside you… that Soul Blade... your two copies that linger like shadows… I see it all. You're like an open book to me."

Zed's eyes widened.His thoughts screamed.He knows.

His deepest secrets—things not even his closest allies fully understood—laid bare in seconds. There was no way. No one should've been able to pierce through the layers he kept hidden.

Who was this man?

Martis' voice cut through again, quiet but lethal.

"I'll ask one more time…"

He leaned forward slightly. The shadows in the room shifted.

"Who are you really… and how did you get into Zed's body?"

Zed lowered his head.

He could feel it — death circling him like a vulture. If he didn't speak now, he wouldn't get another chance.

His voice cracked as he finally said it.

"I'm Lukas… and I'm not from this world."

Martis didn't move. He just watched.

"I was reincarnated into this body after I died in my world. I'm not a bad guy… I didn't ask for any of this. Trust me."

Martis raised an eyebrow.His silence was more terrifying than any threat.

Then, like a blade sliding through the dark, his voice cut in.

"Then what happened to the real Zed?"

Zed froze.

Inside, panic boiled.

Do I tell him?No. He's the Sword of the King… if I say the third Prince killed Zed, he'll think I'm lying. He'll think it's a fabricated story to cover my guilt…

But before he could answer, Martis said quietly:

"So… the third Prince killed him."

Zed's eyes widened."What…?" he breathed.

His thoughts were screaming.Did he just—read my mind? No… no, that's not possible. That's not—

Martis leaned back, resting his elbow on the armrest.

A faint smile tugged at his lips — but it wasn't warm. It was bone-deep cold.

"Kid," he said softly,"in this world… nothing is impossible for me."