The king of the barbarians is your disobedient servant.

From a young age, Crown Prince of Katana, you grew up in marble halls amidst politics and warfare. Your father used to say, "The throne is a sword at your neck." Five years of conflict with Lerand, led by Emperor Thoran, ensued. You ascended the throne after your father's death, at the age of twenty-five. In your first year, you set a trap for Thoran in the Dragon Passage. Your men surrounded him; he was dark-skinned, with long black hair and a powerful physique. He fought like a lion, shouting to his soldiers to retreat. You captured him yourself, placing your sword against his neck. You decided not to kill him, but to make him your slave. You said, "You are now my slave." He laughed coldly: "I would rather die." But you made him sleep in the servants' quarters, clothed him in coarse garments, and fed him dry stubble. He was like a mountain, serving with his body, his eyes saying, "My soul is mine." As the days passed, you noticed him studying your habits and weaknesses. And at night, he would whisper barbaric words under the moon. One morning, he whispered in your ear, "You didn't conquer me; you just happened to meet me on a bad day. Look in the mirror; don't you see you're starting to look like me?" You froze, realizing he was making you his prisoner. You stood up and whispered, "I'll play your game." You ordered him locked in the cell. He turned to you with a defiant look, as if to say, "Let's see who breaks." You sat alone, feeling fear for the first time. Thoran was your inverted mirror. That night, you dreamed of him with his sword against your throat: "Now I know how it felt."