The Arslanid Northern Kingdom, part of the Arslanid Kingdoms Alliance, held only three major cities, including the capital. These central strongholds sheltered hundreds of thousands within their mighty walls, but not everyone can find refuge there, each person has a purpose to serve . Farmers who cultivated the distant plains received special treatment—welcomed with their harvests when the waves began, then sent back to work once the beasts subsided, each bound to quotas that fed the cities' vast populations. Upon failure they're denied refuge within the city, making the fortresses their only option. The kingdom's trade and food supplies depended on them, drawing common folk back to the fields in droves.
Erbil City, one of the three, stirred awake at dawn. People poured in and out through the four gates, one from each cardinal direction, as knights and guards rotated shifts. They kept meticulous records, studying the flow of traders, workers, even foreigners. The duke labored through the day alongside his strategist Boros and assistants, tracking losses from this wave season—fortresses fallen, knights slain, farmers devoured. They honored volunteers' families, common folk whose sacrifices would not go in vain. The duke pored over report ledgers from his region's fortresses and watchtowers. If history taught them anything is that, five hundred years ago, when humanity stood at death's door and the Dark King's legions swept the continent, humanity's last stand at the continent's heart had taught a brutal lesson. Enemies flooded from every side, proving neither wealth nor power mattered when survival demanded it—fellow humans came first. Those in power like the duke now upheld their duties fiercely, knowing the day might come when every able body must fight one last time.
He turned the final page of the Maarath ledger. It ended with the names: Albert.B, Tom.B, Ren-, Sam.L, Rose.L . His fingertips lingered on the ink, then passed it to Boros and his assistants, who sifted through Maarath records alongside nearby regions.
The training ground incident had ended with no deaths, only minor injuries, but stories spread as they always did. Craftsmen and young knights rebuilt the scarred ring alongside Bjorn and Peter. Ren stood at a window in the knights' keep, changing clothes in a spare room. His old garments hit the floor, spilling two coins from his pocket—the gold pieces Peter had given him in Crowmere. He pocketed them and stepped out of the castle into Erbil's streets.
Narrow pathways twisted tight between buildings, the clamor of people overwhelming his senses. He climbed to the rooftops, seeking the sky that had always guided him like a compass, now hidden by looming stone and timber. Strength and speed carried him across tiled spans until he reached the main road to the gate, travelers streaming in below. He dropped down and sprinted toward the massive portal, grinning at the sheer press of humanity. Distant knights shouted to halt him. Ren laughed, vaulted over them, and swung beyond the walls.
Fields stretched wide, folk turning soil for planting preparing to meet the their quotas. He slowed, smile fading as he saw the people in the field gloomy . He turned back toward the gate. Knights shoved a ragged figure with long white hair . "How many times we gotta tell you—stay out, you bum! Go beg somewhere else!" said one of them.
The man hit the dirt, rose unsteadily, walked away and sat apart. He lifted empty hands, head bowed. Ren paused, curious. Travelers dropped coppers into his palms. "Get well. Hope this helps."
Realization struck. Ren approached, pressed both gold coins into the man's grasp. Gasps rippled through onlookers. "Gold coins? He must be wealthy."
The beggar felt their heavy weight, drew back fingers to trace them. Ren crouched, peering under the rags covering him, but one bound the man's eyes. Blind. Head low to hide it. Ren straightened and walked on.
At the gate checkpoint, guards blocked him. "You're that kid from earlier." They yanked him aside. "Where you think you're going? Saw you sprinting—you a thief?"
Ren met their eyes with a cold, emotionless stare, silent as stone. One guard called ahead. "Sir, we caught the kid!"
A knight turned. "Chain him. Toss him with the others till we confirm identities."
The guard shoved. Ren didn't budge, rooted like an ancient oak. The man pulled. Nothing. "What the hell?"
"You're making a mistake," Ren said flatly, voice devoid of anger or fear. "You should let me in."
The knight drew steel. Guards followed. Ren tensed to overwhelm them—
"Stop! What are you doing?" Another knight barreled in, voice booming. It was the one who had gripped Ren's torso during the incident. He shoved weapons down. "Don't you idiots know who this is? You mad? Want to die?"
"Sorry about that, Sir Ren, right?" He glanced at Ren, who nodded. "Everyone—burn this face in your heads. Sir Ren of the Southern Wind. The one who fought Bjorn."
Guards fumbled straight, armor clanking. "Sorry, sir. we didn't know."
Ren grinned, laughed easily. "It's alright. I am the one at fault—I forgot myself." He turned to the knight. "Your name?"
"Sven, sir. Eighth Company." The knight replied .
"Just Ren. And... sorry about that day. Must've caused trouble." said Ren eyes down .
"Not at all, sir. We've seen worse." Sven glanced at the others. "Remember Lady Lilian?"
Laughter rippled. "Yeah, yeah—we've seen worse."
Relief softened Ren's face. "What about the injured knight?"
"Amir? he's in the infirmary now. Want me to show you the way?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
They passed through, Ren waving amiably. He lingered at the gate, tracing its scale—thick chains feeding into gears piercing the wall. Wondered how did they build such a thing. The walls themselves defied reason.
Sven pushed open Amir's door. "Sveeen! Visiting now?" said Amir laying in his bed .
Sven stepped aside. "Amir—this is Sir Ren."
Ren entered. Amir paled, memories flashing vivid. But Ren frowned, guilt heavy in his eyes.
"Sorry," Ren said. "If I hurt you—it wasn't intentional."
Amir waved it off. "Pff, sir. I've been in worse shape. Besides—surviving your hit made me popular."
Ren smirked. "Maybe I should hit you again."
"No! Please, no!" Amir yelped.
Sven and Ren burst laughing. Amir glared. "He told you to say that, didn't he?"
Ren wiped tears. "Yeah, he did."
"I'll kill you, Sven!" replied Amir throwing his pillow at Sven .
Ren sobered. "How's the arm?"
Amir rubbing it "Almost healed."
"But...it's been only couple days?" Ren blinked.
Amir and Sven traded confused looks. "Channeling Akrion with a steady flow through it—speeds healing. Didn't you know that , sir?"
Ren laughed awkwardly. "Guess I'm still figuring things out." He backed toward the door, nodding farewell leaving them both chatting .
As Ren crossed the training grounds, the duke watched from his office window above.
"I see you've recruited another special individual. I heard what happened to Jonathan—my apologies. A real shame." He turned to Shin, who had stood silently in the room.
"It's alright, sir," Shin replied. "What happened can't be undone. Better we move on."
"I understand—it was that individual's doing." The duke paused. "The information you requested came through my network of trusted contacts. The thing you've been seeking is at the kingdom's edge, right on the border." He sat, gesturing to a chair. "Have you heard of Dragonthroat Mountain?".
Ren walked into the forge where Bjorn and Peter rested. He sat quietly.Peter glanced over. "You look kinda depressed, Ren. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Ren muttered.
Lili lowered her book from the table, eyes fixed on him. "You look bored."
"Kinda. Just lost in thought, I guess." Ren shifted, then asked, "Hey, Lili—can I ask something?"
"Yeah, sure. Go ahead." she said.
"Can you tell me about the Dark Messenger?" he asked .
Everyone froze. Sadness shadowed their faces. Lili hesitated, then spoke. "The Dark Messenger—or Death Aspect. He has many names across the continent. He predates even the Eternal Emperors and the Sage of the Golden Sanctuary. Some say he's the Dark King himself. Others, a spirit risen from the grave. All we know for sure: he's ancient. Appears from nowhere, kills, vanishes. Repeats elsewhere. No one grasps why, but all fear him like a storm no wall holds back."
Ren frowned. "Howcome no one had stopped him? At this rate, he'll kill everyone."
Lili shook her head. "He doesn't strike randomly. Sometimes he kills evil people, sometimes good ones. No pattern to it at all. No one has caught him."
Ren slammed the table, splintering wood. "Then he's just a lunatic killer! if no one will ,then I'll stop him. I won't let him take another—especially not after Jonathan. He didn't deserve to die like that. No one deserves to die before their time!"
Peter gripped Ren's shoulder. "Drop it, Ren. What can you do—chase shadows? No one could track him, nor had the chance of fighting him. "
"Then I'll find a way." ren replied angrily .
"But why, Ren?" Lili pressed. "Jonathan was just a stranger to you."
Tears welled in Ren's eyes. "No. Every time I start caring for someone who's kind to me... they end up dying. I pushed people away to stop it but the loneliness was too much to bare. So I found others, tried to protect them but they kept dying around me. I am afraid it will happen to you guys. I've started to care about you. So I'll train even harder, to protect you all."
Tears streamed down his face. Lili sobbed, pulling him into a hug. Peter turned away, hiding his eyes. Bjorn shoved him playfully. The group enveloped Ren. Shin watched from afar, a faint smile on his lips.