A Thousand Years From Now…
The Shattered Legacy of King Ronaler
The world was breaking.
Fifty years had passed since King Ronaler, the conqueror of half the known lands, had forged an empire from blood and iron. His name once commanded fear, his rule absolute. But now, his legacy was a fractured kingdom, divided among his ten heirs—seven sons and three daughters—each ruling their own dominion with greed and ambition. The unity he had built was crumbling, and the seeds of war had been sown.
The Kingdom of Busan – Den's Resentment
The rooster's cry was a blade through Den's skull.
He jolted awake, his dark eyes burning with exhaustion. The straw beneath him prickled his skin, the thin blanket offering no comfort. Outside, the first light of dawn crept over his kingdom—his *prison*.
"Damn these birds," Den snarled, slamming his fist into the bed.
Today was another day of chains disguised as duty. His father, the great King Ronaler, had ordered him to oversee the construction of the Royal Road—a grand path meant to connect King Harish's lands to the capital. A symbol of unity, they called it. A joke, Den knew.
He dressed quickly, his royal tunic heavy on his shoulders. Stepping outside, the sight before him twisted his gut. His people—*his* farmers, *his* laborers—were being whipped into motion by royal guards, their backs bent under the weight of stones meant for nobles who would never walk this road.
"Faster, worms!" A guard cracked his whip, drawing blood from an old man's arm.
Den's fingers twitched. Once, this had been a land of harvests, of honest work. Now, it was a slave camp.
"Another day," he muttered, teeth grinding. "Another day of my father's *glorious* kingdom."
The Royal Palace of King Harish – A Deal in the Shadows
Marble halls echoed with whispered treachery.
King Harish, the fourth son of Ronaler, sat upon a throne of gold and obsidian, his massive frame radiating quiet menace. Before him stood his brother, King Kamize—the fifth son—a serpent in silk.
"Brother," Kamize purred, "your kingdom thrives. So many *workers*." His grin was sharp. "I propose a trade."
Harish's fingers drummed against the armrest. "Speak."
"Slaves," Kamize said. "I'll buy them. In return, I offer gold… and *entertainment* for your harem."
Harish's gaze darkened. "I have no need for your whores."
Kamize chuckled. "Then what *do* you need?"
"Land," Harish growled. "Power. Our father is old. His death will come soon—and when it does, the strong will take what is theirs."
Kamize's smile faltered. "You speak of war."
Harish leaned forward, his voice a blade. "I speak of *survival*."
The Sorcerers – A Battle Against the Unnatural
The ruined city stank of death.
Reteow, a young sorcerer clad in black, stood before a nightmare given flesh. The monster towered over them, its body a grotesque fusion of muscle and jagged bone, its maw dripping with saliva that burned the earth.
"Use your magic!" a comrade screamed.
"No," Reteow spat. "Magic is a crutch."
He *moved*.
The monster's claw swiped—Reteow ducked, his body a blur. He vaulted onto its back, driving his fist into its spine. The beast howled, thrashing, but Reteow clung on, striking again and again.
The monster roared, flinging him off. Reteow hit the ground, rolling just as its foot slammed down where his head had been. Dust filled his lungs, but he grinned.
"Come on!" he taunted.
The creature lunged. Reteow sidestepped, seized its arm, and twisted. Bone snapped. The monster screeched—and in that instant, Reteow drove his fist straight into its eye.
A wet crunch. The beast collapsed.
Silence.
Then, applause. "D-rank for sure!" a sorcerer cheered.
Reteow ignored them. His mind was elsewhere—on *him*.
The Destroyer.
A man who had torn apart the Seventh Hell World with his bare hands. A being whose power had reshaped continents.
"*The entire world is mine,*" the Destroyer had once declared.
Reteow clenched his fists.
*D-rank?*
*No.*
*I will be greater.*
The Gathering Storm
The world trembled on the edge of chaos.
Den, the reluctant prince, dreamed of rebellion.
Harish, the warlord, sharpened his knives.
And Reteow, the sorcerer, hungered for power beyond mortal limits.
But beneath it all, something darker stirred.
The Destroyer was coming.
And when he did, the world would burn.
Morning – The Burden of a Father's Love
The sun had barely risen over the kingdom of busan when ashver tightened the straps of his worn-out work boots. His father, Garrik, winced as he clutched his chest, his face pale with pain.
"Father, you can't go today," ashver insisted, gripping his arm. "You're in no condition to lift those stones!"
Garrik coughed, shaking his head. "If I don't, the Royal Guards will punish *you* instead. I won't let that happen."
ashver clenched his fists. His father was one of the kingdom's strongest laborers—honored, yet still treated like a slave. The kings praised his work but cared little for his suffering.
With no choice, ashver followed his father to the construction site, where the cobblestone path leading to the Grand Palace was being repaired. The Royal Guards sneered as they saw him.
"Too scrawny to work here," one barked, shoving ashver toward the lower district. "Go haul flowers for the party instead."
ashver gritted his teeth but obeyed.
In the lower district, he spotted Niteste—his closest friend—already drenched in sweat, hauling massive sacks of grain. Despite being the same age, Niteste was built like a warrior, his muscles honed from years of relentless labor.
"Hey, Niteste!" Den called, jogging over. "Let me help. We'll finish faster, then maybe sneak a glimpse of Renui."
Niteste chuckled, wiping his brow. "You and your fantasies. I've got to feed my sister after this."
ashver's smile faded. "Right… I should check on Father too."
They worked in silence, the weight of their struggles pressing down harder than the stones they carried.
---
By midday, Den stood outside the Royal Palace, arms full of flowers for the evening's grand celebration. The air smelled of roses and privilege—something he'd never afford.
Then, *she* appeared.
Renui, the queen's younger sister, stepped out of a gilded carriage, her silver dress shimmering under the sun. Den's breath caught. He had loved her since childhood—not just for her beauty, but for the kindness she once showed him years ago.
But to her, he was invisible.
A sharp pain exploded across his face as Guard Captain Sinetre struck him. "You're late, worm!"
Before another blow could land, the queen's voice cut through like a blade.
"Enough, Sinetre."
Queen Liora stepped forward, her emerald eyes blazing. "We saw him waiting. *You* were the one who delayed."
Sinetre recoiled. Den didn't wait for thanks—he ran, heart pounding.
Yet, for the briefest moment, Renui's gaze lingered on him.
*Did she… notice me?*
---
Nightfall – The Sorcerers' Return
The palace glowed under the moonlight, laughter and music spilling from its halls. The kings of busan and their allies celebrated, unaware of the storm brewing.
Then—the air split open.
A black portal tore through the grand hall, and ten figures clad in dark robes emerged, their very presence suffocating. The kings froze.
The Fifth King stumbled back. "Impossible… We slaughtered every last sorcerer that night!"
A sorcerer stepped forward, his voice dripping with malice. "You kings thought you won? This is only the beginning. We will purge this world of the unworthy… and awaken the Demon Sorcerer."
With a flash of dark energy, they vanished, leaving the kings in terrified silence.
If the Demon Sorcerer rose… no force in this world could stop him.
Den, hiding in the shadows, had seen everything.
His hands trembled—not from fear, but from fury.
Sorcerers.
The same monsters who had burned his mother alive.
His father's pain, his people's suffering—it all traced back to them.
He clenched his fists, a fire igniting in his chest.