"The teacher came out of his experiment." The whisper echoes across the void. A blue light streaks from the highest tower in Void City, pier
"The teacher came out of his experiment."
The whisper echoes across the void.
A blue light streaks from the highest tower in Void City, piercing through endless darkness.
The void itself trembles as a crack opens, swallowing the blue light—then sealing shut as if nothing ever happened.
Merin, seated on his throne, keeps his eyes closed.
Streams of faith pour into him from countless believers.
He refines it steadily, layer by layer, into divine power.
Ten years have passed since the conquest of the Mugur Swamp region.
In that decade, the world has been consumed by war.
Battles rage across the three continents and spill into the oceans, kingdoms falling and tribes rising.
The Dream Kingdom's march has slowed.
To the north lies the frozen wasteland, impenetrable even to divine conquest.
To the east stretches the endless blue sea.
South, they are blocked by the White Jade Supreme tribe.
West, the Black Flame Supreme tribe stands in their path.
On the Vanul continent, no weaker tribes remain; only the three supreme tribes divide its lands with an iron grip.
Across the world, eight supreme tribes dominate, each unchallenged except by the others.
In these ten years, God himself had come to Merin seeking an answer.
Merin had said only this: he would not ally, but neither would he oppose.
Reluctantly, God accepted.
But when the next demand came, their bond broke.
The God demanded that Merin destroy his own church, erase the dream faith spreading among the orcs.
For the God decreed that all orcs must be His foundation of faith when He returned to His throne.
Merin refused.
His church was his lifeline, pouring endless faith into him.
Without it, he would wither before the war ended.
With it, he could grow, endure, and one day rival them all.
Thus, they became enemies.
And yet, Merin has not joined Tanarid Tech either.
For though Tanarid Tech arms his enemies—the White Jade and Black Flame tribes—their goal is to kill the God outright.
But Merin's path is different.
He does not seek to slay a God.
He seeks to become one.
To step into the Fourth Stage.
Merin opens his eyes with a sigh.
After conquering so many regions, he is still far from breaking through Rank 17.
At this pace, it will take at least another five hundred years.
He needs to accelerate the flow of faith.
There are only two ways.
The first is to increase population, but the wars on the western and southern borders block expansion.
The second is to conquer the entire Vanul continent.
And both paths are obstructed by the two supreme tribes.
Merin looks west.
Across the distance, a massive Black Lion-orc roars, its voice shaking the earth.
He looks south.
A White Elephant-orc raises its trunk and trumpets thunderously toward him.
He calls for the top members of his kingdom.
No matter how far they are, they arrive within minutes.
For now, every Great Knight who advances transforms into a dream creature and gains dream travel.
Priests can also use dream travel once they reach official rank.
Soon, they stand before his palace.
Merin's voice is calm but heavy.
"I want to conquer the whole Vanul continent."
They exchange uneasy glances.
Tillie steps forward.
"Lord, it will be difficult to defeat them. With Tanarid Tech's help, their weapons now stand equal to ours."
Another speaks.
"Their weapons may be weaker than ours, but they can be mass-produced in numbers we cannot match."
For Tanarid Tech advances them only in the purely technical path, stripped of extraordinary power.
While the Dream Kingdom's technology is born from runes and formations.
It produces weapons of high sophistication and great might, but they are difficult to forge in quantity.
The simpler and less powerful designs can be mass-produced—but not the high-tier ones they desperately need.
Another one says, "We can defeat them one by one, but both are in alliance. If we advance largely against one, the other will interfere."
Another speaks with indignation.
"If the outsiders of Tanarid Tech did not help them, we would have already conquered them."
Another says, "But the Tanarid Tech also help us."
An orc growls, "Only in the civilian sector."
Another voice follows, sharp and cold.
"Do you think we need their help in making weapons?"
Merin's gaze sweeps across them.
"Then you all are confident to destroy one of them—if the other does not interfere."
Tillie steps forward.
"Yes, Lord. But they will not give us that opportunity."
Merin's divine energy stirs.
In the middle of the hall, a massive hologram blooms, showing the map of the Vanul continent.
The landmass glows with dreamlight: a half-circle in the north, a rectangle in the centre, and a right-angle triangle in the south.
Three shapes interwoven into one continent, divided by war and faith.
The eastern side of the map glows faint blue, marked as the Dream Kingdom's domain.
Its western edge presses against the Black Flame tribe, while the southern border locks against the White Jade tribe.
Only the far north remains untouched, white and empty under the frigid cold.
Then three golden lights appear, marking the capitals of the great powers.
The capital of the Black Flame tribe flickers close to the northern wastes.
Merin raises his hand and draws a glowing line across the map—from the Dream Kingdom, cutting through the north, and plunging straight into the Black Flame capital.
"How about it? Can this be done?"
Tillie narrows her eyes, then answers, "We can do it, Lord. But preparation will take years, and it must remain hidden."
Merin nods.
"Yes. If we move north, they will monitor us—but only at the start."
The hall nods in unison.
Merin points to several spots along the northern border of the Dream Kingdom.
"Here lie metal mines. We will show that our armies march north to claim these resources. Once they stop watching, we will carve a secret path that leads us straight to their capital."
The air hums with divine pressure.
Merin's eyes blaze.
"Now go. Begin the preparations."
Eyes from both tribes and the Tanarid Tech fix themselves on the Dream Kingdom's forces as they march north.
At first, every step is watched.
The armies clash with northern monsters, battle stray monster tribes, and raise small fortresses in the frozen land.
Suspicion sharpens when they begin building bases.
But as those bases reveal themselves as mines, the watch grows lax.
Mining facilities rise, orcs settle to dig, and soldiers guard the sites.
Each passing year, vigilance fades until, after three years, only the faintest traces of monitoring remain.
The Dream Kingdom waits for that moment.
Then, quietly, they begin carving a path—a road wide and fortified, meant for an army strong enough to crush the Black Flame capital.
Every few leagues, resting grounds are built: supply posts, healing stations, barracks.
Five years pass, and the secret road is complete.
Once more, the top members gather before Merin.
But when they step into the throne room, they no longer see marble pillars and banners of the Dream Kingdom.
They step into an endless ocean.
Waves crash, fish dart beneath the surface, and salt hangs in the air.
They know it is an illusion, but it feels real enough to drown them.
Merin has touched the principle of virtuality through his Illusion Law.
It is fragile, less than one per cent, but the path has begun.
At one hundred per cent, the way will open.
They discuss strategy beneath the crashing waves, then bow and leave to prepare.
Merin sets aside his comprehension.
The coming battle demands his presence, for only he can face the supreme totem of the Black Flame tribe.
At dawn, the Dream Kingdom's army marches.
Their banners rise over the frozen wastes, their steps shake the ground, and their spears point straight toward the Black Flame capital.
The Dream Kingdom army spreads like a tide, galloping across the plains.
None ride beasts, none sit in carriages or rune vehicles—every soldier is extraordinary.
Great Knights blur like lightning, their strides faster than stallions.
Priests glide above the snow, robes flowing, their flight fueled by divine runes.
Bishops cloak themselves in shifting dreams, crossing leagues in a heartbeat.
The army itself is the storm.
By dusk, the horizon darkens with their approach.
By nightfall, the Black Flame capital is ringed in silence.
No siege towers, no engines—only the luminous host of the Dream Kingdom, surrounding the walls like an endless chain of stars.
Torches blaze, banners ripple, and the city realises too late.
The lion-orcs of the Black Flame tribe are caught unprepared.
Alarms thunder, drums echo, but their foes are already at their gates.
The first clash erupts before midnight.
Dream Kingdom knights charge with weapons burning in rune-light.
Their blades carve through steel, their spears pierce walls.
Priests descend from the air, hurling chains of divine fire that twist like serpents.
Formations ignite across the snow, shifting the battlefield into labyrinths where enemy soldiers stumble and die.
The Black Flame warriors roar, their bodies wreathed in dark fire, axes blazing with the fury of their tribe's bloodline.
The two sides meet in slaughter.
Snow turns black with ash, red with blood.
Hours drag on.
For every wall broken, the orcs raise another defence.
For every thousand that fall, a thousand more surge forward.
But still, the Dream Kingdom presses inward, step by step, until the city's very heart quakes.
Then the sky tears apart.
A roar explodes across the heavens, shaking stone, shattering glass.
The Black Flame Totem awakens.
A colossal lion-shaped shadow rises above the capital, mane blazing like a sea of molten fire.
Its roar burns the air, and its eyes fall upon the invaders like suns of judgment.
The tribe bows, chanting, feeding their faith into the totem, and its form grows even larger, blotting out the moon.
For a moment, even the Dream Kingdom falters.
But then another presence descends.
The ocean returns.
The battlefield wavers.
Merin steps forward.
Behind him, the tide of illusion surges, reality bending at his will.
He raises his hand, and the air itself folds, shattering the flames around the totem.
The Dream Kingdom's army roars as one.
Their lord has arrived.
And Merin strides into the sky, his gaze locked on the Black Flame Totem, ready to strike.