The jungle lay cloaked in a suffocating darkness, a living labyrinth where shadows twisted and merged with the night. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a brittle branch echoed like a gunshot, sending chills down the spine of any who dared enter. This was no ordinary jungle—it was a realm of whispered fears, where countless travelers had vanished, and monsters prowled with silent patience, waiting for the unwary.
Yet, through this perilous wilderness, a figure moved with unwavering purpose. His presence alone seemed to part the darkness, a faint aura of authority and strength radiating from him like a beacon. This was no ordinary mortal. He was a royal courage, a scion destined for the academy, a name whispered in awe across lands. Even the wind seemed to bend around him, cautious not to betray his path.
Surrounding him were twenty SS-rank soldiers, elite warriors whose every movement was precise, every sense honed to perfection. Their eyes scanned the treeline, muscles coiled and ready to strike at the faintest hint of danger. Behind them, a living wall of power, three SSS-rank soldiers moved in perfect synchronization, titans among men. Their presence alone was a warning to any predator daring to step into this darkened domain—death would follow instantly.
From the shadows, the jungle watched. Eyes glinted faintly among the undergrowth, some reflecting hunger, others curiosity. Monsters stirred, the faint scent of life drawing them closer, yet none dared challenge the royal courage. Even the fiercest predators hesitated, sensing the invisible chains of power that bound this man. Fear, raw and unrelenting, radiated from him—a force more potent than any sword or spell.
The royal courage moved forward, each step measured, controlled, yet carrying a weight of inevitability. Every leaf that trembled underfoot, every insect that scattered in panic, seemed to acknowledge his dominance over this realm. The SS and SSS soldiers flanked him silently, a perfect shield of vigilance. Their loyalty was absolute, forged through battles and trials that had honed them into near-perfect extensions of his will.
For hours, they traversed the treacherous terrain. Rivers cut through the jungle like silver threads, their waters murmuring secrets of ancient beasts. Towering trees stretched high into the night, their leaves forming a dense canopy that swallowed the moonlight. Sounds of unseen creatures echoed from the darkness—growls, hisses, the sharp crack of claws on wood—but all were muted in the presence of the royal courage.
Yet the journey was not without its tests. Shadows moved unnaturally, and the air grew heavy with the stench of death as a pack of nightmarish beasts lunged from the darkness, their eyes glowing with malevolence. But the soldiers were ready. In a blur of motion, SS-rank blades flashed and SSS-rank powers erupted. Fire, lightning, and shadows clashed with monstrous flesh, the jungle briefly lit by the fury of combat. Within moments, the threat was extinguished. The jungle grew silent once more, acknowledging the supremacy of those who walked its paths.
The royal courage did not speak. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the surroundings. Every sound, every shadow, every movement was noted, processed, and cataloged. The academy awaited, a place where only the strongest would survive, yet even this dangerous jungle had bowed before him.
The night stretched on, endless and unforgiving, but for the royal courage, it was merely the first step of a journey that would carve his name into the annals of history. And as the darkness pressed around him, one truth became clear: nothing in this world—be it man or beast—could stand against the path he had chosen.
Suddenly, the jungle erupted in a terrifying roar—hundreds of voices screaming in unison, a sound so chilling it shook the very leaves from the trees.
"Royal soldiers! Something's happening! Prepare yourselves!" one of the SS-rank soldiers shouted, eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows. "We're under attack! Form up and protect the royal courage!"
But before they could fully react, a storm of death descended. From the darkness emerged the most infamous mercenary group of the lands. One hundred SS-rank assassins and twenty SSS-rank killers appeared like shadows given flesh, moving with lethal precision, blades glinting under the faint moonlight.
The clash was instantaneous. The royal soldiers fought valiantly, their powers shaking the jungle with flashes of fire, lightning, and steel. Yet the mercenaries were relentless, a whirlwind of deadly skill honed by countless battles. Within minutes, the jungle fell silent again—except for the heavy breathing of the survivors. All the royal guards were gone, cut down before they could even realize the scale of their enemy.
At the center of the carnage, the leader of the mercenary group stepped forward. He opened a carriage with a deliberate flourish, revealing a young boy—no older than sixteen, yet with the aura of a warrior far beyond his years. His hair glimmered faintly, his eyes sharp and calculating.
The leader grabbed the boy by the collar, lifting him slightly off the ground. "You disgusting brat… you're going to die here!" he spat, voice laced with venom.
The boy looked up calmly. "May I ask my final question?"
The leader sneered. "Go ahead."
"Who sent you?" Dong asked, his voice eerily steady.
The leader chuckled darkly, leaning closer. "Hahaha… because this is your final moment, I'll tell you. We were sent by the First Queen of the Golden Sword Continent."
For the first time, Dong's eyes widened. His lips curled into a cold, calculating smile. "Hehehe… I don't care. If this is my end, then so be it."
In the blink of an eye, Dong activated a skill few in the world even dared to possess—a self-destruction technique of unimaginable scale. Energy radiated outward, a tempest of destruction that carved everything within an eighty-kilometer radius into oblivion. Trees, earth, and beasts alike were erased as if the world itself wept under his wrath.
The silence that followed was deafening. Smoke and debris filled the air, the jungle nothing more than a scorched memory.
Narrator: Such a self-destruction skill is rarer than one in ten thousand. Few in the world can wield it… and even fewer survive it.
After a moment of eerie quiet, the narration continued:
Narrator: And so, in the shadows of devastation, the path of a boy began—a path that would one day carve him into the omniversal king.
The boy's name was Dong—the Fourth Prince of the Golden Sword Continent.
His eyes were a deep, unyielding black, holding a calm so absolute it seemed to pierce the very soul. Long strands of black hair framed his face, flowing like a shadow over his shoulders. He moved with the quiet confidence of someone born into nobility and trained in the art of cultivation, his body always clad in the traditional robes of his lineage. Every fold of his garment, every measured step, radiated discipline, power, and the unmistakable aura of a prince who would one day leave his mark on the world.
Chapter end..