West Sea, God Valley.
Warships encircled the island, World Government flags fluttering, their black-blue cross glaring under the sun.
Two towering mountains rose from the island, their steep cliffs sharp as if carved by axes.
The sky was grim, thick with clouds, threatening a downpour. A sudden flash pierced the gloom.
Space twisted, a strange light bursting forth.
From the glow, a massive ship emerged, crafted from sleek black metal, mirror-smooth yet absorbing all light, exuding mystery and solemnity.
Boom!
The light vanished abruptly, and with a heavy thud, the enigmatic black ship grounded in the valley.
Up close, a gear-like emblem adorned the hull, hinting at its origin.
Cough, cough… "Bit of a commotion this time…"
Amidst settling dust, a figure emerged from the cabin, pale blue eyes piercing through. Pink, medium-length hair radiated vitality, glasses adding a scholarly air.
"The impact test succeeded, though. This level of force barely fazed it. Time to test the next phase."
A satisfied smirk curved his lips as he patted his chest. Blue light shimmered, activating a new mode in his exoskeletal armor.
But before further experiments, he noticed the unfamiliar surroundings, unlike his previous anchorage.
"Again?"
Unfazed, as if accustomed to such events, he checked his wrist monitor to confirm he wasn't dreaming, then inspected the ship's systems.
"Compass broken, power system partially damaged, defenses operational, supplies intact… Not as bad as I thought.
But where am I? Bilgewater doesn't have this… Ionia?"
Puzzled, he tried repairing the compass when a shout echoed from afar.
"Hey, kid! Thinking of sailing out? Give it up—navy's got God Valley locked down. No ship's leaving! Haha!"
On a nearby cliff, a natural rock platform held a man with an exaggeratedly large face, waving. Another figure held him back to prevent a fall.
The term "God Valley" sparked unease. The language wasn't his usual tongue, but he was fluent in many, so it posed no issue.
The man was Cidril Oran, an orphan—unsurprisingly.
After acing his exams, a bizarre "reset" event flung his soul to Valoran's Piltover, a city of commerce and tech, where he gained the orphan buff twice over.
In this mystical land, Oran discovered his gift: Dreams.
Each night, his dreams connected to fantastical realms, sometimes transcending time and space. Through countless nights, his knowledge soared, earning him fame in Piltover, rivaling Heimerdinger's renown—a high honor for a newcomer.
He'd sailed to Bilgewater for rare materials and a business deal, but a casual experiment triggered another mysterious event. His body rejuvenated, reverting to his teens.
Thanks to his dream-enhanced memory, Oran recalled "God Valley" from his past life, though only major events, like war outcomes, stuck. Details were fuzzy.
Two figures approached: the big-faced man with an afro and a small girl, both grubby, her clothes marked with a target.
"Don't just stand there, kid! I'm aiming to survive. You don't wanna die here, right? If so, I'm not wasting time! Haha!"
Noticing Oran's attention, the big-faced man struck an odd pose, awaiting a response.
"First, your names?"
"I'm Ginny. This is my big bro, Ivankov. That important? What's your name, kid? Or is it just 'kid'?"
Ginny stuffed her mouth with dark, unappetizing food, eating with gusto.
"Call me Oran. Come down and talk. You want to survive—got a plan?"
The familiar names and God Valley's mention clicked. Oran pinpointed the time and event, realizing he was far from Valoran's primal lands—in a far worse place.
Ivankov wasn't yet the Revolutionary Dragon, but his face was unmistakable. Oran knew he'd escape, or there'd be no future Dragon. Still, Oran trusted himself over others. His presence here was already a variable; relying on others was unwise.
God Valley's chaos involved titans like Rocks, Roger, Garp, and even a Five Elder, Saturn. None cared for the island's commoners. Survival meant self-reliance.
Oran needed Ivankov and Ginny's intel to devise a strategy. His ship's resources could handle this with time.
Ivankov sought allies, knowing he and Ginny couldn't escape alone. Slaves and residents, all prey to the Celestial Dragons, shared a common cause.
Drawn by the ship's arrival, Ivankov and Ginny descended via vines and trees to its base. The black, metallic vessel gleamed uniquely, unlike typical ships.
Oran tossed down a rope ladder. They climbed aboard, but as their feet hit the deck, panels flipped, revealing two dark cannons aimed at them.
"Relax. Auto-defense system. Come up, no aggressive moves, and they won't fire."
Oran's calm reassured the startled pair. Valoran's seas were perilous, so his ship bristled with firepower—a warning to strangers.
Ivankov's panic turned to glee. Armed allies were a boon.
"Enough gawking. If needed, these weapons will do their job. Now, your intel?"
Oran saw Ivankov's thoughts. Sharing some resources for survival was fine.
Ginny spoke: "The Celestial Dragons hold these hunts periodically. Disobedient slaves, criminals, or natives of chosen lands become their prey.
Three weeks of hunting. Everyone on the island is slaughtered, and it becomes World Government territory."
The Dragons' preparations and travel gave Ginny and Ivankov a window of opportunity.
"They offer prizes to winners. Those are our key to escape."
"Prizes?" Oran asked, checking his ship's gear to ensure no surprises.
"I'm a theft and eavesdropping expert. Two prizes: a Mythical Zoan Dragon Fruit, turning you into a blue dragon, and a Paw-Paw Fruit, letting you swat yourself or others to distant islands. Grab those, and we escape—maybe take dozens with us."
Ginny waved skyward, boosting her confidence.
"Haha! Kid, that's our plan. Can your cannons come off? Prizes are at the island's center. We need more hands…"
Ivankov eyed the ship's novel materials and gear, intrigued. Ginny's curiosity was subtler but evident.
"Those weapons aren't portable. Follow me. I've got usable stuff and ideas. Don't touch anything—you might get hurt."
Oran led them to the cabin. The cannons had deterred tampering. Despite the damaged power system, the dim cabin unnerved Ginny, but she continued:
"I've spread word about the prizes to draw others. That's the plan so far. Anything to add?"
"No normal ship can leave, right?"
"Yeah, warships surround us. I don't know their strength—flying out might be tough. Your ship looks sturdy, but not that sturdy."
Ivankov's grim tone reflected their slim hope.
"How about this?"
In his workshop, Oran retrieved two metallic orbs from a box, fixing them to a table. Intricate gold patterns adorned their surfaces, hinting at untold stories.
Activating a switch, cracks revealed a blue glow within. Oran placed a screwdriver by one orb. Gears whirred, blue light rippled, and the screwdriver vanished, reappearing intact by the other orb as its gears spun and glowed.
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(Chapter End)