Thirty years before the ascension of the Celestial Monarch.
"My beloved:
This is the first time I am writing you a letter. It feels strange; words that are difficult to say out loud feel softer and easier to release from my heart onto paper. I know that destiny has separated us in a way where we will probably never be able to see each other again, but I am writing to you anyway. Even if it is an illusion that this will reach you and you are lost in the infinite river of time, I intend to tell you my feelings.
Feelings that I avoided before, and only with your absence did I feel their weight. Perhaps that is the condemnation of us mortals: to carry the weight of our actions, our regrets, our failure to act.
Because I do not regret anything I did or said, but I regret so many things I didn't say and didn't do.
That is why I leave them for you in this letter. You will never disappear from my thoughts; even if the heavens fall and the earth splits open, you will always be there.
—Alana."
Melancholy clouded Alana's mind as she sighed. The trio of students currently standing in front of her reminded her of many things, reminded her of the past; and the past was painful.
Ducanor had a scowl on his face, while his two new companions were laughing and bothering him as they tried to strike up a conversation. Lukan was showing off his achievements, while Anjou was talking about random topics with Voltia.
Meanwhile, Ducanor himself, in the middle of all this, had a dark expression and looked like he was about to vomit blood.
Sighing, Alana quickly composed herself and spoke.
"Quickly, we must leave for the Solar Demon Palace, but this time we have a new objective," Alana said with a smile.
"Huh? A new objective?" Ducanor asked, this time with interest, as he shook Lukan off and looked at her as if she were his lifeline.
"Yes, this time we are going to a region within the pocket realm zone that requested our help," she replied.
"Help?" Lukan said, astounded. And he wasn't the only one; apparently, Ducanor also seemed confused, while Anjou...
"Yes. The Hegemony has a pact with the realm: it provides a good number of contracts with true spirits—not only to Guards, but also to other spirits—in exchange for protection within the realm. For that, we have to infiltrate a city of true spirits, the city of Giyorgis. I will give you the rest of the details on the way. Understood?" she finished in a serious tone.
At that, the trio—not including Voltia, who was also wandering around—set off.
And on the way, they suddenly came across a monument. This subtle, yet at the same time imposing monument was a mausoleum on which the names of hundreds, if not thousands, of people were carved.
"What is this mausoleum?" Anjou asked, causing Ducanor's face to freeze, along with Alana's.
"It is a monument to commemorate the sacrifice of the sect's heroes," she answered hastily, avoiding looking at the names.
"Really? From whom? What happened?" Anjou murmured with interest as she looked at the letters carved into the stone.
"It was the day they attacked the sect. The day almost everything was lost. The day of the siege on Dawn Island."
The Fall of the Shadow Branch Sect
Blood flowed on the ground like a puddle of blue ink, alerting and causing panic among the sect's disciples.
But it was too late. Spears pierced the bodies of the innocent and guilty alike, without distinguishing whether they were combatants or not.
"Help! Please, somebody help!" cried a young girl who was no older than fifteen winters.
But before she could say anything else, a bone whip covered in thorns tore across her back, splitting her flesh. Her agonizing body fell flat, writhing on the ground, knowing only pain and despair until death.
Figures dressed in plate armor with their faces covered by demonic masks slaughtered the members of the Shadow Branch Sect. As if it were a butchery, there was no resistance and no mercy. Like wolves unleashed in a pen full of sheep, their only hope was a quick and painless death.
Unfortunately, that was not the fate the majority of the disciples had earned; their bodies were dragged away to be flayed by their captors, and their blood drained for unholy rituals far beyond sane contemplation.
At this moment, tens, if not hundreds, of drakais ignored the life or death of their victims. Like rabid dogs riding beasts similar to monstrous hounds, there were the Ironclad, the iron monks, who smashed their victims' skulls with hammers and black iron vajras and began the pillaging.
At the peaks of the sect, on a mountain flattened millennia ago since its foundation, the Dark Sky Formation was supposed to hide the place under a black veil that prevented any intrusion; if anyone forced their way through, their fate was a horrible death, torn apart by the forces of a space compressed from thousands of kilometers into a few meters of area.
But that legendary treasure, which was the sect's millennial protection, had disappeared, leaving the place defenseless against the aerial and ground fleets of the drakoi and gothic troops.
At the site of the mountain peak, the diabolical and corrupt figure of Celia looked down at her final opponent with a seemingly victorious smile.
"Master of the Shadow Branch Sect, Alfonz Vesperia. I expected more from an existence as ancient as you; you truly disappoint me," Celia said with an expression full of disdain, as she focused her gaze on the massacre unfolding below her. A massive smile formed on her face as a result of the scene hundreds of meters beneath her feet.
The Dark Sky Formation had been deactivated by her after infiltrating the sect itself. Right now, more than half of the Guards were on the continent, while the majority of the students, in turn, were inside. At this point, the sect master wore a tired expression as he listened to every cry of pain and suffering from his members.
He was an old man with an aged face, marked by time far beyond what was normal for his peers. Old battle scars on his forehead and neck were darkened blemishes on his skin that had faded like medals of glory. He had white hair with a grayish tinge, and despite his aged appearance, it fell long down his back, giving him a much more vigorous look. He had no mustache or beard, other than a faint white layer beneath his chin.
The old master, Alfonz Vesperia, had lost both arms to Celia's surprise attack, and his body leaned against a stone pillar while his blue blood spilled onto the ground.
"What do you want, abomination?" Alfonz growled as he stood up using all his strength, looking coldly at Celia. "Nothing you propose will succeed."
"Hahahaha," Celia's laughter echoed through the area as she watched a drakaishen easily butcher dozens of students, simply using the wind from his saber to slice flesh and lacerate his victims. "It's funny that you say that even though your whole world is falling apart. For someone like me, time is futile. Even if I fail, sooner or later I will win; I have eternity on my side," she said disdainfully as she advanced toward the old man with a provocative smile.
Although she appeared arrogant, she still kept her guard up against him.
But the old man did not move; he closed his eyes with a peaceful expression as he listened intently to the massacre. Then he heard something and looked into the distance.
He found three young people fighting their way through the warriors, defeating them. One of them wielded a techno-sword and cleaved an iron monk with ease. The other warrior used his fists to shatter the armor of one of his attackers before incapacitating him. Suddenly, another iron monk appeared behind them; wielding a black powder cannon on his arm, he fired at the young woman's head.
Celia, who had also shifted her attention to the scene, smiled at the sight of what she thought would be the girl's bloody head, expecting her to die instantly from the firearm.
Unfortunately, she was wrong. A transparent barrier of light blocked the shot, and to the monk's surprise, a massive rock suddenly materialized above him and simply squashed him like a bug.
The defender was another woman holding a harp in her hand, which she plucked to materialize both illusory and physical barriers of rock, concrete, and even air.
"Hehehe," the dying old man chuckled. He knew he wouldn't live much longer; death would likely claim him right now. But before reaching that point, he wanted to do one more thing—a final effort to save the sect's last hope.
"What are you laughing at, you damn old man?" Celia growled furiously, as a stream of pink wind severed Alfonz's left leg.
Despite this, the old man did not falter. His gaze, like a knife, fixed on Celia despite being forced to kneel.
"Death is natural. I will suffer it and everything will be over: my worries, my life, my destiny... everything will be over. That is karma." His sharp gaze locked onto Celia with an expression as hard as steel, giving her the illusion that she was looking at a mountain and not a person. "But you have no life and no death. You are condemned to repeat the same cycle over and over again, until the end of existence itself, or until you forget your own name and have changed so much that you won't be able to distinguish the person you are now from your past self."
Celia's expression soured. The words pierced her chest like bullets, mixed with the anger and frustration of not eliciting despair from her opponent.
"You are condemned. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but what awaits you is an eternity. An eternity of failures and despair." A smile materialized on the old man's face. "My mission is over. Dark Sky Formation: Inverse Dream," he suddenly whispered, to Celia's surprise.
Stunned, she watched as the formation she supposedly destroyed materialized once again, forming a black dome around the area.
"Impossible. The formation was destroyed, how could you...?"
But before she could continue, she felt all the gravity inside the sect begin to disappear. In an instant, to the surprise and shock of both the students and the bloodthirsty drakoi and iron monks, they saw the terrain around them slowly begin to rise.
The scene was surreal for everyone present; even for Celia herself, it was a twist she had not expected.
"You... what the hell did you do?" The low gravity caused Alfonz's body to float slightly, but his body was slowly disintegrating right before Celia's furious eyes.
"This, abomination..." As he took one last look at the place that had been his home for more life than anyone would have expected to live, he murmured: "...is karma."
And then all the attackers of the sect and some of the defenders vanished into thin air, leaving a few dazed survivors inside the island, among whom three clearly stood out.
A girl at the forefront, with black hair and pale skin, held a sword in her hands while blood flowed down her wrist.
"Sister, the sect is gone," asked a blonde woman, slender but with a martial aura, holding a harp in her hand.
"No," Alana replied, tightening her grip on her sword even more. "The sect will rise from the ashes as long as one Guard remains on this earth, and the gods are not deaf to our cries."
And with those words, a promise was made. A promise she had no intention of breaking.