"The details of the rituals for conjuration have been lost either purposely or accidentally, but either way, for the best, considering the results visible today.
An eternal storm powerful enough to sink any ship or submarine, to bring down any plane, helicopter or winged monster, separated the waters of the Belic Continent from the rest of the Sphere, and what was just an ordinary mountain range expanded to a disproportionate scale, almost touching the stars due to its height. We found ourselves not only isolated and stranded, but also mocked and forced to remember what awaited us outside the prison of The Great Will, when it populated the entire area around the last bastion of our glorious species with nothing less than the vengeful spirits of all the barbarians ever slaughtered by our weapons.
Such challenges not only keep invaders at bay, but also us within what is essentially a toybox of the Great Will, it having even implemented a poison into the System that weakens us as we approach the edges of our own continent, so much so that even many Heroes have failed to leave these confines.
Yes, the System, Heroes, Shadow Kings, Quests, adventurers, and even our deities were tortured, dozens of them merged into just two of opposing concepts, and all of this is the result of the modifications made to our reality by the Great Will, and its influence has even deeper roots. Our glorious human ancestors were forcibly modified into what we call 'elves' today - the clones constituting the commoner class, and the original humans the nobility - our magitechnology was set back at least eight thousand years, our architecture, art, culture and even our memories were transformed in order to please only the Great Will.
Few were spared such a fate, only the founders of the Order of Historians, the members of the Belic Committee, forced to watch everything they tried so desperately to protect be transformed far beyond any semblance of human culture, and forced to use disguises in order to blend in with the new nascent society, as well as life extension implants reused a thousand times, as the technology of their manufacture was forever lost. There are also humans who were outside the borders of the continent during such transformation, but managed to enter our territory just before it became impassable, and today they are known as "necromancers", forced to perfect the ancient magic of manipulating everything that was once alive in order to survive in a frontier full of ghosts.
Even though what we have today is completely different from what we once had, it is a fact that we find ourselves at a fork in the road where the two paths lead to perdition, either at the hands of the Great Will or at the hands of barbarians. The continuation of the human legacy, even if it exists only in spirit, is a top priority, which is why we keep such history secret, why we silence the meddlers, why we exile the necromancers.
Therefore, we pray that our actions will not be exactly those that the Great Will wanted us to do from the beginning."
- Excerpt from the book Comprehensive Guide to the History of Álfheim, by Elarico Milemario Saudoso.
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— Your eye! — Maria rushed to my side.
When she brought her hand to the reddened side of Veronico's face, he stopped her:
— No.
— ...At least let me treat your other wounds, then.
The Hero sat, looking out to sea with his one good eye, and allowed the Healer to shine light on his bruised body.
— Veronico — Saulo called. — The city is ours, but the morale of the troops could not be worse. The castle of the holy land is ruined, the Queen and Princess are dead, and after what they saw when Criscina broke down the gates, they are wondering if she has not transformed into a fifth Shadow Queen. Five at once is too many. Rumors of the end of the world are spreading among the ranks, and now the soldiers even wonder who the supreme leader of the Sacred League is. The monarch of the Sacred Kingdom of Fanon.
— Saulo! Have some empathy, please. He needs time.
— I'm fine. Saulo, gather the army in front of the castle.
The Wizard left the garden, and when she was alone with the Hero, Mariah hugged him from behind, tears streaming down her cheeks and washing away all the mud and blood that stained her.
— Don't try too hard... please.
— No. I have to try harder. Much harder. It's because I tried so little that things ended up like this — my champion clenched his fists hard enough that the metal that made up his gauntlets glowed incandescently due to the friction. — I don't know what I was thinking until now, it's like I was drunk on this power, on this world, so out of my mind, that I really thought I was in some kind of cliché light novel — he stood up and faced the Healer, seriously. He lifted her chin with one hand. — But that won't happen again. I won't relax. I won't rest. I won't let all of this be carried away by the tides of shadows like a sandcastle. I love you, Mariah, and I will die before I allow this world to end — he concluded, pushing the woman onto the flowers and planting a new seed in that garden.
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— Attention! The Prince of the Sacred Kingdom of Fanon, the Hero Veronico will now make an announcement! — Saulo used wind magic to carry his voice further than any elven lungs would be able to.
The Heroic team stood on one of the castle's melted towers and faced an army of thirty-five thousand dirty, tired, thin, and many still wounded soldiers. Men who had spent the last few months being ambushed left and right by those they considered compatriots, allies, and even family and friends. At no point in his previous campaign had Veronico or his friends seen such a scene before. And so, the Hero promised himself that they would not see it a second time either.
— The Crown Princess of the Sacred Kingdom of Fanon, Criscina Romantica Fanon IV, betrayed her own country, her own mother and her own species, allied herself with the Shadow Kings and destroyed the nation's capital and administrative headquarters of the Jornadism and the Sacred League — darker news had never been announced since I had isolated that piece of land from the rest of the Sphere. — The elven species is closer than ever to its extinction. We are on the brink of a fate so dark that perpetual slavery will be an envied fate. And all that prevents the shadows from plunging this continent into perpetual night is the Sacred League — his words would have sounded grandiose, if when the soldiers did not look around, they did not see so many other poor souls. — The fate of your families, your friends, everyone you have ever known, and everything you have ever seen, from the idyllic villages of the countryside to the large wealthy cities, from the thatched-roof huts to the castles of solid rock... The whole world rests on your shoulders — those same shoulders slumped, eyes lost their shine, and suddenly the sparse pieces of armor that the limping army wore seemed so heavy. Many sat on the ground, heads bowed, not caring about the presence of my champion. — A crushing weight. Suffocating. One that you simply cannot reject — Veronico unsheathed his sword with one hand, and extended the palm to the soldiers with the other. — A weight that I am willing to carry for you — the odd comment made some heads rise, some eyes stare back at him, curious. — A weight that only I can carry alone — soldiers exchanged confused glances, — The Holy League, the Jornadism, the Sacred Kingdom of Fanon, this entire continent, the elven species itself — he continued, closing his palm into a fist, and concentrating on his sacred sword the magic that had been regenerating since the end of his battle. — Give me everything, your life, your destiny, the future of Álfheim, and I will make the difficult decisions alone, I will lead the troops from the front lines, and I will obtain victory for us at any cost! — he continued, raising his sword high just as the sun rose behind him, and emitting a white glow that only increased in intensity with each word that came out of his mouth: — no more leniency to betrayals! No more tolerance for low numbers of recruits or few supplies sent by the nobles! Enough with this pathetic defensive war! — in one go, Veronico released all the energy he had contained in his blade, and a refreshing explosion of pure energy washed over both the spirits of the soldiers present and their physical bodies, cleaning every fiber of their clothes, evaporating the rust from their equipment and sanitizing their skin. Those who sat down stood up, those who cried straightened up, and those who sighed beat their own chests. — Give me everything! And I will give it all back to you!
— WOOOOOHH! — thirty-five thousand soldiers roared, their spirits inflamed, despite their broken bones, despite their empty stomachs.
Saulo approached his friend with Criscina's still bloody crown. Resting the symbol of royalty on the Hero's head, he announced:
— All hail Veronico Victoriam, first emperor of Álfheim!
— Veronico! Emperor! Long live Veronico, long live Alheim! — the soldiers celebrated.
— Saulo, leave immediately for the neighboring city and send as much food, soldiers and equipment as possible, and I don't care if the rest of the city starves. If the head of the city refuses, tear off his leg, and promise to do the same to all the inhabitants if they continue to refuse service — Veronico instructed, his expression icy. — We will put an end to this war.
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The unification of the continent of Álfheim, with the use of the portals by Saulo and the undisputed power of Veronico, took only two months and two hundred and thirty-eight thousand dead; no city, castle or fortress had the slightest chance of protecting itself from the large-scale attacks of the Hero or his companions, and the only reason why so many settlements had to be completely destroyed was because the Heroics moved so frantically from nation to nation, from territory to territory, that they were almost always faster than the news of the annihilation of forces that rivaled the Holy League and the Emperor.
— ...Haicard — my champion grumbled, with a thin scar over his right eye and adorned by a white armor and cape, both many times more exuberant than anything he had worn before, being as much a work of art as protection, the pieces displaying images of Paradise and other sacred icons all over their surface.
The Hero faced a fortress of divine metal at the end of a valley, surrounded by steep mountains on all sides but one, with the only path to the structure being a natural corridor of black gravel. Beforeshadow.
All the enemy forces were gathered there, and that was the only reason Veronico didn't make any detours during his unification campaign to ravage the shadow forces; he couldn't risk carelessly exposing himself to the only entity in Álfheim that had a chance of defeating him.
Although, considering the army of six hundred thousand soldiers that the Emperor led, and Veronico's Attributes since defeating his ex-wife, the little rebel wouldn't offer much resistance to my champion, if he ever offered any challenge to begin with:
Name: Veronico Leonico Victoriam
Potential: Unique
Level: 99
Strength: 401
Perception: 222
Occultism: 189
Titles: Hero, Emperor, Highest Pontiff, Field General, Pinnacle, Grandmaster of the Sword, Grandmaster of Armor, Grandmaster of Magic, Reincarnation, Absolute, Divine Punishment, One Man Army, Calamitous, Volcanic, Living Fortress, Dominant, Prestigious, Fatal, Feared.