Hesmor is not a very wealthy country; it has always been that way since ancient times. It is a land where most of the territory is covered by mountains, bordered with Greaton by the Emerald Range, and blocked from the sea by the Seawall Range. Although mountainous, the terrain also forms countless narrow bays favorable for the development of fisheries and fishing. These fjords also hold great potential for tourism due to their majestic and magnificent scenery. However, coastal residents constantly face attacks from the Naga. Every year, Hesmor must pay a portion of its wealth in tribute to Greaton in exchange for protection.

  The capital of Hesmor is Mornet, located within the Mornetfjord, a narrow bay that stretches deep inland. To the northeast lies the Emerald Forest, and to the west rises the Seawall Range. It is a beautiful city embraced by forests, mountains, and the sea. Mornet serves as the political and economic heart of Hesmor, as well as an important trade bridge with Greaton. Beyond Mornet, Hesmor is also home to Hesmir, a graceful city situated in the fertile delta of the Emerald River, an ideal region for agriculture. The Emerald River originates from the Emerald Range, flowing through both Golden and Hesmor. On the Golden side, it runs along the Infernic Range and passes beside the Valley of Death before reaching the Eldross Sea. The Infernic Mountains are truly dual faced. On one side lies the poetic scenery shaped by the Emerald River, and on the other stands the dark abyss known as Allblack fortress.

  Hesmor has a dual monarchy, where two kings rule over the two most developed regions: Mornet and Hesmir. Only when one side prospers beyond the other is its ruler recognized as the True King. Previous monarchs believed that internal rivalry encouraged positive competition and drove national prosperity. But that was before both Golden and Greaton interfered.

  A few years ago, when Hesmor was still under the rule of two kings, King Rumi governed Hesmir. Unlike his elder brother Astor, Rumi was not a gifted merchant. He preferred poetry, literature, and the pursuit of art. He developed Hesmir into a favorite destination for sages, writers, and poets from across Veynar. Giant libraries were built, and magical towers lined the Emerald River, lighting it up in shimmering brilliance through the dark nights. Rumi never truly desired to become the True King. He simply wished to live freely, doing whatever he pleased within his own land.

  Astor, in contrast, was a true merchant. He rebuilt the Mornet Port, turning it into Hesmor’s greatest trade hub, welcoming merchant ships from Greaton, tribes from Break Island, and even distant Noland beyond the continent. Astor not only strengthened trade but also emphasized culture and education, especially in magic. Magical academies were founded, with wizards invited from Greaton to teach. Mornet flourished like never before with a powerful economy, friendly relations with the Greaton Empire, and a new generation of bright young talents full of potential.

  It seemed that the title of True King would finally belong to Astor for all he had achieved. Yet just then, Hesmir witnessed the rise of a mysterious secret society known as the Writter Guild. These people used their pens to glorify Rumi as a divine being, the King of Freedom, the Chosen One, the Guardian of Creative Spirit. Through their words, the Guild transformed Hesmir, already beautiful, into something even more radiant, the City of Beauty, the City of Dreams. Hesmir soon experienced an unprecedented wave of tourism. Merchant ships crowded the Eldross Coast, and nobles and aristocrats arrived in admiration, praising Rumi with the exquisite titles crafted by the Guild. Rumi himself did not care; he was free, but also irresponsible. He was not foolish, yet he underestimated the power that words could bring.

  While “helping” Rumi with great enthusiasm, the Writter Guild began aiming their weapons at Astor, attacking him through public opinion, accusing him of slaughtering wild animals just to make luxurious furs for Greaton nobles, destroying trees in the Emerald Forest, trading slaves with the savages of Break Island, and even betraying Hesmor by becoming a dog of Greaton. These false accusations turned Astor from a national hero into a criminal in the eyes of the people.

  At that moment, only one man dared to oppose the Writter Guild. A sage, a scholar, a man who dared to write the truth: Horta, the greatest writer in Hesmor and the teacher of Rumi. His pen was firm and powerful, his reasoning sharp, his words cutting like blades. He stood alone against the Writter Guild and overwhelmed them, forcing those who hid in the shadows, those manipulators of public opinion, to fear his brilliance. On the literary battlefield he was like a Battle King, mighty and steadfast, sweeping aside every foe. But misfortune struck, for Horta was still a man, and somehow, almost miraculously, he was accused of the most disgraceful crime a scholar could bear: child molestation. The evidence appeared solid, and worse, the one he had always protected, Astor, was the witness who accused him. The Writter Guild had long awaited such an opportunity. They humiliated Horta and destroyed him without mercy.

  His prestige collapsed. Insults and ridicule choked the air around him. Those who had once worshipped his talent now mocked him, cursing his very name. Many demanded his public execution. By then, everything had gone too far. Even Rumi could no longer protect his teacher. Before being taken to prison, Rumi stared at his teacher; tears streamed down the king’s face. “I will save you, teacher. Tonight, I’ll come to take you away,” Rumi swore silently.

  That night, while the wardens snored beside the gentle murmur of the Emerald River, a mysterious shadow slipped into the dungeon. He moved like lightning, passing through every trap as though he already knew their positions. When he reached Horta’s cell, he froze. The man was gone.

  “Where is he? Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.”

  He roared in silence, biting his lips until they bled to suppress his fury. His red eyes blazed, completely consumed by hatred. Memories of his gentle teacher flashed before him, the man who once guided his trembling hand to write the first letters, who led him onto the path of literature, who taught him the meaning of freedom, and who treated him not as a king but as his own son.

  “Astor, you bastard. And the Writter Guild, you will all rot in hell.”

  Meanwhile, on that same night, Astor knelt before a mysterious young man. His body was covered in wounds. Few knew that Astor had once been a Warlord, yet now he was powerless, his eyes full of helpless pleading as he looked up at the stranger.

  “Please spare my son. I have done everything you asked. I have honored the agreement.”

  “You are a good father, Astor. I deeply respect good fathers. Besides, I am also a merchant like you, and I greatly value trust. I will release your son and ensure he lives in comfort for the rest of his life. However…” The young man stepped forward, gently helping Astor to his feet and brushing the dust from his coat with a warm smile. “Look at yourself, Astor. Where is the posture of a merchant? You must keep yourself presentable.”Then his expression hardened, the smile vanishing in an instant.

  “The last good father I knew is already dead. At least you’re still intact… and neat.”

  Astor froze in terror as he heard those words. A chill ran down his spine. He tried to speak, but no sound came. Slowly, his body went numb, his vision faded, and everything turned to darkness.

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  When dawn shone through the window, the young man was gone leaving only a solid gold statue of Astor, his face frozen in horror.

  Rumi naturally became the True King, ruling all of Hesmor. Yet he felt no joy, only sorrow and grief. For now, his beloved teacher carried an eternal humiliation, a stain that could not be erased even by Astor’s disappearance.

  As if for revenge, he declared the expulsion of the entire Writter Guild from Hesmor, even using military force to suppress the organization, for the Writter Guild was not weak at all. Unexpectedly, one of Rumi’s generals suddenly ordered an attack on the Writter Guild without his command. Conflict broke out instantly. The Writter Guild fought back fiercely; they possessed a power called “Shadow.” Some Shadows were as weak as a Warrior, but others were as strong as a Battle King. Among them was one Shadow named “Lucifer,” summoned by a man called Gaiman. It was incredibly powerful. Its strength rivaled that of an entire army. One flap of its wings sent a storm-like wind that blew away every flying arrow; a single slash shook the earth, burying countless soldiers. Though “Lucifer” was strong, one being could not protect everyone. The Writter Guild suffered heavy casualties. Gaiman led the survivors and successfully escaped from Hesmir.

  A “Battle King” was already a strategic rank in large-scale warfare. This was no longer a mere secret society. This was a deep and dangerous conspiracy. Rumi felt as if an invisible hand was reaching out from the darkness, slowly choking his land. Fear covered him like a tight noose around his neck.

  Not long after Gaiman’s escape, his true identity was revealed. A “Battle King” was never nameless. Like Horta, Gaiman was also an exceptional writer. His literary works were highly valued, full of depth and artistry. He was a renowned intellectual of Golden. Golden immediately declared war on Hesmor, claiming that Rumi had unjustly attacked the Writers’ Guild. Those who once helped him, glorified him, and were citizens of Golden, such an act was seen as an insult to Golden’s honor. Just one day later, Golden’s army crossed the Emerald River, slaughtering all villagers living nearby. When Rumi received the news, he furiously ordered all nearby fortresses to gather their forces for defense, pushing the Golden army back across the Emerald River. But the Golden soldiers were strange. They did not retreat, did not fear death, and attacked Hesmor’s army madly. A brutal war erupted between the two sides. Corpses and blood flowed down the river, dyeing the once-beautiful Emerald River red.

  Hesmor’s forces quickly fell apart under a terrifying weapon called “Dark Despair.” Black magical bombs exploded across the battlefield, destroying whole formations despite Hesmor’s superior numbers. Golden achieved a devastating victory; most of Hesmor’s army was annihilated. However, Golden’s next actions deeply confused Rumi. They did not occupy Hesmor’s land. Instead, they took the people, especially children. Countless children were captured, branded with slave marks, and transported to Allblack like merchandise. The territory still remained, but no one dared to live there. The borderland between the two nations became a forbidden zone.

  Rumi was completely terrified. He was not afraid of war. He just simply did not know what the war truly meant. He did not understand why his people had to die, what they had died for. The land still existed, Golden had already retreated, yet he did not dare reclaim it. Helpless, Rumi had no choice but to contact Greaton, agreeing to cooperate under their conditions and concessions. After losing their trade connection through Astor, Greaton greatly desired the “profitable cake” of Mornet. They promised military support against Golden, in exchange for a quarter the profits from Mornet and tax exemptions for all Greaton merchants. Rumi gritted his teeth and agreed. With Greaton’s backing, he confidently reclaimed the abandoned lands. The war had ended, but the nightmare remained.

  Golden and Hesmor became two enemy nations divided only by the Emerald River. In the end, Rumi never truly understood Golden’s motives. Both nations suffered greatly, and only Greaton profited. But if this had been Greaton’s plot, it still didn’t make sense, Greaton was happily cooperating with Astor, and had no reason to involve an entire nation like Golden just to gain a quarter of the profit from Mornet. Though still young, his hair turned gray from endless thought. In the blink of an eye, he had lost his brother, his respected teacher, and all those dear to him for nothing at all.

  How mysterious, how absurd, how incomprehensible.

  ...

  In the Darkwood Forest, along the Myst River, Exitus gripped a wooden sword and slashed repeatedly through the air. His strikes were sharp, his breathing steady, his footwork firm. A month had passed, he was unaware that the war had already ended. He focused solely on training, striving to grasp his own Ultimate Skill, though success had yet to come. However, he had begun to feel faint traces of understanding.

  Nashor lay lazily on a tree branch, chewing on a blade of grass. Exitus’s progress didn’t surprise him; perhaps soon the boy would truly become a Warlord. Thinking back, Nashor had taken three whole years to master his own Ultimate Skill, and he couldn’t help but feel that life was truly unfair. “But life has always been unfair,” he muttered softly.

  Darkness fell over the forest. The flickering glow of the campfire mingled with the fragrant smell of grilled fish. The surroundings were silent only the crackling of burning wood broke the stillness. Nashor shattered the quiet as he spoke while eating:

  “As planned, tomorrow we’ll arrive The Valley of Death. When we get there, the Ferryman will take you across the BlackSea and back to Hesmir.”

  “"You"?” Exitus asked.

  “I won’t be going with you. We’ll part ways there. You still remember what you promised to help me with, don’t you?” Nashor smiled as he spoke.

  “I will fulfill it,” Exitus replied without hesitation. A strong confidence radiated from his words.

  “I know! Then, you won’t mind listening to a story before I make my request, right?”

  Exitus said nothing. He just remained silent. Seeing that, Nashor began his story:

  “Long ago, Golden was known by another name. It was called Ossa, a nation whose warriors forged weapons from the bones of monsters, a nation born from the unification of many tribes during the Newborn God War. My family was a strong triple of that nation. After the death of Madenes, a prophecy spread across the continent, and countless believers followed it, including my father. Since his youth, he had longed to possess that stone, to claim the power that could grant any wish. He never stopped searching, yet he never found anything. It all seemed like mere legend until one day. While passing by a group of merchants, the Silver Fang trembled. Yes, he was the heir of the Silver Fang before me. The Silver Fang carried a fragment of the soul of Matta, blessed by Madenes. It reacts whenever it senses his energy. My father realized that the merchant caravan was hiding the stone. Greed consumed him, stripping away what was left of his humanity. He slaughtered the entire family, staging it as a robbery so no one would know the truth. But in the end, he never found the stone, nor the youngest son of that family, Golden Richer.”

  Nashor paused, his voice trembling as he continued.

  “Years later, that boy returned, wielding a terrifying power, the power to turn anything into gold with a single touch. Yet he did not use it mercifully. He slaughtered my family in the most painful and barbaric way imaginable. In the end, I was the only one left alive. He did not kill me. Instead, he allowed me to live on one condition. I had to help him, and swear on my family’s honor, on my very name.”

  Nashor began to sob, his words breaking between gasps:

  “I was afraid, Exitus. I was afraid to die. I was not as great as I believed. Not as noble, not as brave. When facing death, I chose submission. I, Nashor, committed something truly unforgivable. It was I who led the vanguard that invaded Hesmor. It was I who cut down countless innocent lives. My soldiers were treated as expendable pawns, bombarded along with Hesmor’s forces. Those Dark Despair bombs spared no one, friend or foe, and they mixed the blood and flesh of both armies together.”

  “Strangely, I did not die. When I woke up, I was already in Allblack, and I had become its warden. My survival itself was a miracle. Enesur must have given me another chance, and that chance is you, Exitus. When I approached you, the Silver Fang trembled violently. At that moment, I understood. You are the key to everything. Only you can defeat that monstrous power. Only you can help me take my revenge.”

  Exitus remained silent. No wonder Nashor had never questioned his reckless plans.

  Finally, in response to Nashor’s desperate plea, he spoke with calm certainty.

  “Rest assured, Nashor. I promise you, as long as I still draw breath, I will fulfill your request.”