The creaking sound of wood echoed faintly from the distance, each step filled with excitement. A small child ran forward with a wide smile on his face.
"Hey Kafka! Look, I got some allowance from the orphanage caretaker, let's go buy ice cream!" young Arga grinned brightly as he waved a little bit of money in the air.
Kafka stood up from where he had been sitting near the stairs. "How did you even get money from him, Arga? That old man is super stingy."
"Heh, I used my brain, of course. I helped him clean up the front yard." Arga puffed out his chest proudly.
Kafka glanced at Arga's hands. r
Rough, with small cuts, like the hands of someone who worked far too hard.
"Arga… your hands…" Kafka muttered, his voice tinged with sadness.
"It's nothing, really." Arga quickly hid them behind his back.
"Thank you… you went this far just to cheer me up." Kafka's eyes began to water.
Arga scratched his cheek awkwardly. "You're overreacting. It's nothing… we're friends, right?" he said, smiling as he wrapped an arm around Kafka.
"Come on, let's buy some ice cream and celebrate your birthday!"
The two laughed as they walked toward a small shop to buy ice cream.
But just a few steps before reaching it,
A blood-red sword suddenly pierced through Kafka's chest.
"Why are you so naive?"
That voice… that tone…
Kafka recognized it instantly.
Blood poured from his body as he dropped to his knees. Slowly, he turned his head,
And saw them.
Arga.
Adam.
Rina.
Yogi.
Satrio.
Ilham.
Nadia.
And Mr. Rahmat.
All lying lifeless on the ground.
In front of him stood Elara and Magnus, laughing at his suffering.
Kafka's eyes bled tears of crimson, filled with immeasurable hatred. He reached out, trying to strangle them,
But suddenly,
They vanished.
All that remained was a crimson sky, barely visible through a roof stitched together from monster hides.
The broken ceiling told him everything.
The nightmare was over.
"Little prince? You awake?"
The voice sounded distant.
What was clearer… was the smell of roasted meat.
Kafka was already drooling before he could even respond.
"Hey, little prince?" Eldric walked toward him.
"Where am I?" Kafka sat up, shaking his head, trying to steady his vision.
"In heaven? Did something hid your head?" Eldric laughed. "In my house, obviously." Eldric placed a plate of food in front of him. "What were you dreaming about? You're sweating like hell."
"Whoa…" Kafka completely ignored the question, his eyes locked onto the roasted dragon leg.
Before his hand could reach it,
Smack!
Eldric hit him on the head with a spatula made from monster bones.
"Ow! What the hell was that for?" Kafka rubbed his head. Blood poured from his head but instantly regenerated.
"I asked you something. What were you dreaming about?" Eldric shoved the food toward him.
"I don't know… just a bad dream." Kafka lowered his head as he took the food, memories of betrayal resurfacing in his mind.
"I'm just thinking, are my friends still survived from that night?"
Eldric noticed his sadness.
He stood up and lit a cigarette.
"Hey, little prince. In the end, everyone lives the life they're meant to live. A life where we can never fully understand others… betrayal, heartbreak, struggle, failure."
He exhaled slowly.
"But even so… the human desire to understand, to connect, to hold on, to forgive or even to hate and accept what has passed…"
He slowly walked away.
"That's what makes us grow stronger."
He turned toward the kitchen.
"Still… no matter what happens…"
He glanced back over his shoulder.
"We keep moving forward."
Kafka smiled faintly.
"Oh yeah, little prince. It's mating season for Atlas Centipedes right now…" Eldric said casually as he started washing dishes that also make by monster bones.
Kafka froze mid-bite.
"Atlas what?"
BOOM!
Before he could even taste the meat, a massive centipede burst out of the ground, devouring the roasted dragon leg along with half of his body.
Eldric glanced over and smiled.
"That what it is, You should be more careful when you're holding meat," he said calmly, continuing to wash his bone-made dishes.
Damn it…
Kafka cursed inwardly.
***
The blue sky stretched endlessly above the Grand Aurelis Colosseum.
Sunlight illuminated the massive stone arena, reflecting off the blood that had yet to dry.
Today was not entertainment.
It was selection.
And the entire world… had come to watch.
Cheers roared like endless waves.
In the arena, a fighter from Feragorn had just crushed his opponent, the human body slammed into the wall and shattered like a broken doll.
But the true spotlights… was not below.
It was above.
At the highest tier,
A young man sat in gleaming white knight armor, its silver brilliance almost blinding every pair of eyes at the colloseum.
Arga.
His black hair was neatly styled, his eyes sharp yet empty, like someone who had seen far too much.
On both sides of him,
Two Paladins stood.
Darius Valen.
A tall man with a body forged like steel. His crimson hair reached his shoulders, a faint scar crossing his cheek. A remnant of countless battles.
Lyra Vexis.
A woman with long silver hair, flawless pale skin, and a faint smile filled with quiet disdain.
Behind them,
A man who needed no introduction.
Cardinal Magnus Aureon.
Once known as Magnus Cassano… before history itself was rewritten.
He sat calmly, fingers supporting his chin.
Blonde hair resting on his shoulders.
Eyes… far too deep.
He wasn't watching the fights.
He was reading people.
"That guy from Yue Empire was weak." Lyra murmured.
"To be fair… physical strength is the most influential factor," Darius replied flatly, without shifting his gaze.
Lyra shrugged slightly, a faint smile still on her lips.
"Maybe… for now."
To the left and right of Magnus.
The pillars of Grand Aurelis stood in silence.
On the left side,
Antonio Valaria De Conte.
A man with black hair and a eyeband covering one eye, his remaining eye sharp and alive, the other long gone from previous battle in Blood Dungeon. His pale skin contrasted with the faint smile that never seemed to leave his face.
His fingers were long and refined… far too refined for a warrior.
Twin daggers still rested neatly at his waist.
A faint purple aura lingered around him.
Poison.
Invisible… yet fatal.
Beside him,
Albert Saldira.
A living fortress.
His massive frame cast a shadow over those nearby. Broad shoulders like the gates of a citadel, veins running beneath his thick skin like ancient roots.
He said nothing.
Yet his mere presence felt impenetrable.
Antonio let out a low hiss.
"Where is your dear brother, the pride of the Saldira family? Has he finally given up?"
Albert turned, his gaze filled with killing intent.
"You fought beside him hundreds of times… and now you dare speak ill of him behind his back?"
He stepped forward.
"I'll gouge out your remaining eye little shit."
His fingers cracked as he prepared to strike.
Antonio's hand moved to his daggers.
The air tightened.
Poison and brute force ready to collide.
"Enough."
A woman's voice cut through the tension.
Soft.
Calm.
Yet absolute.
Elara.
She stepped out from Magnus's shadow, walking gracefully toward the seat beside Arga.
"I will not tolerate violence here," she said gently.
"You'll only bring shame to Grand Aurelis."
Magnus smiled faintly.
Satisfied.
The tension dissolved.
Albert clicked his tongue and turned away.
"You're lucky."
Antonio chuckled under his breath.
"Almost lost your arm… just like your brother."
On Magnus's left,
A woman stood quietly.
Seraphina Gaviero.
Her long brown hair was tied simply behind her back.
Her eyes were gentle… but tired.
The kind of tiredness that came from saving too many lives.
In her hand, she held a staff adorned with a glowing green gem.
Her fingers were pristine.
Untouched by battle.
The hands of a healer.
"Many of them… won't survive long," she murmured.
Beside her,
The temperature dropped.
Azuna Safrost.
Her long silver-blue hair flowed like frozen silk.
Her pale skin was almost translucent.
A faint scar marked her neck, the consequence of her shattered voice during the Blood Dungeon.
Every breath she took released a thin mist.
Her eyes…
Cold.
Not just emotionless.
But filled with something deeper.
Hatred.
Across the colosseum,
Two figures descended from the sky, standing atop flying swords.
The representatives of the Yue Empire.
Li Xuan — Clan of Truth
Tall.
Clad in simple white robes.
His long black hair was neatly tied.
His expression so calm and gentle.
His eyes resembled a still lake.
Yet the pressure from his presence,
Precise.
Controlled.
Perfect.
Two disciples stood behind him in silence.
Beside him,
Zhao Yan — Clan of Evil
Dar-red hair, slightly disheveled.
A wide grin stretched across his face.
Too wide.
His skin carried a faint reddish tint, as if heat constantly pulsed beneath it.
His broad chest and shoulders radiated pride.
The air around him shimmered.
Like heat from a blazing inferno.
Two female companions clung to his sides, half-clothed, laughing softly.
Behind him stood two loyal disciples.
Zhao Yan narrowed his eyes.
"Now that… is interesting."
He looked toward Seraphina Gaviero.
Li Xuan replied calmly,
"As expected… your morals remain nonexistent."
Zhao Yan laughed.
Unbothered.
His hands wandering freely over the women beside him, ignoring the looks of disgust from Li Xuan and the others.
From another section,
Four figures appeared.
No sound.
No presence.
As if they had always been there.
The Shinobi.
At the front,
Kurohane Yukimura — Pure Shadow Clan
Long black hair covering part of his face.
A clean, handsome appearance untouched by scars.
His eyes,
Sharp.
Like blades in the dark.
His body was slender, yet every movement precise.
"We need that Paladin slot," he said casually while lying down, munching on snacks.
"Our country needs more money."
Behind him,
Three other clan leaders.
Toyotomi Raizen — Steel Blade Clan
Athletic build, sharp eyes, aggressive aura, short slicked-back hair.
"We don't need someone from a weak clan like yours here. Go home, Fushiguro."
Fushiguro Kashimo — Wind Step Clan
Narrow eyes, calm, almost unnoticeable presence.
"Shut it, ugly. Complain to Kurohane if you've got any problems."
Hattori Kagenobu — Flame Rain Clan
An old man. The veteran from many wars, his clan was the servants of Pure Shadow Clan for many years.
He's maybe old, but his gaze…
Carried the weight of thousands kills.
"Silence, brats!"
The pressure of his voice stopped the two.
"And you!"
He smacked Kurohane's head and forced him to sit properly.
"You are the face of the Shinobi. Act like it!"
He snatched away Kurohane's snack and threw it aside.
"Hey, come on, old man…" Kurohane pouted.
Magnus glanced briefly.
Kurohane noticed.
A faint grin appeared as he waved.
"Give me your money," he whispered.
Magnus simply smiled unaware.
If one of us becomes a Paladin… the tribute from Grand Aurelis alone will be enough…
Food… figurines… picture books…
Kurohane heads filled with joy from his imagination.
Smack!
Hattori struck his head again.
"Sit properly!"
Magnus looked at the empty seat beside the shinobis.
"They don't come again huh?" He said while watching the empty seat for Drakmor delegation.
Darius also looked at the same direction. "Yeah as always, but they send the fighters." He replied.
Then,
A fragrance spread.
Like spring flowers blooming all at once.
Silence fell.
She arrived.
Queen Elyndra Vaelithra.
Golden hair flowing like sunlight.
Emerald eyes glowing with life.
Tall.
Elegant.
Every step,
Graceful.
Yet absolute.
Her beauty alone felt overwhelming.
"So many handsome men in this generation, I think i might try some of them." she said lightly before taking her seat.
Behind her, two elven guards stood motionless.
Then,
A loud laugh shattered the silence.
King Drogan Feragorn.
Massive.
Muscular.
Wild mane like a lion.
His cloak was made from the hide of a legendary black dragon, stitched with Drakmor-grade threads.
Sharp fangs showed as he grinned.
Yellow eyes gleaming.
Behind him,
Rogar, a massive bear-like warrior.
Kael, a lean wolf with predatory eyes.
"HAHA! Now that's a fight!"
Drogan laughed hard watching fighter from his country winning the battle.
Finally,
The quietest presence.
Prime Minister Ilyas Crysaleth.
Slender.
His body resembled transparent ice crystal.
His pale blue eyes held no emotion.
Behind him,
Seren. Vaelis. Myrr.
Three guards.
Living sculptures of ice.
They approached Arga.
Kneeled.
"your Majesty, King Aerthos, will not attend," Ilyas said calmly.
"He prefers peace… over spectacles like this."
Arga gave a slight nod.
The battles continued.
Fire.
Lightning.
Inner force.
Screams.
Blood.
But above,
They weren't judging strength.
They were judging potential.
Arga spoke quietly.
"The whole world… is gathered here."
Magnus smiled faintly.
"Not the world." He said.
"Only those strong enough… to be acknowledged."
He looked at Arga.
"Sit still, Hero of Grand Aurelis."
A wide smile on his cheeks.
"This is merely the beginning… of saving the world."
Arga remained silent.
The voices in his head echoed,
HAHAHA… let's see who deserves to kneel beneath you…
You are the star of this world!
And now,
He smiled.
Satisfied.
With Elara resting in his arms.
And somewhere far away,
A young man fought desperately…
For a piece of roasted meat.
~To Be Continued~