⚠️ Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence, sexual assault, drug use, and other disturbing themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
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After enduring the painful trials of Nordrassil, Danir finally set his sights on his next destination—the Kingdom of Valoria, home of the sacred Cathedral of the Light Order.
He mounted Rigor once more.
This time, not as the same boy who had entered the enchanted forest—
But as someone sharpened by pain… and strengthened by it.
From Nordrassil, they traveled northeast. The path ahead stretched long and quiet.
Over three miles of winding roads awaited them—roads that cut through towering pine forests where the air grew colder with every step, the scent of resin thick and calming.
The sunlight barely pierced through the dense canopy, casting long shadows that danced along their path as Rigor's hooves echoed softly against the earth.
Beyond the forest, the terrain shifted.
The road narrowed into isolated mountain paths, carved along cliffs and ridges where the wind howled like a warning.
Loose stones crunched beneath Rigor's steps, and below them, steep drops disappeared into mist.
It was a lonely road.
Silent...
Unforgiving!
But Danir pressed on, his gaze fixed ahead as Valoria awaited. And somewhere within it—
The Cathedral of the Light Order.
Along the road, they crossed paths with a group of traveling adventurers.
By the look of them—their gear worn yet reliable, their movements steady and experienced—it was clear they were heading toward Nordrassil.
The opposite of Danir's path.
Rigor slowed slightly as they passed.
One of the adventurers, a man riding a sturdy warhorse, turned his head toward Danir.
"Kid," he called out, his voice carrying easily through the cold mountain air, "why are you traveling alone?"
Danir didn't answer immediately.
His eyes drifted to the man's chest.
Pinned just below his collar was a crest—
A radiant sun etched in gold.
The Crest of the Sun.
A symbol of those who believed in the divine power of the SunCrown—the sacred relic wielded by the High Cleric within the Cathedral.
So… Valoria.
They were connected.
Danir's gaze lingered for a moment, thoughtful… observant.
Then he answered.
"I'm finding my path to greatness, sir."
The words came out calm.
Simple.
But firm.
The man studied him for a second—then let out a short breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh.
"Alright, kid," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Just don't die out there. This world's too dangerous to explore alone."
Danir gave a small nod. "Yeah… I will. You too."
No arrogance.
No hesitation.
Just understanding.
For a brief moment, their paths overlapped—
Two travelers walking different roads toward their own destinies.
Then, without another word, they passed each other—And continued on their separate ways.
After more than three miles of relentless travel—nearly two hours without rest—Danir and Rigor finally arrived at their destination—Valoria.
The kingdom stood before them like a relic of time.
Its massive walls, built from pale marble stone, stretched high into the sky—weathered by years, veiled with creeping moss, yet unshaken.
They carried the weight of history, of wars fought and survived, standing firm as silent guardians of the people within.
Ancient.
Unyielding.
Grand.
At the entrance, towering double gates of reinforced steel and stone loomed ahead.
On either side stood guards clad in gleaming armor, their presence disciplined and unwavering, like statues brought to life.
Danir guided Rigor forward.
"State your purpose," one of the guards demanded.
Without hesitation, Danir pulled out his adventurer's registration card and presented it.
The guard examined it briefly… then nodded.
"A traveling adventurer from Blossomdale," he said, stepping aside. "You may enter."
The gates opened.
Blossomdale, Valoria, and Thalassia—
Allied kingdoms.
Bound not just by treaties, but by history… by the legacy of rulers who once fought side by side as heroes.
As Danir passed through the gates, the world beyond unfolded before his eyes.
Stone.
Everywhere—stone.
The kingdom resembled the great European fortresses he once knew in his past life—castles and structures built not just for beauty, but for endurance.
Every house, every tower, every archway was crafted from fortified brick and marble, giving the entire city a sense of permanence… as if it would stand for centuries more.
The air was colder here.
Heavier.
A faint gloom lingered beneath the overcast sky.
And yet—Life thrived.
People of all classes walked the streets, each dressed in clean, respectable clothing.
Merchants called out their goods, blacksmiths hammered away at steel, and citizens carried on with their daily routines as if the cold never touched them.
Despite the somber atmosphere… Valoria lived.
Strong.
Orderly.
Unbroken.
Danir took it all in, his eyes quietly observing every detail.
Another kingdom.
Another world within a world.
And somewhere within it— The Cathedral of the Light Order awaited him.
Valoria was ruled not by one… but by two pillars of authority.
The crown and the faith.
King Bastion Drogonovich—the son of Blossomdale's king—and the High Cleric Yolo Buick stood at the helm of the kingdom, governing both its people and its soul.
Power and divinity, walking hand in hand.
After entering the city, Danir led Rigor toward a nearby stable. He gently removed the saddle and patted his companion's neck.
"Rest well," he murmured.
He left him with a bag of fried salted seaweeds before stepping away, heading into the city in search of food.
The cold in Valoria seeped deeper than in other kingdoms—it wasn't just in the air, but in the stone, in the silence between footsteps.
A hot meal was necessary.
Danir soon found a tavern, its windows fogged with warmth from within.
Inside, the scent of simmering broth and spices wrapped around him like a comforting embrace.
Perfect.
He took a seat at an empty table and was soon served a steaming bowl of beef soup.
The aroma alone was enough to ease the fatigue in his body.
He lifted the spoon… took a sip— Warmth spread through him instantly.
Rich.
Savory.
Deep.
"...This is good," he muttered under his breath, already sinking into the comfort of the meal.
Then—A chair scraped lightly across the floor.
Someone sat across from him.
"Kid, mind if I sit here?" the man asked.
Danir barely looked up, still focused on his food.
"Yeah… sure."
The man looked to be in his early thirties.
Plain clothes.
Calm demeanor.
Nothing about him stood out—at least, not at first glance.
"You're not from here, are you?" the man continued.
Danir nodded slightly. "From Blossomdale."
"Oh… I used to live there," the man said, resting his arm casually on the table. "My father sent me here."
Danir simply nodded again, still savoring his soup.
Then—
"King Bastion, here's your spicy beef soup."
The words struck like thunder.
Danir choked.
He coughed violently, nearly spilling his bowl as his eyes snapped wide open.
"King… Bastion?"
He slowly turned his gaze back to the man sitting across from him.
The same plain clothes.
The same calm face.
The same… ordinary presence.
But now—everything felt different.
Danir immediately stood up, heart pounding, and lowered himself into a respectful bow.
"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty!"
The man—no, the king—laughed.
A genuine, unrestrained laugh.
"Hahaha! It's okay kid," King Bastion said, waving his hand dismissively. "You don't need to do that here. Sit down. Finish your meal."
Danir hesitated… then slowly sat back down, still trying to process everything.
"This man… is the king?" he thought, stunned.
"No guards… no royal attire… just sitting here like a commoner…"
His eyes subtly studied the king again.
Then the realization settled in.
"What a… humble man." Danir thought.
They continued their meal—simple, quiet, almost normal.
No grand speeches.
No royal pressure.
Just two people sharing a table.
When they finished, they parted ways naturally.
King Bastion returned to his castle—back to his duties, his throne, his burdens.
And Danir stepped out of the tavern, heading toward the eastern side of the kingdom.
Toward the Cathedral of the Light Order.
As he walked along the cold stone streets, one thought lingered in his mind.
"He's a king… yet he lives like that…"
Too young to carry a crown.
Too seasoned to be called a youth.
Danir exhaled slowly.
"This world… really is something else."
Danir stopped dead in his tracks at the cathedral's steps, his eyes widening.
The Light Order Cathedral loomed above him like a monument of divinity itself.
Three pointed roofs pierced the sky above those towers, each adorned with delicate carvings that glimmered under the morning sun.
At the center of the main roof, the Sun Crest shone like a beacon of sacred light, reflecting across the polished marble bricks.
White paint coated every surface, emphasizing the cathedral's holiness and commanding respect from every soul who approached.
Inside, the air was thick with incense and quiet prayers.
Commoners knelt in silent devotion, their heads bowed in reverence, while a few adventurers moved carefully through the pews.
All eyes were drawn to High Cleric Yolo Buick, who stood at the altar, radiating an aura of divinity. He was not merely a man—he was a so-called as the appointed son of the Goddess of Light, the sole mortal capable of wielding the sacred SunCrown.
Legends whispered that the Goddess of Light had descended the SunCrown into the cathedral centuries ago.
Many mortals had tried to wear it; many had fallen. Only Yolo Buick had survived. Not by chance, but by destiny, becoming one of the living heroes, a mortal infused with the goddess's divine blessing.
Over time, as the goddesses' interventions waned, people began to worship him—not as a cleric, not as a man—but as a living god.
Danir observed the congregation.
Kneeling, confessing sins, seeking blessings, begging for healing and purification from a mortal who had transcended mortality itself.
The atmosphere was heavy, almost oppressive in its holiness, yet awe-inspiring.
And then—the unexpected.
A crash of sound shattered the solemn serenity.
From the left tower, a young girl plummeted.
Her body tumbled through the air, limbs flailing, hair scattering like black fire in the sunlight.
Time slowed in Danir's mind as her descent ended with a violent impact against the marble floor. Dust and stone erupted around her, and silence followed—a horrifying, deafening silence.
Danir's heart raced. "Why… why now? Why here?"
This was supposed to be a place of holiness, a sanctuary of light and divine judgment.
And yet, right here, a life had been thrown into chaos in an instant.
He dashed forward, adrenaline flooding his veins, as the young girl lay on the floor, her small body trembling.
Danir's mind sharpened.
No hesitation.
No fear.
He sensed that something unnatural is happening inside the Cathedral, and he wanted to find out what...