The battlefield square reeked of blood and scorched stone. Prince Thrain Stonefist remained on his knees, blood pouring from the deep knife wound Kael had delivered to his side. His breathing was ragged, armor cracked, yet he refused to fall completely.
Kael stood a few steps away, eyes wide with shock, hands trembling as he stared at the bloody knife in his grip.
"W-What have I done…? What have I done…? I… I can't do this… I actually stabbed him…"
Joran walked over slowly, boots crunching on debris. He placed a firm hand on Kael's shoulder. His voice was calm, cold, and filled with dark conviction.
"You did very good, Kael. Just end every obstacle that comes between you and your goal. There can be a man without ideals… but there can never be a man without a hard goal. I am going to conquer the world. I will kill everyone who comes in my way. I am going to take revenge for what they have done to me… for what they have done to my mother."
Joran's hollow hazel eyes stared into the distance as memories flashed behind them.
"I don't know where my father is… and I don't want to know. Because he is a coward who left me and Mother in such hard situations. If he was there that day… my mom would still be alive. I could still be sleeping in her lap… or under the oak tree like we used to do in the past."
His voice grew harder, fists clenching at his sides.
"But I am going to take revenge from everyone. I swear it."
Joran suddenly thrust his hand forward into the sky, fingers spread wide.
"I will conquer the world!"
He punched the air with raw force, the motion sharp and final.
A short distance away, Elara and Ragnar had dragged Prince Thrain's bleeding body into their laps. Ragnar was openly crying, cradling the prince's head.
"Prince Thrain… you can't die! Prince Thraaaiiinnn!!"
Tears streamed down his bloodied face. He looked desperately at Elara.
"Elara, do something! Please!"
Elara's gentle hands glowed with soft healing light as she pressed them over the worst wounds. Her adorable face was tight with concentration.
"I can do it… He can live. But his soul wants to leave. If his soul doesn't leave his body… then I can guarantee he will be alive."
Ragnar's tears fell freely onto Prince Thrain's forehead.
"Please, Prince Thrain… get up. Please…"
Flashback – 23–24 Years Ago
The realm of Grom'thar was divided.
One cult, the Iron Dominion, worshipped Emperor Vortigern the Conqueror as the greatest leader who would bring eternal strength to their mountain kingdom. They believed his rule over all Seven Realms was destiny.
The opposing cult, the Pure Flame, believed Vortigern was pure evil — hollowing out their realm with dark ambition. They taught that his pursuit of Aetherheim — the legendary Land Between All Seas, Heaven itself — was blasphemy. Only pure souls could ever enter that sacred place.
King Borin Stonefist led the Pure Flame.
In the midst of brutal clashes between the two cults, a gentle witch — Thrain's mother — gave her entire magical essence to her young son. She looked at him with eyes full of light and said softly:
"Protect every weak person, no matter the cost. Even if you have to die… protect everyone."
From that day, young Thrain swore to shield the weak.
He had never fought Vortigern directly. No one had. Then, four or five years ago, the great prophecy shook the realms. Vortigern vanished — some said he fell, others claimed he hid in the shadows. With the supposed evil gone, Thrain made a new vow:
"I will beat every evil person… but I will not kill them. Because I am not evil. I am the son of Lady Seraphine Stonefist, the Witch of Pure Light, and Borin Stonefist the King. I am Thrain Stonefist, Prince of Grom'thar."
Back in the present, Elara and Ragnar watched in awe as Prince Thrain's eyelids fluttered. His body suddenly surged with power.
The prince stood up slowly. His entire aura changed — no longer just a charismatic warrior, but a pure wizard era of raw magical might. Golden runes glowed across his armor. His amber eyes burned with divine resolve.
Joran turned around.
What he saw was no longer an ordinary prince. It was something far greater.
Prince Thrain's voice rang out clear and powerful:
"I am the son of Lady Seraphine Stonefist, the Witch of Pure Light, and Borin Stonefist the King. I am Thrain Stonefist, Prince of Grom'thar!"
Without warning, he threw a single, devastating punch.
BOOM.
Joran blocked it with both arms, but the impact sent him flying backward several meters, skidding across the broken stone ground.
Kael charged in with another knife raised.
"Stay away from him!"
Prince Thrain didn't even glance at the boy. With a casual flick of his fingers, a wave of pure magic hurled Kael flying many meters away, crashing into a ruined wall.
Joran rose again, face still completely hollow, eyes empty. He started walking forward once more, knife in hand.
Prince Thrain smiled — a warm, genuine smile despite the blood on his lips.
"Thanks, Ragnar… and Elara. If you two weren't here… I wouldn't have been able to stand again."
Then the prince began unleashing his magic.
Bolt after bolt of radiant energy slammed into Joran. Each strike was stronger than the last — explosive bursts of light and force that cracked the ground and sent shockwaves through the square. Yet every time, Joran kept coming, absorbing the punishment, pushing forward with relentless, hollow determination.
Prince Thrain planted his feet, aura blazing brighter. In a bold, resonant voice he declared:
"I will show you… how a true protector looks like."