[Narrator POV]
The Kingdom of Alkavia.
A thriving nation nestled between the Kingdom of Nala and the Kingdom of Aetherfall, on the Danin Peninsula.
Despite being hemmed in by mountainous terrain to the south and a great ocean to the north, the citizens of the Kingdom live joyous lives, full of harmony and peace.
Their tranquil existence is the culmination of the previous Emperor's unyielding will—a testament to his overwhelming capability.
Though the children of today may not remember the days of their elders, one would only need to ask their grandparents to hear the treasured tales of the lives they had endured, of the true desolation that once plagued the peninsula.
It was only an odd sixty-some years ago that the Danin Peninsula was a land consumed by strife, ruled by mad kings and vile queens who held dominion over their territories as if they were gods.
Beaten and abused, the peasants of that time endured a veritable hell where even a mere morsel of food was a blessing and a full stomach, a distant dream. Taxed to the brink of death by their maddened rulers and nobility, they were powerless.
It was cruel.
But it was life.
Before the three ruling nations were formed, the land was a fractured mosaic of over fifty independent nations, states, and rulers, each holding a claim to their lands and people. Yet, though the names of their kings or countries differed, one thing remained the same: no matter how far one fled, no matter how fast they ran or how much strength it took to break their binds—
Cruelty.
The nobles, with their armies of henchmen and their unmatched capacities for mana, ruled their subjects with neglect, if they were fortunate, or with depraved indulgence if they were not.
Practices that would make a modern man retch at the mere thought.
But it was life.
And it was cruel.
At least, until the day a boy, born with an intellect surpassing his time, rose to power.
Still young, amid a land filled with debauchery and sin—where even his own parents indulged such disdainful practices—he had an epiphany.
'If the world is this cruel,' he thought, standing alone in some forgotten corner of the palace during his youth, 'it's not a world I want to live in.'
He made that vow—not only at his coronation but also to himself, in his youth.
A boy who, as all do, grew into a man.
By the strings of destiny, as he matured, he found himself joined by kindred spirits—three siblings, the progeny of another great house, who each shared a similar conviction.
Talents beyond their age, each unique in their pursuits but united in their creed.
To change the world.
But they were but four against the world.
A fighter who would man the front lines, a healer who would mend their wounds, a tactician who would devise the plans to turn their impossible dream into reality, and a magician who, though begrudging, followed along with their ideals.
In time, they grew.
And they changed.
The fighter transformed into a mountain of a man, a living fortress capable of holding back entire armies if it meant shielding his friends from harm and danger.
The healer became a loving mother. Once a warrior who had danced with death more times than one could count, she finally conceded defeat to her lifelong adversary in a final act of sacrifice. Martyring herself to ensure the dream they shared, she dragged their greatest foe—the last obstacle to their vision—down with her to her grave.
The magician matured into a true magi. A seeker of truth in mana and the mysteries of the world, he might never have joined the Great War if not for his sister's insistence. A reluctant combatant, he might never have become a ruler of a kingdom if not for his commitment to her dying wish: to create a land of purity and safety, where a mother could raise her children without fear.
And the boy, the tactician, whose dream had ignited their battle against the chaos—he became many things.
An Emperor whose deeds would echo across the centuries. A man who singlehandedly conquered over thirty kingdoms and caused the rest to unite in desperation, forming their own kingdom out of sheer terror.
His kingdom became the epitome of peace and stability, while his opponents were reduced to mere barbarians.
The very term "barbarian" itself became a symbol of the societal transformation he had wrought.
The norms of life once accepted as inevitable cruelty were now deemed inhumane relics of a darker age.
He had done it.
A new era had dawned.
An era of decency.
Of civility.
Of kindness.
To his citizens, he was nothing short of an angel—a divine messenger sent to rectify the sins of humanity. Though rivers of blood had flowed in the wake of his conquests, though countless men had fallen by his hand, history painted him as an angel.
Ask any citizen, and they would tell you the same.
But if one were to ask the Dukes—the men who had witnessed firsthand the lengths to which this once-King was willing to go to fulfill his ideals—only then would they see the truth. They had seen the sheer pain he had inflicted on others in service of his creed. The innocent men and women he had slaughtered without hesitation, if it meant gaining even the slightest tactical advantage.
To his comrades, he was a friend.
To the Dukes, he was a commander—a master who demanded absolute loyalty and unwavering execution of his orders, no matter how ruthless they might be.
And they would tell you:
His goal was good.
He was not.
But what difference did it truly make?
Who was left to judge him?
Perhaps the Magi could, but even if he sought to hold the man accountable for the horrors both of them had acknowledged, what punishment could possibly suffice for someone who had already lost so much?
The boy had achieved his goal. But in doing so, he had forfeited everything else.
He had lost the love of his life, her body lying lifeless at his feet while their daughter watched the tragedy unfold with a stoic face, amidst the flames of a burning castle. That memory haunted him every time he closed his eyes, a nightmare from which he could never awaken.
He had long since forsaken his humanity in the chaos of war, but losing the last tether to what made his world meaningful only drove him deeper into sin.
In his conquest, he wielded his daughter as a weapon, shaping her into a blade to carry out his ideals.
Had he not demanded enough from this family?
His wife, a martyr to his cause. His daughter, the only thing she had cherished more than his dreams, turned into a monster forged by his own hands.
Even a devil would recoil at such cruelty.
Only after his victory, after he had finally reached the summit of everything he had fought for, did he understand what he had lost.
And it broke him.
He longed for death's embrace.
And that was his punishment:
To live.
Live with all the injustices and sins he had committed.
Live every day seeing the monster he had forged his daughter into.
His brother-in-law, the ever-stoic magician, harboring a searing desire to kill him with each passing second but holding back—because life was a far crueler punishment for the man than death ever could be.
The fighter, the youngest of their once-close circle, the one who had sworn loyalty to him in the recklessness of youth, now bound by his oath despite the agony it caused him. Now, he obeyed orders not from his Emperor but from the only person who still held meaning to him: his niece.
Luscious Alkavia—a man who had realized his dream but lost everything.
A man who would finally find peace in his death, having made his last, agonizing decisions as a ruler.
One last painful act.
As if it weren't enough to take her mother, her childhood, and even her emotions.
He had taken away her dream—to fulfill his own.
He had forced her to take the crown, knowing full well it would shatter her path, her ambitions, and the only happiness she could have pursued for herself.
And it was only then that the sheer height of his selfishness came crashing down on him.
Regret consumed him, but what was done was done.
He had done it.
His daughter would ascend the throne. His brother-in-law would bring the heads of the remaining barbarian lords who still clung to the ashes of the old world. One decisive battle, and the three kingdoms would be unified into one, a single indomitable force.
His final gambit: the familial bond with the Magi.
He would wield it with brutal efficiency to end the bloodshed and avert the countless casualties that a prolonged war would surely bring. With the element of surprise, he had forged peace through the sacrifice of the few to save the many.
A final battle.
No more war.
No more cruelty.
No more pain.
"Peace at last."
And yet, his daughter now bore the weight of his dream—a dream she had never wanted. His youngest daughter would take the throne, inheriting the crown after Azuleth inevitably abdicated.
The Magi, ever the guardian, would watch over his disciple's reign, ensuring another generation of prosperity and harmony—not just for Alkavia but for the entire peninsula.
His dream would endure long after his death.
It was beautiful.
It was just.
It was how the world should be, how fate itself had dictated it.
A final rest for the Emperor of War.
Only it wasn't.
Not anymore.
Not after he arrived, knocking at his door.
A boy he could hardly read, carrying within him a power vast enough to shatter everything he had fought to create.
For the first time in a long while—perhaps since his wife's death—the Emperor felt an emotion he had thought buried deep within him.
Fear.
But that fear lasted only a fleeting moment, just long enough for him to lay eyes upon the figure standing before him. It was quickly replaced by something even more consuming.
Stress.
A stress that gnawed at his core, unrelenting and endless.
The Emperor was at a loss.
He had no idea who this stranger was, or even what he was.
His identity was a mystery.
His origins were a mystery.
Another genius—no, a phenomenon—far beyond his time.
An omen of a new era, of upheaval, of change.
But Luscious was a selfish man.
Even in death, he clung tightly to his plans, unwilling to see them unravel before his very eyes.
In any other situation, he would have tried to eliminate this new obstacle, just as he had dealt with so many others in the past.
But this time, it was impossible.
Not after he had looked into the boy's eyes.
Not after he had felt the weight of that gaze, and with every fiber of his being, realized the truth:
If war were declared...
'He would welcome it.'
The boy was too much like him.
And perhaps that was why Luscious felt a chill deep within his soul.
He knew just how far he himself had gone to realize his dream, and he could not fathom how much further this boy might go to achieve his own.
A dream—one singular righteous dream—had left rivers of blood in its wake.
How much more dangerous, then, would a dream of strength become, wielded by a man cut from the same cloth as himself?
Luscious dared not imagine.
Yet, it seemed that the Gods had granted him one final reprieve.
For while Luscious had been a genius ahead of his time, this boy seemed as if he had been plucked from another world entirely.
And mercifully, their visions did not clash as his had with his daughter's.
If anything, the boy's goals appeared to complement his own.
Every action the boy took seemed to point to a singular desire:
The prosperity and advancement of civilization.
He freely shared groundbreaking technologies, asking for pitifully small returns in exchange.
He wanted no women.
He wanted no wealth.
Most importantly, he wanted no political power.
By many standards, he would almost be considered a sage.
After all, what could the Kingdom possibly offer in return for all he had already given?
Yet, there was something else—something deeper—that the Emperor could not ignore.
He had a single inclination about the boy's character:
He was not a bad man.
He was not evil.
Yes, he was selfish in his pursuit of strength, but that did not mean he was unreasonable or beyond collaboration.
The boy himself had laid his intentions bare: he wished to emulate the Magi. To carve his own path, using only what he had earned in the exchange of knowledge for progress. He did not seek to conquer the nation outright but made it abundantly clear that he would not suffer a fool to rule—no one foolish enough to deny him.
And wasn't Azuleth the perfect ruler for this situation?
The Emperor thought of his daughter, of all the burdens he had placed upon her, all the sacrifices he had demanded of her. As a father, was it not finally time to repay her for the pain he had caused?
Azuleth, smitten by a man she had only just met, seemed willing to give him the world.
Yet the boy had refused.
What use did he have for a kingdom, for wealth, for the crown, when none of it would help him achieve his dream?
Even the prospect of a life with Azuleth, of becoming a King alongside her, seemed irrelevant to the reason he had come in the first place.
And that for the Emperor, was enough.
The boy's sheer power, his unparalleled knowledge, and—ironically—his apathy toward the people should have been reasons for unease. They were qualities that, by themselves, would have kept the Emperor restless even in death.
But there was something else, something familiar.
His indifference—so reminiscent of the Magi—convinced the Emperor that everything would be alright.
After all, what reason would such a man have to commit evil when it did nothing in service of his goals?
It brought the old Emperor comfort.
It would take effort, yes. And his long-awaited rest might need to be delayed a few more years. But surely, even now, he could devise a plan to ensure his Kingdom's prosperity.
It was almost like housing a dragon in the very heart of the nation's capital.
His mere existence would deter any enemy, an unspoken threat that none would dare provoke. But to keep that dragon satisfied would require careful attention, for his displeasure could bring ruin upon the Kingdom.
Thankfully, the burden would not be his alone to bear.
And with another genius of the era, Lady Fiana, willingly sharing his burden and his dream—a daughter of his dear friend, whose intellect and mind were also far ahead of her time—surely they would find a way.
After all, does nature not always find a way?