The memories crashed over me like a relentless tide, pulling me under, drowning me in the past. I was Darius Caelum, born in the Village of Heroes, where legends were made and destinies forged. I could feel it—the weight of that identity, the honor, the duty, the promise I had made to protect Iris, the princess of the Empire of Solis. But that life, that person, had been stripped from me.
In its place, they had made me into Eldric Valen, the prince of Eldoria. King Valen, my uncle, had done it out of love, or so I wanted to believe. He had found me broken and lost after the destruction of the Village of Heroes, my mind shattered by the horrors I had witnessed. To save me from the crushing weight of that trauma, he had used his power to erase Darius Caelum and create Eldric Valen—a new identity, free from the burdens of the past.
But it wasn't that simple, was it?
Because now, as I lay here in the darkness of my mind, I knew the truth. I wasn't just Darius Caelum masquerading as Eldric Valen. I had truly become him. I had lived his life, felt his emotions, embraced his failures, and shouldered his responsibilities. In this world, there was no one who remembered Darius Caelum—no one who could connect me to that lost village of heroes. The only identity I had left was Eldric Valen, the prince of a fallen kingdom.
The realization was like a knife to the gut, but there was no time to dwell on it. I could feel the world around me, the real world, starting to pull me back from the depths of my mind.
My eyes snapped open, and reality came crashing in.
I was lying on the cold, hard floor of the castle's throne room, the stench of blood thick in the air. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but the sight before me was all too clear. King Valen, my uncle—the man who had saved me, raised me, loved me—lay dead, slumped over the throne with a grievous wound in his side. Beside him, the queen's lifeless body was sprawled at the base of the steps, her elegant dress soaked in blood.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. The grief was a physical thing, squeezing the air from my lungs, crushing my chest. But there was no time for grief. Not now.
I forced myself to my feet, every muscle in my body protesting, and turned my attention to the throne room's entrance. The doors had been flung open, and beyond them, the sounds of battle raged. I could hear the desperate shouts of the guards, the clash of steel, the guttural roars of the barbarians who had invaded my kingdom.
No, not my kingdom. Eldric Valen's kingdom.
I was just a pretender. But in this moment, I was all that was left. I had to be enough.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and stepped forward. As I reached the doorway, I saw them—the guards of Eldoria, outnumbered and outmatched, fighting desperately against the horde of barbarians. The invaders were massive, their bodies rippling with unnatural strength, their eyes glowing with a crazed, feral light. They were like animals, driven by some dark force, and the guards were falling before them like wheat before the scythe.
I clenched my fists, assessing the situation. My heart pounded in my chest, not just from fear, but from the realization of how weak I was. In terms of aura, I was only at the Copper level—the lowest rank, barely more than a child's strength. I could feel it, the limitations of my power, the weakness in my limbs.
But I had something else. Something that no one else in this kingdom had.
I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. With a single thought, I called upon the power that had been entrusted to me—the power of the King of Heroes.
The air around me seemed to shimmer, reality warping as a golden light began to materialize in front of me. I felt a surge of energy, a connection to something far greater than myself, as the Grimoire—the Tablet of Babylonia—appeared in my hands. The ancient symbols etched into its surface glowed with a soft, otherworldly light, pulsing with the power of countless legendary weapons stored within.
I opened the Grimoire, flipping through its pages with a calmness that belied the chaos around me. My fingers found the weapon I needed, and with a silent command, I summoned it forth.
A portal of golden light opened before me, swirling with raw power. From it emerged a weapon of unparalleled magnificence—a golden axe, its blade gleaming with a deadly brilliance. The handle was wrapped in crimson leather, the metal adorned with intricate engravings that spoke of its divine origin. It was the same weapon that Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, had first attacked me with—a weapon that was now mine to wield.
The moment I grasped the axe, I felt its power flow through me, invigorating my body, sharpening my senses. The weakness of my Copper-level aura was still there, but it didn't matter. The weapon was an extension of my will, a conduit for the power of the Grimoire.
As I stepped out into the throne room, one of the barbarians broke away from the battle, his eyes locking onto me. He let out a feral scream, a sound filled with pure rage, and charged at me with a massive, jagged sword raised high.
Time seemed to slow as he barreled toward me, his every movement telegraphed. I saw the brute force behind his attack, the sheer power that would have cleaved me in two if it connected. But I wasn't going to let that happen.
I shifted my stance, my grip tightening on the golden axe. As the barbarian swung his sword down with all his might, I stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. The ground where I had been standing cracked under the force of his strike.
Before he could recover, I spun around, bringing the axe up in a smooth, precise arc. The golden blade sliced through the air with a faint hum, connecting with the barbarian's neck in one clean, decisive motion.
There was a moment of silence, a brief, frozen instant where time itself seemed to hold its breath. Then the barbarian's head separated from his body, the massive form toppling to the ground with a heavy thud. Blood sprayed into the air, the metallic scent filling my nostrils, but I felt no revulsion—only a cold, grim satisfaction.
The guards who had been fighting nearby stared at me in shock, their eyes wide with amazement and disbelief. They had seen me—a prince known for his weakness and failure—cut down a barbarian with a single strike. The whispers started almost immediately, spreading through the ranks of the guards like wildfire.
"Prince Eldric… he's…"
"He killed that barbarian in one blow…"
"Is this really the same prince…?"
I ignored their murmurs, my focus solely on the battle ahead. The barbarians were still coming, and the guards were still outnumbered. I couldn't afford to be distracted by their surprise or by the sudden, strange sensation building in the back of my mind.
But even as I tried to push it aside, that feeling grew stronger—a sense of disorientation, like the ground beneath my feet was shifting, pulling me away from the reality I knew. My vision began to blur, the edges of the world around me fading into darkness.
No. Not now. I couldn't afford to lose focus now.
I tried to hold on, to keep my grip on the golden axe, but the weapon began to waver, its form flickering as if it were an illusion. The sounds of battle faded, replaced by a strange, distant ringing in my ears. My legs grew weak, and I felt myself swaying, the ground beneath me seeming to tilt.
What was happening? Why now?
And then, I heard it—the voice, deep and resonant, echoing through the darkness that was consuming me.
[Entering the 'Path of Heroes,' you will start from Level 1. Good luck, Player.]
The last thing I saw before the world vanished was the look of shock on the faces of the guards, their mouths moving in slow motion as they reached out toward me, trying to grasp something that was no longer there.
And then, nothing.
I was falling, tumbling through the void, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. The last remnants of the throne room, of Eldoria, slipped away, leaving me alone in the darkness.
Alone, except for the voice.