"The harder one strives to achieve something, the greater the resistance they face."
This was one of the many quotes spoken by Augrith Yale of the Rawendale Kingdom during the Era of Darkness.
When humanity stood alone against the giants, abandoned by all other races, they placed their faith in his leadership.
He was my role model—the one I aspired to become in this Era of Light.
But there was another quote of his, one that drove me to push myself even harder:
"Strength in our time is not just power—it is resilience in the face of unimaginable horror."
Yet, as I was now, I couldn't fully grasp the depth of his words.
The moment the little girl snapped her fingers, a spectrum of mana came crashing toward me. But instead of pain, a warmth spread through my entire body. Instinctively, I shut my eyes against the blinding light.
Despite facing an overwhelming attack, I felt oddly... comfortable.
Then, just as suddenly, the warmth vanished, replaced by a sharp chill as a rush of cold air prickled my skin.
I slowly opened my eyes, taking in my surroundings.
I was standing in front of a familiar door.
[Head of Security]
I blinked, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
A cough forced its way out of my throat, and to my surprise, I spat out a folded piece of paper. It was damp with saliva, but I didn't care. I picked it up from where it had fallen and carefully unfolded it.
"This is the second time I've helped you. Don't make this a habit. Enter the room."
I stared at the note, emotions swirling inside me. Taking a deep breath, I reached for the doorknob.
It wasn't locked.
The door creaked open, and I stepped inside. Darkness swallowed me whole. I stumbled forward, hands groping for a light switch or anything that could help me navigate.
After a few moments of futile searching, I gave up and resorted to magic.
I whispered my chant:
"By the power granted to me by the Goddess of Tinatral, I summon my spell—Darkness Repeller!"
A flame, no larger than my palm, flickered to life before me. The spell drained a considerable amount of my mana, but I only needed it for a short while—just enough to find a power panel or some other source of light.
As the fire illuminated my surroundings, my breath hitched.
I wasn't in a room.
I blinked, and in the next instant, I stood in an open field, surrounded by an endless sea of blue vanilla flowers.
Above me, two moons shone brightly—one a pale red, the other casting silver rays across the land.
A cold breeze swept through the field, sending the flowers into a slow, rhythmic dance. I shivered, rubbing my arms as I tried to make sense of my surroundings.
Instinctively, I turned to look for the door I had entered through.
It was gone.
I sighed, scanning the vast expanse once more. The field stretched endlessly in every direction, no landmarks, no signs of life—just an infinite ocean of blue petals.
The twin moons' lights intertwined, merging into a shimmering spectrum that bathed the flowers in an eerie, otherworldly glow.
"You finally came through."
I heard a voice near my ear—slightly cranky, yet carrying an unmistakable gentleness.
Startled, I flinched and clumsily shifted away from my previous position, my eyes darting around in search of the speaker.
It was an elf.
He stood there, draped in a silver silk robe that shimmered under the moonlight. Yet, of the twin celestial bodies above, only the pale red rays touched him, while the silver light failed to reach his form.
His fiery red hair tumbled down in loose waves, cascading to his waist like flowing embers. His eyes, the same striking hue, glowed faintly in the dim light. His face—sharp, flawless, almost unnaturally perfect—looked like a model carved for the front page of a Braithwaite Kingdom magazine.
His towering height could have easily led one to mistake him for a half-giant—if not for his pure elven ears, which bore a unique sharpness, tapering to an elegant point.
"W-W-Who are you?"
The words stumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, my voice barely above a whisper.
The elf just stared at me with a gentle gaze.
He waved his hand in front of him, and in no more than a second, a long sword appeared, its blade adorned with glowing magical inscriptions that pulsed a bright red.
He waved his hand again, and a small sword, about the size of his forearm, materialized in front of me. It had no inscriptions, just a calming blue glow that radiated from it.
"Excuse me, your swords are amazing, but can you please explain where I am?"
I finally gathered enough courage to ask, my voice steady and audible.
"Equip the sword, Kralier. Indulge me in this play, and you shall receive your answers."
The elf's voice was calm, but there was an undeniable authority in his words, as though his request wasn't really a choice. His gaze remained steady, watching me with an inscrutable expression, as the faint glow of the swords seemed to hum in the still air.
I took the sword hovering in front of me, its weight surprisingly light compared to the ones I had trained with back at my household.
I swung it lightly, testing its balance, and to my surprise, it felt as if it were crafted specifically for me.
A perfect fit.
I looked back at the elf, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of shock in his expression. His gaze softened just a little, though he still maintained his calm demeanor.
"Ah... Mr.? I did what you asked. Can I get some answers now?"
He regained his previous expression, his gaze sharpening into something almost challenging.
"Sure, Kralier. You will receive your answers... after this!"
Without warning, the elf charged at me with terrifying speed. I barely had time to react before his long sword was slicing through the air toward me, aiming for a vertical strike.
My right hand moved of its own accord, blocking the elf's long sword with a harsh thud that made him stagger back a step.
The impact shot through me like a jolt of lightning. Pain surged up my arm, and I could feel every vein throbbing, like they were about to burst from the force.
I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to drop the sword as the shockwave rattled my bones.
Another strike came at me almost immediately, as if the elf were giving me a brief moment to recover.
Before I could think, my hand moved on its own again. The sword met the incoming blow with raw power.
CLANG!
The sound of the clash echoed through the surroundings, sharp and unsettling.
A burst of pain surged through me, and before I could stop it, blood spilled from my mouth, splattering onto the petals of the blue vanilla flowers at my feet.
I let go of the sword, my grip failing as my vision blurred. My senses felt disconnected, and I tried to locate the next strike, but everything seemed distant and out of focus.
I stumbled a few steps, the ground unsteady beneath me, before my legs gave way. I let myself fall on the delicate blue vanilla flowers.
Before losing my consciousness, I heard the elf muttering some words.
"The sword choose you out of all people?"
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Gunshot sounds echoed in the once desolate alley of Jetkar district. Several men adorned with nothing but a white cloth long enough to cover their privates ran around the block surrounding the alley.
"Oh lord have mercy upon these poor souls! They don't understand the power of Saraver, the god of storms!"
The repeated chants echoed through the alley, the frantic men still shouting their devotion as they scattered to avoid the gunfire.
Above, on the terraces of the buildings that flanked the alley, two groups stood locked in a tense standoff, their weapons drawn and aimed at each other.
The heavy silence between the gunshots was thick with anticipation.
One group, clad in standard silver armor issued by the capital of Heslington, Malay, stood firm and composed, their eyes trained on their opponents. The armor gleamed in the fading light, sharp and polished, a clear symbol of authority and discipline.
The other group, dressed in similar attire to the chanting men below, seemed unhinged, their movements erratic as they raised their weapons—blades and firearms alike—at the opposing force.
The lad, who appeared to be the youngest among the armored group, spoke up from the back, his voice tight with impatience.
"Captain, are we gonna just stand still?"
The captain, his face hard and unmoving, glanced over his shoulder, his eyes cold with resolve.
"Wait for the ground team to capture these lunatics running around the alleys. If we start a fight now, it'll be utter chaos in Jetkar."
"By your will, Captain Henry," the young soldier replied, though his tension was still palpable.
For what felt like an eternity, the standoff continued, the only sound being the distant echoes of gunfire and the frantic shouts of the men below. Then, after what seemed like near 20 minutes of chaos on the ground, the gunshots abruptly ceased.
A shout rang out from one of the alleys—low, but loud enough for all to hear.
"We caught those bastards. Go wild, Knights of Heslington!"
The air crackled with energy as the tension snapped, the calm before the storm now shattered.
Lightning poured down upon the district of Jetkar, illuminating the dark alleys with blinding flashes of light.
Captain Henry raised his hand, and with it, a shimmering green mana began to swirl around his fingertips.
The other knights behind him did the same gesture and chanted together.
"With the power of the god of Iteria in our souls, we henceforth summon the spell—Storm Devourer!"
The mana expanded rapidly, quickly spreading over the entire district, covering it like a protective shield. The air hummed with the power of it, the energy palpable to anyone who could feel it.
Brave souls who dared to peer outside their homes witnessed the spectacle unfold. The lightning struck the green mana with a deafening crack, only to dissipate.
The opposition—the so-called lunatics—were no longer just on the ground. They flew through the air, their bodies rising as if caught in the storm's grip.
The weather itself seemed to bend to their will, shifting into a torrential rain that swept across the district, turning Jetkar into a battlefield of swirling chaos.
Captain Henry canceled his spell, leaving his peers to maintain it. He unsheathed his sword and charged at the lunatics alone.
Bullets scraped his armor, but never did the damage it was intended to.
He swung his sword after reaching about 6 feet in front of them. The sword pulsated as inscriptions written in Yelar appeared in the air where the sword had just released it's attack.
All of the lunatics were sliced in half within a fraction of a second.
Blood splattered across Captain Henry's shiny silver armor as he completed his swing, the motion fluid and effortless.
The lightning ceased striking the mana barrier, and the storm seemed to lose its intensity. Slowly, the knights began to retract their stances, lowering their weapons and ceasing their spells.
Captain Henry sheathed his sword and leaped down from the terrace, landing softly with a quiet thud.
He approached the group of men who were restrained by his squad. They were unconscious, their bodies bound tightly with ropes infused with mana, ensuring they couldn't escape.
Reaching up, he removed the headpiece of his armor, letting his hair fall freely. He took in the scene around him, his gaze lingering over the aftermath of the chaos.
His black hair, speckled with streaks of grey at the front, framed his face, and his piercing green eyes held a tired, hardened look. Wrinkles had formed around his cheekbones, giving him the appearance of someone older, a man worn by years of battle.
"Report?"
"We have minor injuries to ten of our people. Two runners on the loose, who are being tracked down as we speak," said a knight who appeared behind him from the alley deep within the slums of Jetkar.
"Damage?" Captain Henry asked, his voice steady but sharp.
"At least level 6," the knight replied, his voice tinged with regret.
Captain Henry didn't spare him a glance as he stared ahead, his expression unreadable. The knight stood behind him, unmoving, but there was a tension in the air—a hesitation, as if he was waiting for something more, itching to speak but unsure if it was his place.
"Go on, don't hesitate," Captain Henry said, his voice carrying both sternness and quiet understanding.
The knight behind him hesitated for a moment. He had only been part of the squad for five months—still new enough to be cautious with his words, still wary of speaking out of turn.
Taking a deep breath, he finally spoke, his voice laced with nervousness.
"The signal for the squadron on the terrace to initiate… I think it wasn't given by one of us."
"It was supposed to be given by Rawls, right? Where is he?"
"He went after the runners, sir," the knight answered after a brief moment of contemplation.
Captain Henry's expression darkened. Without another word, he swiftly put on his headpiece and turned to the knight.
"Tell the squad that Captain Henry has ordered them to return to the capital. I'll be right behind you."
The knight tensed. "B-B-But sir, how will I—a newbie—convince them to—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Captain Henry was gone. Vanished in an instant, leaving nothing but a rush of air in his wake.
The knight let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples.
"Great... just fucking great..."