In an age when fragmented lands were slowly uniting into a grand continent,
the vast expanse of the earth was divided among dozens of kingdoms.
The size of one's territory symbolized their strength and influence. To seize even a sliver more land, unrelenting conflicts—both large and small—erupted between neighboring realms.
And the weight of these struggles fell entirely on the powerless subjects.
In the Brendell Kingdom, also known as The Small Glory,
a middle-aged man was seen pitifully whimpering as he watched his home consumed by flames.
Disheveled and desperate, the man's battered hands clung to a pitiful bundle of tree bark and unrecognizable mountain greens.
His hands shook violently, and the foraged items fell weakly to the ground.
"Lynn... No... My daughter! Lynn!!"
The elderly neighbor and other villagers strained to hold the man back as he screamed like one who had lost his mind, struggling to throw himself into the roaring inferno.
"Please, calm down... Lynn's father!"
"It's no use. The fire's been raging for over thirty minutes! Not a soul has come out of there alive!"
"No... no... it's not true! My daughter isn't dead!"
The man thrashed, watching the flames grow fiercer. Acrid black smoke hung thickly over the house, now collapsing into cinders.
It had been two full days since they had eaten. He'd left to search for food, sternly instructing his starving, groaning daughter not to leave the house under any circumstances.
When he returned, the village was in chaos—bombed and swarming with people like agitated bees.
His heart sank like a stone. The man raced home in a panic, only to find it already consumed by flames.
"Let me go! Let me go this instant! Oh, Lynn, my precious only child! Everyone else is gone... you're all I have left, I swear!"
His anguished cries pierced the air as the villagers fought to restrain him, dragging him backwards.
"You'll die too, Sean!"
"The survivors have to keep living, don't they?"
The echo of his daughter's laughter rang faintly in his ears.
His vision blurred, the voices around him becoming distant, muffled like an indistinct hum.
No... this can't be...
His hand reached out helplessly toward the collapsing house before dropping limply with a soft 'thud'.
"Sean! Listen to me! Pull yourself together!"
"This is bad! We need to get him to a physician immediately!"
"As if anywhere's still operating! He's fainted—let's just take him to our—"
The man's body, overwhelmed by the crushing weight of reality, collapsed like a lifeless husk. Tear streaks on his cheeks stood out vividly against his shut eyes.
The purple necklace around his neck fell with him, casting a pale glow. A wooden plaque dangled from it, engraved with the faces and names of his wife and daughter, Lynn.
[Yeonhwa, Lynn. My lights.]
The anxious voices of villagers echoed around the unconscious man.
It was simple, yet peaceful.
Until everything turned to ash in an instant.
Countless voices cried out in anguish. As homes, families, and belongings were reduced to ashes, theft and looting spread as people fought to survive.
The foundation of rules and order became meaningless.
The Small Glory, Brendell Kingdom.
The Small Glory vanished without a trace.
In an era of relentless chaos,
nations began discussing solutions to prevent the collapse of their territories.
Voices calling for peace and an end to turmoil rose from every corner.
An alliance was forged among kingdoms yearning for peace, determined to stop the brutal tide of bloodshed.
The days of calamity and sudden death quickly stabilized, as if they had never existed.
Peace, once thought unreachable, arrived faster than anyone had anticipated.
...
And so, 13 years passed.
The Kingdom of Schleiman, nestled on the outskirts of the vast continent.
Though its territory wasn't particularly large, its national power rivaled the great empires on either side. The source of this strength? None other than the renowned Schleiman Army.
The Schleiman Army was celebrated for its unmatched cohesion, unwavering loyalty, and remarkable prowess.
Other kingdoms, having witnessed the sheer power of the Schleiman Army, frequently sent delegations proposing joint martial arts training, eager to uncover the secrets behind their military strength.
Under the command of Daphman, the Schleiman Army's leader, the troops moved with flawless coordination, while the village itself thrived under an unspoken order within its freedom.
Though the territory was small, the Schlei River that ran through it made the soil rich and fertile, ensuring an abundance of grains and fruits year-round.
Beneath the surface, the land was rich with valuable minerals, from which Schleiman-branded steel weapons were forged. Each one was sturdy yet agile, exuding a magnificence unmatched elsewhere. It truly deserved the title of a 'beautiful utopia.'
Now, the entire village of Schleiman bustled with preparations for the annual summer festival.
"Listen up! The purple lanterns need to go right here!"
"Oh, come on! Haven't you heard of the rainbow color order? Violet's supposed to go last."
"Haven't you heard? The young miss loves purple. Tch, I can't believe you're still so out of the loop."
"Nonsense! She favors bright yellow, everyone knows that."
Two soldiers, their waists adorned with colorful lanterns, bickered as they strung the lights between the tents.
Watching this, Emil laughed heartily, balancing a hefty basket atop her head.
"Honestly, you two! It's already midday and you're still fussing over lanterns?
At this rate, you'll waste the entire day! Get a move on, the festival's tomorrow!"
"Yes, Aunt Emil. But this fool kept saying strange things…"
"Bah, what nonsense. If you're so sure, why don't we ask the young miss later?"
Finally, they hung the purple lantern at the very end. The soldier who had been adamant that "the young miss loves purple!" wore a visible pout, clearly dissatisfied.
Between the two stone walls built for defense, brilliant silk ribbons hung in long, colorful strands.
Beyond them stretched a wide, grassy field.
This field was the children's playground, where they often divided into teams for mock battles, wielding wooden swords carved from tree branches.
Everyone preparing for tomorrow's festival wore joyful smiles.
And for good reason. Tomorrow's festival wasn't just meant to lift the spirits of the Schleiman people.
It was the most auspicious of days—the wedding day of Roen, the only daughter of Schleiman's leader.
An old man meticulously swept the street with a straw broom. A woman decorated every corner of her front fence with colorful lanterns. A housewife hummed cheerfully as she prepared a large chicken her husband had caught, skillfully carving it with her kitchen knife.
In the jewelry shop, women excitedly discussed what would make the perfect wedding gift for Lady Roen. Even a shy young boy smiled as he carefully created a beautiful bouquet of mountain hydrangeas to present to the young lady.
Hearts were fluttering with excitement as everyone eagerly awaited the young lady's wedding tomorrow.
"Young lady, the son of the Byro Kingdom's leader has arrived."
Huh, what? Already?
Just minutes earlier, after receiving word from Bi Young that he might stop by, Roen's face had twisted into an "oh no" expression as she rushed to make herself presentable.
Utterly drained from the intense martial arts training over the past few days, Roen would usually enter her room, place her sword on the stand with a loud clank, and collapse straight into bed.
Not that anyone had forced her to train—it was entirely her decision, so she had no one to blame but herself.
With the festival tomorrow, Roen had eagerly skipped training today and was deep in a snore-filled sleep when...
Suddenly, a voice, full of energy, broke through her slumber, shaking her awake.
"My lady! Please wake up!"
"Ughh, what's happening?"
"Aish, really! You can't be lounging around right now! Your husband-to-be is on his way!"
"...What?"
At the mention of her "future husband," Roen's once tiny, bean-sized eyes suddenly widened to the size of cantaloupes.
"Who's coming?"
"Now? Here? Bi Young?"
"Yes. A letter just arrived saying he's coming right now."
Haran, Roen's maid, hurriedly held up a green paper scroll between her thumb and index finger, waving it in front of Roen's face.
As Roen's eyes settled on the black letters against the green background, her face instantly paled.
"Good heavens, right now? With my hair looking like this?"
Roen shot out of bed like an arrow, landing in front of her vanity. Confronted with her disheveled appearance in the mirror, she let out a startled, "Ack!"
"Goodness, miss! Your wedding's tomorrow, and here you are, just sleeping away!"
As she briskly combed Roen's wild hair, Haran clicked her tongue loudly in disapproval.
My word, how can tomorrow's bride be so carefree? The entire village is buzzing with excitement!
Haran shook her head, casting a sharp glance at her mistress. Unable to come up with an excuse, Roen flashed a sheepish grin.
"Oh, come on, Haran. Cut me some slack. I was soooo tired, that's all."
"Seriously, who does martial arts training two days before their wedding?!"
"My lady, you don't have to push yourself so hard! You're already one of Schleiman's finest warriors, for heaven's sake!"
"Most brides can't even sleep before their wedding, they're so excited! Their hearts go dugeun-dugeun just thinking of their beloved! And you're marrying none other than the amazing Bi Young!"
Haran's tone sharpened, clearly displeased with Roen's unladylike behavior, even on the eve of her wedding.
Roen, knowing Haran's fundamentally kind and soft-hearted nature, bit her lip and lowered her gaze.
"Come on, Haran, I've already apologized~ Lighten up~!"
Roen grinned as she watched Haran carefully apply vermilion rouge to her lips.
"Ah, what am I going to do with this naive young mistress?" Haran shook her head in exasperation.
At that moment, another maid's quiet voice called from outside the room.
"Young Lady, the son of the Byro Kingdom's leader has arrived."
As the words sank in, Roen and Haran locked eyes, their expressions screaming Oh no! in perfect unison.
Crash! Bang!
Huh?
Bi Young, who had been waiting calmly outside, couldn't help but chuckle at the strange noises coming from within after the maid's announcement.
Soon after,
"Yes, ahem. Please come in."
A gentle voice rang out, and as the maid beside her turned the amber doorknob and pushed the door open, the cozy interior was revealed.
Upon entering the room, Young hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the fresh, feminine scent that wafted toward him, but he quickly regained his composure.
His gaze landed on the woman standing awkwardly in the center of the room, returning his stare.
Roen blushed, clearly embarrassed by her nightclothes. Young's eyes traveled from her flushed face slowly down to her fidgeting feet.
Still the same.