The World of Dynasties and Kings
Across seven vast and unyielding continents, empires rise and fall, their ambitions as boundless as the heavens themselves. Five continents are ruled by five mighty dynasties—each an indomitable pillar of power—while the remaining two are chaotic battlegrounds, where kings claw at one another in endless, blood-soaked wars for fleeting glory.
But true dominance is not born from politics or steel. It lies in Godly Power. Scattered across the land, ancient, unfathomably powerful entities await those daring enough to enslave them. Yet such power comes at a devastating price. To command a god is to risk one's very soul—only the strongest, most unwavering minds can hope to wield the divine without losing themselves in the process.
---
The Princess of Persia
The scene shifts.
"Your Highness," a voice called, respectful but filled with quiet concern.
Rose turned to see Cody, her most trusted knight, entering the room. He was a towering figure, his silver armor glinting as though it had been forged in the heart of a star. His stance was unwavering, but his eyes betrayed a subtle unease. He bowed deeply before her.
"Rise, Cody," Rose said, her voice calm yet imbued with a regal authority. "What is it?"
Cody hesitated, clearly grappling with the weight of his words. "Your Highness... may I ask something?"
Rose nodded, gesturing for him to speak freely.
He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Why did we recruit that… beggar? And more importantly, why bring an ice elf from the Devil Kingdom into our ranks? She's an incredibly rare being, and her allegiance to the Devil Kingdom—one of the strongest dynasties—makes her recruitment... dangerous."
Rose leaned back in her chair, a faint smile playing on her lips as she gestured for him to sit, though he remained standing, his posture as rigid as ever.
"You know as well as I do," Rose began, her tone taking on a more serious edge, "that we've been locked in battle with the Onyx Dominion for years now. Their relentless armies press against our borders, and we've lost far too many soldiers. Even our mightiest warriors are occupied on the frontlines."
Cody frowned. "But Your Highness, you alone could take on five S-rank warriors and emerge victorious. You're not like anyone else."
Rose's smile flickered for a moment before fading into a shadow of doubt. "I once thought the same. When I was younger, I believed S-rank was the peak of strength. But I was wrong."
Cody's brow furrowed. "Wrong?"
"There are warriors who wield godly power," she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Their might stretches far beyond mortal comprehension. Our strongest champions are nothing more than flickering candles, struggling to hold their light against the boundless blaze of a dying star."
Cody's expression darkened. "But, Your Highness, you've protected our kingdom countless times. You're… more than anyone else."
Rose shook her head, her gaze drifting to the window. The setting sun bathed the palace in golden hues, casting long shadows over the land. "Protection is not enough. My grandfather once spoke of a map—one that leads to a godly entity. If we can find and enslave this entity, we can shift the balance of this war. But there are rules."
"Rules?" Cody asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Rose nodded gravely. "To enslave a godly entity, you must first reach its sanctum, defeat it in combat, and endure its trials. The path to its lair is fraught with traps—ones no ordinary human can survive."
Her gaze grew distant, as if contemplating a faraway place. "That's why I recruited the ice elf. Elves have an innate ability to counter magical traps. She is our key to reaching the entity."
Cody hesitated, then asked, "And the beggar?"
Rose sighed, her expression softening for a moment. "I... don't know why I brought him into the fold. There was something about him—something I can't quite explain."
Cody opened his mouth to say something, but he remained silent, knowing better than to question her judgment further.
---
The First Blow – Vincent vs. The Sword Saint
The arena trembled with anticipation. Vincent charged forward, his feet kicking up dust as he closed the gap in an instant. His blade whistled through the air, aimed directly at the Sword Saint's heart.
Clang!
The impact rang like a thunderclap. Vincent's blade met the Sword Saint's with bone-jarring force—but the older warrior didn't flinch. His blade held firm. With a subtle twist of his wrist, he redirected Vincent's strike, sending the younger man stumbling off balance.
"Too linear," the Sword Saint said, his voice as calm as a breeze, yet cutting through the tension. "A true swordsman doesn't crash into the fight. He dances with it."
Vincent growled, regaining his stance. He lunged again, this time with a flurry of strikes—his sword a storm, each cut meant to overwhelm.
But the Sword Saint? He was the calm in the storm.
He moved with the grace of a phantom, his blade meeting Vincent's at every turn. Every strike was countered, every attack parried with an effortless precision that seemed almost preordained.
"Your anger blinds you," the Sword Saint said, sidestepping another reckless slash. "And your form... well, I've seen peasants with more grace."
---
The Sword Saint Strikes Back
Before Vincent could react, the Sword Saint shifted. His blade moved faster than the eye could follow, a flash of silver that left a deep scar in the earth at Vincent's feet. The force of the strike sent a shockwave through the air, knocking Vincent off his feet and sending him skidding across the arena floor.
Vincent gasped for breath, his body screaming in protest. But the Sword Saint wasn't done. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance, his blade a blur of motion.
Wham!
The flat of the Sword Saint's blade slammed into Vincent's side, sending him sprawling. The crowd gasped as Vincent groaned, clutching his ribs.
"Get up," the Sword Saint commanded, his voice cold and authoritative. "A true warrior doesn't lie in the dirt."
Vincent forced himself to his feet, his vision spinning. "I'm not… done yet."
The Sword Saint raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Still standing? Good. But let me show you why you don't belong on this battlefield."
---
A Lesson in Humility
The Sword Saint's next attack was a blur, each strike faster than the last. Vincent fought back with everything he had, but it wasn't enough. His movements were sluggish, predictable—nothing more than a flicker against the overwhelming tide of the Sword Saint's mastery.
Finally, with a single strike, the Sword Saint disarmed him. Vincent's sword flew from his hand, clattering to the ground. He fell to his knees, his breath ragged.
The Sword Saint lowered his blade, his expression unreadable. "You fought well—for someone who doesn't know what they're doing."
---
Vincent's Smirk
Vincent relaxed, sprawling on the ground and staring up at the sky, his chest heaving. The dirt beneath him felt strangely comforting.
"You have everything to become a powerful swordsman," the Sword Saint mused, watching him. "But you lack experience. You need a teacher who can take you to a whole new level."
Vincent smiled lazily, his eyes glinting. "Losers don't get to choose. Besides, becoming your student is better than training with a dog of a princess," he added with a glance at Cody.
Cody's jaw tightened, but he remained calm, his gaze never leaving Rose.
The Sword Saint chuckled. "Then it's settled. You'll become my student."
Vincent's smirk widened. "Perfect."
---
The Training of Vincent
Under the searing sun, Vincent fought to keep his body in motion. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest as he pushed himself to the limit.
"Fifty more push-ups," the Sword Saint commanded, his tone never wavering.
Vincent groaned but complied, his arms trembling as he lowered himself, sweat dripping onto the dusty ground. "Sensei... are you sure this is sword training?"
The Sword Saint's lips curved into a slight smirk. "A weak body can't wield a strong sword. Now, run ten laps—full speed."
Each day was worse than the last, a relentless onslaught of physical challenges. Vincent's body was pushed to its breaking point, yet with each passing day, he grew stronger. Faster. Sharper.
When the final day arrived, Vincent felt a newfound strength burning within him. Yet, even after all this training, he still wasn't ready.
---
The Second Spar
Their swords clashed once again, the force sending tremors through the earth. Vincent attacked with speed and precision, but the Sword Saint was always one step ahead.
Clang!
A single, devastating strike sent Vincent flying backward. He hit the ground hard, gasping for air.
"Damn it…" he muttered, struggling to rise.
The Sword Saint sheathed his blade, his expression unreadable. "You've improved. But you're still leagues behind."
Vincent wiped blood from his mouth, his eyes narrowing with determination. "Your sword… it's different, isn't it?"
The Sword Saint nodded. "An emperor-level weapon, forged from dragon bones. Passed down through generations. It amplifies my strength."
Vincent's eyes widened. "Where can I get one?"
The Sword Saint smiles
There are only "one way
Kill a dragon or any strong entity … then find a godly blacksmith. But both are impossible. I can't even slay a dragon."
Vincent clenched his fists. "Then I'll find a way."
---
Path of Strength and Storms
The rhythmic clang of steel echoed through the training grounds as Liz practiced relentlessly. Sweat streamed down her face, her body pushing past exhaustion, her sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. Her movements were flawless.
A voice interrupted the silence.
"Hey, servant. Long time no see."
Liz didn't spare Vincent a glance, her focus unshaken. She had spent an entire week in ice meditation, honing her powers—and now she was pushing herself beyond even her own limits.
Vincent watched her with curiosity. "You're an ice magician. Why are you practicing swordsmanship?"
Liz didn't slow. Her voice was calm, resolute. "I have to become strong—both mentally and physically."
---
A shadow moved across the balcony.
A figure climbed the palace's outer wall with inhuman ease, moving like a ghost. With barely a sound, the figure stepped onto the balcony and entered the room, walking toward the sleeping princess.
He stood over her, watching.
A mischievous grin formed on his lips as he reached out a hand—
Shing!
Cold steel touched his neck.
Behind him, Rose stood, her emperor-level sword pressed against his throat. Her voice was sharp and unwavering.
"Who are you?"
The intruder didn't flinch. Instead, he smirked, turned, and casually lay down on her bed.
"Oh? You look sexy, my slave."
In this black nighty 🥰
Rose's face turned red in an instant. "W-WHAT?!"
The moonlight revealed his face.
It was Vincent.
Her embarrassment quickly turned to fury. "Why the hell are YOU here?!"
Vincent stretched his arms lazily, looking completely at ease. "Just checking on my slave. Making sure she's safe."
Her eyes twitched. A vein popped on her forehead.
Then she smiled.
And immediately after—
BAM!
She punched him so hard he flew straight off the bed.
CRASH!
Before Vincent could react, she grabbed him by the collar, dragged him to the balcony—
And threw him off.
"AAAAAAAAH—!"
---
Down Below
Vincent lay sprawled on the ground, face bruised, staring up at the night sky. He winced, shifting slightly as he relaxed his arms behind his head.
Then, he looked up at the balcony where Rose stood, glaring down at him.
A cocky smirk crossed his face.
"One day… you'll be my slave."
Rose's eye twitched again, and Vincent chuckled. Slowly, he pushed himself up, dusted off his clothes, and began walking away.
His movements were sluggish, his body sore, his step
s exaggeratedly slow—like a drunk man barely holding himself together.
Liz, who had been watching from a distance, frowned. "…Are you limping?"
Vincent waved her off. "Nope. Just… walking with style."
She sighed, shaking her head. "Idiot."