A deafening clash echoed through the dimly lit corridor, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. Roars of monstrous beings filled the darkness—only to be abruptly silenced as blades cleaved through flesh and searing magic reduced them to charred husks. Seven figures stood amidst the carnage, their weapons dripping with the remnants of their foes.
"We've cleared the last of them," one of the warriors announced, his voice laced with exhaustion. "Now, we wait."
A deep, grating noise reverberated through the chamber as the grand stone door before them groaned open. As the dust settled, their gazes locked onto the sight beyond. Relics—dozens of them, lay scattered across the chamber, glimmering faintly with residual energy. Yet, none of the warriors paid them any mind. Their focus was drawn solely to the altar at the room's center.
A greatsword rested atop it, its ominous aura pulsing like a heartbeat. The blade exuded a dreadful presence, the very air around it warping with latent power.
"That's it," Lothar, the leader, whispered, his voice trembling with exhilaration. He stepped forward, eyes locked onto the weapon. "Daedalus—a Rank 8 ancient relic. This sword once belonged to a high-ranking archangel."
Kael, one of the warriors, observed the blade with narrowed eyes. "It reeks of corruption."
Lothar gave a grave nod. "Its power is tainted. The sword can pierce through any armor of equal or lesser rank, but it exacts a terrible price on its wielder."
Despite his words, his hands did not waver as he grasped the hilt. The moment his fingers wrapped around it, a chilling surge coursed through his veins. He exhaled sharply but steadied himself. Turning to his comrades, a triumphant smile played on his lips. "With this, our guild will rise to the top."
Kael crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "That marks the end of our expedition in the Tower of Calamity," he said. "We shouldn't push further. The depths are far more treacherous than we can handle."
Lothar met his gaze and gave a curt nod. He was about to command the group to pack up when the sharp whisper of steel cutting through flesh shattered the moment.
A choked gasp left his lips as he staggered forward, eyes widening in disbelief. He looked down to see a sword protruding from his chest, its tip drenched in his own blood. Before he could react, another blade sliced through the air.
Shing.
The second strike severed his neck cleanly. His head fell to the ground with a sickening thud, lifeless eyes staring into the abyss.
Kael froze, his breath caught in his throat. His vision blurred for a split second before clarity struck like lightning.
"Lothar…?"
His body moved before his mind could catch up. "LOTHAR!!"
His grip tightened around his spear, his rage igniting like wildfire. He lunged at the traitor responsible.
"Virgil! What have you done?!"
Virgil, the very man they had fought alongside for years, smirked wickedly as he parried Kael's furious strikes. Each blow Kael delivered was met with effortless deflections, the sound of clashing steel echoing through the chamber.
Kael gritted his teeth and leapt back, his mind racing. Virgil was faster, stronger—his movements impossibly refined. It was then that Kael noticed the faint glow surrounding his body, the sheer overwhelming aura he exuded.
"You… you advanced," Kael hissed, realization dawning upon him. "You've reached Rank 8… an Archangel."
Virgil chuckled, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Clever as always, Kael. I achieved my breakthrough at the start of this expedition. I simply kept it hidden—to surprise you and Lothar." He tilted his head mockingly. "And it worked, didn't it?"
Kael's fury surged. Flames erupted along the length of his spear as he charged again, aiming to pierce Virgil's treacherous heart.
But before he could land the blow—
A shard of ice impaled his stomach.
A sharp cry tore from his throat as pain seared through him. He coughed violently, a thick pool of blood spilling past his lips. With great effort, he turned his head to see another traitor standing behind him.
"Drenhil… you too?"
Drenhil, once his trusted ally, offered only a cold, indifferent gaze.
Virgil laughed darkly. "All of us, Kael. You and Lothar stood in our way. You refused to accept the plan… so we had to remove you."
Kael barely heard the words. His vision blurred, his limbs felt heavy. He knew death was imminent. But he wouldn't die here—not at their hands.
With the last of his strength, he reached into his belt and clutched a relic—Tyranny's Blink, a Rank 7 artifact capable of teleportation. The drawback? It sent the user to a random location, not a chosen one.
As he activated it, Virgil's eyes widened. "Stop him!"
The world twisted around Kael, his form vanishing in a white flash. When he reappeared, he was somewhere else—somewhere dark.
He collapsed onto the cold, unyielding stone floor, his body battered and broken. Agonizing pain clawed at his every nerve, his breath coming in ragged gasps as crimson pooled beneath him. His wounds—deep gashes and frostbitten punctures—throbbed with searing agony, his strength dwindling with every fleeting second. Even lifting his head felt like an impossible task, but sheer will forced him to move.
His blurred vision barely made sense of his surroundings. A looming statue towered before him, its silhouette bathed in an eerie crimson glow. The figure bore two great, dragon-like horns, its presence exuding a weight that pressed against his fractured spirit. At its feet, a crown rested—gleaming with an otherworldly radiance, as if waiting… watching.
With the last remnants of his strength, Kael dragged himself forward, each movement a torment. His trembling fingers reached out, brushing against the crown's cold surface. Nothing happened. No power surged through him, no divine salvation answered his silent plea.
A bitter, broken chuckle escaped his lips, turning into a wet, choking cough as more blood spilled from his mouth. His vision darkened at the edges, the weight of exhaustion pulling him into the abyss.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
"I'm sorry, Lothar…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I… failed you."
His body went limp.
Then—
The crown pulsed.
A surge of crimson light erupted from its core, devouring the chamber in its blinding, ominous radiance.
...
Somewhere on an unknown continent...
A woman's anguished cries pierced the night. The air was thick with tension as a midwife worked tirelessly, her hands moving with urgency.
"Push! Just one more time!" she urged, sweat beading on her brow. "The head is almost out!"
The woman screamed, her body trembling as she gave one final, desperate push. Moments later, a newborn's cry filled the room.
But before the midwife could fully announce the birth, a crimson-dark light burst forth from the infant, swirling through the chamber like an ethereal flame. It coiled and danced, casting eerie shadows against the walls.
Julius Arthas, the newborn's father, staggered back, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword. His voice trembled. "What—what is this?! Is my child… cursed? A demon?"
"Julius!" snapped Antonette Arthas, the exhausted yet fierce mother. Her piercing gaze silenced her husband's doubts. "How dare you even think that about our child?!"
Julius hesitated, torn between fear and the undeniable truth before him. "Then… what is this power? This light? It's… unnatural."
The midwife, still shaking, pointed at the newborn's nape. "Look!"
As they all watched, the swirling crimson radiance began to condense, coalescing into a distinct symbol—a crimson crown, shimmering with an ominous glow.
Julius studied the mark for what felt like an eternity. His voice, now steadier yet uncertain, broke the silence. "Could this… be a blessing? A sign from the heavens?"
Antonette, clutching the infant protectively, glanced down at her child. Her voice softened, carrying both wonder and unwavering resolve.
"Blessing or curse… this child is ours. And I will protect them—no matter what."
The midwife, still shaken, managed a nod. "I've never seen anything like it. This child… is extraordinary."
At that moment, as awe and confusion filled the room, the baby's eyes fluttered open for the first time. A flicker of awareness—far too keen, too knowing for a newborn—glistened within those crimson-dark irises.
A single thought surfaced.
'Huh? I'm… still alive?'