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Heir Of Mythical Heroes Manga

The Abandoned Heir of Morthilin

[Ultra Short Version - Terry has game abilities—XP leveling, resource gathering, crafting items in seconds, spamming them in battle, and even granting others the same powers.] ------ [Short version] Terry's soul was a hollow flute. Isekai'd into a brutal world of monsters and dungeons, but with game-like powers, he was used as a pawn, then betrayed and abandoned. But in that emptiness, something ancient began to stir. Now he drifts unseen, collecting every secret and sin, his hollow core twisting into a hunger no one can escape. The flute has begun to sing. And when he plays, the world that cast him aside will drown in the music of his revenge. ----------------- [Long Version] Terry never had the wish. Had no big dreams. Never wanted to be great. No fire of ambition in his heart. Just emptiness. Maybe that's why he was chosen. A perfect vessel. Cracked and full of holes. Empty enough for something old and powerful to slip in. Like a flute waiting to be played, shaped to carry a god's lost song. He woke up in Tarnheval, a brutal medieval world choking on its own glory. Monsters lurking beneath shattered citadels. Dragons nesting in the ruins of dead kingdoms. Dungeons that swallowed entire generations. And nobles who smiled as they carved out power from the bones of the helpless. They looked at him and saw nothing worth fearing. Just a vessel to be filled. A weapon to be used. So they betrayed him. Abandoned him. He was sacrificed. Forgotten. But he did not forget. Quiet. Watching. Every move the nobles plotted behind cold stone walls. Every sin the great families buried beneath silk banners. Armies that slaughtered innocents they had sworn to protect. And Terry drifted through it all. Unseen. Unremarkable. Absorbing every dark truth, every whispered lie, every dying breath. Noting. Remembering each. Because something inside him was waking up. Something older than Tarnheval itself. The flute had begun to sing. His emptiness turned into hunger. A hunger for truth. A hunger for ruin. The one they abandoned was becoming the weapon they couldn't stop. And whether the world lives or falls, it will happen to the music he plays. #IsekaiEpic #AbandonedHeir #DungeonCrawling #DragonTaming #War #TheEmptyHero
WoodenPaw · 3.9K Views

The Mythic Realms

Prologue – The First Light Long before the name “Eldoria” was etched in song or stone, before demon kings cast shadows across the land, before moonlight kissed marble temples—there was only the Light. It was not sunlight, nor any star’s glimmer, but something deeper—an ancient pulse that breathed life into the world. This Light was essence, harmony, and the echo of the world’s first rhythm. From it arose the Guardians: vast elemental spirits shaped from mist, stone, tide, and wind. They guided the lands, balanced the skies, and stirred the heart of all living things. But balance is fragile. Time passed. The Guardians fell silent—some forgotten, others betrayed. The Light waned, retreating into memory, and in its absence, a new force took hold. From the void left behind, Malakar emerged—neither born nor created, but conjured from imbalance. Eyes like molten silver. Words like poison. He spread discord through roots and rivers, twisted men into beasts, and turned cities into echoes of what they once were. Where unity had ruled, he sowed conquest. Where meaning had existed, he left only hunger. Yet even in despair, the old Light stirred. A vision came to the Moon Priestesses: a figure cloaked in grief, marked by loss, who would carry sorrow not as a burden—but as a key. A child of ashes. A soul tempered by pain. His name was Kael Draven. The boy who had watched his village collapse under claw and shadow now walks a different path. Vengeance sharpened his steps. But in the gathering dusk, others joined him: a cursed mage seeking redemption, a priestess guided by visions, a warrior whose honor survived exile, a wild whisperer of beasts, and rebels who still believed in tomorrow. Together, they found something long hidden—the Artifact of Hope, a relic older than any kingdom. But its light demanded a price: memory, belief, even pieces of the self. Now, the world stands on the threshold. Malakar watches. The ancient forces stir. And the question remains: Will this light be enough to mend what was broken—or will the darkness swallow all that remains? Read the novel with picture depiction: https://bit.ly/4mYrNjd
Wren_West · 18.1K Views
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