The world was vast.
A land shaped by war, ambition, and the unyielding passage of time.
To the northwest stood Hyrole, a sprawling kingdom that dominated the top-left corner of the map. Home to elves, its forests were thick with magic, and its towering silver spires gleamed under the twin moons. Seven grand cities dotted the land, each one a testament to elven civilization, where magic flowed through the air as naturally as the wind.
Hyrole's borders were guarded by the endless sea, its waves crashing against cliffs that had stood for millennia. But to the east, a greater barrier stood—the Jarquaz Mountains.
A wall of giants.
The mountains stretched endlessly, jagged peaks rising to the sky like the teeth of an ancient beast. At their heart, Jarquaz Peak stood above them all—a titan of stone and ice, its summit reaching a dizzying 60,876 feet into the heavens. No mortal had ever conquered its heights. No adventurer had ever returned from its slopes.
Beyond the mountains lay the Ylza Empire.
The heart of the world.
Ylza was power. Wealth. Dominance.
With its nine mighty cities, vast trade routes, and boundless reserves of gold, steel, and magic, Ylza was the most influential empire in history. But its true strength lay not in its riches or armies—it lay in its king.
A man who dreamed of unity.
A ruler determined to bring all races together—humans, elves, dwarves, and even beastkin—under one banner, in peace. In Ylza's capital, Alphael, grand towers reached for the sky, and every street buzzed with life. Merchants, scholars, and warriors from across the land gathered in a place where the greatest minds and strongest blades met.
But for all its splendor, Ylza was not untouched by danger.
At its southern border, a forest unlike any other stood—the Great Wildwood.
More than just a forest, it was a living, breathing world. Endless. Alive. Watching.
The northern half was serene, a paradise of enchanted glades and glowing rivers, with fairies flitting through the canopy like fireflies. But the southern half was another story.
A place where monsters ruled.
Goblins, ogres, minotaurs, hydras, and dragons—creatures that could tear armies apart. No maps charted this cursed land. No kings laid claim to its soil. Because anyone who entered never returned.
To the southwest, far from the chaos of empires and beasts, stood Darvon—a small, unassuming nation that many overlooked. But for the demi-humans who called it home, it was a sanctuary.
Three cities. One capital—Harvon.
A land of merchants and warriors, of people who had fought for their right to exist in a world that saw them as lesser. They had no grand armies, no mighty rulers—just each other. And that was enough.
But beyond Darvon, there was no peace. Only ruin.
A land scorched beyond recognition. Dead trees twisted and blackened, their branches reaching for a sky that seemed too heavy. The air was thick with poison, the stench of decay curling through the breeze. Amidst it all—the flames.
Fires that had burned for a thousand years.
No one knew how they had started. No one knew why they never went out. Ruins of forgotten villages lay in ashes, their wooden bones charred and crumbling. It was a graveyard of history, a place where only the foolish dared to tread.
And beyond that scorched land lay Zeldriph.
A kingdom of demons.
Here, in the shadows of history, the defeated had gathered. Nine cities. Two capitals.
Xenf, where the Demon King's Castle stood—once destroyed, now rebuilt after the Thousand Year War.
Vquar, the fortress city, where Zeldriph's army slept, waiting for the day they would rise again.
This was the place where Arpheus, the 112th Demon King, had fallen.
Where a kingdom had crumbled.
And where, in the silent ruins of the past, the demons whispered of the war yet to come.
These were the great nations—the four titans that shaped the world.
And beyond the map… there were more.
"..."
*Ylza Empire, Castle of Alphael, Year 1525*
(Approximately 1235 years since the defeat of Arpheus)
The sun beat down on the city of Alphael, turning the stone streets into a furnace. Even though the heat was extreme, the capital was buzzing with life—merchants shouting their prices, kids darting between the alleyways, and the constant hum of conversations floating on the air. The smells of fresh bread and roasted meat mixed with the scent of iron from the blacksmiths' anvils. It was a typical, busy day in Ylza.
But inside the castle walls, things were far from normal.
The training field beside the massive fortress echoed with the grunts and heavy breaths of young soldiers pushing themselves to the limit. Sweat streamed down their faces, soaking their uniforms, and darkening the dirt beneath them.
"FIVE MORE PUSH-UPS! NOW!"
Commander Ria's voice cracked through the air like a thunderbolt.. Her pink hair was plastered to her back, damp from the heat, but her blue eyes—beautiful and unfeeling—never wavered. She stood like a statue, arms crossed, her iron chest plate illumated in the sun, sword resting at her hip. In front of her, twenty-three rookies struggled through their final set of push-ups, their bodies trembling from the strain. They had just finished, and passed the entrace exam, and now—they were being tormented. It was one hell after another.
"YES, MA'AM!" They responded in perfect unison, because falling behind would mean starting from scratch—and nobody wanted that.
Rynan's face was pressed so close to the ground, he could feel the dust clinging to his skin. His arms were shaking so violently he feared they might snap. Sweat dripped off his nose, splattering onto the dirt beneath him. His whole body screamed in protest.
Are you kidding me!? I just passed the entrance exam, and now I have to go through this hell again!?
Four push-ups left.
Then three.
Two.
One.
Zero.
"HAAGH!" The group collapsed onto the scorching concrete in unison, panting like they had just run a marathon. The heat of the sun burned through their backs, their limbs refusing to move.
Commander Ria sighed, rolling her shoulders. She sank down on the stone curb beside the field, resting her chin in her hands.
They've been at this for two hours... I should let them breathe before they drop dead. I mean, I could let then do more...
"One-hour break," she finally said, standing up and heading back toward the castle.
The moment she disappeared, Rynan let out a long, exhausted breath and collapsed on the ground.
"Finally..." His voice was barely audible, just a whisper of relief.
Beside him, a rookie flopped onto his back, staring up at the sky with a lazy grin. "Man, that was brutal."
Rynan turned his head slightly, too tired to lift it. The guy looked about his age—maybe a bit taller—with black hair and sharp yellow eyes. Despite the hellish training session, he seemed strangely relaxed.
"Yeah... it really was," Rynan muttered, still gasping for air.
The rookie stretched his arms above his head with a groan. "First day of training, and they already had us doing push-ups for two hours. What's next? Digging our own graves?"
Rynan snorted in spite of himself. "Wouldn't be surprised."
The rookie sat up and extended his hand. "Name's Leo. Leonardo Daniel. Just call me Leo, mate."
Rynan hesitated, but only for a second. He reached out, shook the guy's hand, and pulled himself up. His legs felt like jelly. "Rynan. Rynan Newworld. But yeah, Ryn works too."
Leo grinned. "Nice to meet ya."
Rynan gave a small breath, stretching his sore shoulders as he glanced at Leo. He had a solid build—definitely someone who'd put in the work before joining up. Rynan knew from his documents that Leo was seventeen, originally from a city somewhere else in Ylza. Clean record.
Rynan, also seventeen, was shorter by a bit, with brown hair and blue eyes. He came from a small village on the edge of the empire—one that already felt like a lifetime ago.
He groaned as he stretched his arms above his head, his joints popping. Well... at least I made a friend.