They say that in the north, water falls from the sky without being asked.
Rhea spat, trying to clear the sand stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Before him stood the city gate--massive, forged from black iron, its shape resembling giant fangs piercing the clouds.
There were no guards. Only locals demanding money to enter. Outsiders called the place Sector Zero.
It had been three years since Rhea left the barren dust of Sanhara.
He had crossed the coastal Kingdom of Meridia, working as a dock porter amid the stench of fish and salt. He had climbed the frozen mountains of the north, guiding miserly merchants through snowstorms.
Yet every place felt wrong. In one land, he was treated like an animal because of his status. In another, he nearly froze to death without fair pay.
Aurelia was his next stop--a kingdom he had heard about from other wanderers.
A place that supposedly didn't care where you came from, as long as you had the guts to survive.
But the entrance Rhea knocked on betrayed that expectation.
Sector Zero--the outskirts under the rule of the Kingdom of Aurelia--was crammed with cardboard shacks, burning trash smoke, and the stench of rusted iron.
Here, the law only applied to those who could afford it.
After two weeks stranded in this dumping ground, Rhea realized that odd jobs would never earn him the green land he dreamed of.
And to reach the capital, he lacked supplies.
His stomach twisted. His provisions were gone.
He had only two choices: starve to death in a narrow alley, or descend into the Rat Pit—an underground arena where lives were worth a single silver coin.
"Kill him! Snap his neck!"
The crowd's roar echoed off the damp stone walls. Torchlight danced across Rhea's sweat-soaked face.
Before him stood a giant of a man, tattoos coiling around his neck, gripping a wooden mace studded with rusted spikes.
Rhea had no weapon. His only sword had been sold to pay the arena's entry fee.
Now, all he had left were instincts honed by desert storms and relentless hunger.
"One more move," Rhea thought.
"I survived the sands of Sanhara and the northern snows. I won't die in this rat hole."
Rhea moved faster than the eye of an ordinary man could follow. He ducked, dodging the mace as it shattered the stone floor, then drove a single, crushing strike into the weak point beneath his opponent's jaw.
—CRACK!
The giant collapsed. Silence fell for a heartbeat--then the cheers exploded.
But the celebration lasted only seconds.
—BAAANG!
The iron gate above the arena was smashed open. Silver-armored royal troops stormed in, war horns slicing through the chaos.
"Purge in the name of the King!" a baritone voice roared.
"Capture every bastard! Don't let a single one escape!"
Rhea looked up.
Through the cloud of dust, he saw a man in a military cloak staring down at him with a cold smile.
Commander Yanesh.
Beside him stood a silver-haired girl with her hair tied back, eyes sharp with calculation--Ilya.
Already on her knees, bound in chains, she met Rhea's gaze as if to say:
'Welcome to the real hell.'
Rhea clenched his fists.
He had wandered the world in search of a life. But in this place, he found chains that would drag him into the deadliest mission in the kingdom's history.