Etravia Kingdom's capital stood magnificently at the heart of the western continent.
Twenty-meter-high white stone walls encircled it like a sacred ring, separated from the outer lands by a vast moat directly connected to the main river. At the city's center, the royal palace towered high—a crown of stone gazing fearlessly at the sky.
Its main structure was built from pale marble. Massive pillars carved with the emblem of the God of Light supported a bronze roof that reflected the midday sun like frozen fire. The stained-glass windows depicted the long history of war against demons—tales of victory, sacrifice, and sanctified blood.
But that day—
The grand audience hall reflected none of that magnificence.
Its ceiling arched high, adorned with paintings of ancient wars. A long red carpet stretched toward the golden throne at the far end of the chamber.
The atmosphere that day was heavy.
There was no music.
No ceremony.
Only the tense whispers of nobles and high-ranking military officials.
In the center of the hall, a long table was covered with territorial maps.
One point was marked in black ink.
The eastern border city of the Kingdom of Etravia: Ashen City.
"All outer gate guards are dead."
The Commander of the Royal Knights spoke with restrained tension. "Their bodies… were not intact."
An elderly noble snorted.
"Reports are always exaggerated by soldiers."
"Not this time," interrupted a court mage. His robe was adorned with a golden magic circle emblem. "The land around the city has dried out. The mana in the area is damaged. As if… eroded."
"A high-level monster?" asked the Minister of Internal Affairs.
"If it were merely a monster, the spread would not be that vast," the mage replied.
Silence enveloped the hall.
Upon the throne, the King of Etravia sat upright.
His hair had turned white, yet his eyes remained sharp—like an old eagle that had not lost its fangs.
King Aldric Vaelmont did not speak immediately.
He stared at the map.
"How many casualties?"
"Initial estimates… over five hundred," the commander answered quietly.
Several nobles fell silent.
Five hundred was not merely a number. It was a political wound. A moral wound. A wound that could breed fear.
"A high-level undead monster—Jack O' Lantern—was detected at the site," the commander continued. "However, the condition of the territory is far too severe to have been caused by that creature alone. Even the monster itself was found destroyed."
"Destroyed?" the king repeated.
"As if something greater had annihilated it."
Someone whispered, almost inaudibly.
A minister murmured softly, barely audible,
"The Demon King…"
The word hung in the air like poison.
King Aldric finally spoke.
"The Demon King was defeated two centuries ago."
"But history records that every reappearance is preceded by strange phenomena," the court mage responded.
The king tapped his finger against the armrest of the throne.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
"Speculation without evidence will only create panic," he said calmly. "However, we cannot ignore the possibility."
He rose slowly.
The hall fell completely silent.
"We will investigate."
"With whom, Your Majesty?" asked the commander.
The king turned his gaze toward the grand doors of the hall.
"Summon the Hero."
- - -
Her name was Seraphina Noctrelle.
She was training at the central training grounds when the summons arrived. The moment she received the brief explanation, her movements halted. The sword in her hand still trembled faintly from the aftershock of her swing.
Something had happened.
And it was not something small.
Her height was only 145 centimeters, far shorter than knights in general. Her white hair fell straight to her waist, contrasting with her pale skin. Her red eyes glowed faintly when struck by light.
She was a half-vampire.
Half human blood.
Half darkness blood.
Her short black cloak was layered with thin armor engraved with sacred silver carvings. At her waist hung a slender sword inscribed with anti-demon enchantments. It was indeed ironic to see a half-vampire like her dressed in such a way. Yet in her case, holy magic had no effect on her at all.
Two people stood behind her—not heroes, merely party companions:
• A black-haired female mage.
• And a blonde female elf archer.
They were not symbols of the kingdom.
They were simply her team.
Seraphina stepped into the hall.
Several nobles looked at her with a mixture of respect and discomfort.
A hero with vampire blood was not an easy symbol to accept.
She knelt.
"Your Majesty."
King Aldric gazed at her for a long moment, as if weighing something beyond mere mission assignment.
"Seraphina Noctrelle. A tragedy has occurred in Ashen City. Many casualties. We suspect the involvement of an entity beyond ordinary classification."
Her red eyes narrowed slightly.
"Rank S monster?" she asked.
"Beyond that."
Beyond Rank S.
Within the system known among adventurers, Rank S already stood at the limit of human capability. Even to bring down one required the cooperation of several top-class adventurers.
That meant—
"Mythical beasts."
Everyone present in the hall was startled by the word and began whispering among themselves.
The king cleared his throat and continued,
"There is still a possibility that this is also the doing of humans or a certain organization."
"We want you to investigate. Find the cause. If it is a single creature—eliminate it. If it is an organization—expose it."
A noble interrupted, "But Your Majesty, sending only one hero—"
The king shot him a sharp look.
"This kingdom has only one hero."
Silence fell once more.
Seraphina raised her head.
"Are there any surviving witnesses?"
"A few," the commander replied. "However, most are heavily traumatized. They speak of 'black rain' falling from the sky."
Black rain.
Seraphina's eyes flickered.
She had once read that term in the ancient archives of the church.
A phenomenon that appeared only when—
No.
That was impossible.
"Do you suspect the resurrection of something?" she asked slowly.
The king did not answer immediately.
"I suspect," he finally said, "that the world is moving toward something we do not understand."
He stepped down one stair from the throne.
"Go, Seraphina. If there is a threat to this kingdom, you are its sword."
Seraphina bowed her head.
"Your command is received."
She rose.
Her two companions followed.
As they walked out of the hall, the court mage whispered softly to the king,
"If it truly is the phenomenon I am thinking of…"
King Aldric stared distantly toward the stained-glass window.
"Then," he said quietly, "this kingdom may be standing at the beginning of a disaster greater than we can bear."
- - -
In the palace courtyard, Seraphina paused for a moment.
The dry midday wind swept through her white hair.
"Black rain…" she murmured.
The mage in her team asked softly, "What is it, Captain?"
Seraphina did not answer immediately.
She looked up at the sky.
If it truly was what she thought—
Then this was not merely a stray undead.
Not merely a monster.
This was something that possessed will.
And if that was true—
Then this enemy might not be something that could be redeemed.
"Prepare yourselves," she finally said. "We depart at dawn."
In the distance, the palace bells tolled softly.
The Kingdom of Etravia had yet to realize that the wheel of fate had begun to turn.
And in the south—
A figure clad in black armor continued walking away from the ruins, unaware that a hero was moving toward him.
_____
The wind atop the hill blew gently.
Hax stood alone, gazing at a world that felt far too silent since Ashen.
In his hand he held a rough map—he had obtained it for free from a guard several days ago. The man had spoken at length about trade routes and small cities in the south.
Hax tried to remember his face.
Was he among those standing at the gate when Abyss Rain fell?
Or was he off duty, as he once complained in a weary tone?
The first possibility.
The second possibility.
The System did not display casualty notifications.
And Hax felt no sense of loss whatsoever.
He lowered his gaze to the map.
Ashen was now merely a name he had left behind.
His finger moved south.
Liora City.
Hax lifted his gaze.
The city stretched below the hill, surrounded by dense forest merging into the base of gray mountains. Thin smoke rose from chimneys, ascending into the yellowing afternoon sky.
"Liora City… so that's where it is."
He folded the map and stored it into his Inventory. His System Map was not yet active—he had to visit locations directly before their names and details would unlock.
The wind suddenly shifted direction.
A strong gust swept from behind him, forcing the grass along the slope to bow in unison.
Not ordinary wind.
A massive shadow passed across the ground.
Hax looked up.
A red dragon cleaved through the sky, its wings enormous, each flap tearing at the air. Its scales shimmered like living embers. Its eyes burned with primitive hunger.
Its direction was clear.
Toward Liora City.
"A fire dragon…?"
He observed the creature's movement calmly. Threat level: high for a normal city. Low for him.
"I wonder if there's a Dragon nest somewhere around here…"
He paused briefly.
"I know I shouldn't interfere."
His voice was flat.
Without emotion.
"But it would be troublesome if my destination city were destroyed before I arrive."
He raised his right hand.
The mana around him changed in nature.
Unlike the rotten, devouring Abyss Rain, this mana felt cold. Empty. Like the vacuum between stars.
"Casting: Area of Effect Skill…"
The air froze.
A thin layer of frost formed over the grass despite the sun still hanging low. A pale white aura enveloped his black armor—not holy light, but a cold glow like a dead star.
The sky dimmed.
But not because of dusk.
"Comet!"
The clouds split apart.
A colossal shadow appeared above the red dragon—a celestial mass without sound, without a flaming tail, only a dense white body descending with a silence that pressed upon the chest.
The dragon roared and breathed fire upward.
Red flames struck the comet's surface.
No mark was left.
The object struck it.
A blinding flash filled the horizon.
Yet there was no explosion.
No shockwave.
Only a strange emptiness spreading like space being swallowed.
Thin cracks appeared in the air—as though invisible glass were slowly shattering.
The dragon's body froze midair.
Its wings stopped flapping.
Its blazing eyes dimmed.
Then—
Crack.
Its scales dulled.
The massive body shattered not into flesh or ash, but into shimmering white fragments like winter snow.
The particles fell slowly.
Raining over the forest.
Raining over Liora City.
Hax watched.
Several fragments touched the leaves—and the leaves instantly froze, blackened, then shattered like porcelain.
A bird struck by one fell soundlessly.
Within the city, a small child who looked up smiled as a white fragment touched her cheek.
A few seconds later, her skin paled like marble.
Her body stiffened.
Then collapsed.
On the hill, Hax stood in silence.
"Ah…"
He rubbed his temple—a lingering reflex from his previous life.
"This… is excessive."
His helmet detached with a soft metallic sound.
But behind it there was no face.
No eyes.
No skin.
Only thick black mist slowly swirling within the hollow armor, like smoke trapped inside a steel cage. Because the Demon King itself was a Living Armor.
The sky gradually closed again.
Clouds merged.
The evening light returned to normal, as if the comet had never existed.
He remained silent for a moment.
"I didn't expect…"
His voice echoed from the empty space within the armor.
"The world I created from a pixel game… would truly become real."
Yet one thing was different.
In his game, Comet only destroyed the target.
In this world—
It affected everything around it.
And the System gave no warning whatsoever.
The hill wind blew cold.
Hax put his helmet back on.
He began walking down toward Liora City.
In the distance, the city bells began ringing in panic.
His black silhouette stretched beneath the evening light.
And once again—
Without truly intending to,
He had become the beginning of the next tragedy.
____
My name is Arven Halric.
I am just a carpenter in the eastern district of Liora City.
Throughout my life, I learned one simple truth:
a city never dies in a single day. It rots slowly—from within.
But that day proved I was wrong.
Summer always arrives late in Liora. The dense forest and mountain shadows keep the air cool even when the sun burns rooftops in other cities.
That afternoon, as usual, I closed the workshop window when the golden light began to slant between the trees. The scent of pine resin still lingered in the air, mingling with warmth that slowly faded. Sawdust scattered across the worktable—witness to the day's labor.
In the distance, the church bell tolled three times.
A sign that the evening market would soon open.
Liora was not a large city. But for a border region, it was lively. The surrounding forest was never stingy—wood, game, even medicinal herbs were always available for those willing to work. A small trade route cut through the hills, connecting us to a mining town in the north. Not crowded, but enough to keep the wheel of life turning.
We lived simply.
And in a borderland like this, simplicity was not a shortcoming—but a luxury I quietly gave thanks for.
"Papa!"
The small voice broke my thoughts from outside the workshop.
Lyra.
My six-year-old daughter—too bright for a world that sometimes feels harsh and unfair. She ran toward me with a wildflower in her tiny hand. Her hair was messy from the afternoon wind, her cheeks slightly dirty, and her smile… too big for such a small face.
"Where did you get that flower?"
"By the river!"
She giggled, then without hesitation hugged me tightly, as if the world had never known danger.
"Papa, can I go to the market today?"
"If you don't touch all the merchants' goods like last week."
"That was only one apple!"
"It was five."
Lyra pouted briefly, then smiled again. Children do not know how to keep wounds for long.
That day felt ordinary. Safe.
I did not know that safety is the cruelest lie.
The eastern market was lively as usual. Cloth merchants shouted discounts. The blacksmith displayed new knives. Children chased a stray dog that had stolen bread.
There was no sign that the sky was holding something back.
Lyra gripped my finger tightly.
"Papa, when I grow up, I want to own a flower shop."
"A flower shop?"
"Yes. So our city will always smell nice."
I chuckled softly.
"This city already smells nice."
"No! Sometimes it smells like horses."
She was right. And I did not argue.
We stopped at Mr. Hestin's dairy stall. He grumbled about the debt for two wooden boards, then secretly slipped a small piece of cheese into Lyra's hand.
That was Liora.
A place where people still knew each other's names.
A place where life felt sufficient.
Until the scream tore through the air.
"DRAGON!"
The market froze instantly.
Every head lifted.
Above the western forest, a red dragon cleaved the sky. It was not as large as the legends told by priests, but large enough to incinerate half the city in a single breath.
Its wings flapped slowly. Its scales shimmered like living embers.
Lyra's hand clutched my shirt.
"Papa…"
Soldiers ran. Archers climbed the towers. The city gate lowered. People scattered. Prayers and cries blended into one.
I lifted Lyra and ran into a narrow alley toward home.
Then the sky darkened.
Not because of clouds.
Not because of the dragon's shadow.
Something larger appeared above it.
Round.
Blinding white.
Falling.
Without sound.
The world felt as if it stopped.
The dragon breathed fire upward—red flames tearing through the air. But the white light did not waver in the slightest.
Then—
A flash.
Light that tore at vision.
I held Lyra and waited for the explosion that would shatter the world.
There was no sound.
Only a strange pressure, as if the air were squeezed from my lungs.
When I opened my eyes—
The dragon was gone.
The sky was blue again.
And something descended slowly from above.
White.
Falling like snow.
People stepped out from hiding with hesitant movements.
"The gods protected us…"
Someone fell to their knees.
Lyra looked up at the sky, eyes sparkling.
"So beautiful…"
"Don't touch—"
Too late.
A white fragment landed on her cheek.
She smiled.
Then her face paled.
Her skin hardened.
"Lyra?"
I carried her into a nearby building; she blinked slowly.
"Papa… I'm cold…"
I touched her cheek.
Frozen.
Not winter cold.
Cold like a body that had long lost its soul.
Screams erupted everywhere.
A man cracked from shoulder to chest. A horse froze and shattered into pieces. A mother and her baby turned into pale statues before collapsing into white dust.
It was not snow.
It was a curse.
I held Lyra tighter.
"Hold on. Papa is here."
Cracks appeared along her neck. Her tears froze before falling.
And within my arms—
my daughter turned into white statue.
I do not know how long I knelt there.
The market became a field of cracked statues. Half the city was silent. The other half wept.
White fragments still drifted like thin mist.
Then I saw him.
In the middle of the main road, among the white dust that used to be people, someone stood.
A knight in armor.
But something about his existence was wrong. He looked real, yet as if he did not fully belong to this world—like a dusk shadow that had taken form.
The white fragments did not touch him. They veered away before reaching his body, as though an invisible boundary rejected them.
Slowly, he raised his hand. White mist swirled within his steel palm, pulsing faintly… then vanished, as if swallowed by emptiness.
"Too wide…"
His voice was low. Calm. Without emotion.
Yet I heard it clearly.
And within the emptiness left in my chest—
I understood.
He was not a savior.
He was not a victim.
He was not merely part of this tragedy.
He was its source.
And on that moonless night..
the city of Liora was no longer the same.