"Even history is a battlefield—of power, pride, and forgotten truths."
__________
Five Hundred years ago...
The vast and diverse land known as Eldia was split among four powerful forces, each shaping the continent's fate in their own way. The three dominant territories on the mainland were the soaring Dragon Nation of Velduros, the verdant and mystical Demi-Human Kingdom of Eldrathia, and the ambitious Human Empire of Solaria. Just off the southern coast, however, lay a sinister island shrouded in eternal mist—an island whose heart beat with the vile power of the demon realm.
The land was beautiful, yet fraught with chaos. Towering mountains ringed the dragon lands, their peaks often shrouded in flame-colored clouds. The dense jungles of Eldrathia pulsed with magical energy and strange life. Solaria's plains, dotted with strongholds and cities, stretched far and wide—but it was these very plains that bore the first brunt of the demonic invasion.
From the gate connecting the island to the underworld, the demons surged forth like a plague. They brought with them endless nightmares—horned beasts that walked on fire, specters that devoured souls, and grotesque horrors with no names. They came in waves, burning villages and ravaging armies, all in the name of their sovereign: the Demon Lord.
The Dragon Nation of Velduros, proud and mighty, perched high in their mountain sanctuaries, remained unmoved. Its ruler, the Dragon Monarch Zarkhorran the Eternal Flame, sat perched atop his obsidian throne, gazing out over the land from the volcanic fortress of Draconis Spire.
"Let them burn one another," Zarkhorran had said, voice rumbling like distant thunder. "We are dragons. We do not dirty our claws with petty mortal wars."
Their pride, as ancient as their scales, refused to bend.
Meanwhile, Eldrathia, homeland of beastkin and demi-humans, resisted the demonic forces with primal ferocity. Their warriors—lion-headed berserkers, fox-tailed spellcasters, and elven archers—fought valiantly. But the demons largely ignored them, focused as they were on decimating humanity.
Solaria, once mighty, began to crumble. City after city fell. Its knights, though brave, could not stem the tide.
Desperate, the High Council of Solaria turned to the forbidden arts. In a marble temple hidden within the capital's sacred grounds, hundreds of priests gathered, performing the ancient and taboo summoning ritual: The Rite of the Chosen.
Day after day, chants echoed into the heavens, their voices hoarse, their bodies withering.
One by one, the casters collapsed, drained of their mana, but others took their place.
Eleven agonizing days passed...
On the twelfth day, as the final syllable echoed, a crack of thunder tore through the skies, and light poured into the temple.
A young man stood in the center of the circle, disoriented and blinking against the harsh sunlight. His clothes were foreign, strange even by Eldian standards—boots of rubber, cloth of stitched symbols, and a shining rectangle that screamed anachronism in a world of swords and sorcery.
"I... was on my way to work..." he mumbled.
He was no warrior, but the priests knelt, weeping.
"The Hero has arrived!" they cried.
And so began the tale of the Otherworld Hero.
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Upon his arrival, Ayato Kurogane, (Who Back on Earth, was just a university dropout and convenience store part-timer) quickly grasped the severity of Eldia's condition. Despite the strangeness of this world, he adapted swiftly. With divine blessings and unique skills bestowed upon him by the summoning ritual, Ayato learned and mastered both magic and swordsmanship that left even seasoned warriors breathless.
His initial campaign began with the stabilization of the Solaria. With sword in hand and fire in his heart, he led army after army, pushing back the demon tide. His aura bolstered morale; his presence uplifted the hopeless.
But Ayato knew that the Human Empire could not win alone.
His next destination was Eldrathia.
He crossed perilous terrain to reach the tribal lands, braving jungles inhabited by predator kings and contested war zones ruled by chieftains wary of outsiders.
At first, they treated him as a curiosity. But after witnessing his valor in a skirmish against a berserk ogre, they agreed to let him meet their ruler.
Inside a grand hall, he stood before the Queen Selyra of Eldrathia, a lioness demi-human with golden fur and eyes like molten amber.
"I know you have no love for humans," Ayato admitted, "but the demons threaten all of us. They care not for race or territory. I don't ask for your submission—I ask for your strength."
The elder lionkin chieftain leaned forward, fur bristling.
"Why should we follow a furless stranger?"
Ayato unsheathed his sword and knelt.
"Because I will lead from the front."
Silence fell. Then, The Queen laughed.
"You've got guts, human." Witnessing Ayato resolve "Alright, we'll join your war. For now."
With Eldrathia aligned, he turned to the most daunting of all—The Dragon Nation of Velduros.
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Crossing into dragon territory was not easy. The Hero scaled obsidian cliffs, fought sky serpents, and endured biting mountain winds until he finally stood before the gates of the Sky Fortress—Draconis Spire.
The Dragon Monarch, a colossal ancient drake with molten-gold eyes, descended from the clouds to meet him.
"You seek our aid, mortal?" the monarch's voice rumbled like an earthquake.
"I do," the Hero answered, undeterred.
The monarch narrowed his eyes.
"Why should the strong concern themselves with the weak?"
Ayato looked up, unflinching.
"Because even the strong fall when they stand alone."
The monarch laughed, a roar that cracked stone.
"Very well. But we are not your pawns. If you wish our allegiance, prove your worth. Defeat our champion."
The Hero bowed.
"I accept."
The duel was witnessed by a thousand dragons. Their champion, a warrior drake clad in enchanted obsidian armor, towered over the Hero. Blades clashed, fire met steel, and the air cracked with power. The Hero, beaten and bloody, finally outmaneuvered the dragon and landed a decisive blow.
The crowd fell silent.
The Dragon Monarch stepped forward.
"The Hero has proven himself worthy. Velduros shall ride."
The roars of a thousand dragons split the skies.
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With all three major factions united, the Hero's army marched toward the island that housed the entrance to the demon realm. Ships filled the seas, wyverns filled the skies, and soldiers of all races stood side-by-side.
The final battle lasted seven days and seven nights. Lava rained from the sky, the ground split apart, and the sky turned red with chaos. The Hero and his companions—the Dragon Champion, the Beast Princess, the High Priestess, and the Elf Mage—fought their way to the Demon Lord.
The duel was apocalyptic.
When it ended, the Demon Lord lay vanquished, his blood staining the sacred grounds. The Hero sealed the entrance to the demon realm with a divine artifact, trapping the realm beyond time.
With that people thought that the story came to an end. But that wasn't the case, 'when hero was travelling, he came to a understanding that although the demon lord was defeated, and the peace was finally achieved. That peace will not long last, as it's in nature of those who are in power, they tend to not sit idle by for too long. And with the common enemy gone. Sooner or later there will be those who may try to instigate war for who knows what reason.
And so, he created a kingdom between the three—named Aldrehed. An independent realm where humans, demi-humans, and dragons coexisted. A beacon of balance.
The Hero ruled not as a king, but as a guardian. And under his watch, peace endured.
For a time.
__________
Thirty years ago...
In a cave beneath the same island once scorched by war, a group of hooded figures stood before the sealed gate to the demon realm. Their voices echoed with forbidden words:
"Ywgw un tus-ta hishh hawawa...."
A crimson glow lit the chamber. The air grew thick, as if time itself held its breath.
Suddenly, a blast of holy light pierced the darkness.
Paladins of the Holy Nation stormed in, shields raised and blades drawn. Priests flung divine spells, illuminating the cave.
"Capture the heretics, don't let a single one escape." roared High Priest.
Steel clashed against shadow. The black-robed figures resisted fiercely. But as defeat neared, their leader raised his hands.
"All hail the Demon Lord!" he screamed.
His followers echoed him. Then, they detonated themselves in a mass of bloody explosions.
Silence followed.
When the smoke cleared, Blood soaked the stones. Only a few Holy warriors remained, bloodied and shaken. The door stood untouched.
But something had changed...
__________
From that day, the dungeons across Eldia began to mutate. Monsters grew fiercer, their levels inexplicably higher. Dungeons once dormant now pulsed with fresh energy. New ones emerged, tearing through the earth like tumors.
The Guild declared an emergency across all provinces.
Veteran adventurers whispered of ancient prophecies.
The seal... was weakening.
And somewhere far away, in a distant land, a new life stirred—a boy on Earth, unknowingly destined to become the next piece in Eldia's unfinished tale...
To be continued.....