Prince Ector Calmon Dior stood at the bustling port of his capital city, Victoria, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun reflecting off the water. Flanking him were his personal trainer, Madam Divalina, and his trusted butler, Rickard. Together, they waited for their heavily armed escort from Derrus.
Currently, the neighboring city of Daro was strictly closed to outsiders, locked down against all traffic except for high-ranking adventurers and essential royal officials. Ector had practically begged his father for permission to visit the region, eager to lay eyes on what was once the crown jewel and mining treasure city of their kingdom.
The Sun Kingdom was a continent-wide empire, a common political structure on Terra. The geopolitics of this world were fractured and complex: Terra was divided into eighteen continents, none larger than the size of Australia, each surrounded by minor archipelagos. Typically, an entire continent fell under the rule of a single, unified kingdom, with each landmass possessing a monopoly on one specific, abundant resource.
But beneath the orderly map lay a grim societal structure. Terra was populated by various sub-human species, demi-humans, and monstrous races like orcs and goblins. While species like the dwarves had successfully bargained for equal rights alongside humans, orcs and the more feral demi-humans were classified as outright monsters to be hunted. The more human-looking sub-species faced a different, equally cruel fate: they were viewed as mere property. In polite human society, they were treated like domesticated cats or dogs. Forced into confined reservations—much like the forest orcs of the west—or sold openly into slavery, these humanoids served as maids, servants, or simple pets. The most depraved nobles used them for far worse.
Rare exceptions existed. The Forest Folk who inhabited the deep woods around Daro had once enjoyed full human rights, but they had long since isolated themselves from the world, sealing their borders.
For centuries, the forest orcs had been a thorn in the side of the Sun Kingdom's royalty. To contain them, the crown had utilized several low-level, largely useless Royal-rank warped spaces as makeshift prisons. The warped space near Daro was one of the smaller enclosures. However, the delicate status quo had just shattered. A Divine-rank orc had emerged within the rift, successfully breaking the magical lock. If word of this rebellion spread and the locks on the other containment spaces failed, the human kingdoms would face an ungodly horde of hundreds of millions of vengeful orcs.
A true Divine-ranker was a catastrophic threat. They could bestow divine blessings, instantly elevating ordinary Noble-rankers into devastating Royal-rank entities. If left unchecked, the chaos would force the Sun Kingdom to beg neighboring continents for military intervention, or risk falling entirely to the orcs.
In response, the Adventurer Society had deployed a high-level vanguard: a Noble-rank strike party led by a legendary campaign leader ordered to execute the Divine orc. Nominally, matching a mortal against a Divine beast was an execution sentence, as a regular mortal overcoming a god-like entity was a historical anomaly. But the man in charge was a terrifying exception—an Emperor-ranker.
Vincent Motsari, known across the stars as the Sanguine Sword. Over his four-century-long lifespan, he had spent two hundred years sitting comfortably at the apex of the Royal ranks, during which he had personally hunted and slain four Divine-tier beasts. It was a staggering feat of martial prowess.
Ector pondered this grim reality, the thought of the world's oppressed species leaving a bittersweet taste on his tongue. His own track record was inconsistent; he regularly fluctuated between acting like an arrogant, detached aristocrat and a surprisingly benevolent master to the various 'servants' employed throughout the royal palace.
A massive horn blast shattered his daydream as a fleet of colossal vessels glided into the harbor. Victoria was a massive naval hub boasting over a thousand deep-water decks for cargo transport, but this single flotilla instantly monopolized three-fifths of the entire port. The flagship leading the vanguard was less of a vessel and more of a floating, mechanized island. A sprawling, multi-tiered palace sat atop its deck, crowned by the massive, glowing crest of the Motsari Corporation. By Ector's quick estimation, the ship's palace alone was double the size of his family's ancestral royal residence.
A massive mechanized ramp hissed to life, telescoping down from the dark hull to connect with the stone pier. Rickard, who was deeply familiar with the corporate fleet's cold efficiency, stepped forward.
"Your Highness, they will not disembark to greet us," the butler murmured quietly. "They operate on a strict schedule; they cannot afford to waste time."
Ector's brow furrowed, his royal pride stinging. "I am the Crown Prince of this continent. By the ancient decrees passed centuries ago, they are legally required to disembark, kneel, and formally present their invitation."
"This is the Motsari Corporation, sir," Rickard replied, his voice flat. "They are not citizens of this planet. They do not answer to the decrees of our world, even those signed by His Imperial Majesty, Divodas Clamore Devanti Skathi."
Ector let out a sharp sigh, swallowing his pride as he began the long walk up the ramp. At the threshold stood a high-tech scanning arch flanked by a row of immaculate, stone-faced corporate attendants. As Ector drew closer, he realized the ship wasn't constructed from traditional reinforced magi-steel. Instead, it was forged from a strange, lustrous black metal—smooth as polished crystal, yet slightly translucent, hinting at pulsing networks of azure mana lines running beneath the surface.
"Identifications, please," an attendant requested, her tone professional but entirely detached.
Prince Ector handed over his sleek, metallic Adventurer Society card, alongside his heavy gold Crown Prince crest. Rickard presented his own adventurer ID alongside his royal house credentials, while Madam Diva offered her card and her ancient clan seal. Ector noted his own card was a standard, fine-etched metallic alloy indicating his rank, with his family sigil stamped beside his name to denote his lineage. By contrast, the cards held by Diva and Rickard gleamed with the unmistakable, ethereal sheen of pure mythril.
"Please state your name and rank aloud as you step through the biometric scanner," the attendant instructed, returning the documentation.
Ector stepped forward first. "Ector Calmon Dior, Soldier Rank 54."
Diva followed smoothly behind him. "Divalina Farlo Gives, Royal Rank 13."
Finally, the butler stepped through. "Rickard Trado Goflev, Royal Rank 34."
The scanner chimed in approval, and the massive security barriers dissolved. Stepping onto the main deck, Ector's breath caught in his throat. The flagship wasn't just a transport vessel; it was a sprawling, self-sustaining metropolis. Sleek, hyper-modern skyscrapers stretching nearly twenty stories high lined the clean streets, with automated transports darting between buildings. It was a thriving mini-town operational in the middle of the ocean.
Before they could wander, a tall, striking woman with cascading, crimson-red hair approached them, her uniform immaculate.
"I am Seraphina," she introduced herself with a flawless, corporate smile. "I shall serve as your official entourage until you are received by the Young Master."
Ector blinked, momentarily confused. "The Young Master?"
Rickard leaned in slightly, clarifying in a low whisper, "Your Highness, I believe she is referring to the Sanguine Sword himself."
***