The Return of the Forsaken.
A crimson mist began to seep from Ray's body, thick and alive, wrapping around him like a swirling storm.
The fog twisted and tightened, collapsing inward until it solidified into a single book that hovered in the air before him.
Letters slowly burned themselves onto the cover, glowing like fading embers.
The Chronicle of the Forsaken.
Before Ray could even react, the book opened on its own.
A single page glowed with an inner light, its script shifting from a bright crimson to a deep, bloody shade as an immense pressure filled the chamber, making the very air heavy.
It read:
"Your identity bears responsibilities far greater than what a mortal could handle."
That single line made Ray feel hopeless.
But then, directly below it, another line appeared, a line that softened the weight in his chest:
"You are not ready… yet."
And at the bottom corner of the page, written almost like a signature, were the words:
"Our King."
The book dissolved into a sea of crimson dust, flowing like liquid light back into his body. Ray stared blankly at the space it had left behind, the words echoing endlessly in his mind.
"So… am I not a mortal?"
he muttered to the silent hall.
His eyes lowered as the weight of the words settled in his chest.
"And what was I the king of…?"
He clenched his fist as his resolve hardened. The path forward was now obvious and undeniable: he had to become stronger.
For his people. For the truth.
He turned his gaze toward the exit, his path clear. But as he reached the hall, the second door began to grind open on its own, stone sliding against ancient stone. Ray froze. He hadn't touched it. He hadn't even approached it. Yet, the path was being opened for him, an invitation he couldn't refuse.
Steeling himself, he stepped inside.
This room was vast and dimly lit. At first glance, it appeared utterly empty—a hollow, vast and silent cube. But as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, details emerged.
Along the left wall, piles of ordinary metals were arranged with neat precision—raw steel, iron, and unrefined ores, the basic building blocks of any civilization.
But the room's true marvel lay at its center: a mass of void-black metal that shimmered with a faint, azure glint. The reflections pulsed with a slow, rhythmic light, like a heartbeat, as if the metal were a captured piece of the starlit sky.
And at the very heart of it all, resting on a simple stone pedestal, was a single book.
Its cover was a dark, unknown material, webbed with throbbing crimson veins that pulsed with a slow, sinister light.
The Arts of the Nightmare Legion.
A realization struck Ray with the force of a physical blow. If the first door had granted him a king's blade—the scythe he now wielded—then this book, and these vast reserves of metal, were meant to build the army that would march beside him. This was the means to forge his force.
"I have to grow stronger," Ray whispered, the statement a vow.
He approached the pedestal and picked up the book. The moment his fingers made contact, a wisp of dark smoke drifted from the pages and seeped into his skin, imparting a fleeting chill of knowledge. The book itself, however, remained solid and unchanged in his hands.
The room, full of metal ready for the forge—both common and mystical—felt intensely intentional. It was as if the Ark of the Void itself was anticipating his needs, actively helping him develop and arm his people.
Driven by an instinct he didn't fully understand, Ray walked to the throne at the end of the hall. The steps leading to it were perfectly smooth, unmarred by time. He sat down, and a wave of strange, deja-vu-like familiarity washed over him. This was his seat.
He opened the book.
Inside were not just instructions, but a complete system: refinery techniques for the mysterious dark metal, forging methods for armor and weapons, tactical formations, and specialized martial arts for different types of soldiers. The language was alien, a script of symbols and glyphs he had never seen, yet he understood every word with perfect clarity.
It was a fully optimized, comprehensive army-nurturing manual.
---
*****
Meanwhile, outside the Ark, more than six hours had passed. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.
The settlers were hard at work, their spirits high. Using the sharp tools Ray had crafted, they cut timber, building the foundations of new homes. Some, inspired by their king, had even begun constructing dwellings nestled within the great trees themselves. A sense of tangible hope filled the air.
Falker stood beside the ever-silent Mimir, leaning heavily on his cane.
"What do you think?" Falker asked, gesturing at the bustling activity. "Isn't he the one we always wanted?"
Mimir didn't answer. He only offered a small, knowing smile.
Their moment of peace was shattered by the sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps crashing through the undergrowth.
The people gathered quickly, their faces brightening, expecting the return of their king.
But the man who emerged from the tree line was not Ray.
He was tall, brutishly muscular, and his eyes radiated a pure, undiluted killing intent. A giant greatsword was resting casually on his shoulder, its edge nicked and stained.
"Are you the ones who massacred the enforcement officers?!" he bellowed, his voice like grinding stones.
The forest fell silent. Their protector, their king, was not there.
"Today, you will all die by my hands."
Without another word, he swung his massive blade, a visible aura of white coating the steel as it swept toward the defenseless crowd—
CLANG!
The blow was blocked, not by metal, but by bare hands.
Eldric stood before the brute, his body enveloped in a shimmering white aura. To everyone's shock, his raw power matched the enemy's, the two forces clashing with a sound like ringing bell.
The enemy's face split into a predatory grin.
"Seems like one of you is pretty good."
He slashed downward, the force of the blow splitting the earth at Eldric's feet. Eldric barely managed to dodge.
"Stay back! Everyone!" Eldric shouted, his voice strained.
But his inexperience was a glaring weakness. He could channel the aura granted by his harmonization and his aura was better, but he knew no martial arts, no combat forms. His movements were desperate and unrefined, while the enemy's swings were precise, economical, and aimed at vital points.
Eldric defended with everything he had, twisting and rolling to avoid lethal hits, but he couldn't evade them all.
Soon, blood was dripping from numerous cuts on his body. He had lost too much blood in the initial assault; his vision began to blur and tunnel.
Yet, he refused to fall. He had a singular goal—to protect the people behind him.
Seeing an opening, the enemy lunged, his blade aimed straight for Eldric's neck. Eldric crossed his arms, meeting the strike with a surge of white aura. The impact was devastating, sending him flying backward like a ragdoll. He crashed into a thick tree trunk with a sickening crunch and collapsed to the ground, his body a bloody mess. But his eyes, when they found the enemy, still burned with a fierce, unyielding light.
The enemy approached slowly, the tip of his greatsword coming to rest against Eldric's exposed throat.
The crowd stirred, a collective desire to help surging through them… but fear held their feet rooted to the spot.
The enemy sneered, drinking in their terror.
"What's this? Who wants to save your king? Him?"
A child, trembling from head to toe, took a shaky step forward. "Get away… you dog."
Then Dan and Henry stepped up. Falker and Mimir, despite his leg, moved forward with them. Their courage was a spark. Others followed, their fear turning to fury as they shouted:
"Get away from him, you bastard!"
"How loyal," the enemy scoffed, utterly unimpressed.
From the ground, Eldric coughed, spraying blood, and smiled a weak, defiant smile.
"I was never the king."
The man's eyes widened in surprise. His gaze snapped to the crowd, scanning their faces, searching for their king.
He raised his sword high for the final blow. "If any of you move, I'll kill him!"
The people froze, trapped in a nightmare of helplessness.
"How will your king kill me now?!" he mocked the sky, his laughter coarse and cruel.
But then—
A voice like divine thunder roared from above, shaking the very leaves on the trees:
"You're a good subject."
All eyes snapped upward. A woman descended slowly from the canopy, as if walking down an invisible staircase. Her hair and eyes were a stunning, pure white. She was clad in light that radiated from her form like a divine halo, looking like a golden angel who had stepped directly out of heaven.
Her voice was sharp, majestic, and carried the weight of absolute authority:
"If your blade kills his subjects—you will see his wrath."
A pressure erupted from her, hitting the enemy like a physical storm. His body froze mid-movement, turning stiff and immobile. He was encased in a thick layer of ice.
Only his eyes, wide with terror, could move.
She looked down at the bleeding Eldric, and her majestic expression softened into a gentle smile.
Eldric, with his last shred of strength, managed to ask, "How… do you know our king?"
She answered in a tone as gentle as a summer breeze, a stark contrast to her earlier fury,
"I'm his queen."
Then, her body dissolved into motes of golden light, drifting apart on the wind like divine dust until nothing remained.
The forest was utterly, profoundly silent. Everyone stared at the empty space where the goddess had been, their minds reeling with shock and confusion.
A goddess… had appeared from the heavens and claimed to be their king's queen.
---
Ray returned moments later, stepping out of the Ark's entrance to a scene of chaos and terror. He saw Eldric bleeding out on the ground, a hulking stranger frozen like a statue mid-swing, and his people whispering and pointing at the sky in disbelief.
"Falker, what happened?" he asked, his voice cutting through the murmurs.
The people glanced between Ray and the sky, their murmurs growing more intense.
Ray's voice turned sharp with command. "Falker?!"
"T-the q-queen came…" Falker stammered, his face pale with awe.
Ray paused, his mind struggling to catch up. "Help Eldric," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. The healers, shaken from their stupor, rushed to Eldric's side.
Ray stepped closer to Falker, his voice low and intense. "What do you mean the queen came?"
Falker could only point a trembling finger at the frozen enemy. "A goddess… a goddess came here. She saved us. And when we asked who she was… she said she was our queen."
Ray was left with no words, the cryptic message from the Chronicle of the Forsaken echoing in his mind.
'You are not ready… yet'
How long… he wondered, a profound loneliness settling in his chest. How long until I understand who I truly am?
---
Far away from Earth, in a distant, opulent realm of shimmering spires and floating islands, the goddess who had called herself Queen watched a projection floating in her private chambers. It showed Ray standing beneath the fading twilight sky, his face a mask of silent, determined confusion.
A faint, possessive smile touched her perfect lips.
"Soon, my King," she whispered to the image. "Soon, you will remember me."
End of chapter 12