The capital no longer rang only with mourning bells. The clang of hammers echoed through its streets, the bark of drill sergeants thundered in the yards, and carts laden with stone rumbled toward the valley roads. The kingdom was moving forward.
Saturo stood at the training fields, sword in hand, facing Garron. The old knight moved with deliberate patience, each strike heavy as stone. Saturo parried, aura flaring in brief bursts of white light.
"Too much strength in the wrist," Garron grumbled, locking blades with him. "Control the core. Flow, don't force. If you waste energy on every swing, no barrier or technique will save you."
Sweat dripped down Saturo's brow. He steadied his breathing and invoked the First Phase-Tranquil Sight. The world sharpened around him, Garron's movements slowing in his eyes. This time, he parried cleanly, sliding aside instead of meeting the strike head-on.
A grunt of approval came from Garron. "Better. But battle is not patience alone. When the moment comes, strike like thunder. Calm and fury must move together."
---
After training, Saturo rode out to the valley where the first fortress would rise. Dozens of workers, masons, and soldiers bustled under the guidance of the guildmasters. Stones were hauled into place, timbers raised, trenches dug, and scaffolds creaked under the weight of progress.
Liora approached, robes smudged with dirt. "It took months, but now the bastion stands complete. Caravans and villagers alike will have a refuge."
Saturo knelt, pressing his hand to the foundation stones. His aura shimmered faintly, spilling like white mist across the stone.
"Then let this ground remember our vow-to shield those who cannot shield themselves."
The workers paused, bowing their heads. The blessing of the king carried weight beyond mere words. Now the fortress walls stood solid, watchtowers piercing the sky, gates reinforced, and battlements bristling with defenses.
---
Back in the capital, the army drilled harder than ever. Wooden swords clashed, spear formations advanced, and aura practice became a daily ritual.
Saturo did not watch from afar. He joined the drills, sparring alongside recruits, enduring the same punishments, the same exhaustion. At night, bruised and aching, he trained again with Garron, Liora, and even the guildmasters who taught him governance, strategy, and trade.
"Why do you tire yourself so?" one noble asked during a session.
Saturo's reply was simple: "If I cannot share their struggles, I cannot ask them to share mine."
---
At the city gates, five groups of envoys prepared to depart-each carrying banners and sealed letters marked with Saturo's crest. One to the mountain clans, one to the river lords, one to the southern trade roads, and two to kingdoms yet unnamed.
The people gathered, watching silently as the gates opened. Saturo stepped forward, cloak swaying in the morning wind.
"Today," he said, his voice carrying across the square, "we extend our hands-not in weakness, but in strength. Some will answer with friendship, others with scorn. But they will know of us, and they will know that the White Kingdom rises."
The envoys bowed deeply. One by one, they rode out, banners snapping in the wind.
Months later, they returned bearing pledges from three new settlements, small villages that had recognized the strength and fairness of Saturo's leadership. With their allegiance, the White Kingdom grew not just in land but in spirit.
---
Three years had passed since Saturo arrived in this world. His life, once filled with the simple worries of shop work and college meetups, had transformed into a rhythm of training, governance, and vision for the future.
Every morning, he trained with his swordmasters, honing his aura and refining his family technique. The three phases of his White Dawn Sword Art-the calm analysis of Tranquil Sight, the precise strikes of Radiant Edge, and the defensive Veil of Lumina-now flowed seamlessly in practice. His teachers marveled at how fast he absorbed their lessons, though Saturo knew it was relentless effort, not talent alone.
Afternoons were for governance. Saturo sat in the council hall, surrounded by his ministers and advisors. Roads now connected all settlements, the fortresses and walls were fully completed, and farms produced surpluses that gave the people hope for stability. Trade between settlements thrived, bringing wealth and a sense of shared identity.
His scholars codified laws and judgments, his captains drilled the army with discipline, and artisans were encouraged to flourish. Slowly, Saturo's settlement was no longer just a cluster of people seeking safety-it had become a true nation.
Evenings were spent in study-politics, history, and philosophy with his tutors. The once ordinary young man now carried himself with quiet authority; his amber eyes no longer merely observant, but commanding.
One evening, after a long day of training and council meetings, Saturo sat in his chamber reviewing reports. His mind wandered to other rulers scattered across the world. Were they succeeding as well? Or had they fallen into chaos?
As if answering his thoughts, the King's System stirred:
> [Notification to all Rulers]
All settlements now have a sovereign. The Era of Founding is complete.
The Age of Kings has begun.
The words rang not just in Saturo's mind, but across every ruler in the world. For a brief moment, he felt the weight of countless rivals pressing down upon him. The world was no longer a scattered land of unruled settlements-it was a land of kings, each with their own ambitions.
Saturo clenched his fist, whispering:
"Then it begins... the true test of rulership."
---
That evening, Saturo stood on the fully completed walls of the first fortress, overlooking the valley bathed in moonlight. Watchtowers pierced the sky, gates gleamed in torchlight, and battlements were manned with trained soldiers. His sword rested at his side, aura faintly shimmering around him.
Progress stirred in every corner-stone rising, soldiers growing stronger, envoys extending their reach, and three new settlements joining the kingdom. Yet Saturo felt the weight of silence pressing heavily. Leadership was not only command; it was burden, sacrifice, and the knowledge that the road forward would never be free of blood.
Still, he whispered to himself, eyes set on the horizon:
"Step by step, stone by stone, blade by blade-we will endure. And one day, this kingdom will not only survive, but thrive."
The wind carried his words across the valley, like a vow etched into the night.