The once prosperous lands, where fertile farmlands bore abundant harvests and lively towns echoed with noise, have now all turned into mere fleeting illusions of the past.
Standing atop the castle tower, the Gale howled around the frail frame of the Old Earl of Mamor. His gaze, heavy and forlorn, stretched far into the distance, staring directly into the darkness that was devouring his last remaining territory, dragging everything into the nightmare of Hell.
He had never imagined this would be how he would encounter His Majesty Aviout's "army."
The war with the Land people had already cost him half of his domain, which had fallen into the hands of the Northern people. He had retreated to the southeast, believing the hardest times would eventually pass.
Yet true calamity arrived one after another; the unstoppable seas of undead corpses swept in relentlessly.
