The Anarchy Empire stood at the dawn of conquest.
At the front of the vast army, Emperor Isla De Vermaunt raised his gaze toward the horizon. Behind him stood a force unlike any in history—200,000 elite soldiers, divided into five legions, each commanded by one of the Empire's greatest war leaders.
This was not a campaign of territory. It was not a war born of vengeance or pride.
It was a war of unification—the beginning of an era where the fractured world would finally kneel under a single, rightful banner.
The world has a ruler, Isla pondered..
And that ruler is me.
Behind Isla stood five war commanders, each a legend in their own right:
Lucas of Kustoria, the Flame Emperor, wreathed in silent fire.
Revalin von Morg, the Snow Knight, blade as cold as judgment.
Herald, Chancellor of the Association, once known as Military Academy
Duke Helbrecht, the Iron Duke of the Empire, unshaken as stone.
Arman, the indomitable Knight Captain, whose loyalty was second only to his sword.
These were not just generals—they were the pillars of the Empire's will.
And ahead of them waited the world.
Isla stood tall before the grand army, his cape fluttering in the wind as the sun crowned his silhouette. His voice, like a blade wrapped in fire, cut through the cold morning air and warmed the hearts of men.
It was a speech forged to ignite the soul—to make peasants dream of nobility, to make the hopeless believe they could shape fate.
"My loyal soldiers," Isla began, his voice commanding yet reverent,
"Today, we stand in honor of the generations before us.
The ones who bled in wars not their own.
The ones who knew hunger more than warmth.
The ones who never saw their parents live past battlefields.
That era of suffering ends with us."
He paused—eyes sharp like a hawk surveying destiny itself.
Then his voice rose, thunderous and divine.
"But let the past rest, for we—we—are the strongest empire,
with the strongest knights, born of the strongest generation.
We will repay their pain.
With our power, we will remake the world.
No more kings. No more borders. No more curse of fate.
One world. One throne. One ruler.
From the ashes, we will rise—above dragons, above gods.
For we are the conquerors of destiny!"
The roar that followed was deafening.
An ocean of steel surged with belief—200,000 voices screaming as one.
And yet, behind that storm, Lucas stood still.
Wrapped in a cloak of black and crimson, he said nothing.
His sword—Dojiri—rested at his side, humming like a dragon in slumber.
To him, the banners looked less like symbols of glory,
and more like funeral veils waiting for names.
Unification of the world...
That was Isla's dream. The thing that tore him apart from their father.
Their father had dreamed of peace—not conquest.
Of equality, not supremacy.
He believed that every man, noble or peasant, demon or not, deserved to stand beneath the same sky without chains.
Lucas neither agree nor disagreed.
He couldn't afford to believe in dreams anymore.
To him, the world was a quiet maze of shifting masks.
Friends turned foes. Light twisted into shadow.
Justice came laced with blood.
He didn't trust dreams.
He trusted his blade.
"In the end, the only thing that's never lied to me..."
"...is steel."
Finished with the grand speech, the Emperor descended from the stage, his five war commanders trailing behind him like shadows of fate. The roars of 200,000 soldiers still echoed across the fields, but within the walls of the Grand Strategy Chamber, silence reigned.
This was the true heart of war—not the battlefield, but the mind behind it.
One by one, the war commanders took their place around the circular table marked with continents, kingdoms, and crimson flags. Before the sun would rise again, each of them would carry a sacred task—missions bound by duty, even if it demanded their death.
These five great divisions of the Empire would soon part ways.
But their purpose was the same: Unification of the world.
At the far end of the chamber, Isla stood with his hands behind his back, cloak trailing like dusk. He did not sit. He never did.Standing beside him was his most trusted aid,Val,The Royal Knight Commander.
He turned his gaze slightly, as Lucas stepped forward.
A rare flicker of familiarity passed between them—too brief for anyone else to see.
Isla's voice was quiet, but it cut clean.
"Your division and me. We're heading back... to the place where we left unfinished business."
Lucas met his brother's eyes with a calm, knowing look.
"Valte."
A single word. Heavy with memory.
That battlefield where blood once soaked the frozen earth.
Where betrayal, death, and truth collided under a dying sky.
And where their story had begun to turn.
Isla gave a slight nod, as if sealing fate itself.
"We end it properly this time."