One Week Later...
"How are the preparations going? I don't want anything overlooked. Where's Mietler? He should've been here by now," said a man seated on the throne of Maldvindar, Normander Huntra.
"Everything's ready. But more importantly, are you really sure about the name of our territory? Maldvindar? I feel like Mietler just picked it at random. And look at this flag, he must've been joking, Nor," replied Tormand with a sigh, holding up a flag depicting Normand's face, cigarette in mouth.
"And where is he now? Probably ran off too. If he hasn't, I swear I'll give him a piece of my mind. That man is such a headache," Tormand continued.
"Eh, I don't really care about the flag, you can toss it if you want. But Maldvindar... I think it has a nice ring to it. What do you think? The Free Empire of Maldvindar? Or The Kingdom of Maldvindar?" Normand asked, clearly torn.
"Your taste is awful. How about The Dark Realm of Maldvindar, or—" Tormand's words were cut short by another voice.
"Whoa whoa, now that's a brilliant idea. I like it too, The Dark Realm of Maldvindar," Mietler interrupted with a smirk.
From a distance, Mietler walked steadily toward Normand and Tormand.
The three of them then dove into a long, drawn out discussion that would determine the fate of this world.
After much deliberation and the occasional quarrel, the trio finally emerged from the chamber. Awaiting them were their loyal subordinates commanders of four thousand troops, all ready to charge into the heart of battle.
Eight commanders, each from a different race, stood firm in allegiance. They were prepared to follow Normand to the end.
Voludra
A name known across the Maldvindar land. A warrior of the Komodonite, famed for ending Yorishon's unbeaten streak in the Light Arena. A master of close combat, his prowess was personally acknowledged by Normand.
Yorishon
The strongest human to ever step into the Light Arena, once brought to the brink of death by Voludra. Now, he pledges his life to Normand, feeling an unpayable debt after being saved by him. Agile and deadly with weapons like swords and spears, yet still not strong enough to surpass Voludra.
Vallberg
Born of the weakest race, yet wielding unnatural power. A being who defied the world's laws on racial strength. Among the ants, he was the strongest. Vallberg the Chimera, a figure who might one day surpass even Normand himself.
Catryne
A Leonysian, born warrior with no room for mercy. Hardened by a life of hardship on the streets, she learned that true strength is not given, it is seized. Once the holder of an unbroken win streak in the arena, her reign ended only at the hands of Yorishon. Yet she rose again, fiercer than before, pushing herself beyond her limits. That is why she chose to follow Normand, to grow even stronger.
Darchen
An exiled elf, cast out from his forest kin for defying the edicts of his elders, all for the sake of love. A master of healing magic, yet no stranger to the blade or bow, he marches alongside Normand with one purpose, to carve out a life of freedom in the land of Maldvindar.
Etrohs
Of the proud and ancient Dwarff clans, famed for their unmatched craftsmanship in weapons of war. Among them, Etrohs stands apart, not for the thousands of weapons he forged for Normand's army, but for his rare gift, he speaks little, but his creations roar on the battlefield louder than any war cry.
Bant
A Minotaur who wandered far from the mountains, only to become a slave in the cruel lands of human. For decades, he endured. Until one day, he shattered his chains in blood and silence, slaying his master. His path to freedom led him to the Light Arena, and to Normand.
Igor
A swordsman of Sworrian descent, branded a traitor and exiled by lies. His blade seeks vengeance, not against a nation, but the comrade who betrayed him. Revered not only for his technique, but also for his legacy, he is the one who once trained Yorishon, the Champion of the Light Arena.
"Normander! Normander! Normander!"
The chant thundered like a battle drum, echoed by thousands of warriors whose voices rose into the night sky, each one awaiting the arrival of their leader.
And then he emerged.
A big figure strode through the ranks, every step a testament to strength and purpose. Clad in the battle, marked armor of a great victories, he walked with the calm fury of a storm held barely in check. The warriors parted for him like waves before a ship's bow, their eyes locked on the man who had united them. He ascended the central altar a black stone dais surrounded by warriors forged in fire and blood.
This was Normander Huntra, Guardian of the Dark Realm of Maldvindar. Leader. Liberator. The iron will behind a rebellion born of exile and pain. The man who had gathered outcasts, exiles, beasts, and broken men under one banner, Vengeance.
As he reached the summit of the altar, silence fell like a sudden snow. The chant died. Normander raised a single hand, and the world obeyed.
His voice, when it came, was thunder, raw and resolute.
"Hear me!
We were cast out!
Hated!
Feared!
Betrayed!
Lied to!
Forgotten!
And for what?
Because we yearned for freedom!
Because we dared to dream of a life not bound by chains!"
He stepped forward, fire in his eyes.
"Who among you does not crave freedom?!
Who among you would not trade chains for wings?!
I see none, because all of us are here for the same reason..
We want to be free!"
His fist clenched above his heart.
"And I swear this, I will make that freedom real. I will tear down every wall, break every throne, and unshackle every soul like ours. But I cannot do it alone. I need your strength.
Stand with me!
Fight beside me!
Crush all who stand in our way!
Maldvindar! To me! Let us claim our freedom!"
A roar erupted, deafening, primal, unstoppable. It surged like a tidal wave across the land, echoing through the mountains and valleys of Maldvindar, as the army rose with one heart, one will, and one name on their lips..
Normander.
Elsewhere, in Falhashayr.
"Master, please, you have to believe me. He's already assembling an army to strike us. The envoy he sent claimed that Asmen is still alive, and he's their prisoner now. I wouldn't dare lie to you, let alone betray you," pleaded a man, bowing low at his master's feet.
"Calm down, Mora. Who do you think I am? More importantly, why didn't you bring the gold? Didn't I tell you I need it for my troops? That's enough. Go now and do your job. Don't come back to me without the gold or—"
"That's enough, Ronn. The man's clearly terrified. And before you toss him into your stew, just let him go. Did you hear that, Mora?"
The interruption came from a man wearing a black mask. His voice was calm, almost amused.
"Y-yes, Master. I'll prepare it now," Mora stammered, then hurried off, leaving the two behind.
"So, what's your plan? Are we supposed to wait for Mattsh? Damn fool's always late. What is he even doing? Zodd! Get over here!"
Ronn turned to his mysterious companion, his patience wearing thin as he finally barked out an order.
"Yes, my lord. Do you have orders for me?" Zodd answered promptly.
"Find Mattsh. Don't let him think he can do whatever he wants. If necessary, take troops and bring him in by force. Now go!" Ronn snapped, irritation clear on his face.
"Understood, my lord. I'll be on my way," Zodd replied with a respectful bow before disappearing.
The masked man chuckled softly, his tone playful yet laced with meaning.
"Now then, who is this Normander Huntra? Claims to be the ruler of the Dark Realm—whatever that means. It's hilarious, really. A petty criminal talking about 'darkness' like he commands it. Hahaha!"
Meanwhile, somewhere else, Mattsh.
He walked through a grimy, foul smelling alley teeming with beggars and slaves. The narrow path twisted through the filth, the air thick with rot and desperation.
"Ahhh, this place... it really is something. I hate it, but I love it too. Because here I can—"
His words were cut off by the soft, alluring voice of a woman behind him.
"—meet me? Did you miss me that much, darling? Why don't we go inside? I can't wait to enjoy our... special moment."
Clap...
Clap...
Clap...
Clap...
The sound of bodies colliding, sweat dripping, ragged breaths filling the air, exhaustion bearing down on them. These were the moments one must endure to reach the peak, the very summit Normand had always strived for.
Even with the power he already possessed, he trained relentlessly to grow stronger. Day after day, with Voludra by his side, they pushed themselves beyond their limits. Punches and kicks, accidental blows and bruises, it all left painful marks, but neither of them cared. It was the price of power, and they accepted it.
"Brace yourself for the next strike, aiming for your gut!"
Clap!!
The punch hit Normand square in the face, not the gut. His eyes widened in disbelief, Voludra had tricked him. Irritated, Normand clenched his fists.
"My turn! Right in the face, take this!"
But Voludra caught the punch with ease. He knew Normand too well, he wouldn't actually aim for the face. His real target was the gut.
"Damn! You're unbelievably sneaky!" Normand grumbled, brushing the sweat from his brow.
"Alright, that's enough for today." He turned and walked out of the training room.
Voludra said nothing, just smiled in quiet satisfaction.
"You truly are full of tricks. I wouldn't even dare challenge you," Mietler said from a distance as he approached Voludra.
"Heh, that was just a little mischief on my part. But if we're talking about cunning, you're the slyest man in all of Maldvindar. Don't twist the facts, that's exactly why no Commander dares to get too close to you," Voludra replied with a mocking grin.
"Hahaha, and yet you dared to, didn't you? Come on now, we're the same kind of people. Let's not dwell on that, there's something more important we need to discuss," Mietler said, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.
"Whatever you say. But sorry, I'm busy right now," Voludra said curtly, walking away and leaving Mietler standing alone.
Mietler's face twisted into a look of irritation.
Elsewhere, Tormand was directing his troops to board the ships he had prepared. At the same time, Etrohs was commanding the blacksmiths to hurry and complete the ultimate weapon he had designed.
Meanwhile, Normand was still immersed in training. He had come to realize that hand-to-hand combat alone wasn't enough. This time, he sought out Igor, to train in swordsmanship alongside Yorishon.
Normand was determined to refine his combat skills, not for glory, but so he wouldn't become a burden to his comrades.
A few hours later…
Everything was ready, food and water supplies, weapons and armor, all meticulously prepared. Two hundred ships carrying four thousand soldiers stood ready to set sail for Falhashayr. A nightmare, carved by Normand's resolve, was about to descend upon his enemies. All of it, for the sake of freeing his people from slavery.
Even if his opponent was the Demon King himself, Normand showed not the slightest hint of fear. His resolve had been forged, unwavering and absolute. With the full support of his army, he would not retreat.
Meanwhile, in Falhashayr, preparations were also complete.
Ronn, Mattsh, and the masked man stood at the ready with ten thousand soldiers, waiting for the enemy's advance. Every breath, every motion, they were poised for the storm to come.
In another part of Falhashayr, at the noble house known as Mol, the city's nobles had gathered for protection. It was said to be the safest place in all of Falhashayr, guarded by two thousand elite Fisharyan warriors.
The house itself was built from a rare material nearly impossible to destroy, Fisharinium.
Fisharinium, one of the rarest and strongest materials in existence, found only in Falhashayr. Legend claims it was once the egg of a god, the ancestor of the Fisharyan.
That divine origin is what made it so resilient. It was said that not even third-tier magic could break it.
And it was with this material that the weapon armies of Falhashayr were armed.
"FALHASHAYR, our homeland."
"A land where Humans and Fisharyans once lived side by side. Long ago, this land belonged solely to the Fisharyans. It was a beautiful place, filled only with joy and harmony.
Then, one day, a human appeared, lost, but bearing knowledge. With that knowledge, he helped our land flourish. What we didn't realize... was that he was slowly taking it from us.
As Falhashayr grew, so did his influence. Day by day, he brought more of his people. They claimed lands of their own. Eventually, Falhashayr was divided into three parts. Our home, the Fisharyan territory known as Evals... the Human capital of Falhashayr... and the third, nothing but slums.
Over time, even the Fisharyan nobles turned against us. They joined hands with the humans, made everything worse, enslaving the poor, discarding them when they were no longer useful.
That once beautiful land has become a living hell for poor Fisharyans like us.
But now, we will take back what's rightfully ours. We will make them pay for everything they've done!
With all of you by my side, we will conquer Falhashayr and cast out those filthy tyrants once and for all!!"
Normand's rousing speech lit a fire in the hearts of his troops..
"Normander! Normander! Normander! Normander!"
Their battle cries echoed into the skies, their spirit had reached its peak.
Another side in the world..
"Normander?! What do you mean? We have no reason to get involved with them. Let them tear each other apart."
A king from a neutral territory spoke with calm authority.
"What do you think, Mayr? You may only be five years old, but your brilliance surpasses that of most grown men."
"But Your Majesty, according to our informant, there is—"
"Enough!! I'm not foolish enough to believe the ramblings of your people you called informant. You'd best start looking for a replacement. Leave us. I wish to speak with Mayr alone."
The king's voice cut sharp, leaving no room for protest.
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
The servant withdrew, a look of disappointment shadowing his face.
"Are you really going to ignore it? I don't think he was lying."
The soft voice of a five year old child pierced the silence.
"I knew that would get to you," the king replied, then let out a sigh. "Listen, Mayr. When you grow up, don't be so quick to trust anyone, not even those closest to you."
The child simply nodded. The king smiled at the response, but hidden behind that smile was a weight he could not share.
A burden that might one day decide the fate of his kingdom.
Every choice… Every decision…
Can change the course of the future.
Will the king join the war?
The war drums thundered across the sea.
Hundreds of ships carrying thousands of soldiers surged forward, bound for the battlefield.
"Alright, listen closely, here's the strategy we'll use," Tormand began, his voice calm but commanding.
"First, Units A and B will surround the coastal zone. Bant, you'll lead these 400 troops."
"Understood. Orders acknowledged," Bant replied crisply.
Tormand continued,
"Next, Yorishon and Catryne, you'll take command of the special forces unit, one thousand strong. Your mission won't be easy. You must carve a path to the capital so Voludra's forces can advance without resistance. Are you prepared for that responsibility?"
"I don't like him… but I'll do it," Catryne answered, casting a sharp glance at Yorishon.
"What's that supposed to mean? As long as she doesn't slow me down, everything will be fine,"
Yorishon muttered, returning her glance with one of his own.
"Haaah?! What did you just say? Are you trying to—"
"That's enough!"
Tormand snapped, cutting off the brewing argument.
"You two must work together. Understood?"
He moved on without waiting for a reply.
"Voludra will take command of the 800 core troops, joined by 100 elite mercenaries and 100 adventurers. Once the path to the capital is clear, they will charge in and initiate the final assault."
"Now, onto the rest of the plan, this, that, and everything else you need to know…"
Tormand laid out every detail, every step, every role. The battle for Falhashayr had officially begun.
A few hours later…
Normand's forces had arrived at a place once known as the Market of Light. Some of the troops disembarked to retrieve supplies that had been stored there in advance.
Normand stepped off the ship as well, but he headed elsewhere, down a dark street, through a moss covered door, and into a place that stirred memories deep within him.
"The Light Arena... everything started here," he murmured.
"You climbed to the top because of your battles here. I still remember the day you stepped in and stopped Voludra… You looked like a hero. That was the moment I realized, you were a good person all along."
A voice echoed from the shadow. Someone approached Normand, speaking from a distance.
"So, why did you decide to get involved in this war?" Normand asked without turning.
"You gain nothing from it. Wouldn't it be easier to ally with them? But with us? What's in it for you?"
The man paused before answering.
"I have greater ambitions. And to reach them, I need powerful allies."
He stepped closer, his tone steady and firm.
"As you said, their forces may be stronger than yours. But they are cunning. One misstep, and I'll just become another stepping stone for them to climb higher."
He stopped and extended a hand toward Normand.