A full moon glowed gently in the night sky, casting a pale light over the world. Under it stood a tall man cloaked in shadows, his eyes fixed on the moon's silver face. Below him knelt another man, trembling with uncertainty.
"My lord... why does this always happen?" the kneeling man asked. "When people need someone the most, why do they just disappear—like they never existed in the first place?"
The man standing above him didn't turn, still staring at the moon. His voice was calm, but carried the weight of centuries. "They never disappear. They remain alive—in the hearts of those who remember."
The kneeling man nodded slowly. "I understand, my lord. But... who will handle the lit?"
The cloaked figure finally turned his head, revealing a faint glimmer in his eyes. "When the light appears, the lit will shine on its own. My lit is waiting—for the moment when the moon holds him."
Back in the arena of the grand tournament, chaos reigned. High rankers clashed in brutal combat, flames and magic soaring through the air. Some had already fallen, and others were desperately trying to reach the heart of the dungeon.
Elsewhere in the ruins of the battlefield, a group of five men approached a lone figure cloaked in black. They laughed as one grabbed the stranger's arm, only to recoil in shock. "It's a girl…" he whispered, wide-eyed.
Their laughter grew louder. "Today's our lucky day! First, we get the sword. And second—we get to enjoy some fun with this little girl."
They surrounded her, blocking all escape paths. One reached forward, his hand brushing her face—only to stop. His fingers froze.
She wore a mask.
She removed it.
In a single instant, his expression twisted into fear. The heat in the air surged. His body ignited—and in moments, turned to ash.
"Y-you bitch!" one of the men screamed. "You know who we are?! We're Mytheic Rankers!"
The remaining four saw her face clearly now. None recognized her—except the one who had just died.
Her voice was low, laced with deadly calm. "Before my mood changes... disappear from my sight."
Two lunged at her. But she moved faster than sight—cleanly slicing their heads off, then swapping their bodies with each other's heads.
The last man stumbled back, screaming, "You… you monster! Who the hell are you!?"
She turned her head slowly, staring at him. "Just a moody girl."
As she walked past him, she added casually, "Go home and drink milk from your wife's breast."
He almost laughed—relieved he was spared. But the illusion broke when he saw his own body running without a head. His severed head was in her left hand. She carried it like a trophy and calmly walked deeper into the dungeon.
Far away, in a corner of the dungeon soaked in blood, sat Kaven—the God-tier ranker. He grinned to himself, surrounded by corpses.
"So smelly," he muttered. "And here I thought I'd have fun."
He chuckled, gazing into the void. "He's here… though I don't know his name. He's not human. That's for sure."
The camera of the world shifted again—to Ryn.
He walked toward the chamber where the sword awaited. But the dungeon twisted around him, almost guiding him like it had a will of its own.
As Ryn approached the pedestal, visions and whispers surrounded him.
"Only a soul of fire and sorrow… only he who bleeds for others… may hold the Sword of Light."
The sword floated gently. The whispers questioned him:
"Will you bear the burden? Will you destroy or protect? Are you the one we waited for?"
Ryn walked forward with trembling steps, facing illusions of his past, his pain, his loneliness. He conquered them all.
He reached out. The sword responded with light.
Elsewhere, an unknown figure—was walking alone when Kaven finally caught her scent. He appeared behind her, only to find… no one.
When he turned back, she was sitting in the same spot where he had just been.
Removing her mask slowly, she gave him a sideways glance.
Kaven's eyes widened—and then he grinned with excitement.
"Look who's here! The moody monster herself—Manda."
Manda smirked. "My fanboy. How touching."
He pointed at her. "We're both monsters, Manda. But not today. Today, my prey is elsewhere."
She stood. "A small fish thinking it can kill a big snake. Cute. I'm not here for your little game. I'm here for the sword. Don't get in my way, you stinking fish."
He licked his lips. "When I kill you, I'll do it slow… one piece at a time."
But before their tension could explode—
The dungeon shook.
The walls shattered.
The entire world went still.
Everyone looked up.
A man stood in the center of the chamber.
In his right hand, he held the Sword of Light.
The arena, the dungeon, the battlefield—all paused.
Broadcasted across the world of Vyranthia, people everywhere watched in silence.
Ryn stood alone. Time itself froze.
Manda and Kaven stared, wide-eyed.
Kaven grinned. "Lucky me. Both my prey in one place."
He shot forward—toward Ryn.
Ryn seemed still, frozen. But as Kaven closed the distance—
Ryn's left leg shifted.
His right hand flashed.
In one stroke—Kaven's head flew.
Blood splashed across the floor.
Ryn blinked.
He looked down.
A man's head lay beside his leg. His sword was drenched in blood.
The crowd gasped.
The world of Vyranthia stood in awe.
High-rankers around the world fell silent.
And far beyond the sky, in a realm of light—
A throne began to glow.
A king's seat awaited.
And somewhere, in the shadows of destiny, a mysterious figure smiled.
The Chosen One had arrived.