1 Prologue

The hero stood still on the battlefield, surveying the scene of destruction around him. The heavy silence was only interrupted by distant murmurs from soldiers on the wall. His gaze fixed on the torn bodies of the beasts was a portrait of the brutality of the combat he had led.

In his mind, a storm of thoughts unleashed. Images of the creatures he had faced echoed in his thoughts, each inflicted wound, each life taken haunting his mind. "What have I done?" whispered an internal voice as battle memories intertwined with his own understanding of what it meant to be a hero.

At times, he would kneel, plunging his hands into the remnants of blood from the fallen beasts, as if trying to feel the reality of the violence he had just unleashed. Each scarlet drop seemed to accuse him, each exposed wound of the beasts seemed to scream their agony, while the hero's consciousness sank into an abyss of self-questioning.

Perplexed, soldiers watched from above. The man who had once fearlessly confronted the enemy now seemed like a specter of his former bravery. "Was I capable of doing this?" echoed a bitter doubt in his mind.

It was at this moment that Princess Isobel, sensing the crisis enveloping the hero, made a decision. Leaping from the wall with a grace defying gravity, she used mana magic to soften her descent. The air, as if obeying her will, cushioned her fall, guiding her to the ground gracefully as she approached the hero in his moment of vulnerability.

As she neared him, she pulled the sacred sword from one of the beasts, the blade gleaming with a light that contrasted the somber surroundings. Her determined steps led her to the hero, and she offered the sword as a beacon in the darkness that enveloped him. "This sword is a symbol of our noble purpose. Don't let the darkness overshadow its light," she whispered, seeking to bring clarity to the hero's tumultuous heart.

The hero, immersed in a blend of shock and clarity, held his gaze on the blade of the sword. Every drop of blood staining his skin seemed a visceral reminder of the turmoil he had unleashed moments ago. Alongside Princess Isobel, whose presence carried an aura of restorative magic, he began to walk among the torn bodies of the beasts.

The sight was haunting, a battlefield tinged in somber hues. The frozen expressions of the creatures, now silent and inert, mirrored the brutality of the conflict. The hero raised the sword as if seeking to comprehend his own role in this scene of destruction.

Approaching the wall, the soldiers, previously witnesses to his relentless fury, now witnessed a more serene yet still imposing figure. The raised sword became the icon of a new phase, and the cheers of the troops echoed through the field, celebrating the victory and reaffirming his title as a hero.

The hero found himself in one of the castle rooms reserved for the defenders of the frontier. Alone, the space was illuminated by the dance of flames from the fireplace and torches, along with the silvery moonlight penetrating the large window. However, even with the light, the room seemed immersed in denser shadows, reflecting the turmoil in his mind.

While outside, the princess led efforts to repair the wall, the hero, sitting on his bed, confronted his own demons. His gaze was intensely fixed on the sacred sword resting on the table, bathed in the moonlight. The sword seemed to be both a source of power and a cruel reminder of his recent actions.

In the midst of solitude, the hero's mind succumbed to the crisis once again. He realized something crucial: the sacred sword lifted the weight of war from him, easing his conscience as long as it remained in his hands. Rising with determination, he approached the sword, placing his hand on the blade. Tears began to flow slowly from his eyes, reflecting the pain and truth he could no longer deny.

The hero, touching the sword in search of relief, not only acknowledged his immediate weakness but delved into a deeper epiphany. He realized that, perhaps, he would never attain the strength needed to bear the burden of the war he had accepted.

In this moment of brutal truth under the silvery moonlight, he decided that the sacred sword would be more than a mere weapon. It would be his source of strength, the blade that cuts through the darkness, and simultaneously, the foundation that keeps him steadfast in the face of the impending war. From that day on, he accepted that his strength and resilience would be intertwined with the divine blade, a symbiosis between the hero and his sword, as he faced the challenges that destiny had reserved for him.

The next morning, the sun rose, bathing the horizon in golden hues as the hero, accompanied by the royal guards, finally embarked on the mission assigned to him, venturing beyond the great wall towards the Great Forest. As the distance increased, Princess Isobel remained at the border, waving with an expression of apprehension and hope.

The Great Forest stretched before them like a mysterious realm. Trees rose majestically, some so tall that their canopies were lost in the shadows of the dense foliage. The vegetation emitted a diversity of scents, from delicate flowers to wild herbs, creating an olfactory symphony that contrasted with the impending war scenario.

The plants around them, some with vibrant colors and others with curious shapes, seemed to want to capture the hero's attention, but the focus of the mission prevented any contemplation. Long vines intertwined like serpents on the ground, creating a complex network that hindered the progress of the knights.

The hunt began. Hours unfolded without respite, without breaks for rest or meals. The sight of the bodies of the beasts left behind and the taste of blood that sometimes touched the hero's lips were the only tangible reminders of the journey.

The hero, notably distinct from the knights, faced the beasts with fearless ferocity. Each blow was executed with lethal precision, tearing the creatures apart with an ease that highlighted the significant power disparity. While the knights struggled to bring down a single beast, the hero faced and overcame challenges ten times more intense.

However, the initial awe at the exuberance of the forest quickly gave way to the complicated reality of combat. The tall trees and imposing vines became obstacles, hindering the hero's movement and interfering with his ability to anticipate the attacks of the beasts.

The exotic setting, though stunning, proved to be a challenge for the hero, who, even with his unusual strength, struggled to adapt to the unfamiliar terrain. Sometimes, it was a long vine that coiled around his ankles, restricting his agility; other times, it was the dense foliage that obscured his vision, leaving him vulnerable to sneak attacks.

While the knights sought to fulfill the royal order to exterminate the beasts near the border, the hero fought not only against the creatures but against the very land he trod. The tension between the stunning beauty of the forest and the brutality of the combat made each step a complex dance between the admirable and the lethal.

At the end of the long hunt, an unprecedented beast emerges. With a scorpion tail, lion's body, and falcon wings, this creature defies the limits of the known. The battle, a dangerous dance between prey and predator, stands out as the greatest challenge yet.

The chimera, endowed with a strength that transcends the previous monsters, delivers blows capable of breaking the hero's bones. However, the sacred sword, a gift amid the chaos, manifests its healing power. With each strike, immediate regeneration attests to the divine nature of the weapon, making the pain fleeting and allowing the hero to focus solely on the battle.

The bodies of the royal guards, once valiant allies, lie scattered through the forest, absorbed by the aware trees and plants. The landscape, a silent witness, holds the traces of fallen comrades, whose destinies intertwine with the living essence of the Great Forest.

At the peak of the battle, driven by determination and the power of the sacred sword, the hero dives into the chaos of the fight. The chimera's attacks are frenetic, challenging the hero's dexterity. Each onslaught is a test of endurance, a challenge to the constant regeneration provided by the sword.

Unconsciously activating the runes of the sacred sword, a wave of divine energy envelops the hero. Time seems to slow down, making room for a final attack, a fluid dance of the blade culminating in the separation of the chimera's head, along with its wings and tail.

Staggering through the macabre scenery, amidst the battle's remnants, the hero struggles to return to the border wall. Each step is a crossing of the threshold of exhaustion, his body trembling, and his mind dulled by intense pain. "The Great Forest has never seemed so endless," he thinks, the contours of the landscape becoming blurred by fatigue.

The pain, intensified by the poisonous effects of the chimera, permeates every fiber of his being. The sacred sword, which once proved to be an effective antidote, seems to lose its ability to contain the poison that spreads insidiously. "Did the sword fail? Or did I go beyond my own limits?" he questions internally, as each step requires a monumental effort.

Even in the face of this setback, the hero presses on, his focus directed solely at reaching the edge of the endless green that is the Great Forest. "The wall... I must reach the wall," he repeats to himself, a kind of mantra to keep moving. Sweat mixes with blood on his face, a visual testament to the price paid for facing creatures beyond comprehension with a strength beyond human.

Each step, a triumph over anguish; each advance, an act of resistance against exhaustion. The hero seeks support in one of the towering trees, trusting that this, at least, will not threaten him. "Hold on tight, just a little longer," he murmurs to himself, the voice hoarse and tired. The body succumbs to exhaustion, and he allows himself a brief moment of rest. His exhausted muscles crave relief, while the poison continues to sap his strength.

Normally, his mind would be invaded by panic in the face of the situation and the challenging landscape around him. However, fatigue prevents him from succumbing to the weight of despair. "If only I could think clearly..." he reflects inwardly. His eyes, a reflection of the battles fought and challenges overcome, weigh heavy and close in a fleeting rest. Darkness embraces him, providing a momentary respite amidst the whirlwind of adversities.

In the abyss of darkness, the hero senses a call, a voice that seems to emerge from nowhere. Perplexity surrounds him when he hears the expression "Lord Ethan" whispered in the shadows. However, a strangeness takes hold of him because Ethan is not his name. Mental confusion intensifies, robbing him of his own identity. Amidst the fog of uncertainty, one certainty stands out: he is not Ethan. The pain persists, unwavering.

In an unknown lapse of time, he questions his location. The Great Forest? Camelot? Doubt hangs like a veil over his confused mind. Slowly, his eyes, heavy as lead, open, and the moonlight reveals the continuation of his stay in the Great Forest. However, a subtle change surprises him: he is no longer alone.

Before him, a youth dressed in black, with hair as dark as his garments, observes him with sparkling purple eyes, revealing a cold and indifferent curiosity. In a conscious effort, the hero activates the sacred sword, feeling his body instantly rejuvenate. Cautiously, he moves away from the youth, preparing for a possible confrontation.

The question uttered by the youth breaks the silence, echoing in the hero's confused mind: "Is this the new hero of the Kingdom of Camelot?" Question marks cloud his thoughts. A new hero? Were there others? A wave of uncertainties invades him as he tries to understand the nature of the youth before him.

Before he can formulate answers, a more distant voice, belonging to a man with black wings, breaks the silence: "Please, let's go back, sir. The Demon King must be waiting for you." The mention of the Demon King triggers an alert in the hero, evoking fearsome images. The youth, in turn, turns to leave.

Disturbingly, something seems to alter the hero's vision, distorting the perspective of reality. Trees now appear laid down, a surreal scene takes shape. As the ground approaches rapidly, darkness returns, enveloping everything in its mysterious cloak.

Isobel walked alone back to the castle, her steps echoing through the silent corridor until they met the majestic entrance. As she gazed at the castle, her eyes collided with those of the king, waiting with a stern and questioning expression. A spasm distorted her face, followed by a click of the tongue.

"Where is your plaything?" taunted Prince Richard, flashing a mocking smile as Isobel crossed the grand entrance of the castle. Anger was evident in his expression and gaze.

"Another failure? With this one, it's already 5 defeats in a row? You claimed he had potential. What exactly happened? How did that useless one die to mere beasts at the beginning of the Great Forest?" inquired the king, his authoritative voice breaking the silence in the room where only the two of them were.

"It wasn't the beasts. That wasn't part of my plan; he wasn't supposed to be there," replied Isobel, hatred overflowing in her eyes.

"You've exhausted your chances; now it's Richard's turn to try," decreed the king.

"What? But..." Isobel tried to question her father's decision, but it was already too late. Suddenly, a rare event repeated itself. Something that had occurred only once in millennia. The first time, starting from the Demon Kingdom and covering all other kingdoms, darkness took over the skies. Now, before everyone's eyes, a blinding light, starting from Camelot, covered every corner of the sky. Even the red sky of the Demon Kingdom turned golden at that moment.

The golden light bathed the landscape, illuminating the skies of Camelot and beyond. The first Prince Richard, in all his grandeur, received the newly summoned girl with a respectful bow. With blue eyes and golden hair, she exuded an aura of nobility, showcasing the distinctive mark of royalty.

The priests present at the scene, aware of the importance of this moment, observed silently as the young girl confronted the newly revealed environment. The radiant light seemed to welcome the noble figure emerging in that summoning circle.

"Welcome," proclaimed Richard, his words resonating with solemnity. A respectful bow accompanied his greeting to the new female figure. Watchful eyes, the prince awaited, aware that this presence would bring significant changes to the kingdom and the unfolding events.

In the castle room, Isobel's expression reflected the whirlwind of emotions that the summoning had triggered. Her anger mixed with the shock of seeing her brother, now tasked with fulfilling her role.

In the face of this monumental scene, the beauty and elegance of the summoned girl made her a transcendental figure, eclipsing even the distinctions between commoners and nobles in the presence of royalty.