Three years had passed since the war in the ruins of the Never Ending Dream. What once felt like a sudden nightmare had now become a distant scar, not forgotten, but carried quietly in the hearts of those who survived. Time moved forward, as it always does. People changed. Kingdoms changed. And the danger that once showed its face in chaos now waited in silence.
The Cero Kingdom did not waste those three years.
Neither did its neighboring kingdoms.
The attack of the Corrupted Dungeons and the rise of Corrupted Beasts had shaken the world deeply. At first, many believed it to be an isolated disaster. But as reports slowly gathered from different lands, it became clear, there were people behind the corruption. Someone was pulling the strings.
And that realization changed everything.
Old rivalries were set aside. Messengers traveled across borders more often than soldiers. Meetings between rulers became frequent. Kingdoms that once watched each other with suspicion now spoke of cooperation and shared defense. For the first time in many years, unity felt necessary.
Every kingdom began preparing for what might come.
Adventurers were called back from distant quests. Military camps expanded. Training grounds remained active from sunrise to late night. Knights sparred until their armor cracked. Mages practiced until their mana reserves ran dry. Young recruits were pushed harder than ever before.
The air across the lands felt heavy.
No one said it openly, but everyone knew, something bigger was coming.
The Rising Heroes had changed as well.
Three years ago, they were still young. Brave, yes. Talented, yes. But still inexperienced. They had stepped into a war they barely understood and survived through sheer will and luck.
Now, that was no longer the case.
They had trained under The Grand Party once again. Their sessions were no longer simple lessons. They were harsh, relentless, and demanding. Every weakness was pointed out. Every flaw was corrected. There were no excuses allowed anymore.
They had also spent time with The Black Sigil, learning stealth, discipline, and silent coordination. From Redwake, they learned aggression and battlefield dominance.
They were no longer reckless teenagers.
They were warriors.
Each of them carried memories of the war in the ruins. They remembered the screams. The collapsing structures. The overwhelming presence of power far beyond their own. They remembered bleeding. They remembered fear.
And that memory became their fuel.
They trained not for glory.
They trained because they knew what would happen if they failed.
Across the kingdom, their names were spoken with respect. Stories of their bravery spread from taverns to noble halls. Children looked up to them. Soldiers nodded in approval when they passed.
But inside, they still carried doubt.
Because they knew the enemy had grown as well.
Meanwhile, not all change was visible on the battlefield.
Within the walls of one quiet home, a different kind of distance had grown.
The relationship between Zora and Lila had shifted.
It was subtle at first. A pause in conversation. A forced smile. A question left unanswered. But over time, it became something neither could ignore.
Lila had grown more reserved around her father. She was not cold. She was not disrespectful. But there was a wall now, thin, but firm.
Zora noticed it every day.
And it hurt.
He had made a decision, to hide who he truly was. To protect her. To keep her safe from the truth. He believed it was necessary.
But that choice came with a cost.
As Lila got to know who his father truly is. She felt betrayed. And that hurt her too.
Zora was not wrong. His silence was not born from cruelty. It was born from fear. Fear of losing her. Fear of dragging her into a world too dangerous.
Yet by protecting her from the truth, he had unknowingly hurt Lila.
They both tried to keep things normal. They shared meals. They spoke about daily matters. They smiled.
But something was missing.
Trust.
And neither knew how to fix it.
Far away from these quiet struggles, the looming threat continued to grow.
They were not idle.
While kingdoms prepared openly, the enemy prepared in silence.
Their forces strengthened. Their knowledge deepened. Information was gathered carefully. Weaknesses were observed. Movements were tracked.
And finally, after three long years, the time had come.
Inside a dark chamber, lit only by dim flames that cast long shadows against ancient stone walls, a voice echoed with calm authority.
Zalthar stood at the center.
His presence alone filled the room.
"I guess it is time," he said quietly. "Preparations have been done. It is time for us to move."
Around him stood his ten commanders.
Each one powerful.
Each one dangerous.
"My commanders," Zalthar continued, his voice steady but firm, "let's rise and show the world who their true leader is."
The ten responded in unison.
Their agreement was not loud.
It did not need to be.
Out of the ten, four had already revealed themselves to the world in previous battles. Their strength had shaken kingdoms. Their presence alone had caused fear.
And the remaining six?
They had yet to show their full might.
If the known four were terrifying, the unseen six were an even greater mystery.
Plans had been made carefully over the past three years. Strategies refined. Targets selected. Movements coordinated.
There would be no reckless attack this time.
Only precision.
Only execution.
The world still did not know their true aim.
The jewels remained a mystery. Their purpose, their origin, their true power, still hidden beneath layers of secrets.
But soon, those secrets would begin to unravel.
The calm that covered the kingdoms was not peace.
It was silence before a storm.
And as both sides prepared in their own ways, through training, through planning, through quiet reflection, fate moved closer to collision.
The world stood on the edge of something far greater than the war in the ruins.
The next move had been decided.
And once it began, there would be no turning back.