1 Year Later…
Within the span of a single year, the Nazare Blade Empire had transformed beyond recognition. The scars of war, once etched into every street and marketplace, were replaced with new life, as though the empire itself had been reborn under unseen hands.
Though the people never again set eyes on the new emperor, Josh Aratat, his presence was felt in every corner of the realm. His 13 generals—plus those two thousand loyal soldiers who had once marched with him into battle—were now scattered across the empire, not as conquerors but as enforcers of order and guardians of peace. They carried his authority like a banner, ensuring that justice was swift, corruption was extinguished, and harmony became the rule of the land.
From the capital to the farthest provinces, governors were carefully appointed to oversee daily affairs. These were not men and women chosen for their lineage, as in times past, but for their competence and loyalty to the new vision. Under their guidance, the economy bloomed into abundance. Markets brimmed with trade, crafts flourished, and harvests reached levels unseen in generations. For the first time in memory, there was no class of beggars, no forgotten poor—every family had enough to eat, and enough hope to dream.
It was said in taverns, in temples, and even whispered in the homes of nobles, that blessings must constantly be offered for Emperor Josh, the invisible hand that brought prosperity. The people's reverence bordered on worship, even though their emperor never showed himself.
But the most remarkable transformation was not merely in wealth, but in knowledge and power. The empire's systems of growth expanded beyond imagination. Three great paths of discipline were made mandatory for all citizens:
The Martial Arts System, to strengthen body and will.
The Magic System of the Oradonian Order, to cultivate the mysteries of energy and spirit.
The Educational System, to sharpen mind and reasoning.
Every citizen was required to attend one of these schools, and together they created a balance of muscle, magic, and mind that gave the empire an edge no other nation could rival. The blending of their disciplines was carefully structured, each student being tested and guided into the path best suited for their nature.
Then came the fourth path—the King System. This was the emperor's personal creation, a vision birthed from his unique philosophy. It was designed not merely to train leaders, but to raise individuals capable of shouldering the weight of nations. Here, students were taught governance, strategy, negotiation, and the art of command. The King System was the most selective of them all, and its prestige quickly grew to eclipse the rest.
Yet, within this brilliant dawn, a shadow lingered. Months into the empire's prosperity, Josh himself discovered that his own body betrayed him. Where once his blade could cleave mountains and his martial prowess could command the field, now his hands felt empty, his strength unreachable. He tried again and again to practice the martial arts he had mastered, but each attempt ended in failure.
He had remade the empire, but his own power—the very thing that had won him the throne—seemed lost forever.
His Kingly System—the very foundation of his power—was shattered beyond repair. The delicate network of meridians in his body could no longer endure the torrent of raw kingly energy. Every treasure, every ability, every hidden reserve he had once stored in the Kingly System's interphase was gone forever, scattered into nothingness like ashes in the wind.
The realization broke him. If only he could lay hands on a single potion—just one capable of restoring the intricate pathways within him—he could mend the damage, reclaim his throne of strength, and rise again. But such a miracle elixir did not exist within his reach. The irony gnawed at him: the emperor of the strongest empire in the continent could not save himself.
Josh wept. Days blurred together in grief, the mighty conqueror reduced to a man drowning in his own helplessness. But the world did not pause for his sorrow. Life pressed forward, relentless.
Within that year, amidst both his hidden agony and his empire's golden age, he bound himself to Lola in marriage. Their union was not only official but celebrated, a symbol of stability in uncertain times. Now she carried his child, her belly heavy with new life, the promise of a future Aratat. Any day now, she would bring forth their heir.
Guards shadowed her every step, though Lola often waved them off with impatience. She still retained her formidable cultivation, standing at the Lieutenant Colonel–Assassin Maid level, a rank equal to the 10th level of the Ocean Flooding Realm. To her, the constant escort was needless; she was more than capable of defending herself. Unless an enemy of the Beyond Mortal Realm descended personally, no threat could harm her or the child.
Still, the empire took no chances. For Josh was not merely a man to his people; he was legend, and Lola—his queen—was a vessel of continuity.
Outside the palace walls, the greatest testament to his reign loomed over the capital: a colossal statue of Josh Aratat. Carved from mountain stone, it rose like a titan above the city, the very image of an unshakable ruler. Its construction had spanned three and a half grueling months, demanding thousands of hands and untold resources. Yet when it stood complete, it was a wonder unlike any other, drawing pilgrims from neighboring empires. They came to marvel at its scale, to bow before its shadow, and to speak of the reforms that had turned Nazare Blade into a paradise of order and prosperity.
But admiration was not the only seed sown. Envy stirred. Rival empires, their rulers consumed by pride, had whispered of war. Yet those whispers quickly died when they remembered the fate of the Scorpion Empire. Its emperor had been slain, and more than 400,000 soldiers—once thought invincible—now lived as branded slaves under Nazare Blade rule. That memory lingered like a scar across the continent, and it kept blades sheathed.
Still, uncertainty gnawed at them. No one had seen Josh Aratat in battle for a year. Rumors spread like wildfire. Was he still the monstrous force who could split mountains and humble gods? Or had he become a toothless tiger, stripped of claws and fangs, his might forever gone? This shroud of the unknown proved more terrifying than certainty. Enemies dared not test it. The fear of what could be bound them tighter than open displays of strength ever could.
And tonight, beneath the starlit sky, Josh emerged from his solitude. Rarely seen by even his closest generals, the emperor walked to the base of his own statue. The giant stone likeness towered over him, a silent reminder of what he once was and what the world still believed him to be. He lowered himself to the cold marble bench below, his gaze climbing up the etched details of his carved face.
His thoughts spiraled, heavier than the monument above him. Again and again, his mind returned to that night—the night when Coma PELLA had struck him down, rending him nearly in half and dragging him to the edge of death. He could still feel it sometimes, in his bones, in the phantom ache of broken meridians.
As the torches flickered against the stone, Josh's fists clenched. He had given the empire peace, but inside he was a storm.
Just as his thoughts spiraled deeper into regret, a calm yet firm voice broke through the silence beside him.
"How long will you keep torturing yourself, Master…?"
Josh turned slowly. Standing a few paces away, half-veiled in shadow, was Naze the Blind Swordsman. Though his eyes saw nothing, his presence cut sharper than any blade. From the very first day, this man had never left his side. Like a phantom assassin, he lingered where no one noticed, always poised, always ready.
The world might have thought that Conrad Stan was his most loyal general, but Josh knew the truth. Conrad was loyal to him and the empire. Naze, however—Naze would die for him. And if fate granted him another life, he would take the secret of that loyalty to the grave.
Josh exhaled heavily, his gaze sinking back to the towering statue. "Naze… you know why this haunts me, don't you? You can feel it, can't you? That dreadful pull in the air. I may have lost my strength, but my foresight remains sharp—and it shows me a storm I cannot stop. One of my siblings… one of those I spared… is at the heart of this conspiracy." His voice cracked under the weight of that truth.
Naze stood silent for a moment, the night wind tugging at his cloak. Then he breathed deeply, the name leaving his lips like a curse.
"…Aloysius."