(Book 1 Finale)
The wind over Eldoria's cliffside carried a strangely sweet scent—flowers, smoke, and something metallic underneath, like a city that lived and breathed in defiance of every map. The refugees from the fall of Ostoria limped toward its gate, a mass of exhaustion held together only by the thin wire of hope. And there, waiting as if they'd been expecting an audience, stood the infamous six.
Nogare stood at the center, arms crossed, still as iron. His presence carried weight; not the heavy kind of responsibility, but the cold steadiness of a blade that had long accepted its purpose. Kaito looked distracted, scanning the crowd as if searching for a face that refused to appear. Zentake had both hands on his hips, clicking his tongue in disappointment at the poverty of the refugees. Shinjitsu stared past everyone, eyes on a sky only he seemed to see. Masaboru leaned lazily on one foot, already grinning at the spectacle to come. Beside them all, Gaikotsu stood unmoving—so unmoving he seemed part of the wall until his skull tilted as if waking from a long, inconvenient nap.
The moment the refugees reached shouting distance, Masaboru spread his arms.
"Welcome," he announced with theatrical bravado, "to our paradise—Eldoria."
The refugees didn't cheer. Their exhaustion didn't allow it. Ostoria was ash behind them, its screams still alive in their ears. Kaisei Aoi stepped forward, fury boiling past fatigue.
"You monsters," he snapped. "You could've helped defend Ostoria. All of you. But you hid here. You let our home burn."
Masaboru flicked imaginary dust off his shoulder. "Complaints already? You haven't even seen the gift shop."
Shinjitsu turned toward them, his expression flat and strangely empty. "You treated us as tools. As disposable failures. Why would you expect loyalty now?"
Lia Shinsei bristled, voice trembling. "That doesn't mean you let an entire nation fall! Don't you feel anything?"
Masaboru blinked, slow and bored. "Feel? From the start, we never had a conscience."
Nogare finally moved. His voice rumbled through the air like a commandment carved into stone.
"Enough. We have visitors."
Kaisei Aoi scoffed. "That's what I'm saying. We're the visitors—"
Nogare didn't even spare her a look. "Not you."
His head turned toward the horizon.
"The uninvited ones."
A cold silence swept over the crowd.
Then, with casual grace, Nogare tilted his chin. "Masaboru. Your thing."
Masaboru sighed as if being asked to fetch groceries. He walked toward the cliff's edge, rolling his shoulders. Below, along the winding valley path, the Valerian and Dargath armies surged forward—thousands strong, their armor a tide of metal and hunger.
Masaboru raised his right hand toward them.
Reality wavered.
"False Reality," he said. "Disco Party."
He snapped his fingers.
To the refugees, nothing changed except that the enemy forces simply stopped. The soldiers froze mid-stride, rigid and unmoving—like a battlefield carved in amber.
But the six saw the truth. The Valerians and Dargath began dancing. Helms bobbed, shields clattered rhythmically, and the war cries turned into something resembling celebratory shouts. It was grotesque. It was absurd. It was effective.
Zentake cracked his knuckles. "Masaboru's stupid spell names never get old."
Nogare didn't smile. "Shinjitsu. Zentake. Five commanders incoming."
Yoshiya frowned, confusion etched deep. "Incoming? I don't see any—"
Shinjitsu's skin shimmered, colors rippling like oil on water.
"Amorphous Iridophores," he murmured. "Mimicry."
Zentake snorted. "Worst name I've ever heard."
Five exact copies of Nogare and Zentake materialized around them, each moving with eerie synchronization—like reflections that decided to step out of the mirror.
The refugee children gasped. The adults stepped back, unsure whether to feel awe or dread.
Zentake's images sprinted toward the cliffside.
"Zero Roshisutairu—Collector's Void!"
In synchronized choreography, all five copies plundered the army below, stripping weapons, armor, accessories, even loose coins. Equipment vanished in bursts of violet light that streaked up toward the real Zentake, fueling his ridiculous grin.
Then Nogare's doubles leaped forward.
All of them whispered the same skill with divine indifference.
"Limitless Future—Rending Verdict."
A silver arc carved through the air—not seen by normal eyes, only felt. A pressure so sharp it seemed to slice through the world itself.
Only then did five figures flicker into existence—three Valerian commanders and two Dargath warlords—appearing as though someone had removed a veil from reality. They were already dead. Their bodies hit the dirt almost politely, without fanfare, without even understanding who struck them.
Yoshiya stared. "If you were this strong… why didn't you defend Ostoria?"
Masaboru shrugged. "Why should we?"
No one had an answer. No one wanted the one forming in their mind.
Gaikotsu finally lifted an arm, bone creaking like an old chair. His entire skeleton shifted as if bones were stretching after a nap.
He stepped forward.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Every motion looked like it took more motivation than he actually had. His skeleton minion lifted him off the ground and carried him toward the fallen commanders, placing him like a weary king examining tribute.
Gaikotsu raised one finger.
"Standing…"
Five skeletal figures ripped free from the corpses—twisted reflections shaped by necromancy that had forgotten it should be dramatic.
The undead turned to Gaikotsu.
He flapped his hand lazily.
The skeletons charged the immobilized enemy horde, tearing through the spell-bound soldiers with mechanical efficiency. Bones clattered. Armor cracked. The dance never stopped.
The refugees watched numbly.
Astonishment fought disappointment. These six could've turned the tide on any battlefield. They could've saved their country. Their loved ones. Their homes.
Instead, they had chosen Eldoria.
Instead, they had chosen themselves.
Masaboru clapped. "Entertainment hour is over. We should charge admission."
Nogare ignored him. He faced the refugees.
"This is Eldoria. You are safe here. For now."
The gates creaked open.
Inside, the city pulsed with life—lanterns swaying, voices rising, markets alive with sound and color. Eldoria felt wrong, a miracle that shouldn't exist. A place where danger had been folded neatly into routine. A place where people lived loudly, defiantly, refusing the world's cruelty.
Even as the new arrivals were ushered in, they couldn't ignore what they'd witnessed. The power. The apathy. The stark contrast between the city's joy and the six who ruled its shadows.
Shinjitsu drifted past them on silent feet. Zentake playfully jingled a handful of newly collected trinkets. Kaito kept staring at the crowd, searching for a ghost that would never appear. Gaikotsu yawned with his whole ribcage. Masaboru threw an arm around two bewildered refugees and dragged them toward Eldoria like a proud host.
Nogare lingered last.
"You survived the fall of Ostoria," he said quietly. "That makes you stronger than most."
He stepped through the gate.
"And strength is the only currency that matters here."
The doors boomed shut behind them.
The refugees stood inside Eldoria—this city of contradictions, this sanctuary built on the backbone of six monsters who had abandoned the world that abandoned them first.
Whether it was salvation or damnation… they would soon discover.
As the lights of Eldoria washed over the sky, the final echoes of Ostoria's fall faded into memory.
A new story awaited.
A new war.
A new stage where impossible powers would collide and the fates of nations would twist again.
The curtain closed on a broken kingdom…
…and opened on a city that should not exist.
PROLOGUE: THE FALL OF OSTORIA
> COMPLETE.
CHAPTER 1
> THE SIX PILLARS OF ELDORIA
> Begins...