Riyan Black reached the cave holding the black scroll in his hands. But as soon as he arrived, he saw that the same man, holding a glass of alcohol, was swaying with enjoyment, and in front of him, a young woman was dancing. Around him were two to three burly bodyguards, alert at every step.
The man looked at Riyan and said, "You've come, I expected this from you. Give me that scroll."
Without a word, Riyan handed the scroll into his hands. The man stood up, placed it on his throne, and then moved toward the dancing young woman. His eyes and hands were unbearably fixed on her.
"No… forgive me!" the young woman screamed.
"Let me go!"
Seeing this, Riyan's anger erupted. Using his power, he created an invisible hand with control over his own, and as soon as he grabbed the man in black clothes, he crushed him with his fist.
As three bodyguards ran toward him, the young woman used her martial arts skills to easily take them down.
Now, both satisfaction and anger reflected on Riyan's face — he felt the moment of justice in his own hands.
At that very moment, the hidden man who used to chew paan witnessed everything. Cleverly stepping out, he said,
"Within a moment, you've confronted the Emperor of the Dark World — remarkable. From today, you will be our new leader."
Riyan, smiling, turned to the girl who had been dancing a few moments ago and said,
"From today, you will handle my responsibilities."
Saying this, he moved along a small tunnel attached to the cave.
On the other side, Queen Elara had sworn that she would eradicate the Dark World.
"Whatever is destined to happen, will happen," she said to herself.
Queen Elara summoned all the cultivators who worked for other kingdoms. All of them stood in the council hall with their hands folded, nearly twenty cultivators in total.
Seated on the throne, the queen said in a firm voice,
"If any of you bring a person from the Dark World, a special reward will be given."
All the cultivators enthusiastically said "Yes!" and, pleased, set off to carry out their task.
The darkness of the night was slowly engulfing the entire empire.
The moon had hidden behind the clouds, and the winds carried a foreboding chill—as if whispering the approach of something ominous.
Between the tall towers of the palace, Queen Elara stepped out of her chamber.
The golden royal cloak was gone—replaced by a black mantle that flowed in the wind, merging with the darkness itself.
Her eyes were cold, yet within them burned a fire—the fire of vengeance.
She was no longer a queen that night; she was a hunter, moving through the shadows, seeking out every trace of the Dark World that threatened her realm.
Each night, she ventured alone—without guards, without fear.
Wherever there was theft, suspicion, or the faintest whisper of rebellion, Elara's sword flashed, and within moments, silence returned.
People began to whisper, "Even the darkness fears the dark now… because Elara walks within it."
One night, at the edge of the city, she found him—the same man who once served as a messenger of the Dark World—now swaying drunkenly, a cup of wine in his hand.
Elara's eyes narrowed. Slowly, she drew her sword; its blade gleamed crimson in the pale moonlight, as if thirsting for blood.
Stepping closer, she spoke in a voice sharp as steel,
"Your tongue has spread enough poison… now your neck will pay the price for it."
Before the man could react, Elara's sword sliced through the air—and with a single, precise strike, his neck was severed cleanly in two.
The blood splattered on the cold earth, and the night grew heavier with its scent.
Elara flicked her sword, shaking off the blood, and in a voice cold as ice, whispered,
"Dark World… your end begins now."
That night, Elara didn't just kill a man—she killed the last trace of mercy left within herself.
As soon as the news reached the shadowy corridors of the Dark World, the woman who now held true command over it rose to her feet.
Her face was cold, and her eyes were hard—devoid of emotion, filled only with calculation.
She spoke slowly, her voice echoing through the dark hall,
"Our leader—Black—will not emerge until his spiritual power reaches one hundred thousand grams."
Her words spread like a chilling wind. The gathered Dark World members froze for a moment; fear and reverence flickered together on their faces. No one dared to question her—this was not a suggestion, it was an order.
Then, the young woman stepped forward. Her tone carried a quiet confidence as she said,
"My name is Yuar."
With authority in her voice, she declared,
"I announce that new people will be recruited into the Dark World. We need strength, numbers, and devoted souls willing to stand for our cause."
All around her, the others bowed their heads in unison and answered, "Yes."
In their eyes, a new purpose glimmered—born not of loyalty, but of fear and ambition.
In the reign of the Dark World, no new light was born that night—only new soldiers, forged in shadow, preparing for the day when Black's power would rise again and reshape the world.
A new war had now begun between Queen Elara and Yuar.