1year ago,
In the war-scarred continent of Trivrat, ominous signs rose one after another. Silent borders stirred with marching armies, ancient treaties began to crumble, and messengers carried grim news without rest. Every kingdom felt it—the heavy tension of an approaching war, as if the land itself awaited the first clash of steel.
Across the seas in Vasura, a long-forgotten prophecy resurfaced. Whispered by seers and scholars, it spoke of a disaster creeping from the shadows—an unseen calamity that would arrive not with war cries, but with silence and sudden ruin.
Though the doom had yet to reveal itself, its presence loomed over both continents. As blades were sharpened and fate stirred in darkness, the world stood on the edge of irreversible change—for once the first step was taken, there would be no turning back
KINGDOM OF VINASEL
At the heart of the continent of TRIVRAT lies the kingdom of VINASEL —a land blessed and yet damned. Vast emerald forests stretch beneath open skies, fertile plains await the plough, and countless peaks and valleys rise and fall as the river KALREIN carve it's silver paths through the earth. By all rights, it should have been a paradise.
Yet the land remains abandoned.
Fields lie uncultivated, villages decay in silence, and prosperity is but a forgotten dream. Every coin the kingdom possesses is siphoned into the endless pursuit of war. Development is dismissed as weakness; conquest is worshipped as virtue. Hunger stalks the poor while the banners of battle are raised ever higher.
Desperation rots the soul of the people. Women sell their bodies to keep their children alive, while men drown themselves in fleeting pleasure—wine and flesh—turning their backs on families they no longer remember. Morality crumbles quietly, unseen and uncared for.
At the center of this decay stands the capital city of DURGHEIM, crowned by an unconquerable fortress, erected by the first generation of kings. Its blackened walls have never fallen, just as the kingdom's ideology has never changed. Generations may pass, crowns may shift hands, but the will carved into stone endures:
"Claim the continent—and hold it within the grip of our hand."
Inside the castle, a guard entered the throne room and dropped to one knee, the echo of steel fading beneath the towering arches.
"What is it you seek?" asked the man upon the throne.
King MALREC VINASEL sat upright, his imposing frame bearing the weight of years and conquest alike. Though age had touched his features, it had not dulled his ambition. His eyes burned with an unquenchable desire—to seize the world itself and crush it within his grasp.
"Your Majesty," the guard said, head bowed low, "the messenger has arrived."
"Send him in."
Moments later, the messenger stepped into the throne room and knelt before the king, trembling beneath Malrec's piercing gaze.
"Begin your report," MALREC commanded coldly. "I wish to hear only good news."
"My lord," the messenger said, voice steady despite the tension, "the Kingdom of ASHFALL has begun its invasion of RAVENHOLT. Our spies within RAVENHOLT report chaos along their borders. They believe this is the perfect moment—for us to strike and claim RAVENHOLT for ourselves."
At this, MALREC'S lips curved faintly. His gaze shifted to a middle-aged man standing at his side—a minister with sharp, calculating eyes and a neatly trimmed short beard.
"Minister ALERIC," the king said, his tone heavy with expectation, "is everything prepared for the summoning?"
"Yes, my lord," ALERIC replied without hesitation. "We can begin the summoning at this very moment."
"Good… very good."
MALREC rose slowly from his throne, the sound of his boots echoing through the hall. "News such as this is worthy of celebration."
A dark, almost demonic smile spread across the king's face as shadows seemed to cling to his presence, whispering of the calamity soon to come.
The king adjourned the throne room session.
Leaving behind the echoing hall of nobles and courtiers, he entered his private chamber. There, King MALREC VINASEL shed his royal regalia and donned a white magical robe, its surface patterned with countless black sigils. These markings were no mere ornament—they served to suppress the mana within his body, preventing it from leaking into the surroundings. Such attire was essential, for a magical summoning ritual devoured all ambient mana, leaving even the air itself barren.
Once suitably dressed, the king stepped into a spiral staircase carved from ancient, unyielding stone. The ceiling soared far above, disappearing into shadow as the party began its descent.
As their footsteps echoed downward, Malrec spoke without turning back.
"How many mages have you prepared, Chief Mage?"
"My lord," came the reply, "the ritual requires a minimum of ten mages. We have assembled twenty, so that the drained mana may be restored."
The speaker was a frail man clad in white robes, his presence calm yet unsettling—ZERAIN BLACKSPIRE, Head of the Magic Squad.
The king nodded, satisfied, then turned to the towering figure walking beside him. Dark-brown hair framed a stern face, marred by a deep scar that cut across the right side, partially covering one eye. His physique was honed and battle-hardened—KORVEN DUSKBLADE, Captain of the Royal Guard.
"Are the sacrifices prepared, Captain KORVEN?" Malrec asked.
"The Royal Magic Squad requested five," Korven answered firmly. "We have secured eight, as a preventive measure, my lord."
At this, King MALREC'S lips curled into a cold, wicked smile.
Moments later, they reached the lowest level of the staircase.
Before them stood a colossal door of solid stone, reinforced with silver plates and embedded with glowing gems. Ten soldiers moved forward in unison, straining as they pushed against it. With a deafening thunderous crack, the door slowly gave way.
As it opened, King MALREC and his retinue stepped inside—
into a vast, ominous hall, where the ritual awaited.
One of the mages stepped forward and began his chant,
"Agniḥ prajvalatu, dīpaṃ prakāśaya."
"FIRE BALL"
As the chant concluded, a small fireball blossomed before the mage, hovering silently in the air. With a subtle motion of his hand, he guided it from torch to torch. One by one, flames awakened, bathing the hall in trembling light.
The illumination revealed a vast magic circle carved into the stone floor. Along its circumference lay ten smaller circles. Without a word, the mages who had accompanied King MALERC VINASEL stepped into them, each taking position with solemn precision.
In perfect unison, all ten began to chant.
"Rakta-dānena mārgaḥ khidyatām,
Prāṇa-tyāgena loka-bandhaṃ bhindāmi,
Kāla-śṛṅkhalāṃ chindāmi atra,
Para-loke nidrā-sthaṃ vīraṃ āhvayāmi,
Bali-chāyāyāṃ dehaṃ navaṃ kuru,
Mama icchayā, mama raktena, avatara."
"HERO SUMMON FROM PARALLEL WORLD"
Captain of the Royal Guard KROVEN raised two fingers.
A soldier departed.
He returned dragging a young woman—barely into her twenties—her wrists bound, her body shaking as she clawed uselessly at the stone floor. Her sobs were swallowed by the chant, her pleas drowned beneath ancient words that did not care to listen.
As the final verse approached, Head Mage ZERAIN lifted his staff.
He did not look at her.
He nodded.
The guards seized the woman's hair and forced her head back. Her scream shattered into desperation, her eyes locking onto anything—anyone—that might acknowledge her existence.
—Swoosh.
The blade fell.
Her life ended faster than her scream.
Blood splashed across the magic circle, The guards stepped away, already turning their backs.
The chant never wavered.
Another sacrifice was dragged in.
Then another.
Then another.
Four lives were extinguished in total—each one reduced to nothing more than fuel. The mages did not flinch. Their voices neither shook nor softened. To them, the screams were background noise.
When the chanting finally ceased, silence descended like a verdict.
The magic circle responded.
Blood flooding the hall began to writhe, pulled by invisible force. It crawled across stone, twisting into precise lines, filling every rune and sigil until the circle was whole—complete, perfect. The magic circle began to glow. A dim light pulsed from the ground, steadily growing brighter as it drained mana from the surrounding soldiers, leaving them pale and trembling.
Then—
"CRAACKKK!"
A thunderous rupture split the air. Smoke erupted from the circle, surging upward to the ceiling. For several heartbeats, the hall was swallowed whole.
Slowly, the smoke thinned.
Standing at the center of the magic circle was a young man—around twenty years of age. Dark violet hair framed his sharp features, his athletic body tense with instinctive readiness. His violet eyes darted around the hall, filled with confusion… and unmistakable arrogance.
The summoned hero had arrived.
KINGDOM OF AADINA
In the continent VASURA lies the kingdom AADINA blessed by land and labor alike. Towering mountain peaks rise like silent sentinels over deep valleys, while vast plains of rich, fertile soil stretch endlessly between them. Through the very heart of this realm flows the great river SAREIN, its winding course carving the land into a living canvas of fields, roads, and thriving settlements.
The kingdom prospers beneath its waters. Farmlands are carefully cultivated, granaries stand full, and well-maintained roads bind town to town, allowing merchants to travel freely within the realm and beyond its borders. Trade flourishes, and travelers speak of this land as nothing short of a paradise upon the earth.
At the center of it all stands the capital city, INDRON —a vast, bustling metropolis alive with voices, banners, and ambition. Rising above its stone walls is a magnificent white castle, its towers piercing the sky. To the people of the kingdom, that castle is more than a seat of power; it is a beacon of hope, a symbol of stability upon which every citizen rests their faith.
Within the walls of the castle, an unnatural silence took hold, as if the very air had begun to hold its breath. An oracle had been summoned for the king's private audience—a ritual performed once every year, without fail.
King PRAEVALOR AADINA stood at the center of the chamber. An elderly yet towering figure, his presence alone commanded reverence. He was a man who had devoted his entire life to the future of the kingdom and the well-being of its people, bearing the weight of countless years upon his shoulders without complaint.
The oracle stepped forward and gently took the king's hand. As their palms met, she poured her magic into a smooth, round crystal resting between them. Pale light stirred within its depths as she began her chant, her voice low and reverent.
"Ṛta-pathaṃ anusṛtya bhaviṣya-vāṇī prakāśatām."
"FUTURE, REVEAL"
As the final syllable faded, the oracle leaned closer and peered into the crystal.
What she saw made her breath catch.
The vision unfolded into a scene of overwhelming devastation—the kingdom reduced to ruin, its lands drowned in fire and blood. The destruction was absolute, merciless. As the prophecy deepened, a single figure emerged from the chaos.
An imposing man clad in a black trench coat, drenched in blood. His face was hidden beneath a deep hood, his presence suffocating. In his grasp was a massive greatsword—one and a half times longer than any normal blade—its edge swinging with terrifying ease as he stomped through the mangled corpses of fallen soldiers.
Then the voices began.
"GHOST OF MULAP… GHOST OF MULAP… GHOST OF MULAP…"
They echoed relentlessly, not just in her ears, but directly within her mind—layered, overlapping, becoming one.
The sheer horror of the vision shattered her composure. The oracle recoiled, bile rising in her throat as she collapsed to her knees, retching onto the cold marble floor. She had not witnessed a prophecy this grotesque in many years.
Because what she had seen did not resemble a mere calamity.
It mirrored the forbidden prophecies spoken only in whispers—the legends of a Demon Lord, and the beginning of his conquest.
"What happened, Seer?" the king demanded. His voice echoed through the silent chamber. "What of the prophecy? Why do you tremble so? What fate awaits our kingdom and our people?"
The oracle's breath quivered.
"The kingdom… the land itself… all are doomed."
A heavy silence fell.
"Has the Demon Lord awakened?" the king asked.
The oracle shook her head slowly. "It is reminiscent of the Demon Lord's awakening… but this time, it is not a demon."
"…Then what?"
"It is a human."
"A human?!"
The exclamation came from a towering, sun-tanned man whose curly hair fell to his shoulders, a light beard framing his hardened face. He was KAEL AURELCAR, Captain of the Royal Guard.
"Yes," the oracle cried, her composure breaking. "It is human—without doubt!"
PRAEVALOR'S fists clenched. "What must be done, Seer? Tell us how to escape this prophecy."
The oracle turned toward the throne, her eyes heavy with dread.
"A prophecy that mirrors the Demon Lord's awakening is a calamity that strikes at the very roots of the kingdom. To survive it, we require a protector."
"A protector?" the king asked.
"A hero," she answered. "One summoned from beyond this world. We must call upon him, persuade him… and bind his strength to our cause."
"A summoning ritual?" Kael asked grimly.
"Yes. It must begin at once. I will guide the ritual myself."
King PRAEVALOR hesitated, his aged hands gripping the armrests of his throne. "Great Seer… is there truly no other path? No way to avert this disaster without such measures?"
"There is," the oracle replied softly. "But the loss to the kingdom would be far greater."
The king closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them with resolve.
"If there is no other way…" He turned to the oracle. "Tell us what is required."
"Summoning demands sacrifice," she said. "Blood—fresh and potent. The blood of monsters. No fewer than fifty."
The king's gaze shifted to Kael.
"Captain KAEL. Issue royal fliers at once. Declare an official quest under the royal emblem. The objective—collect monster blood."
KAEL knelt, fist to his chest.
"At once, my lord."
With measured steps, he turned and left the audience chamber.
"We'll begin the summoning ritual in five days. Make sure the blood required is collected," the oracle instructed, her words echoing in the audience chamber before she departed.
Once outside the castle, she removed her flowing purple robe, revealing the figure beneath—an elegant, poised beauty whose presence perfectly balanced grace with authority. She moved with the calm certainty of one who had mastered both wisdom and power. This was DHĪMATĪ RAVENSHADE, the renowned witch of vasura, whose very name inspired reverence across the land.
DHIMATI RAVENSHADE
Even if what I told the king in the audience chamber was only half the truth… is it truly possible for a force capable of toppling the world to be born within a single year?
DHĪMATĪ steps slowed as the thought lingered. I hope it is merely a misinterpretation.
Yet if such a power truly existed, then it would be something the world could not ignore—a calamity worthy of fear.
As for what must be done next, King PRAEVALOR would handle the kingdom's preparations. Her role was clear now.
I must gather my disciples.
Letters bearing her sigil were dispatched by pigeon that very day.
*-*-*
Two days passed.
Disciples of DHĪMATĪ RAVENSHADE —mages from across VASURA —had assembled near the capital, awaiting her command.
Stepping out of the inn where she resided, DHĪMATĪ paused, a thought crossing her mind.
This is the right moment to check the progress of the royal quest.
She made her way to the nearby Adventurers' Guild and approached the reception desk.
"The royal quest," she asked calmly. "Has it been completed, or is it still open?"
The receptionist sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Blood from sixty monsters has been collected… but preserving such a quantity is taking longer than expected."
"Sixty…?" Dhīmatī exclaimed before quickly composing herself.
"I see. Thank you for your service."
She placed a silver coin on the counter and left the guild, her pace measured but her thoughts racing.
Back in her room, DHĪMATĪ sent a message to King PRAEVALOR.
My lord,
We shall begin the summoning tomorrow at dawn.
Divide the collected blood into four equal portions and prepare them.
Ensure the ceremonial magic robes are ready. You must wear them during the ritual.
Afterward, she changed into her nightwear and lay upon the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"People love the kingdom as deeply as the king loves his people," she murmured softly.
"…Now it is my turn to protect it, after so long."
Sleep soon claimed her.
Then—
A vision.
*-*-*
"DHIMATI … do not perform the summoning."
"It will only hasten the prophecy."
"Do not summon a hero."
"Do not destroy the kingdom."
Voices echoed endlessly, overlapping, drilling into her mind until pain bloomed behind her eyes. A crushing pressure pinned her to the bed, rendering her unable to move.
Something was there.
A presence—overwhelming, oppressive.
A figure emerged from the darkness of the room, unmistakably human in shape. Pale skin. Hollow, pitch-dark eyes. A man leaned close to her face, smiling.
Why… is he smiling?
What is happening—?
With a desperate surge of will, DHĪMATĪ shattered the invisible restraint—
—and awoke.
*-*-*
Sunlight streamed through the window.
"…A dream."
Even so, a chill crawled down her spine. The memory of that smile refused to fade.
No, she decided, clenching her fist.
I will not hesitate. I will wager everything on this summoning.
At dawn, DHĪMATĪ prepared herself and headed straight for the royal palace.
King PRAEVALOR awaited her, clad in white ceremonial robes marked with black sigils. Her disciples had already arrived, gathering in solemn silence. Together, they descended deep into the palace's lower levels.
Down a spiraling staircase they went, until they reached the Summoning Hall.
No one spoke.
The air itself felt tense, as though the world was holding its breath.
Torches flared to life, illuminating an enormous magic circle carved into the stone floor. Along its circumference lay ten smaller circles, each occupied by one of DHĪMATĪ'S mages.
"This is for our kingdom," DHĪMATĪ declared, her voice steady and resolute.
"For our prosperity. We will end this evil before it ever reaches our land."
At her signal, the mages began chanting in unison.
"Rakta-dānena mārgaḥ khidyatām,
Prāṇa-tyāgena loka-bandhaṃ bhindāmi,
Kāla-śṛṅkhalāṃ chindāmi atra,
Para-loke nidrā-sthaṃ vīraṃ āhvayāmi,
Bali-chāyāyāṃ dehaṃ navaṃ kuru,
Mama icchayā, mama raktena, avatara."
"HERO — BE SUMMONED FROM THE PARALLEL WORLD!"
As the first cycle of chanting ended, DHĪMATĪ gestured to the royal guards.
A massive cylindrical container was carried to the center of the circle. At her final signal, the guard poured the blood onto the floor.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
The blood spread outward, flowing into every groove and rune carved into the stone.
Then—the circle responded.
The blood began to writhe, dragged by an unseen force. It crawled across the floor, filling sigils with terrifying precision until the magic circle was complete.
It glowed.
A dull light pulsed from beneath their feet, steadily brightening as it drained mana from the soldiers nearby, leaving them pale and shaking.
Then—
CRAACK!
A thunderous rupture split the air. Smoke exploded upward, engulfing the hall entirely.
Moments passed.
Slowly, the smoke thinned.
Standing at the center of the summoning circle was a young man—early twenties, lean yet well-toned. Black hair framed his face, and crimson eyes stared around him, filled with confusion… and fear.
The hero had arrived.
THE ANOTHER WORLD
Far from the dimension known as BHUVARIS—
In the bustling heart of Osaka, within the modern concrete sprawl of Osaka University, fate quietly aligned its gears.
At the exact same moment when heroes were being summoned across distant worlds.
"Oyy, Haruma!"
The sharp shout echoed across the university corridor, slicing through the evening calm.
"There's only one week left until the beta release of our game! You remember our night programme right...?"
The one shouting was a ripped young man in his early twenties, his broad shoulders straining against his casual shirt. His dark-purple hair caught the fading sunlight, while his eyes—sharp and brimming with arrogance—burned with impatience.
HIMKAZ KAMURA.
Ahead of him walked a calmer presence.
"When exactly are we finishing the final testing?"
The question came from HARUMA MITORESAWA, spoken in a apologetic tone. He possessed a well-toned physique, black hair that fell neatly over his forehead, and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it.
Haruma stopped, turned slightly, and smiled—a wry, apologetic smile.
"Sorry. Give me an hour. We can start after that."
Himkaz clicked his tongue.
"An hour better mean an hour."
They exited the university grounds together as the sky shifted into shades of amber and violet.
Himkaz strode ahead and climbed into his car, the engine roaring to life. He pulled up sharply beside Haruma and lowered the window.
"Get in. I'll drop you at the station."
"Thank you," Haruma replied, offering that same crooked smile as he slid into the passenger seat.
The car surged forward, cutting through traffic as the city lights flickered to life around them.
As the station came into view, Himkaz spoke without taking his eyes off the road.
"Message me once you reach home. We finish the final testing today—and we fix everything that needs fixing."
"Yeah. I'll do that. Sorry again."
Haruma smiled.
Himkaz scoffed quietly.
"…That frustrating smile," he muttered under his breath.
The two parted ways soon after.
Each returned to their own home.
Each washed away the fatigue of the day.
Each prepared themselves for what they believed would be nothing more than a long night of testing.
I'm ready. Come online.
The message appeared on Himkaz's phone.
He replied with a double thumbs-up emoji before standing up and walking toward his console.
From a locked drawer, he retrieved a disc with no label, its surface unnervingly pristine.
Himkaz inserted it into the console.
Then he placed the VR headset over his eyes.
The system booted up.
Miles away, Haruma mirrored the same actions.
His own console hummed to life as he slid in an identical, unnamed disc. The VR headset settled over his vision, shutting out the world he knew.
The moment Haruma's display stabilized, an invitation notification appeared.
HIMKAZ has invited you.
He accepted.
The game launched.
Logos faded in and out.
The title sequence began to scroll—
—and then—
A blinding white light flooded in both of their vision, swallowing every shape and color.
senses vanished.
Sound dissolved.
Thoughts fragmented.
"...Blank."
They were summoned.
HARUMA was summoned into AADINA.
HIMKAZ was summoned into VINASEL.
Both were cast into a world standing at the edge of chaos—one where bloodshed and war were about to engulf everything.