"War is not always declared with drums—sometimes, it creeps from the shadows, slowly, yet lethally."
Our footsteps echoed on the stone path, tracing the cold and silent northern route. Before us stretched a cracked plain, dotted with dead trees and earth crusted in blackish-red. It wasn't hard to understand why people called it the Scorched Borderlands—this place still carried the remnants of hatred that never truly died out.
"We're almost at the old fortress… this place was once a major battlefield," Elvira said quietly, as if unwilling to disturb the dreadful silence around us.
I looked down at the ground beneath our feet. Gaping scars marred the earth's surface—like remnants of a great explosion. The air still reeked of burnt magic and charred remnants. In a place like this, even time seemed reluctant to move forward.
The old fortress loomed in silence. Its walls were crumbling, stained with soot and explosion marks. Faded emblems of past glory were etched into the stone, scratched out and defaced with graffiti of rebellion.
"This was once a Vyland outpost… until Desterra troops ambushed them two years ago," Elvira explained.
We walked through its dusty, shadowed corridors. At the end of one hallway, I stopped. Something was lying on the stone floor.
A corpse.
But not a normal human.
Its body was large, with muscles stiff like stone, and most strikingly—black crystals protruded from its chest and neck, like parasitic growths draining life away.
I knelt and touched the surface of the crystal. It was cold… and felt alive.
"This… is an experiment. They tried to create artificial soldiers," I muttered.
Elvira stiffened. "Soldiers infused with dark magic. A secret project by Vyland. But… it was supposed to be shut down…"
I looked at her sharply. "Or buried even deeper."
A sharp whistle cut through the air, followed by the clang of metal striking the wall near Elvira's head.
"They know we're here!" she shouted.
From the shadows, figures emerged. They wore dark silver cloaks, their faces hidden by masks. A strange symbol was clearly displayed on their chests—a bleeding eye, representing merciless surveillance.
"You're not one of us… but you touched what is forbidden," one of them said in a flat, masked voice.
"And now you won't leave here alive."
I drew my sword.
But before I could act, Elvira cried out in panic:
"Minato! The ground—it's changing!"
The ground beneath us darkened, pulsing like a living thing. In an instant, it collapsed, dragging us into a dark pit.
Consciousness returned slowly. I felt the cold stone at my back and pain in my wrists. Pale blue magical chains bound our arms, suppressing movement and magic. Elvira was still weak beside me.
"This isn't just a trap… this is where they store their experiments," I muttered, my eyes scanning the stone walls adorned with unnatural patterns of dark crystal.
Footsteps echoed.
From the darkness, a man appeared. His hair was bone-white, his eyes red as embers. He wore a long, tattered black coat, and in his hand—a staff topped with a dragon skull. He looked like a shadow of the past returning to haunt the world.
"You… are no ordinary person," he said. "Ancient magic, in the body of a peasant boy. The world truly is changing."
I stared at him. "Who are you?"
"My name is none of your concern. But remember this: we need power like yours. A new world is about to be forged. And if you won't join us… then you'll become the next test subject."
In the unknown underground corridor, Minato and Elvira now faced not only physical darkness, but choices that could alter the course of their fate. As the mysterious organization behind the rebirth of a new world began to reveal itself—they realized the next war would not begin with drums, but from shadows that had already taken root.