NEODYMIUM, the land where Alaric lives, is the largest and one of the two most powerful territories fighting for control over the continent. To its east, across the ocean, lies the largest landmass by size—ERBIUM.
Erbium, also known as the Land of Chaos, has been in a constant state of civil war for over a decade. It was once united under a brilliant young king, but after his sudden death from illness—and with no heir—the nation collapsed. Warlords seized control of regions, each declaring themselves king.
While the capital still stands, it's ruled not by a monarch but by three so-called elders. Yet even the capital remains under constant threat from self-proclaimed kings and warlords. Other nations choose not to intervene, seeing Erbium as a cursed, forsaken land—a liability in every sense.
*****
"Chief! We caught some rats!" A huge man with a large belly bursts into a large, temporary war tent.
Inside, a half-naked warrior—his body covered in battle scars, looking to be in his thirties—sits at the edge of his bed. He appears seasoned in war, with a face covered in scruffy facial hair and blond, fairly long, messy hair that looks like it hasn't been washed in weeks. Two women sleep soundly beside him. His expression is serious, troubled—lost in thought, perhaps from a dream.
"Gulan, who else got hit by that fire from the sky yesterday?" the sitting man he asks.
"Just you, Chief. Just you," Gulan replies, puzzled.
"I had a dream... The God of Death told me to—"
He suddenly coughs—hard. Blood sprays from his mouth as he falls to one knee, gasping for breath. Then he hears a whisper in his ear:
"Oh, I forgot to mention… You can't tell anyone about this. Do it again, and you might stop breathing entirely. Who knows?"
In his peripheral vision, he sees a smoky silhouette—the same figure from his dream.
As the pain subsides, he turns quickly—but there's no one there. Staring at the black fabric wall of the tent, he hears Gulan ask:
"Are you alright, Chief?"
"I'm fine," he replies, still focused on the spot where the smoky figure stood. "So I can't tell anyone, huh? What a playful god..." He bursts into maniacal laughter.
Then, the man—Ragna, the most feared warlord in northeastern Erbium—storms out of the tent. He grabs his two battle axes.
Outside, four enemy warriors kneel, beaten and bloodied.
Kill as many as you can, he thinks, smiling.
Without a word or a question, Ragna charges forward and beheads them one by one. With each kill, a divine seal on his back—once a simple circle—grows. Now it resembles a sun with four jagged rays.
"NOW, LET'S CONQUER ERBIUM FOR OURSELVES!!" he roars, raising his bloody axes.
His army of brutes lets out a cheer so thunderous the earth seems to shake.
*****
SCANDIUM, a land west of Neodymium, shares a northern border with it through a treacherous mountain belt. These mountains, with their harsh weather and deadly terrain, have made it nearly impossible for Neodymium to fully conquer northern Scandium.
However, the southern part of Scandium is a different story—now an ally of Neodymium. Once weak and small, it has grown in power over the years, thanks in part to Neodymium's support. But the true reason for its rise?
Bulla Felix.
Originally a bandit leader, Bulla used his political instincts and charisma to unite and control the south. He's cunning, strategic, and feared. Now, he commands all of southern Scandium.
"Boss, how are you feeling?" asks a tall man with a thick neck and an eyepatch.
"I'm alright. Just a burning sensation on my back—but nothing serious," Bulla replies, sipping tea.
"Take a seat," he offers, and the man complies. As he sets down his massive sword, it makes a loud clang—a testament to its weight.
"What do you think those fireballs from earlier were?" he asks.
"Not sure myself. You were hit by two, right? Are you okay?" Bulla replied
"I'm fine. Don't worry."
"As expected from the strongest warrior on this continent," Bulla says, leaning back and glancing at a ceiling painting—an image of a god standing atop a pile of corpses.
"You know, Rufus... that painting reminds me of you."
"I think it suits you better," Rufus replies, staring at it too. "You're the one who'll stand above all—no matter who falls."
"That's why I follow you, even into hell." He added
Bulla smirks. "If we're going to hell anyway... let's earn the worst sentence they can give." He laughs—not loud, but dark.
*****
"Good evening, bandit leader"
A figure, like the one Alaric saw, appears from the shadows.
"Who are you?" Bulla asks, immediately alert.
"I'm here to tell you that you've been chosen—a contender in the war to determine the next God of War."
Bulla rubs his chin, taking this seriously. He already knows—it's no dream.
"Can you explain in detail?"
"Of course. The burn on your back is a divine seal. A gift from the gods. In three years, it will break—and you'll receive your power. But its strength depends on who and how many you've killed. The more powerful your victims, the stronger you'll become."
"How will I know I'm getting stronger? Any signs?"
"Good question. Each time you kill, your divine seal changes. Rays will grow—longer or thicker if the opponent is powerful. Sometimes new rays appear. Sometimes existing ones grow."
"Do all contenders have the same condition?"
"Yes."
"What's the catch?"
"I'll return in three years. Until then, you can't tell anyone about this dream."
"What if I do? Will you kill me?"
"Try it, if you're curious."
"One more thing—how many winners will there be?"
"I said 'God.' Did I stutter?"
Bulla narrows his eyes.
The old figure chuckles. "You're worried you'll have to fight Rufus, your right hand man. He seems stronger than you. Afraid of being outmatched?"
Bulla smirks. "Don't underestimate Rufus's loyalty. He'd kill himself if I ordered it."
*****
LUTETIUM, the main rival of Neodymium, lies north—its border also guarded by the deadly mountain belt. The mountains have prevented all-out war between these two superpowers… for now.
Inside a war room filled with armored knights, a door slams open.
"Captain, the intel is here!" a knight shouts, dragging in a plain-looking man—clearly a civilian.
"ALL OF YOU, OUT."
The knights file out silently. The plain man begins sweating profusely.
A deep voice echoes:
"Who killed my brother?" he asked menacingly.
Hasdru was the younger brother of the former Captain who had been captured by Neodymium.He used to serve under the 11th squad, but now Hasdru has taken command following his brother's demise.Squad 11 was known as the outcast unit—feared even by other squads. They were called the "wild animals" for a reason: they often disobeyed orders and committed acts deemed unethical for knights.However, they were also one of the strongest squads, and because of their effectiveness on the battlefield, the king had no choice but to tolerate their existence and let them operate freely.
Hasdru is in his early 30s, muscular, short black hair, with a scarred face. He steps forward and draws his sword.
"Let's see how long the ray grows if I kill you."
"No! Please, sir—!" the man screams in terror.
Shhhk.
A clean diagonal cut. Blood pools. A new, faint ray forms on Hasdru's divine seal. Now four in total.
"In three years, Neodymium will fall. I'll kill their coward king myself and become the god of this continent."
And of course...
"That filthy Executioner...
ALARIC... I'll cut your head off."