In moments of my absence, I plunged into the unconscious — heavier than sleep — for four hours. I felt as if I were being embraced by a black abyss, falling into its depths whose end I could not know, without feeling fear. Yet I did not want to leave.
Why?
I had lived a false heroism about a warrior who decided to protect those weaker than him, and before he died, he was saved. Reflecting, I wondered.
One question lingered in my mind: what if I found this village in reality — would the same thing happen to me as in the illusion? I do not know.
After my long sleep, a loud, terrifying scream pierced the silence, and I woke immediately. I stood frozen in fear. I saw Commander Ryota in front of me, angry, because the monster's body had exploded on him, scattering its entrails inside Ryota.
Yes, Commander Ryota was not an illusion. I had thought he was, because the monster appeared before me. Only then did I realize the monster could fragment itself and had done so with me to ensure I could not escape.
I first asked Commander Ryota about his ability to find me.
He answered in a tired, deep voice:
"Before I went to sleep, I saw you running, fleeing from something specific. At that moment, I sensed the monster's aura, which was unusual. So I decided to come rescue you. By the way, what happened to you that allowed it to lure you?"
After his answer, I decided to confess everything to Commander Ryota.
"I don't know, Commander. These two hours felt like five days. I experienced a perfect illusion in which I felt I had decided to save an entire village from a crazy yokai. Until I came here, and the curtain was lifted — what I experienced wasn't real to the point that I thought you were another illusion."
Commander Ryota looked at me in shock and said something that made me reflect on what I had just said:
"An illusion? No monster can create such a perfect illusion… unless the illusion represents the story of one of its victims."
He pointed his finger to the ground.
"A hundred years ago, there really was a farming village. One day, it was destroyed, and its inhabitants disappeared in a strange and incomprehensible way. A delegation was sent to investigate the strange disappearance, but the delegation itself met the same fate, and the story ended there. I have now confirmed that the cause of the inhabitants' disappearance was the one we just fought."
Immediately, the commander struck the ground with great force. The earth cracked, revealing what had been hidden. We found something worse than the monster: torn, decayed bodies belonging to the village's residents. Only black bones remained, half decomposed, buried deep in the earth like secrets buried with their owners, hidden carefully to avoid discovery.
I could not speak a word. I did not want to explain what I saw, nor ask questions. I realized that in every hour, a part of this war's filth is revealed. In every corner of this land, countless stories are buried deeply. The villagers were not the first victims of this war.
Now, one of my questions had been answered — how monsters could create illusions matching our reality despite our differences. The truth: they do not create illusions. They borrow the stories of their victims, constructing a theater that displays screams no one has heard and makes you feel sensations no human has ever felt. In this theater, we become participants, and when it ends, we become part of it.
Weeks passed after this incident, and I did not see Commander Ryota again. I cannot say things returned to normal. They worsened, even with part of the monsters gone. Every day, we returned with losses — not lost in war, but lost souls.
Those with me began to forget the significance of a person's death, treating it as ordinary, no longer grieving. The deceased became mere numbers, dismissed after each incident.
I opposed this moral decay. But what could I do? Would they listen to me? They were accustomed to it. They only smirked, tongues out, voices mocking me.
While writing what happened to me, I remembered an old saying: the Hundred Years' War did not reach its peak until the end. Then why did such warnings appear?
Forty years ago, a week into what was happening to me, a mighty sound awoke everyone in the camp. Signals erupted in every corner. As the sound intensified, I dropped to my knees, covering my ears. The sound extended across the world. The sky split open, and powerful, bright red meteors descended, filling our eyes. I repeated, "This is the end, this is the end."
The meteors fell with force, bouncing across the camp, exploding with each step. We heard screams rising, and the earth rejected us. What descended was not a mere meteor; it came from the highest-level rulers of power.
The annihilation accelerated. Anyone attempting to escape was incinerated. Everyone fled to the Fourth Kingdom, Val-Mirath — the closest refuge. This was the worst escape.
Clouds covered the place. We did not see a great lightning strike descend from the sky, erasing the mountains and valleys surrounding the kingdom. We could see nothing. The sound resonated within us. The lightning reached us, killing those closest to the mountain's edge. In the center of the kingdom, a primal energy rose from the darkness, mingled with lightning, and fell on the kingdom, destroying it. I could not comprehend what I saw. From the hill, its owner watched. His golden glowing eyes knew no mercy. The war had begun.
The rulers appeared, and with them emerged the true monsters from beneath the earth — dragons that did not frighten with fire or size, but devoured everything around them. Dark entities consumed all within moments. Chaos engulfed the world, and war unleashed its full fury.
The superficial layer of this war was stripped away. The banners turned red. Elites of the kingdoms emerged, and rulers spread across every land.
Page Seventy
The Ancient Kingdom