Before the world drowned in monsters, before kingdoms began to crumble, before the Book of Ten Swords chose an heir—
A boy stood in fire.
Daniel Bellhem, twelve years old at the time, watched his home burn. He remembered the smell more than anything—the thick, choking mix of blood, smoke, and something far worse… something demonic, unnatural, like rotting iron and sulfur boiling under the skin of the world.
He remembered the screams too.
Not the loud ones.The quiet ones.The kind people make when they already know they're about to die.
Those haunted him the most.
The kingdom of Astrid's eastern borders had been peaceful for centuries. Farmers tilled the soil. Knights patrolled sleepy roads. Merchants sang as they brought spices and silk from distant kingdoms.
But that peace shattered the night Daniel's life was carved in half.
He saw it again now as he stood in the ruins of an old outpost—five years older, hardened, scarred, but still carrying the weight of that night.
He closed his eyes.
And the memories rushed through him like cold water.
THE NIGHT OF FALL
The Bellhem manor was small compared to the grand castles of the Twelve Kingdoms, but it was noble, sturdy, and built of white granite. Its banners—silver gryphons on black cloth—danced in the wind that night.
Daniel was practicing with a wooden sword in the courtyard, swinging in wide, sloppy arcs. His father—Lord Arlan Bellhem—watched from a distance, arms crossed, the faintest hint of pride in his tired eyes.
"You grip it too tightly," his father said. "Relax your fingers. A sword is not strangled into obedience. It must flow with your intention."
"I want to get stronger," Daniel insisted. "If I don't push hard—"
"You'll break your wrist," a voice interrupted gently.
His mother. Lady Seraphine Bellhem. Her half-red, half-white hair fluttered behind her as she gave him a warm smile. Daniel inherited that hair from her—and the sharp jawline from his father. She knelt beside him, adjusting his stance, guiding his breathing.
"Strength isn't only in muscle," she said softly. "It is in patience."
She placed a hand on his chest.
"And heart."
Daniel remembered how her touch felt. Cool. Steady. Comforting.
Those were the last calm moments he ever had with them.
The first explosion shook the earth.
The ground trembled beneath Daniel's feet, sending dust raining from the manor walls. Another blast followed, then a scream from the northern watchtower.
Monsters poured out of the dark trees like an avalanche of nightmares.
Demonic wolves with three burning eyes.Beast-fiends stitched from the flesh of a dozen creatures.Ogres with runes carved into their skin, glowing sickly red.
The sky turned black with their silhouettes.
Daniel's father snatched him by the arm. "Run to the cellar. Now!"
But Daniel didn't run.
He was frozen—mesmerized, horrified—watching a demonic beast leap onto a guard and tear his torso apart like cloth.
His father slapped him hard across the cheek, snapping him back.
"Go!"
He shoved Daniel toward the cellar steps.
But before Daniel could descend, a monstrous roar shattered the courtyard gate.
A massive Beast-Ogre barreled through, crushing the stone archway as if it were wood. Its body burned with corrupted sigils. Its claws dripped with the blood of villagers.
It charged.
His father moved faster than Daniel had ever seen any human move. He threw himself at the monster with a roar, sword flashing.
Their blades clashed—steel against demonic hide. Sparks flew. The ogre's claw raked his father's side, but Arlan didn't fall.
"Seraphine!" he shouted. "Take him!"
Daniel's mother grabbed her son's wrist, pulling him down the steps. But Daniel twisted violently.
"No! Father!"
She dragged him against his will, tears streaking her face.
"Listen to me," she whispered, voice trembling but firm. "You must survive. If anything remains of our house, it must be you."
The cellar door slammed shut.
Daniel could still hear the battle above—the crash of weapons, the roars of monsters, the desperate shouts of soldiers. Then—
A scream.His father's voice.Cut short.
His mother froze. Her breath shuddered. She pushed Daniel deeper into the cellar shadows.
"Stay hidden," she said.
Daniel didn't move. "Mother—don't go—"
But she pressed a kiss to his forehead and rose.
"I love you."
The door opened.
Light poured in.
She stepped out.
The door closed again.
Daniel pressed his ear against the wood, trembling. The battle raged. More screams. More breaking stone. And then—
A final, piercing cry.
His mother's voice.
Silence followed.Long, heavy silence.
When Daniel finally pushed open the door, the courtyard was a graveyard of bodies and smoke. His father lay in pieces. His mother… he could not find enough of her to bury properly.
Monsters still prowled through the ruins. Daniel fled through the forest, bleeding, crying, alone.
He survived only because the monsters moved deeper into the kingdom, leaving the burning manor behind.
He survived—but part of him died that night.
THE ORPHAN YEARS
Daniel wandered for weeks, living off scraps, hiding under broken carts, stealing stale bread when he couldn't hunt. He slept in trees. He bathed in cold streams. He watched towns fall one by one as the beast tide surged.
The world grew colder.Crueler.Darker.
People whispered that the kingdom of Astrid was doomed. That no knight, no army, no kingdom stood a chance against the demonic waves.
Daniel learned to fight because he had to.He learned to kill because the monsters gave no mercy.He learned to endure because no one else would endure for him.
He became lean, hardened muscle over bone.He trained daily with broken weapons he scavenged from corpses.He grew faster, stronger, and more relentless than boys twice his age.
But the world wasn't done punishing him.
When he reached the border of the Eastern March, he found an abandoned outpost—Bellhem-made stonework—and inside, hidden under rubble, he found the object that would change his fate forever:
A sealed box bearing the Bellhem sigil.
Inside it:
A book wrapped in black chains.
The Book of Ten Swords.
No note.No instructions.Only the weight of fate.
Daniel stared at it for hours, afraid to touch it. The legends said the book chose only those worthy. Those strong enough. Those destined.
Daniel didn't feel worthy.Or destined.Or strong.
He felt like a boy standing in the ruins of his life.
But he took the book anyway.
Carried it with him for five years.Never opened it.Never tried.
Because deep down—
He feared what waited inside.
THE PRESENT NIGHT
Now seventeen, Daniel stood in the same outpost where he found the book. His black leather apprentice armor clung to his broad shoulders, shaped by years of brutal training. Half-white, half-red hair hung messily against his forehead.
He knelt before the stone altar, staring at the chained relic.
The night outside was too quiet.
He knew what that meant.
Monsters were close.
This time, he didn't have a mother to hide him.No father to protect him.No knights to stand before him.
He had the book.
He placed both hands on it.
The chains snapped.The book opened.Power spilled out.
And the nightmare vision of the battlefield consumed him.
He saw the Ten Swords.He saw the ancestors.He saw humanity losing the war.
And then—
He heard the voice:
"Claim me… heir of Bellhem…"
The first blade called to him.
The vision ended with sudden violence—jerking him back into real-world danger.
A monstrous roar tore through the forest.
A Beast-Ogre burst into the outpost courtyard—bigger than the one that killed his father, stronger, twisted by demonic corruption.
Daniel lifted his apprentice sword.
Hands trembling.Heart pounding.Breath shaking.
He whispered, "Not again… not this time…"
The ogre charged.
Daniel met it head-on.
The book ignited behind him, casting red shadows across the stone.
Energy surged through his spine. Through his arms. Into his sword.
His blade transformed—darkening, stretching, burning with crimson veins.
The First Blade.
Vorrath.
Daniel swung with every ounce of hatred, fear, grief, and strength he had ever forged.
The blade cut the ogre cleanly in two.
Its corpse hit the ground with an earth-shaking crash.
Daniel collapsed to one knee, trembling, gasping for breath. The book floated to his hands, glowing.
Ink formed new words:
"THE FIRST BLADE — LEVEL ONETHE PATH BEGINS."
Daniel stared into the horizon filled with distant roars.The beast tide was rising.The Twelve Kingdoms were unprepared.And he—
He was alone.
But he had a blade.He had a destiny.He had a reason to fight.
And he would carve his way through hell itself before he let another family suffer what he endured.