You have unlocked the secrets of the Pandora continent.
You have become aware of the fluttering black cloaks that aim to ravage the world.
Please continue to prevent the end.
You have unlocked new special classes.
The world is now open to the player...
"Welcome."
Two players.
Two entirely different beginnings in a new world.
One familiar.
The other absurdly foreign.
Unlike other similar stories, there was no Demon Lord to defeat and no convenient outline detailing the enemy they were specifically summoned to face at the end of the road.
Only a vague designation.
"Black Cloaks."
To the residents of this world, there existed a hierarchy of awareness—layers of truth that only those sufficiently informed could even discuss.
The average person knew of the illuminated side of society: law-abiding citizens, merchants, explorers, high society, and rulers.
They also knew of the grimy underside: thieves, smugglers, drug peddlers, assassins, and the countless varieties of criminal filth that thrived in the shadows.
But...
There was a darker side.
A hidden side.
Riddled with cults, secret orders, and organisations so deeply entrenched that some were rumoured to possess ties to the most prominent powers of the illuminated world itself.
Among them, one group stood above all others in terms of history, mystery, and infamy.
The Dark Clad.
It was not their actual name.
In fact, nobody knew their name.
So the descriptor alone circulated in hushed conversations among influential nobles, ancient families, and those unfortunate enough to glimpse fragments of the truth.
And even that only covered a fraction of the picture.
The reality was believed to extend deeper and darker than anyone had yet to imagine.
Which naturally raised a question.
If such a force truly existed—if it was as ancient, deeply rooted, and terrifying as the stories suggested—
Why had it not already succeeded?
Whatever its purpose was, why had the world not already fallen into its grasp?
The answer...
Was one man.
Though even calling him a man failed to properly capture who—what—he was.
---
Arno clutched his neck with both hands before patting himself all over.
He was still alive.
And he could move again.
'What was—?'
"You'll have to forgive me," the blond said simply. "I released faint traces of my ki in annoyance."
His voice was rough yet oddly disarming at the same time. The combination threw most of the listeners for a loop, aside from the cloaked figures, who were too occupied trying to gather their leader in the midst of his spiral.
"You just got caught in it," he finished, inspecting his fingernails.
The baron blinked.
If what was said was to be believed, mere trickles of the man's power had been enough to make them experience a simulated instantaneous death.
'So this is... the strongest man in the world...' He gulped, a mix of awe and a struggle to wrap his mind around it rising. "...Raikard al Artemissia."
The blond nodded.
"That is me, yes. I haven't shown my face outside of Degradio for a while." He tilted his head. "I'm surprised you recognised me."
Arno almost wondered if the man had somehow missed the fact that his moniker had been shouted for everyone to hear just moments ago.
The Storm Tyrant.
You would have to be born today—or locked away for the last six hundred years or so—to not recognise that name.
The oldest of the Three Peaks.
And the one who brought a centuries-long conflict to a halt with just his appearance on the blood-soaked battlefield.
Even the Patriarchs of Alonbright and Rosenhart had to cease all their moves and schemes in the man's jurisdiction, the Academy City.
"Anyway," Raikard started, scratching the back of his head with a bored expression. "You and the rest should leave. Whatever you were doing here no longer concerns you."
His gaze shifted, and Arno's instinctively lowered, shaken by just a glimpse of his eyes.
"Tell your masters you met me. If they take issue with it, they can come see me."
He flew forward casually, posture unchanging.
"Hey, Urion," the blond called, freezing the panicking man in his tracks. "You're alive?"
"...How...?"
The red-and-black-robed man frowned as though personally offended.
"Did you think I wouldn't be able to tell it was you?" he replied, sighing and casting a brief glance toward the other four in warning before pointing roughly westward with his thumb. "As far as I can see, your real body is somewhere that way, am I right?"
All the Dark Clad stiffened, the white-haired man's expression falling frighteningly still.
Far away—across multiple borders and territories—an injured man connected to numerous machines clicked his tongue.
Sweat beaded across his brow despite the deliberately lowered temperature of the room.
Urion coughed.
"...So are you coming for me now?"
Back on the now-silent battlefield, Raikard hummed thoughtfully.
"You bastards' tricks make it hard for me to do immediately," he said, shaking his head. "Of course, you could always tell me your exact location and save me the trouble of an investigation."
Instantly, all five cloaks scattered in separate directions at impossible speeds. Speeds that made everything they had displayed beforehand seem almost laughable.
'Telepathically told them to run, huh?' Raikard mused, a smile forming at the same time a vein popped on his forehead. "These rats will never stop being disrespectful little shits..."
His gaze slowly drifted upward, eyes glowing faintly.
"The day you can run from me... I'll be dead."
The sea, which had become perfectly still upon his arrival, now shook as though the world itself had started convulsing.
The intensity increased rapidly.
Every fleeing figure was thrown from the water.
Then—
The ocean carved sideways.
Across an eighty-kilometre stretch, entire sections of sea bent and tilted at impossible angles.
"Agh—!"
It was the last thing Arno managed before being swallowed by the raging waters alongside everyone else.
Screams spread in every direction.
All at once, everyone was swept into the chaos without distinction.
Through it all, Raikard remained perfectly still.
The towering walls of overturned water cast a shadow over him, leaving only his silhouette and glowing eyes visible.
Finally, the madness subsided, and the ocean became calm once more.
Raikard frowned at the sight.
He seemed mildly bothered before ultimately shrugging it off.
"I gave those other guys ample time to leave, and they still stayed in range..." He shook his head, a perplexed expression joining the frown. "Every new generation somehow produces crazier risk-takers."
He unfolded his arms from behind his back and repeatedly clapped his hands together, acting more like a headmaster wrangling troublemakers than the strongest.
"Come out while I'm still being kind."
No response.
Raikard's hands stopped mere centimetres apart.
He recalled a time when it wasn't his responsibility to run checks and balances over the world, when he was in the mountains devoted entirely to what he loved.
'How bothersome,' he thought, blocking a piercing thread without moving or looking. 'Perfect memory becomes a burden when you've lived long...'
He extended a hand.
A faint golden sheen coated it, and the water at a somewhat distant point erupted.
Then a woman was violently dragged from the depths and into his grasp.
"Ugh..." she grunted, clawing at his hand and wrist while glaring defiantly against her better judgment. "We... won't yield... to you."
Raikard smiled.
He could tell.
This one was young.
Unlike the others, she had yet to experience the despair of a truly insurmountable wall standing as her adversary.
It reminded him of another troublesome young prospect who had flown the nest some time ago.
"...It's been a while," he said, loosening his grip around her neck. "I'll teach you a quick lesson, child."
The sky darkened, a low rumble rolling in with the clouds.
Ki Arts were a simple yet complicated matter.
For the longest time, mana was the dominant power in the world, and unless you were innately born with ki, you would be considered a fool for choosing to pursue it.
That is, until seven hundred years ago.
A meagre, unrecognised man built upon the then-lacking foundations of ki breathing and opened the doorway to applying attributes to ki.
Breathing Forms were born.
Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Metal, Ice... and eventually, all the others became another dimension for the ki practitioners of that age to pursue.
And just like that, attribution was no longer the sole domain of mana users.
Schools were soon formed, each hoping to cement their martial arts born from their own breathing art into the pages of history. Hundreds, then thousands, then hundreds of thousands.
Not deviating from human nature, they branched out rather than coming together to create fewer, more meaningful innovations.
Amidst all of it, a man—overshadowed and overlooked in favour of his talented mage brother—discovered a gem where nobody thought to look.
And with just a little bit of polishing...
It became legend.
Crack—
BOOM
The cloaked woman looked upward.
The sky had been painted gold.
Arcs of lightning shone through the clouds with such brilliance that they overwhelmed the night itself.
Darkness remained only where the lightning seemingly chose not to reach.
"I hate fighting, you know," Raikard mused aloud. "It's always so loud, and by the end of it..."
The remaining four cloaks surfaced, each poised with their respective attacks, but Raikard closed his eyes, a forlorn expression on his face.
"I don't feel a thing."
Lightning erupted from his form, absolutely devouring every single enemy in their entirety.
The world answered with a thunderclap so immense it echoed all the way to the nearest settlements. And as the light faded, he stared at his smoking hand. He'd overdone it. Not even ashes were left.
"...I accidentally killed the body Urion was using too."
Raikard ruffled his own hair in frustration.
He had come here to investigate Luvarne's uprooting, and instead found that the rats he'd warned to behave were acting up still.
Not only that, someone he was fairly certain he'd killed was still alive.
"Must be a casis thing," he muttered, floating idly. "I've never been able to grasp anything about that power..."
He scowled.
Why hadn't he been alerted to the Dark Clad's movements?
Long ago, an arrangement had been made. He would be the arm. The force that dragged the pests back into the holes they crawled from, while his "helper" would be the eyes and ears.
'I need to visit that guy,' he sighed, feeling a headache forming, though it was impossible for him. 'He can help me track Urion too.'
"Ah."
A recent memory flashed into his mind.
"The last intake of the year happens soon, yeah?" Raikard asked.
"In under two months, yes," Lucard replied.
"I heard there are some promising candidates this time around," A smirk formed. "Like the kid who claimed Galaplexius. I'll try to make it back before then—"
He blinked slowly.
Was that even possible anymore?
He would have to travel north, which would likely take him at least a week unless he completely trashed his "friend's" defences.
Afterwards, he would have to hunt down Urion, who would have moved by then. And then, inevitably, deal with his preprepared schemes just to kill him, escape the annoying failsafe the Dark Clad loved so much and then make it back to Degradio.
"In total... maybe a month and a half."
He was regretting taking his time to arrive here now.
With a greater sense of urgency, he tensed his body. Lightning crawled across his body, and in a burst of ki and thunder, Raikard al Artemissia vanished into the night sky.
---
Reoloy paced frantically around the lower section of the warship's command room.
He was still dressed in the same uniform from the "royal meeting." He had long since dismissed the others, but sleep was never going to be an option for him this night.
"Oh, I know it probably wouldn't be an issue for you, but it would be best for you to stay away from the south."
Cale's voice echoed through his thoughts.
"Many outrageous forces have gathered there since the land disappeared."
"...What was he talking about?" Reoloy asked, his voice barely registering above a whisper. "You notified me of the spell's activation yourself."
[The relic's energy was insufficient for the awareness-limiting barrier's formation]
"Then why are you only telling me now?!" Reoloy roared, slamming his fist into one of the consoles.
Silence.
Then the system screen flickered.
[You didn't ask]
Reoloy froze.
If crashing the ship into the mountains they were very slowly approaching was an option he could entertain, he would have decided to right here and now.
'Somehow this place is starting to feel just as annoying as the old world was...'
He exhaled heavily and dropped into one of the seats.
Absentmindedly navigating through the interface, he pulled up a map of the continent.
"Navarra?" he asked, raising a brow. "How outdated. Was this thing last active four hundred years ago? The empire split into five countries. You're pretty useless if you don't know that."
He felt a twinge of outrage in a distant corner of his mind.
A frown formed on his face.
"Oi, system," he called, drumming his fingers on the metallic surface beside him.
[Yes, User?]
"You said you were some kind of fallback because Luvarne didn't activate properly, but especially recently... I have my reasons to believe..."
Reoloy's eyes narrowed slightly.
"That you lied to me."