x
Darkness. Nothing but an endless void.
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Kumuna felt weightless, floating in the empty abyss. No sound, no sensation—just silence stretching infinitely in every direction.
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Was he dreaming? Was he dead?
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He wasn’t sure.
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Then—
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A soft chime echoed around him.
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A solid floor materialized beneath his feet, stabilizing him, while a blue light pulsed around the floating platform.
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He turned his head, eyes widening as a glowing blue screen flickered into existence before him.
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⸻
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PLAYER: KUMUNA ROLIN
LEVEL: 1
RACE: HUMAN
CLASS: UNASSIGNED
CHARACTER LOADING…
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⸻
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Kumuna blinked at the floating text. “Okay… this is weird.”
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He reached out, attempting to touch the glowing screen, but his fingers passed through it like mist.
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He arched a brow. “Huh. Well, shit…”
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Then—
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A sudden pull.
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His stomach flipped as gravity reasserted itself, yanking him downward. The void around him twisted, colors blending together in a chaotic swirl before—
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Light.
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Blinding, golden light.
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⸻
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The Throne Room of the Gilded Empire
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Kumuna crashed onto a polished marble floor with an audible thud.
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“Ow—damn!” He groaned, rubbing the back of his head. “Could’ve given a guy a warning first… stupid screen.”
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As he sat up, his vision sharpened, revealing his surroundings—massive golden pillars stretching toward a domed ceiling, elaborate banners of gold and deep crimson draped across the walls, and a polished floor that gleamed beneath him. The scent of burning incense and metal filled the air, creating an atmosphere of both grandeur and intimidation.
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And seated before him, on an enormous golden throne, was a king.
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His presence was overwhelming. A ruler in every sense of the word. His golden cape draped over his powerful shoulders, his piercing brown eyes regarding Kumuna with careful calculation. His neatly trimmed beard, his dark weathered skin, and the sheer authority radiating from him made it clear—this was King Rhaegor Lysandor, ruler of the Gilded Empire.
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Beside him stood a young man in fine royal attire—his son, no doubt—with a sharp, composed expression.
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And surrounding them—
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Ten warriors.
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They stood in a semi-circle around the throne, each exuding sheer strength and power, clad in elaborate battle-worn armor, their weapons resting at their sides.
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A mix of expressions met Kumuna’s arrival—some intrigued, others indifferent.
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“Well now,” Kumuna muttered, pushing himself up. “Ain’t this fancy.”
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The warriors stiffened at his casual attitude.
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Then—
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A scoff.
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A burly man, arms crossed, his jaw clenched with visible disdain. “This… child is supposed to be our hero?” His voice was deep, dripping with disbelief and irritation. “Surely, the gods have made a mistake.”
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Kumuna glanced at the man—a walking fortress of muscle, clad in heavily plated armor with deep scars running along his arms. His eyes burned with clear disapproval.
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However, Kumuna remained unfazed. He stood to his feet, dusted himself off, stretched, and smirked.
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“Damn, dude. A little rude for someone you just met.”
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A few of the warlords chuckled, but the displeased one wasn’t amused. He took a step forward, sneering.
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“A mere boy cannot possibly be the savior of this world. We have spent lifetimes honing our skills, leading armies, and protecting this land. Why should we entrust our fate to someone so… insignificant?”
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Kumuna tilted his head. “Damn, dude. We just met. Why are you hating on me this early?”
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The man’s glare hardened, seemingly ready to argue further, but before he could, a stern commanding voice cut through the air.
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“Kai’Zen,” the king’s voice echoed through the throne room, calm yet laced with authority. “Enough.”
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Kai’Zen clenched his fists, still glaring at Kumuna. After a tense moment, he exhaled sharply, turning toward the king.
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With reluctant obedience, he bowed. “Apologies, Your Majesty,” he said, though his tone was anything but sincere. He then turned sharply, storming out of the throne room, but not before giving Kumuna one last glare.
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Kumuna watched him go, lips pursed. “That dude’s got issues.”
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A few of the warriors chuckled again, but others remained indifferent.
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The king finally chuckled softly, stepping forward, placing a firm hand on Kumuna’s shoulder.
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“You must forgive Kai’Zen,” Rhaegor said. “He is a warrior of great pride—one who has fought in countless battles. He sees strength as something earned, not given.”
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Kumuna shrugged. “It’s okay, I’ve dealt with a few people like him before… a lot, actually.”
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The king laughed heartily. “Well, you can expect a lot more from him.”
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He then gestured to himself and his son. “Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am King Rhaegor Lysandor, ruler of the Gilded Empire. And this—” he gestured to the young man beside him, “is my son, Prince Verric Lysandor.”
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The prince gave a slight nod, his expression reserved. “An honor to meet you, Hero.”
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Kumuna grinned. “Nice to meet ya too, Prince V.”
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The prince raised a brow at the nickname but chose not to comment.
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King Rhaegor continued, taking a step forward, his deep voice carrying throughout the grand throne room. “These warriors before you are the Ten Heavenly Warlords—the strongest warriors in the Gilded Empire. They are my most trusted champions, masters of war, and now, your mentors. They will train you, shape you, and if necessary, break you so that you may become the warrior the gods intended you to be.”
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Kumuna’s eyes scanned the group. Each of them carried an aura of sheer power, their presences nearly suffocating. Some looked amused, others indifferent, and a few downright unimpressed.
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One by one, they stepped forward.
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The first to step forward was a tall, lean half-elf woman with flowing silver hair and piercing emerald eyes. She moved with an effortless grace, and the way she carried her rapier, resting elegantly at her hip, told him she was used to ending fights in a single stroke.
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She looked him over, not with disdain, but with an appraising gaze.
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“I am Seraphis, The Silver Tempest. Half-elf, strategist, and master duelist,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying the weight of authority. “I specialize in speed and precision combat. If you lack discipline, you will be useless to me. But if you prove yourself, I will make sure you wield your blade with purpose.”
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Kumuna smirked. “Precision, huh? Not gonna lie, I’ve never been great at being ‘graceful.’ But hey, if you’re willing to teach, I’ll learn.”
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Seraphis didn’t smile, but something in her expression softened slightly before she stepped back into line.
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Next, a short, stocky dwarf stomped forward. His burly frame was wrapped in heavy armor, and his thick beard was woven into tight braids. A large tower shield rested against the ground beside him, nearly as tall as he was.
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“Garran, The Unbroken Shield. Dwarf, defense specialist, and master of endurance,” he rumbled, his voice deep and steady. “You got strength in those legs, lad? No? Well, you better find it, ‘cause I’ll have you carrying weight till your bones scream. A warrior without endurance is a corpse waiting to happen.”
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Kumuna rubbed his chin, nodding. “Endurance, huh? I dunno, man, I’m pretty fast, but I’d rather not carry my own coffin before the fight even starts.”
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Garran let out a loud laugh. “Ha! You’re quick-witted, I’ll give you that. But speed means nothing if you can’t take a hit. I’ll make sure you can stand your ground.”
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Next to step forward was a beastling, his body lean and toned with sharp, wolf-like features. His golden eyes flickered with animalistic intensity, and the curved twin blades strapped to his back looked deadly sharp.
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“I’m Orwin, The Fangs of War. Beastling, hunter, assassin.” His voice was smooth, yet carried a dangerous edge. “You might’ve been chosen, but if you can’t hunt, if you can’t track, you’ll die before you even reach the battlefield. Survive my training, and we’ll talk.”
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Kumuna gave a casual thumbs-up. “Survive, huh? That sounds like a challenge.”
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Orwin grinned, revealing sharp canines. “It is.”
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A hooded figure emerged next—cloaked in shadows, her movements eerily silent. Even standing still, she gave the impression of someone who could disappear at a moment’s notice.
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“I am Veska, The Phantom Dancer. Human. Rogue. Assassin.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried across the room with a ghostly presence. “Weakness is unforgivable. In battle, hesitation is death. You either strike first, or you die first.”
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Kumuna raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t want to be an assassin?”
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Veska tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable beneath her mask. “Then you will still learn. Knowing how to kill ensures you know how to survive.”
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“…Okay, fair point,” he admitted.
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A towering mountain of a man stepped forward next, arms crossed over his broad chest. His fiery red and blonde hair, along with his thick beard, made him look as if he had stepped straight out of a war saga. He rested a massive warhammer against his shoulder, his muscles flexing beneath his armor.
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“Torvas, The Crimson Thunder. Human. Berserker. Wrecker of battlefields.” His voice boomed like rolling thunder. “I don’t do delicate. I don’t do careful. I break things—armor, bones, and men. If you can’t keep up, I’ll leave you in the dust. But if you survive my training? You’ll hit like a war god.” He smirked, tilting his hammer slightly toward Kumuna. “Let’s see if you got the guts, little hero.”
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Kumuna gave him a challenging grin. “I mean, I’d rather not get crushed on my first day, but if breaking things is part of the job, sign me up.”
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A sharp contrast to Torvas, the next warrior was a lean, wiry man with flame-like tattoos covering his arms. His black hair was streaked with red, and a massive greatsword rested on his back, flickering with embers.
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“Rivis, The Blazing Storm. Human. Fire wielder. Battlefield sweeper.” His crimson eyes burned with excitement as he twirled a flicker of fire between his fingers. “I like battles. The heat. The chaos. The thrill of watching weaklings crumble.” His smirk widened, flashing sharp teeth. “Don’t bore me, kid. If you do, I might just turn up the heat.”
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Kumuna chuckled. “I don’t plan on being anyone’s kindling, but you do have a cool entrance, I’ll give you that.”
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Next was a woman—cool, calculated, and utterly unshaken. Her icy blue gaze pierced through Kumuna as if she could see straight into his soul. Her black and silver hair was braided down her back, and a frost-covered halberd rested at her side.
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“Mira, The Frost Valkyrie. Human. Ice wielder. War tactician.” Her voice was crisp, emotionless. “Strength means nothing without control. Power without discipline leads to ruin. If you wish to be a warrior, you will learn precision, patience, and restraint. If you do not—” her cold eyes narrowed, “—you will break.”
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Kumuna exhaled, nodding. “You sound a little scary, not gonna lie.”
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Mira blinked. “Good.”
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Kumuna wasn’t sure if she was joking.
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A hulking figure stepped forward, towering even over Torvas. His massive frame was covered in heavy armor, thick plates layered over muscle upon muscle. He carried a battle axe that looked like it could cleave through mountains. Unlike the others, he did not speak immediately.
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Kumuna blinked. “And you are…?”
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The man let out a low grunt.
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“Darius, The Iron Juggernaut. Half-orc.” His voice was deep and gravelly, few words wasted. “I crush.”
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“…That’s it?”
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Darius stared at him. “That’s all that matters.”
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Kumuna nodded slowly. “Alright, man, I respect the simplicity.”
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The last warlord, dressed in a blend of armor and mage robes, stepped forward with a smirk. He carried twin curved blades, each glowing faintly with infused magic. His sharp violet eyes studied Kumuna with amusement.
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“Well, well,” he mused. “Our ‘Hero’ doesn’t look like much.”
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Kumuna sighed. “Man, you guys gotta stop saying that.”
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Ronan chuckled. “Ronan, The Arcane Gladiator. Human. Spellblade. Master of the arcane arts.” He flourished one of his swords, the runes glowing brighter. “You’re cocky. That’s not necessarily a bad thing—confidence fuels progress. But make sure it’s backed up with skill, or you’ll be nothing but an overconfident corpse.” He sheathed his blades, tilting his head. “Try not to die too quickly, yeah?”
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Kumuna shrugged. “I’ll try my best. Can’t make any promises.”
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The warlords exchanged glances before stepping back, their introductions complete.
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King Rhaegor spoke once more. “Your training begins tomorrow.”
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Kumuna stretched. “Alright. Sounds fun.”
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Prince Verric raised a brow. “You don’t seem very… concerned.”
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Kumuna shrugged. “Why worry? This is exciting. I get magic, badass teachers, and a whole kingdom backing me up? What’s not to like?”
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Kai’Zen scoffed. “Arrogant brat.” He mumbled in the corner of the room.
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Kumuna smirked at him. “I heard that You’ll warm up to me eventually.”
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Kai’Zen rolled his eyes and left the room, for real this time.
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Kumuna chuckled to himself “Very uptight”
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“You’ll get used to it,” Orwin spoke patting Kumana on the shoulder.
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“If you say so…” Kumuna sighed.
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A Moment of Reflection
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Later, Kumuna was escorted to his chambers—massive, luxurious, far too fancy for his taste. A king-sized bed, velvet curtains, a balcony overlooking the city—it was wealth beyond anything he had ever seen.
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He flopped onto the bed, stretching his arms behind his head.
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“Man… this is crazy.”
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But despite his confidence, his thoughts drifted.
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Kaida, Tsubaki, Mishell.
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Where were they?
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Were they safe?
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His grin faded slightly, his expression thoughtful. He exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t worry too much just yet—he had no answers, and panicking wouldn’t help.
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Still…
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“Hope you guys are out there,” he muttered.
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As he lay there, exhaustion finally crept in.
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His eyelids grew heavy.
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And soon—
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Sleep took him.
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Tomorrow, his journey would begin.
