ARCADES

The war between Arcades and Kings left the land in a haunting silence.

Twelve years ago, Kalamari had leapt from a cliff—his body swallowed by the roaring waterfall below. That moment, etched in time, marked the end of an era and the beginning of a long, eerie quiet. To the world, it was as if he had vanished. But in truth, his spirit had only gone to rest… preparing for the greater war that was yet to come.

In the spirit realm, the soul of the late Overlord watched over him. Trained him. Sharpened him. Guiding the boy to awaken the power buried deep within.

Meanwhile, time moved on.

Without the Overlord, the balance between the kingdoms shifted. Fear seeped into the hearts of rulers and citizens alike. The death of Overlord Leash left a void none could fill. And with no sign of a successor, despair took root.

Twelve long years passed.

Until one quiet morning—just as the fog was lifting over the river—a stray fisherman stumbled upon something extraordinary.

---

He was returning from a routine fishing trip, his boat creaking softly against the current, when he saw it.

A body.

Floating near the rocks, barely conscious, clinging to life.

The old man gasped. "Oh my goodness… This is no ordinary man," he muttered, stepping into the shallow water. "This is a high-ranking warrior. What is he doing here? Is he... dead?"

He waded closer and placed two fingers on the young man's neck.

A faint pulse.

"He's still breathing," the fisherman whispered. "I have to help him."

Despite his weathered age, the old man was no stranger to strength. His name was Togiru.

Though he now lived as a fisherman, he was once a warrior—trained not by a master, but by hardship itself. He had no title, no allegiance to any kingdom. A masterless master. A stray.

Yet his power was undeniable.

He dragged the boy to shore and carried him through the thick forest, back to the quiet hut he'd called home for decades.

---

Togiru had lived in isolation for sixty-two years.

His past was soaked in tragedy—his family torn apart by a bloodthirsty merchant who dealt not just in trade, but in death. The man had been merciless. When Togiru's family fell behind on their debts, the collector made them an example.

He killed them all—parents, sister, and best friend.

All but Togiru.

The boy had escaped. But at a cost.

He had abandoned everything he knew, fled from the kingdom he once called home, and vanished into the wilderness.

In the decades that followed, he taught himself the art of survival, of combat, of spiritual mastery. He had no guide but pain, no teacher but grief. And yet, he became something greater than most masters ever dreamed of.

And now, fate had brought someone to his doorstep.

A boy with golden eyes and the weight of destiny in his blood.

Kalamari.

The boy who was thought to be dead.

The boy who now carried the soul of the Overlord.

As time passed, Master Togiru grew more accustomed to the silence of the forest and the solitude of his chosen exile. He had long since decided never to return to the kingdoms. Survival was his only allegiance now.

In his years alone, he had trained himself to the level of a B-rank warrior—just in case danger ever found him again. Around his modest hut nestled deep in the woods, he'd planted countless traps, each crafted with precision and cunning. For an old man, he was nothing short of a survivor.

One quiet morning, a low groan broke the peace.

Kalamari stirred.

His fingers twitched. His breath hitched.

"What... What's... going on? Where am I?" he asked weakly, his voice gravelly from disuse.

He blinked a few times, then slowly sat up—feeling stronger than expected. The energy coursing through his limbs was unfamiliar, yet familiar… like something lost had returned.

"You're awake," came a calm, raspy voice from the far side of the room.

Kalamari looked up and saw an old man seated on a wooden stool, a warm bowl of broth steaming in his hands.

"Greetings, warrior. How do you feel?" Master Togiru asked, watching him closely.

"Warrior?" Kalamari echoed, confused. "I'm no warrior. Where am I? What happened to me?"

Togiru narrowed his eyes. Could it be... amnesia? he wondered. There was no mistaking it—the power radiating from this young man was immense. His body told the story of a fighter. Yet his words denied it.

"What kingdom do you serve?" Togiru asked gently.

There was a pause.

Then, like a sudden lightning flash in a storm, the memories hit.

"I... I remember now," Kalamari said, eyes wide with returning clarity. "Arcade. I think I'm from the Arcade. Where are the rest? Master Olark—he was in trouble. I think he needs my help."

Togiru stiffened.

In his mind, he whispered, He must be mad. Did he say... Arcade? And Master Olark? What year does this boy think it is?

Out loud, he asked, "What is your name, young warrior?"

"Kalamari. I am Kalamari of the Hatiru household," he said softly.

Then, looking up with growing urgency, he added, "I heard you thinking. What year is this? And what happened to Master Olark?"

Togiru froze.

He heard me? He can read thoughts...

That ability was spoken of only in legend—once said to belong solely to the Overlord himself, the one who could hear the heart's desire of every living soul across all kingdoms.

"You… you read my thoughts," Togiru murmured. "You claim to be from the Hatiru household? But that family was lost when the Arcade fell. I'm surprised to hear that name again."

"Everyone knows the story," Togiru continued solemnly. "The Kings wiped out the Arcades. Left no warrior alive. Are you sure that's where you're from?"

Kalamari's gaze darkened.

In that moment, the memory of running—of flames, of screams, of death—rushed back.

He clenched his fists.

"The Kings... They took everything from me," he said, voice trembling with rage. "So you're telling me… I'm the only one left?"

"Oh, now you admit you're a warrior," Togiru said with a half-smile. "Well… technically, yes. You're the first Arcadian I've seen since the fall. That was twelve years ago."

Kalamari's head reeled. Twelve years?

He needed answers. He had to see it with his own eyes.

Togiru, sensing the fire within him, gave him new clothes and armed him with two axe-like blades—elegant but deadly.

"Just in case you run into trouble," he said.

That day, Kalamari stepped back into the world that once was his.

The journey to the ruined lands of Arcade was haunting.

Bones littered the ground. Ash coated everything like snow. Silence reigned where once music and laughter had lived.

At the old Council Hall, he found the final resting place of his mentor.

There, upon a crumbled stone, lay the Bead of Honor—still strung on the brittle skeleton of Master Olark.

Kalamari dropped to his knees.

"I'm sorry, Master," he whispered. "I failed you. I failed everyone. Please… let your soul forgive me—in spirit and in mortal flesh."

He stood slowly.

A sudden flash of a face—soft, familiar—filled his vision.

His mother.

He turned and ran. His old home was in ruins, burned and blackened. Yet there was no sign of her remains. No ashes. Nothing.

But he remembered her final words, etched into his soul like scripture:

"I am sorry, Kalamari. I hope you are safe wherever you are. I love you, and my soul will always be with you."

He closed his eyes, holding back the pain.

That night, he returned to Master Togiru.

"Master Togiru," he said solemnly, "there's something I need to tell you… something about the fate of the Arcades."

Togiru looked up from his fire, sensing the weight of the boy's words.

"I believe… there are more Arcadians out there," Kalamari continued. "And I can feel them—not just with my heart. With something deeper."

He stepped forward.

"I'm not just a warrior. I am—"

He paused.

With powerful silence and a glowing gaze, he revealed his truth.

---

Find out what happens next in Chapter Three: The Return of the Overlord.