heir of the cursed blood

Three months had passed.

Just like that.

What once seemed like a distant dream — fighting monsters, saving lives, carrying bloodied blades through burned-down villages — had become routine for Kael.

He was no longer a trembling rookie.

He was a D-rank Adventurer now.

And the boy who had once fallen to the ground bloodied and humiliated beneath Vaelion's foot… was long gone.

Kael sat by a flickering campfire, the orange light dancing across the scars on his hands. The forest behind him rustled gently, filled with the distant howls of wolves and wind alike. His armor was worn but sturdy, his cloak torn at the hem but weathered with pride.

Across from him, Eorun chewed on dried meat, staring into the fire with a rare look of satisfaction.

"Three months," he muttered, tearing a strip with his teeth. "Gone in a blink."

Kael smirked, just slightly. "Didn't feel like a blink to me."

"That's because you spent most of it covered in mud, blood, and monster guts," Eorun said with a laugh.

Kael shook his head. He remembered every village, every attack. Goblins swarming fields at night. Orcs crushing fences and dragging away livestock. Children crying in their mothers' arms — and the moment he cut down those monsters and saw fear replaced with relief.

He hadn't done it for thanks. He'd done it to matter.

And now… he did.

Eorun tossed the last of the meat into the fire and stood.

"It's time."

Kael raised an eyebrow. "Time for what?"

Eorun turned eastward, pointing beyond the mountains.

"We head to the Great Forest."

🌲 The Great Forest: Heart of the Wild

As the carriage rolled forward the next morning, the world began to change. The roads narrowed. The air grew damp, rich with the scent of moss and ancient bark. The sunlight filtered through a dense canopy that stretched far above, like a ceiling made of emerald fire.

Before them stretched the Great Forest — a living giant that covered nearly 47% of the continent of Raghas.

No human cities stood inside it.

No kingdoms laid borders here.

It was a place untouched by the rules of mankind.

Instead, it pulsed with the life of other races — demi-humans, elves, dragons, demons, aquatic peoples, dwarves, vampires, and countless others. Towering trees the size of fortresses stood beside crystalline lakes and underground caverns that shimmered with bioluminescence.

The forest was ruled not by one king, but by an organization — a coalition of races and species who coexisted in fragile unity.

But among them, one kingdom stood strongest.

The Demon Kingdom.

The Demon king "Listen well," Eorun said as the carriage rolled beneath a bridge of tree roots. "This forest looks wild. But don't mistake it for lawless."

Kael leaned forward, alert.

"The Demon King," Eorun continued, "is one of the Eight Patriarchs — like the head of the Eva family. But unlike the others, he doesn't rule through bloodline or domination."

"He rules through influence. Diplomacy. Strength tempered by honor."

"The other species trust him. Enough to let him defend the entire forest."

Kael blinked. "He protects it all?"

Eorun nodded.

"The Demon Kingdom controls only 7% of the forest's land — but their influence reaches every inch. The dragons control 7% too, the elves have 6%, the demi-humans around 9%. The aquatic people hold the lakes and rivers — 7% — and the vampires 6% more."

"Even the dwarves hold a small but fiercely defended 3%."

"The remaining lands… belong to the barbarians. Wild tribes. Untamed, dangerous, and unpredictable."

"But if the Demon King speaks — they listen. If he commands — they move."

"His influence is the greatest in all of Raghas. Even the other patriarchs don't challenge his authority here."

Kael stared out the window, watching massive flying beasts glide between cliffside nests, and faint silhouettes of elven cities suspended in treetop bridges.

"He sounds… different from the others."

"He is," Eorun said. "He doesn't hoard power. He uses it to maintain balance."

Kael fell silent. The world was far larger than he'd imagined.

 Destination: Dwarven Forge

As the trees thickened and the road turned to stone-paved paths carved into cliff walls, Kael finally asked:

"Why are we heading into the forest?"

Eorun gave a crooked grin.

"Because you've outgrown that training sword."

He pulled a map from his coat, tapping a spot deep in the dwarven-controlled section of the forest.

"We're heading to the Ironroot Range — home of the Dwarves of Kazramel. Finest blacksmiths outside of the northern mountains."

"You've earned your real weapon, Kael."

Kael stared at the map, then looked at his hands.

The ones that had held nothing but a wooden blade three months ago.

He allowed himself a small, proud smile.

"Let's go, then."

Eorun nodded. "Let's forge your future."

Closing Line:

Beneath the shadows of trees older than civilization, the boy with no name…was stepping into a land where monsters ruled, magic breathed, and blades were born.And deep within the mountains of Kazramel, the forge of his destiny waited.