Journey of the Last Saiyan

Expelled from the Void realm, Orach's newly transformed body emerged battered and bruised. The rift's chaotic energies had assaulted him mercilessly during his passage. Even in his newly achieved Primordial God form, he was overwhelmed—largely because he had only begun to grasp the true might and capabilities of this new state. The recent battle with the Void King had depleted his reserves, and surviving the Void Realm's draining nature had pushed him to his limits. Now, the tumultuous rift had exacted its final toll. Blood seeped from wounds where volatile forces had struck—a stark testament to the ordeal he'd endured.

Consciousness flickering, Orach found himself hurtling through an unfamiliar star system. Seven planets orbited a massive yellow sun, and he was on a collision course with the fourth world. With the last of his focus, he activated his ring of life, its healing energies pulsing through his battered frame. While the other rings churned, drawing in primordial Ki from the surrounding celestial bodies to replenish his depleted reserves.

As Orach pierced the atmosphere of this unknown planet, the world itself trembled at his approach. Ten times the size of Earth, this world consisted of a vast continent surrounded by endless oceans. His mere entry triggered a reaction in the skies above.

The tribulation lightning coiling around Orach's body and the primordial Ki drawn from the sea of stars triggered a cataclysmic reaction. The world's clouds churned and darkened, birthing a massive storm of otherworldly power. Lightning of unprecedented might—rivaling even Heavenly tribulation—arced across the skies. Each bolt that struck the land below carried the raw essence of creation and destruction. Thunder shook the world's very foundations as these primordial energies rained down upon the continent, transforming it and enriching it.

The planet itself seemed to awaken, recognizing the descent of a God. Massive fissures split the land as tectonic plates shifted under the onslaught of celestially empowered lightning. The single great landmass fractured, giving birth to five distinct continents. Oceans roiled and churned, colossal whirlpools forming in the wake of this unprecedented transformation. These massive vortexes drove the newly formed continents apart, carving out the boundaries of a changed world.

As Orach plummeted towards the surface on the central continent, the raw, cosmic power he had gathered from the sea of stars now poured into this lower realm, forever altering its destiny. The descent of a God had begun, heralding the dawn of a new era for this unsuspecting world.

The world was a stunning blend of awe-inspiring yet perilous landscapes. Lush, verdant forests stretched endlessly, harboring predators capable of felling even the mightiest warriors. Vast deserts sprawled across another region, their shifting sands concealing deadly perils. Elsewhere, rivers of molten magma flowed from erupting volcanoes, painting the sky with fiery hues. At the other extreme, frigid wastelands extended beyond the horizon, their temperatures far more severe than Earth's polar regions. Beneath the vast oceans surrounding the continent, both wonders and terrors lurked in the depths.

This primitive world was home to four humanoid races and monstrous beasts. Though they shared a vast continent, each race had carved out separate territories, with tribes scattered across the land. Life here was harsh and unforgiving. Wild beasts that roamed the terrain claimed many brave souls, while the races themselves clashed over scarce resources.

Among the four races, one bore a striking resemblance to humans, calling themselves the man-folk. The other three—demon-folk, beast-folk, and mer-folk—each possessed unique traits and abilities that set them apart. These races organized themselves into tribes, functioning as small, self-governing nations that rarely interacted beyond their own kind.

The man-folk, despite their physical weakness compared to the other races, possessed an unparalleled ability to adapt and reproduce. This trait allowed them to endure, even as they often fell victim to stronger races during foraging expeditions. Many were killed, enslaved, or bullied when venturing out to hunt, gather food, or mine for essential resources. Yet, their resilience and fierce determination to protect their loved ones enabled them to persevere against overwhelming odds.

The bravest among the man-folk would fight to the bitter end, defending their families and tribes with a courage that sometimes surprised even their mightiest foes. This indomitable spirit, combined with their superior reproductive capabilities, ensured the man-folk's continued survival in a world that seemed determined to eradicate them.

However, the harsh conditions exacted a heavy toll. The constant struggle for survival, coupled with the ever-present dangers of their world, meant that the average man-folk lifespan rarely exceeded sixty years.

On this fateful day, deep in the continent's heart, in a lush forest, a man-folk village faced a dire siege. A fearsome beast king—a monstrous, lion-like creature with a third eye, towering thirty feet tall—led its army of lesser beasts in a brutal assault. The village's wooden palisade, standing twenty feet high, had been their primary defense for generations. This ancient bulwark had sheltered countless lives, allowing many to grow old and become revered elders. Now, it crumbled beneath the beast king's mighty charge.

ROAR!

The beast king's earth-shaking roar signaled the start of the onslaught. As the horde of beasts poured through the breach, the village's brave warriors loosed volleys of arrows. But their projectiles proved futile against the beast king's razor-sharp claws and impenetrable hide. The monstrous leader tore through the defenders with terrifying ease, while its minions overwhelmed the villagers through sheer numbers.

Faced with impending doom, the village united in a desperate last stand. Even the rare elderly, whose weapon-wielding days were long past and who had hoped to spend their twilight years basking in the joy of their descendants, now stood shoulder to shoulder with seasoned warriors. Women who had dedicated their lives to nurturing their families took up arms to defend their children. Parents made heart-wrenching decisions, concealing their young ones and steeling themselves for the ultimate sacrifice to give the next generation a chance at survival.

In this moment of purest desperation, when hope seemed all but lost, fate intervened—perhaps moved by the villagers' display of love, self-sacrifice, and bravery. The skies above churned ominously, dark clouds roiling as lightning unlike anything these creatures had ever witnessed snaked across the heavens. Thunderbolts crashed to earth, shaking the very foundations of the world. An oppressive aura, unparalleled in the planet's history, spread across the area.

Beasts and humanoids alike froze, their gazes drawn skyward by an instinctual, primal fear. Even the mighty beast king, moments ago an unstoppable force of destruction, now cowered before the overwhelming presence descending from above. As the being tore through the clouds, plummeting at breathtaking speed, the air around him superheated, creating a blinding fireball visible for miles. Its aura intensified as it neared the ground, radiating an otherworldly power that rippled through the very fabric of reality in this world.

Trees in his path ignited and splintered from the intense heat and pressure wave preceding him. Moments before impact, the ground rippled outward, as if recoiling from the impending collision. When Orach finally crashed near the village, the impact carved out a massive crater, sending powerful shockwaves through the earth. The ground convulsed violently, uprooting and toppling nearby trees—those that hadn't already been vaporized. Monstrous beasts surrounding the village, closest to the impact site, were hurled off their feet by the tremendous force. Many suffered severe injuries or worse from the intense heat and flying debris. A colossal cloud of dust, pulverized earth, and incinerated matter billowed outward, temporarily obscuring the crash site. The deafening sound of impact echoed across the landscape, silencing all, followed by the rumble of settling earth and the dying cries of beasts.

From within the crater, an ethereal green glow began to emanate, pulsing with an otherworldly rhythm. The beast king, having survived by cowering behind its minions, stood frozen in place, its primal instincts screaming to flee yet paralyzed by the palpable aura. The surviving beasts, too, remained rooted to the spot, by fear of the unknown entity that had descended from the heavens.

The villagers too had fallen to the ground in the face of the shockwaves, but none died, ironically spared from the impact by the very beasts that had moments ago sought their demise, cautiously rose to their feet. Their eyes, wide with a mix of awe and trepidation, fixed upon the crater and the mesmerizing green radiance emanating from within. Some among them swore they had glimpsed a humanoid figure amidst the blinding fireball just before impact, its features now seared into their minds.

In the heart of the crater, Orach clung to the edges of consciousness. Despite his grievous injuries, he extended his Ki sense, mapping the surrounding area - the lush forests, towering mountains, the nearby village with its brave yet pitifully weak defenders, the hidden children whose muffled cries reached his heightened senses, and the menacing beasts that encircled them all. Even in his battered state, Orach was moved by the pure hearts of these villagers, their unity and unwavering courage in the face of overwhelming odds, and their willingness to sacrifice everything for their loved ones.

Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, Orach raised a trembling hand. Slowly, ominously, tribulation lightning began to gather at his fingertips, crackling with divine power. With a mere flick of his finger, he unleashed this devastating force upon the beasts. As the lightning arced towards its targets, Orach finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

In that instant, his nine rings of power sprang into action. They coalesced around his battered form, drawing upon the primordial Ki that was drawn in by his decent from the sea of star and now saturated this new world. A crystalline cocoon, shimmering with pure primordial energy, enveloped Orach's body. The ring of life, now in control, churned furiously, channeling healing energies into its master while simultaneously tapping into the rich, primordial essence of life.

Meanwhile, panic gripped both beast and villager alike as the divine lightning snaked its way across the land destroying anything in its wake. The air crackled as beast after beast was utterly annihilated, reduced to ash in the blink of an eye. Terrified screams echoed throughout the area, a cacophony of fear that chilled the souls of all who heard it. The villagers, certain that in the face of this power even they wouldn't escape and their death had come, clung to their loved ones, eyes squeezed shut as they awaited the end.

But as seconds stretched into minutes the end did not come. The villagers noticing the screams die down and only silence remained, slowly opened their eyes, astonishment replacing fear as they beheld the scene before them. Where once stood a horde of nightmarish beasts, now only scattered piles of ash remained. The beast king itself, that terrifying force of nature that had seemed unstoppable mere moments ago, lay dead, its massive body charred beyond recognition.

As understanding dawned on them, that they had been spared, just then a new wonder unfolded before their eyes. The green glow emanating from the crater intensified, bathing the entire region in its ethereal light. The very earth beneath their feet began to tremble once more, but this time not with destruction, but with creation.

From the heart of the crater, a seedling burst forth, growing at an impossible rate. In mere moments, it had become a sapling, then a young tree, its branches reaching ever skyward. The villagers watched in awe as this miraculous growth continued, the tree swiftly dwarfing everything around it. Its canopy spread wide, casting a protective shadow over the village and beyond, its roots delving deep into the earth, anchoring it firmly in this new world.

As the great tree's growth finally slowed, a profound silence fell over the land. The villagers stood in stunned disbelief, trying to process the miraculous events they had just witnessed. In the span of mere minutes, their world had been turned upside down - from the brink of annihilation to salvation by an incomprehensible power.

The bravest villagers cautiously approached the massive tree that had sprouted from the impact crater. At its heart, nestled within a tangle of roots, lay a crystalline cocoon emanating an otherworldly aura. The closer they drew, the more they felt an overwhelming presence that brought them to their knees, their eyes wide with awe at a power beyond their comprehension.

"A god... a god has descended upon us," whispered Elder Bao, his voice quivering with reverence as he knelt before the tree.

Hadrin, the lead warrior, still wary, voiced his concerns. "Elder Bao, how can we be certain? I... I glimpsed a figure with a tail. Could this be a trick by the other races? The destruction wrought by this power... it terrifies me."

Another elder, Mesrik, his eyes blazing with conviction, rebuked him. "Fool! Can't you sense it? This power may have brought destruction, but now it radiates pure creation. If this were a being from the other races, would they have spared us man-folk? The demon-folk hunt us for sport, and the beast-folk see us as mere prey—they would never show such mercy. This... this is the essence of divinity—the mastery over both creation and destruction. It can only be... a god."

As if in response to the elder's words, a wave of energy pulsed through the gathering. Suddenly, a warrior cried out in astonishment, "My wounds... they're healing!" Others echoed his exclamation, watching in disbelief as both fresh injuries and old scars began to fade before their eyes.

An elderly woman, tears streaming down her weathered cheeks, fell to her knees in worship. "Truly, this being is divine. A god has descended to bless and protect us." Her words ignited a fire of faith that spread rapidly through the gathered villagers, and soon all bowed their heads in reverence to the great tree.

As the initial shock subsided, they found themselves unable to approach the tree any closer, held back by an invisible force. Taking this as a sign, they retreated to their village to check on their loved ones—especially the young ones they had hidden during the attack—and assess the damage to their homes.

That night, as the village mourned their fallen and celebrated their miraculous survival, the elders and warriors gathered in solemn council. After much deliberation, they proposed relocating the entire village closer to the great tree. Hadrin, the lead warrior now serving as chief, nodded in agreement. His scouts had just returned with reports of the surrounding forest's rapid growth under the tree's influence and tales of even the fiercest beasts avoiding its vicinity. The healing power he'd experienced firsthand, coupled with the protective aura that kept beasts at bay, convinced him of the wisdom in this decision.

As days turned into weeks, the villagers built their new homes around the great tree, revering it as their divine protector. Its sprawling canopy shielded them from harsh weather, while its roots seemed to purify the soil, causing nearby trees to bear abundant fruit and yielding harvests more bountiful than ever before. With each passing day, their faith in their protector deepened.

As they settled into their new home, the villagers noticed remarkable changes within themselves. Their bodies healed faster, and they felt infused with a vitality they had never known before. Even the elders experienced renewed vigor coursing through their aging bodies. The children were especially energetic, eagerly helping their parents and—in the wake of the last battle—shadowing the warriors during training, eager to learn and grow strong and protect their parents. Most astonishing of all were the newborns. These infants, born in the shadow of the great tree after the villagers began thriving in their new settlement, displayed an innate connection to the nature around them. 

Under the tree's benevolent influence, the settlement thrived. The villagers, now calling themselves the "Children of the Great Tree," gathered beneath its branches to offer prayers and gratitude. Their shared faith gave them a sense of purpose and unity that strengthened their community.

As generations passed, those living near the tree grew stronger, faster, and more resilient. Children born in the settlement displayed abilities surpassing their parents', tapping into a mysterious energy they initially dubbed "magic" but later learnt its called Ki. As they grew, they exhibited the extraordinary ability to manifest and control the elements to a certain degree. Unaware, the villagers had embarked on a journey of cultivation, immersed in the rich Ki Orach had carried from the sea of stars during his descent. This energy, permeating the world since Orach's arrival, propelled each successive generation to push the limits of man-folk potential.

Warriors who once cowered before beast hordes now stood tall, confident in their ability to protect their people. They developed new fighting techniques, drawing inspiration from visions of seven celestial figures who appeared in the dreams of their children – beings they came to revere as the apostles of their slumbering god. These apostles besides fighting techniques, imparted their knowledge to the children, accelerating the village's growth and prosperity.

Years turned to decades, and the village transformed into a thriving haven. With their accumulated knowledge, they created specialized areas for agriculture, martial arts training, and craftsmanship. A library-cum-school preserved and passed down their growing wisdom to future generations. The new wooden defensive walls that encircled their new home blended primitive strength with advanced techniques, a testament to their progress.

As their society evolved, so too did their understanding of life and death. Where once they feared the end of life, now they embraced it as part of a greater cycle. The children, guided by the wisdom of the apostles in their dreams, taught their elders that death was not to be feared, but rather seen as the doorway to their next great adventure. This profound shift in perspective led to the creation of beautiful ceremonies celebrating the lives of those passing on, filling their final moments with joy and reverence.

As the Children of the Great Tree flourished in their blessed enclave, the world beyond had undergone cataclysmic changes since Orach's descent.

Rewinding back to Orach's descent

The rest of the world faced upheaval on the day of Orach's arrival, known as the "Great Divide" by those outside the village of the great tree. The vast continent had split apart, creating five separate landmasses—the central continent, where the village was located, and four others. These continents were now separated from one another by impassable whirlpools and raging storms.

On the same day, a strange, potent energy now permeated the world, enriching the world and empowering all living beings. While this affected every race, it seemed to favor some more than others. The demon-folk, in particular, grew extraordinarily powerful. On the continent where most demon-folk resided, a notable figure emerged from within their ranks. This figure conquered the various demon-folk tribes and established a formidable empire under his rule. He took on the title "Demon King" and renamed their land the Demon-folk Continent.

Meanwhile, in the lands where most of the man-folk tribes found themselves on and predominated, the influx of this potent energy allowed them to grow stronger and finally gave them the strength to stand against the monstrous beasts and other aggressive races that had long oppressed them. However, this newfound strength also brought its own set of challenges and conflicts.

Emboldened by their new strength, the man-folk tribes began to flourish. Hunting and gathering became less perilous, and they found themselves able to establish more permanent settlements. However, this shift in the balance of power did not sit well with the remaining tribes of other races in the region. Accustomed to their superiority over the man-folk, these tribes launched raids on the budding man-folk settlements, intent on reasserting their dominance.

It was in this crucible of conflict that a hero emerged among the man-folk. A tribal chief, driven by the loss of his son and daughter to a beast-folk raid, rallied his people with a fury born of vengeance and a vision of a better future. Under his leadership, the tribe achieved the unthinkable – they defeated a beast-folk clan in battle, freeing scores of enslaved man-folk in the process.

This victory sparked a chain reaction. The liberated slaves brought tales of their saviors to other man-folk tribes, fostering alliances that soon coalesced into a formidable coalition. United under the leadership of the avenging chief and guided by a council of tribal elders, this alliance set about systematically driving back the other races and expanding their influence across the region.

For a time, it seemed as though the man-folk had finally secured their place in the world. The other races retreated into hiding, and a period of relative peace settled over the land. But as is often the case in the lower realms, the seeds of conflict lay dormant, waiting for the right moment to sprout.

That moment came in the form of a young woman named Angrit, the daughter of one of the alliance's tribal chiefs. Betrothed to the son of another chief to cement their tribes' alliance, Angrit instead chose to follow her heart and marry another man. This seemingly personal decision set off a chain of events that would plunge the entire alliance into civil war.

Angrit's actions were seen as a grave insult by the spurned tribe, and tensions quickly escalated. Soon, the two tribes were at war, dragging their respective allies into the conflict. As the fighting spread, many on both sides condemned Angrit for her reckless handling of the situation. The pressure on her mounted daily, with even her doting father distancing himself as he struggled to defend their people.

Unable to bear the weight of guilt and facing hostility from her own people, Angrit believed her father and tribe would be better off without her. In the dead of night, she and her husband fled, seeking refuge with a neutral tribe. Disguising themselves as war refugees, they built a humble life far from the conflict they had unwittingly ignited.

Angrit and her husband had found a semblance of peace in a neutral tribe, disguising themselves as refugees. They built a modest life, with Angrit selling vegetables at the local market. However, their fragile happiness was about to shatter.

One fateful day, the tribe chief's son, a man known for his insatiable appetite for beauty, spotted Angrit. Despite her commoner's attire, her beauty was unmistakable. Intrigued and lustful, he set his men to investigate, soon uncovering her true identity. Learning that she was the catalyst for the ongoing war between tribes, a wicked plan formed in his mind.

Under the cover of night, the chief's son visited Angrit's home, having arranged for her husband to be delayed elsewhere. When Angrit opened the door, expecting her spouse, she found herself face-to-face with a stranger who knew far too much. As he forced his way inside, locking the door behind him, Angrit's world began to crumble.

Though scared, Angrit remembered her father's training. She stood her ground and demanded to know the meaning of this intrusion. However, her brave front only stoked the lustful fire in the man's heart, eliciting a chuckle from him. He explained her current situation—how the war had escalated, with her disappearance fueling the flames of hatred between the tribes, leaving no room for negotiations. Her father believed her absence was due to the enemy's actions and now the tribes were past the point of no return. As the weight of her choices crashed down upon her, Angrit's resolve wavered, tears streaming down her face.

Seeing her vulnerability, the chief's son moved to take advantage. But Angrit, even in her distress, was not defenseless. In a flash, she drew a concealed knife, catching her assailant off guard and drawing blood. The tables had turned, and now it was the chief's son who found himself at her mercy. Surprised and confused, he looked at the woman who, though still crying, now had fury in her eyes.

Despite her father's doting nature, he had instilled basic combat skills in her from a young age. Combined with her natural martial talent, she had honed these techniques, becoming a capable warrior in her own right. Though not as strong as her father's seasoned soldiers, she could fend off opponents until aid arrived. Now, in this precarious situation, she desperately clung to her father's teachings. Yet, this only intensified her self-loathing for the pain she had caused for her father.

If only she had known things would turn out so badly, she would have crushed her heart and married her betrothed—or at least asked her father's help in backing away from the marriage, instead of handling things so crudely.

The man, now sweating, tried to back away from the woman he had planned to prey upon. Before he could escape, her cold voice stopped him, her words shocking and terrifying him. In that moment, Angrit made a cold, calculated decision. She realized that to end the war she had inadvertently started, she needed power and influence. With steely resolve, she proposed a bargain to the chief's son—a union that would benefit them both.

Without hesitation, Angrit undressed, her clothes falling to the ground. As her naked beauty came into full view, she demanded he do the same. She lay on the nearby bed, spreading her legs in invitation to consummate their union. Though hesitant at first, the chief's son Quince, overwhelmed by her beauty and capability, gave in to his desire. As their passionate encounter unfolded, he believed he would dominate her like the other women before. However, Angrit shattered this illusion. She revealed that he had been poisoned the moment her knife drew his blood. Though he might have control in bed, she made it clear that ultimately, he was at her mercy. For only she could create the antidote to her own poison.

After their passionate encounter, Angrit decisively left with him towards his home. Her heart hardened as she abandoned her life with her first husband. Quince, now pale and realizing his freedom was gone, regretted his actions. Though he had gained a beautiful wife, her thorns would never allow him to stray from her. With Angrit holding his life in her hands, he knew they were bound together until death parted them.

Soon after introductions, Angrit skillfully convinced the chief and his wife of her love for their son. Within days, she won their hearts and married into the family, securing her position as the future mistress of the house. Astutely, she studied the people, policies, and domain of her new home. Behind the scenes, soon Angrit got to work and deftly manipulated events to transform her husband's tarnished reputation. She orchestrated events to make him appear favorable to the masses, thus securing their loyalty to him—and, by extension, to her.

Although many in this region of the man-folk continent failed to recognize her, her former husband stirred up trouble, convinced that the chief's heir had abducted his wife. But Angrit had hardened her heart, set on a mission. One night, she visited him. For him, it was a joyous reunion, thinking she had escaped the heir's clutches. She broke his heart by explaining everything: her initiation of the union, her willing marriage to the heir, and her plan to use her new husband to rally this tribe's forces against her father's enemies and end the madness she had caused.

Heartbroken, the man begged her to stick to their original plan of leaving everything behind. But she saw only selfishness in his pleas, unable to believe she had been so naive as to fall for such a person. As he clung to her, deaf to reason, she drew her dagger and drove it through his chest, uttering only one word: "Sorry."

In the days that followed, after burying her late husband, she focused on empowering her current husband and controlling everything from behind the scenes. Within a span of few months, the tribe called its allies to arms and joined the ongoing conflict. But it was too late—her father had perished.

Now burning with vengeance, she attacked her previous tribe and united it with her current one, claiming her right as both her father's heiress and the wife of her current tribe's heir. As her united army turned the tides of war, she grew stronger with each conquered tribe. Her ruthlessness became legendary, and none dared oppose her.

The war raged on and entered into its second year, eventually drawing in the leader of the man-folk alliance—the hero who had liberated them from other races in the region. His intervention caused all tribes to halt their assaults out of respect and honor. After driving away the other races, the hero and his tribe had become the strongest among the man-folk, staying out of inter-tribal affairs unless they concerned outside threats. Recently blessed with a daughter after losing his previous children, the hero decided to intervene, driven by his child's wish for a peaceful world.

Despite Angrit's reluctance, she had no choice but to accept the hero's intervention. This formidable leader commanded respect even from her—and, more importantly, he was someone her late father had deeply respected. However, seeing the hero seemingly favor her enemy, her cold heart frosted over further. In her camp's tent, she unleashed her frustrations on inanimate objects, unable to devise a strategy against this formidable opponent. She knew that he alone wielded the strength of an army, and should his battle-hardened tribe join her enemy's side, her forces wouldn't stand a chance.

Her husband sighed, watching his wife's outburst. Over the year, despite being at her mercy, he had fallen in love with her in a twisted way. Being the only person to whom she showed her true self, she too had developed a dependency on him. Seeing how he no longer needed threats to do her bidding and noticing the love in his eyes, she no longer thought of him as merely a tool. While she couldn't say she loved him—having supposedly crushed her heart long ago—she couldn't deny he mattered to her, especially after her father's death when he stood by her side and willingly comforted her. However, until she vanquished her enemies, she wasn't ready to explore her feelings for her current husband further.

Suddenly, he embraced her from behind. Startled but not resisting, she closed her eyes and murmured, "What should I do now?" He replied, "I don't know, my wife. But I do know you need to calm yourself. For tonight, just forget everything and rest. You're not alone. Tomorrow, we can plan how to deal with this tricky opponent." Still worried but agreeing, she nodded. That night, husband and wife forgot about everything else and embraced each other passionately, a night that would be etched in their minds and have a profound impact on them.

The next morning, she woke to an empty bed, confused by her husband's absence. As her eyes focused, she heard the warning bell ring. Quickly dressing and arming herself, she rushed out to find a general from her army. Seeing rage in everyone's eyes, she demanded to know what was happening. She learned that her husband had been stabbed by the enemy while protecting the hero's daughter from a drunk heir of the opposing camp.

Hearing of her husband's injury, her icy heart cracked. She mounted a nearby horse and galloped to the scene with her generals, arriving to find the hero shouting angrily at her enemy for not controlling his men. Ignoring everything else, she rushed to her injured husband, who was being treated by the hero's tribe's healers while the hero's daughter cried, watching her savior in pain in her mother's arms.

As Angrit, arrived, she immediately dismounted and fell to her knees beside her dying husband. For the first time in years, since her father's death had frozen her heart, tears fell from her cheeks as she cradled his increasingly cold body. The healers had tried their best, using nature-empowered healing arts, but failed to save him.

Feeling her tears on his face and hearing her pleas—"Wake up... wake up, you fool... please... don't leave me too"—he struggled through the pain to open his eyes and gaze at his crying wife. Though she had never said it, after the previous night, he knew his feelings were reciprocated, even if she didn't realize it yet. He smiled and whispered, "Come closer..."

For a moment, hope flickered in her eyes as she leaned closer. In that instant, she wasn't the formidable, ruthless leader her people knew and respected—she was simply a desperate wife, vulnerable and afraid. As he drew her near with his fading strength, he whispered a startling message meant for her ears alone. Then, with a serene smile, Quince the proud heir of a great tribe breathed his last in his wife's trembling arms.

Her icy heart finally shattered as another man close to her died. She held him close, embracing his body with trembling hands, and released a heart-wrenching wail that shocked all. Many pitied her, while some smiled at her suffering. In the next moment, however, all expressions froze as they witnessed an unbelievable sight. Her cries brought about an unexpected phenomenon, startling even the hero. The Ki in the air reacted to her pure emotion, swirling around her and seeping into her body. While she drowned in sorrow, unaware of this phenomenon, the rich Ki refined her physique. Her power grew stronger, blessed by her world, and her hair changed color, turning white.

This transformation caused many powerful individuals present to narrow their eyes, alarmed by an aura radiating from her similar to the hero's. Her generals, emotional from losing their future chief and witnessing their fearless leader's grief, stared wide-eyed at this metamorphosis. They believed that heaven, seeing the injustice, had blessed her. In their hearts, a sense of reverence now joined the fear and respect they held for her.

Cradling her husband's body, Angrit rose. An icy aura enveloped her, causing those nearby to shudder and retreat. Her cold gaze fixed on the hero as she spoke with chilling resolve,"You can't stop what's coming next. Stand aside or perish." With that, she and her men departed, her words lingering ominously in the air. The hero's face darkened, sensing the grave threat her aura posed. In the aftermath, Angrit and her tribe's forces withdrew to their territory, bearing her husband's remains home.

Angrit's journey back to her tribe was a solemn procession, her husband's body a constant reminder of the price of her ambition. As she tended to him, she realized the depth of her feelings—a love that had blossomed amidst the chaos of war. His final words echoed in her mind, a testament to his love, devotion and cunning, "Use my death... force the hero to... side with you. I used your poison... his daughter as assurance so he'll comply... I love you, my wife. Sorry I can't be by your side anymore... but... you are not alone... live and be happy."

Even in death, her husband had paved the way for her conquest. Though her heart ached for his presence, Angrit steeled herself to honor his last wish. Upon their return, the sight of her in-laws' grief-stricken faces softened her resolve momentarily. With unexpected gentleness, she guided them through the burial rites, her own sorrow mingling with theirs.

In the quiet hours after the funeral, Angrit found herself drawn to her husband's grave. There, overcome by emotion and exhaustion, she collapsed. The next morning, when she was no where to be found, it caused alarm throughout the household. Her in-laws, jolted from their grief, feared losing their daughter-in-law who, despite her obvious changes, had cared for them like their own blood. A search party was quickly assembled and it didn't take long for them to find her and bring her home after she was found unconscious by Quince's grave.

When she awoke surrounded by healers and her in-laws wearing happy, excited smiles, she was puzzled. Upon regaining enough strength to ask what had happened—remembering only visiting her husband's grave—she was startled to learn that she had been found unconscious not from grief, but because she was pregnant.

Hearing this news, she recalled her husband's last words: "...you are not alone..." She had thought he meant his parents, her in-laws, would support her along with their army. But now, these words took on new meaning. She carried the fruit of their love, she was deeply moved. Tears fell from her eyes as she missed him even more and thanked him for leaving a piece of himself with her in the form of their growing child.

As days passed in this temporary truce, despite or perhaps because of her pregnancy, she approached her father-in-law with a plan to attack the enemy and end the war once and for all. When he refused, as expected, stating she should focus on safely giving birth and raising her child, she simply said she didn't want to bring a child into a world where they would always be looking over their shoulders, fearing when an enemy might strike and take away their loved ones. Hearing this, her father-in-law fell silent. After a long moment of contemplation and a deep sigh, he nodded and accepted her plan.

Meanwhile, the hero's tribe was in panic, frantically searching for a cure for the hero's daughter, who had suddenly fallen ill and weak. Despite having the best healers, none could diagnose her condition. As news spread, the tribes dependent on the hero to keep Angrit's wrath at bay grew alarmed, realizing he would be unable to intervene if war resumed. This increased tensions in the already fragile cold war between the opposing forces.

Angrit, waiting for this very news, seized the opportunity. She soon led her large army once more, this time without her husband by her side but with soldiers burning with righteous fury and a thirst for vengeance over their domain heir's death. The war began anew, with Angrit's enemies quickly losing ground. Her army was relentless, and Angrit herself became a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield after her transformation. She made strategic strikes to aid her forces when needed—a tactic that helped her contribute without overly straining herself.

With the hero unable to intervene, Angrit swiftly broke through enemy defenses, conquering more tribes and bringing them under her banner. She pursued this campaign relentlessly until she reached the very tribe responsible for her misery—from her father's death to her husband's. For this tribe alone, she showed no mercy. Rather than conquer, she razed it to the ground, sparing none. Her vengeance was complete and terrible.

With her enemies vanquished, Angrit stood at the precipice of a new era. The remaining heirs of the conquered tribes were summoned to her presence, their once-proud demeanors now subdued by the weight of defeat. Throughout her campaign, Angrit had shown little patience for these privileged scions, choosing instead to imprison them and manipulate their tribesmen into joining her cause. Now, as she gazed upon them with eyes that held the chill of winter, she saw an opportunity to cement her rule.

"You stand before me not as equals, but as subjects," Angrit's voice rang through the hall, each word a declaration of her newfound authority. "Your chiefs have fallen, your strongest warriors lie slain or crippled, and what remains of your armies now heed my command. There is but one path forward—submission to the unified kingdom of man-folk, with me as your queen and my domain as your capital. Will you bend the knee, or shall my sword taste blood once more?"

Many bowed their heads in acceptance, recognizing the futility of resistance. Yet, Angrit's keen eyes detected a flicker of defiance in some. She knew that while her conquest was complete, true victory lay in winning the hearts and minds of her people. The whispers of hope that the hero might still overthrow her reign were like embers that could ignite into rebellion if left unchecked.

Recognizing this, Angrit decided to play the trump card her late husband had left for her. Under the cover of night, she and a select group of her most trusted warriors made their way to the hero's tribe.

As dawn broke, Angrit stood face to face with the hero, her posture radiating confidence despite the gravity of the moment. "I come with an offer," she began, her voice steady. "I've heard about your daughter's condition. It's similar to a poison I've read about in my domain's archives. If my suspicions are correct, I can cure her. Your daughter's life hangs in the balance—will you accept my offer? But know this: my aid comes at a price—your allegiance and that of your tribe, publicly declared before all."

The hero's face contorted with rage, his hand instinctively reaching for his weapon. "You dare use my child as a bargaining chip?" he growled, lunging forward with the speed of a striking serpent. But Angrit was ready, her newfound powers allowing her to meet his attack with equal force. Their battle was brief yet fierce, ending in a stalemate that left both combatants breathless and the onlookers stunned into silence.

Realizing the futility of further conflict, the hero's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Save her," he whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of his decision. "I... I will do as you ask."

Angrit nodded and approached the girl, feigning a thorough examination. With calculated gestures, she pretended to diagnose the patient before confidently declaring she knew the cure, listing specific ingredients. The hero's hand trembled as he hastily dispatched someone to gather the items. Once collected, Angrit swiftly prepared the concoction and administered it to his frail daughter. As she departed, she pointedly reminded the hero of his promise.

Days later, as dawn broke on the kingdom's formal establishment, excitement rippled through the newly constructed grand hall in the heart of the capital. Man-folk from every corner of the realm had gathered, their whispers a heady mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Inside, before a magnificent round table, Queen Angrit sat upon her throne—her presence both commanding and regal. Surrounding her were the land's wisest elders, carefully chosen by her as her advisers, with her father-in-law occupying the place of highest honor.

As Angrit discussed the policies that would shape their future, a sudden hush fell over the assembly. A mighty presence was felt by all as it neared. The great doors swung open with a resounding creak, revealing the hero Viktord and his elite warriors. Time seemed to stand still as all eyes turned to this unexpected arrival.

In an instant, Angrit's father-in-law moved protectively closer to her, ready to defend his daughter and unborn grandchild with his life. A warmth blossomed in Angrit's chest at this gesture, recognizing the depth of his love despite his power paling in comparison to the approaching hero. As Viktord drew near, Angrit's gaze shifted to him, her eyes becoming icy and her body tensing for a potential confrontation. Yet, she remained hopeful that her late husband's gambit would pay off.

And pay off it did, as Viktord surprised all present with his next actions. With measured steps, he approached the throne and, before the astonished eyes of the gathered crowd, he knelt. His head bowed in submission, he spoke, his voice carrying clearly across the silent hall: "I, Viktord, chief of the Sun tribe, pledge my loyalty to Queen Angrit and the unified kingdom of man-folk."

A collective gasp echoed through the hall, followed by a deafening silence. This act, more powerful than any battle, shattered the last vestiges of resistance. Angrit had achieved the impossible—a kingdom united not just by conquest, but by the willing submission of even her most formidable opponent.

The assembly then moved to a prepared stage outside the great hall. Before the gathered man-folk who had come to witness the establishment of their first kingdom, Angrit's father-in-law approached his kneeling daughter-in-law. With great pride and solemnity, he bore a newly forged crown symbolizing the unification of all man-folk. As he placed it upon her head, Angrit rose, her eyes sweeping over her subjects. A small, triumphant smile played at the corners of her lips as she gently stroked her belly, silently acknowledging the journey that had brought her to this moment—the losses, the gains, and the battles fought both on the field and within her heart.

Standing tall, Queen Angrit addressed her people, her voice strong and resolute: "Today marks the dawn of a new era. We stand united, not as separate tribes, but as one people—the people of the man-folk kingdom. Together, we shall forge a future of prosperity and peace for generations to come."

Cheers erupted throughout the capital as the people praised their new sovereign. In that moment, the first true kingdom of man-folk was born, with Angrit as its undisputed ruler. And so, like the demon continent before it, this land too was christened the man-folk continent.

While the man-folk united under Angrit's rule, similar transformations swept across the other continents. In the land of the beast-folk, a unique form of governance emerged. Here, lineage held no sway. Instead, strength reigned supreme. Every five years, any warrior could challenge the ruling emperor. Victory meant not just the crown, but all the spoils that came with it - wealth, power, and even the right to claim the previous emperor's consorts. This was the way of the beast-folk, where might made right and only the strongest could hope to rule.

The mer-folk, driven from their ancestral homes beneath the ocean by raging storms, after the 'Great Divide' faced a different challenge. Forced to adapt to life on land, many died, but, still some underwent a remarkable evolution, their bodies and societies changing to meet the demands of their new environment. Unlike the other continents, the mer-folk chose a path of cooperation rather than conquest. They reached out to the scattered pockets of other races on their continent, forging alliances and creating a unique system of governance. Under the wise leadership of a council of elders, they built a society that valued diversity and collective strength, proving that unity could be achieved through cooperation as well as through force.

As these new powers rose across the continents, the world entered a new age - an age of kingdoms, empires, and alliances.

300 Years after the 'Great Divide'

In the dead of night, a small group raced through the shadowy streets of the man-folk kingdom's capital. At its heart, Lady Karena, a royal consort, clutched her infant child to her chest, her heart pounding with fear and determination. Beside her, Greta, her loyal maid, ran with wide, terrified eyes, every rustle and whisper in the darkness making her flinch.

"My lady, we must hurry!" Sir Willian, the lead Mana knight of their escort, urged in a hushed but urgent tone. His eyes, sharp and alert, scanned their surroundings constantly. "The palace guards will be upon us soon!"

As they approached the city gates, shouts erupted behind them, growing closer with each passing moment. Sir Willian's face hardened with resolve as he turned to Lady Karena. "My lady, you must go on without us. We'll buy you time. Whatever happens, don't look back." With a surge of mana, he propelled them over the wall, trusting in Lady Karena's own mana manipulation skills to ensure a safe landing. Once certain they were through, he rallied his fellow knights. "Brothers! We swore to protect Lady Karena with our lives. The time has come to stand by our oath. For honor, for loyalty, and for the future of our kingdom!"

The clash of steel rang out as the knights engaged the pursuing forces. Lady Karena, her heart heavy with sorrow, cast one last glance at her brave protectors before channeling her mana to dash across the night sky. As she disappeared into the forest with Greta and her child, a thunderous explosion rocked the capital. Sir Willian, in a final act of devotion, had unleashed a devastating mana attack, ensuring that their pursuers would be delayed long enough for his lady to escape.

As they fled deeper into the wilderness, Karena's mind whirled with the events that had led to this moment. Once, she had been untouchable, a beloved royal consort protected by the finest knights in the kingdom. She had enjoyed harmonious relationships with the other consorts, and the reigning queen - the king's first wife - had been her closest friend. The king, descendent of Queen Angrit, himself had been fair and kind. Love had not been the foundation of their marriage, but Karena had hoped it might grow in time. Now, all of that lay in ruins, shattered the events set in motion on the very event that should have brought joy - the birth of her child.

In the three centuries since the 'Great Divide', the man-folk had largely ceased their internal conflicts, turning instead to unravel the mysteries of mana. This mystical energy, which had permeated their world since the 'Great Divide', had transformed from the domain of a select few into the cornerstone of their society. Mana wielders, capable of channeling this energy to enhance their own strength or manipulate the elements, held positions of great importance, their abilities both revered and coveted. Mana wielders progress through a hierarchy of ranks, starting as Novices before advancing to Intermediate, then High wielders. The most skilled may reach the Supreme rank, with the legendary Unity rank standing as the pinnacle of mana mastery. However even the master of mana in the kingdom that serves the king, was a half step Supreme rank. The Unity rank was a fabled legend that many believed to be myth. However, those who had witnessed and lived through the events of the past knew that in these three centuries, there truly had been a Unity rank wielder but, that figure had mysteriously vanished. Only the strongest dared to chase this legendary status.

The study of mana ushered in a new era of technological marvels, dramatically improving the quality of life for all citizens. Cities shimmered with magical lights, while mana-powered furnaces kept homes cozy during harsh winters. Smithies wielded the intense heat of mana-fueled forges to craft extraordinary items. When monstrous beasts threatened the kingdom's borders, protective fields instantly materialized, powered by mana shield generators.

Despite these advancements, nature still held sway over nurture. An individual's innate talent and physical constitution remained the key factors in their ability to harness mana. Those blessed with high aptitude absorbed mana at an astonishing rate, their power growing exponentially. Among these gifted individuals, the mana knights stood apart—warriors of exceptional constitution who seamlessly blended martial prowess with mana manipulation. Their swords became conduits for devastating magical attacks, making them the backbone of the royal army and the personal guards of the royal family. Each consort was assigned a squad of these elite knights, a testament to their importance and the ever-present dangers lurking even in times of peace.

The knights' hierarchy, though more challenging to ascend, allowed for knights to fight across ranks of pure mana wielders. They began as novices, progressed to Knight-Errant—often undertaking mercenary work to gain diverse experiences—then advanced to Elite Knights who served in the royal army and as guards to the royals. At the pinnacle stood the Legendary Knight rank. Much like the fabled Unity rank of mana wielders, no one had witnessed a Legendary Knight in ages, shrouding the rank in mystery and awe.

As Karena fled through the night, cradling her child, she couldn't help but reflect on the cruel irony that drove her to this day. It was her child's extraordinary gift - a mana aptitude unprecedented in generations - that had set these tragic events in motion. What should have been a cause for celebration had instead become a death sentence, turning friends into enemies and shattering the peace of the kingdom.

On the day of her child's birth, as per tradition, the infant's mana aptitude was tested immediately using a sophisticated measuring tool developed over centuries. The results left everyone astounded. While the royal family had seen exceptional children before, Lady Karena's newborn was unprecedented. Not only was his aptitude extraordinarily high, but he was also born with a special physique, a combination unseen in generations.

Karena was overjoyed, her heart swelling with pride at her child's potential. The palace staff buzzed with excitement, and many of the other consorts, her sister-wives, expressed genuine happiness, even offering to help raise the prodigy. However, amidst the celebrations, Karena noticed a fleeting change in her best friend's expression - the Queen's smile seemed to falter for just a moment before being replaced by a warm congratulation.

Exhausted from childbirth, Karena dismissed the observation as a hallucination. She couldn't fathom that her closest confidante would be anything but elated for her. Yet, now, she realized her initial instinct had been correct.

The Queen, upon hearing of the child's exceptional abilities, became consumed by worry. Her own children, while gifted, paled in comparison to Karena's son. Fear took root in her heart - fear that the King would favor this new child, fear for her own children's future, fear of losing her position of influence. In her mounting anxiety, she no longer saw an innocent baby, but a threat to everything she held dear.

As the King's face lit up with pride and excitement each time he visited the newborn, the Queen's fear transformed into a dangerous resolve. She began to plot, her once-kind heart now clouded by jealousy and desperation.

With cunning precision, the Queen set her plan in motion. She arranged for a grand celebration to honor the birth of Karena's child, insisting on overseeing every detail herself. As the day approached, she suggested to Karena that the baby undergo a special blessing ceremony, an ancient tradition she claimed to have uncovered in the royal archives.

"My dear Karena," the Queen said, her voice honey-sweet, "this ritual is said to enhance a child's natural gifts. Wouldn't you want that for your son?"

Karena, touched by what she perceived as the Queen's thoughtfulness, agreed readily. On the day of the celebration, as guests filled the palace, the Queen ushered Karena and her child into a secluded chamber. "The ritual requires privacy," she explained, "and must be performed by someone of royal blood. Allow me to do this for you, as a gift to my dearest friend."

Trusting and grateful, Karena handed her precious child to the Queen. "I'll return in a few hours," the Queen promised, her smile never wavering. "Go, enjoy the festivities. Your son will be perfectly safe with me."

As Karena left, blissfully unaware, the heavy doors closed behind her with an ominous thud. The Queen's mask of benevolence slipped away, revealing a twisted smile that would have chilled the blood of any who witnessed it. She summoned her trusted knight and a discreet healer, both sworn to unwavering loyalty.

"Fetch my eldest son," she commanded the knight, "but ensure he remains unconscious." Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of desperation and determination.

What transpired over the next few hours was an act of unspeakable cruelty. Under the Queen's cold instruction, the healer sedated the infant and, with trembling hands, began a gruesome procedure. The child's chest was cut open, his precious blood extracted, and a piece of his rib cage bone removed.

"My Queen," the healer whispered, his voice quavering, "this... this puts the child in grave danger. He may not survive."

The Queen's eyes flashed dangerously. "You forget your place," she hissed. "The future of our kingdom hangs in the balance. Proceed, or it will be your family that doesn't survive."

As the healer continued his grim work, the Queen cradled her unconscious son. With a mixture of love and ambition, she watched as the infant's bone was grafted onto her child, and the blood transfused. "Soon," she murmured, "you will have the power to secure your birthright."

It is said that a mother can instinctively sense her child's pain. In the grand hall, Karena was suddenly struck by a searing agony that tore through her body. She gasped, clutching her chest as if something vital had been ripped away. The other consorts gathered around her, concerned, but Karena's instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong with her baby.

"My child," she whispered, her face pale with fear. Without a word of explanation, she bolted from the hall, her assigned knights noticing her panicked stated immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed after her in confusion. The King, noticing the commotion, discreetly ordered his personal guard to follow and observe.

Karena's heart pounded as she raced through the palace corridors, her feet guided by an inexplicable pull. When she reached the sealed door, she clawed at it desperately, her mana-enhanced strength failing to budge it. Sir Willian, her lead knight, stepped forward, his face grim with determination. With a mighty kick infused with mana, he shattered the door.

The scene that greeted them was one of horror. The Queen stood over a pale, barely breathing infant, with a red scar fresh on his chest. The healer cowered in the corner, his instruments still bloody.

Karena's anguished scream pierced the air as she rushed to her child. "What have you done?!" she wailed, cradling the weak infant to her chest.

The Queen, though startled, quickly regained her composure. "What I had to do," she replied coldly. "For the good of the kingdom."

Sir Willian, his face contorted with rage, drew his sword. "This is treason, my Queen! How could you harm an innocent child? With his potential he could have led us to greater heights."

The Queen's eyes narrowed. "Treason? I've secured the future of our realm. This... spare," she gestured dismissively at Karena's child, "would have only caused strife and division. My son will now have the strength to rule unchallenged."

As the argument was about to be escalated, the King's personal guard, Sir Arthrud, stepped from the shadows. His face was a mask of conflicting emotions as he assessed the situation.

"Your Majesty," Sir Arthrud addressed the Queen, his voice heavy, "what you have done is a grave offense against the crown and the kingdom. This child was not just any infant, but a prodigy the King himself looked forward to nurturing. You've potentially robbed our realm of a future pillar of strength."

The Queen's expression twisted into a venomous snarl. "And what of it?" she spat. "My son now carries that potential within him. The blood transfusion will elevate his talents, and the bone graft will grant him a special physique. The kingdom still gains its pillar, and what better one than the rightful heir to the throne?"

Karena's eyes widened in horror, clutching her weakened child closer. "How can you speak so callously? This isn't just about power—it's my child's life!"

Sir Arthrud's expression hardened as he weighed the implications. "Lady Karena, I understand your pain, but the child still lives. What's done cannot be undone without risking both heirs. Sometimes... sacrifices must be made for the greater good of the kingdom."

A chill ran through Karena as the full weight of the situation settled upon her. Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, "Is this truly the King's will as well?"

Sir Arthrud's hesitation spoke volumes. "My lady, I... I believe His Majesty would prioritize the stronger heir. The potential now lies within the Crown Prince."

In that moment, Karena's world shattered. She locked eyes with Sir Willian, her loyal knight, a silent understanding passing between them. Without warning, Sir Willian unleashed a blinding burst of mana, momentarily stunning everyone in the room.

"Run, my lady!" he shouted, creating a chaotic diversion.

As Karena fled with her child and her loyal maid, her heart turned to ice remembering these events. The betrayal, the casual disregard for her son's life, it all burned into her memory. A vow formed in her mind, cold and unyielding: if her child didn't survive this ordeal, she would return. And when she did, it would be for vengeance.