First sermon: Rulers control

Under the continuous rumbling of thunder across the dark, stormy clouds, the stamping sound of metallic boots merged with the malevolent roar of the tormenting rainfall.

Scattered across the wastelands of Eldorin lay countless bodies—Scavengers and Apostles alike. Atop a towering mound of fallen Scavengers stood a solitary figure. His massive black blade, scorched by fire that hissed against the falling rain as flames coiled around his form like a hungry serpent.

Before him stretched an expanse of burning crosses, each bearing the charred remains of Scavengers. Agonized screams echoed through the storm, swallowed by the relentless downpour.

A domain...

Not just any domain, but one of myth and legend—a fiery realm said to nail its victims to blazing crosses, consuming their physical and spiritual forms alike.

The Domain of Eternal Burning Crosses.

The power of a Trinket unleashed by a Saint Lord.

A single artifact, wielded by one man, had unleashed this devastation—radiating like a second sun amidst the stench of rot, burning flesh, and despair. It was a power capable of obliterating millions.

From the carnage, a streak of white lightning cut through the storm—the insignia of the Pen Dragon House.

Lancelot stood amidst the slaughter, bloodied and weary, but it wasn't the battlefield that terrified him. His wide blue eyes reflected a greater fear: the overwhelming presence of the Flame Saint, Lord of War.

The Apostles and House Patriarchs who had survived the carnage froze—some in awe, others in horror. One Apostle trembled, clutching his sword, while another dropped to his knees, whispering a prayer. A third could only stare, eyes wide with terror.

Kaedryn was no longer merely a man to them. He was a god among men. The power of a Saint Lord that was merely myths to them became a reality.

The memories of the massacre Kaedryn had unleashed—the relentless power he wielded after reading the scroll—would echo through time as a tale of legend, passed from one generation to the next.

"Kay!"

Lancelot's voice cut through the rain, but the storm devoured it. Streams of falling rain sailed down his pale silky face, blending with the sweat and blood streaking his cheeks. His eyes light up as realization dawned on him.

Seeing the sorrow filled eyes of his friend blend with punishing rain, he asked himself...

How could a Saint Lord cry?

Kaedryn's grip tightened around the Von Drakon Blade, the black obsidian sword still ablaze with flickering flames. The battle with the Boss Scavenger had ended in a stalemate, but Kaedryn had succeeded in driving the beast away.

Turning, his bare torso steaming as raindrops evaporated upon touching his skin, Kaedryn spoke with authority, his voice laden with sorrow.

"Healers, tend to the injured"

He commanded, his tone calm despite the guilt knotting in his chest. How many more lives would be lost because of him? How many more battles awaited?

"Distribute the dry bread and grape juice to the warriors—they've earned their rest."

His eyes swept over the battlefield, the flames of grief igniting in his expression.

"Honor our dead. Gather their bodies. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten. Let the flames cleanse them one last time, for the gates of Aelyndor stand open to welcome them. Heaven awaits."

Nearby, Pope Francis, flanked by his disciples, raised his holy staff. A radiant golden light emanated from its tip as they began purging the curses and dark spells lingering over the surviving soldiers.

Kaedryn turned to the Pope, his flames dimming for a moment, steam curling from his form as every drop of rain around him evaporated. He clasped his hands together, his voice soft but resolute.

"Forgive me, Pope, but I must answer my brother's summons. When the storm clears, I will return to the Holy Church."

Without waiting for a reply, Kaedryn vanished in a blinding flash of flame and shadow—a feat achievable only by an Imperium Ranker.

Lancelot, though bewildered, remained determined. Offering his own silent farewell, he ascended into the storm. Crackling, spectral wings of lightning erupted from his back, casting arcs of light that illuminated the heavens. In a blur of white lightning, he disappeared, leaving behind a crackling trail of static energy that ripped through the storm's darkness.

Below, a soldier missing a leg stared upward. The streak of white lightning reflected in his weary eyes as he whispered:

"Wonderful… One day, I'll be as strong as them. With the birth of the Child of Light."

Beside him, an old mage, weary and drained from the battle, helped the soldier to his feet.

"Rankers rise through sheer will"

The mage muttered.

"But it's no easy path for those born without talent."

The injured soldier looked up, confusion etched across his face. Though he was a Knight-class Ranker, much of the hierarchy above him remained a mystery.

"Mr. Mage…"

The old man cast him a tired glance.

"Call me Hermon. I'm from the Mage Tower of the Holy Church."

With Hermon's help, the soldier limped toward the distant tents of the resting warriors. As they walked, the soldier's curiosity got the better of him.

"Forgive me, Elder Hermon, but… what did you mean earlier?"

The soldier's voice wavered, curiosity shining through his pain.

"I know ranking up is hard, but… I've never really understood the hierarchy."

Hermon sighed, rubbing his temples as if the explanation itself was an effort.

"Hmph. Vast, difficult, and unforgiving"

"At the start, there are five stars—iron, bronze, silver, gold, diamond. Master those, and you'll be reborn. But don't get cocky"

He warned, shooting the soldier a sharp glance.

"That's just the beginning."

The soldier blinked, curiosity overcoming his injuries.

"And after that?"

Hermon chuckled dryly, his breath wheezing.

"Seven more ranks. Elite, Imperium, Mystic,… each one harder than the last. At the top? Primordial. That's when the soul changes, boy. Divine… or demonic. Apostles rise in blessings and divinity; heretics fall in unholy divinity and corruption. It's a razor-thin path."

The soldier stared ahead, his expression both awe-struck and solemn. Though wounded and broken, a seed of determination had taken root.

"Then I will climb it"

He whispered.

Hermon nodded faintly.

"May the flames of Kaedryn's domain guide you."

The two figures disappeared into the distant shadows of the encampment, leaving behind a battlefield drenched in rain and sorrow—a place where gods had walked and legends had been born.

The battlefield's echoes faded into memory, replaced by the serene stillness of the Avalon Empire, where two young souls trained under a hopeful sky.

In the Avalon Empire, two weeks had already passed since the departure of the Flame Saint. In the garden of the Drakon Keep, Alexander and Amara sat in meditation.

In just two weeks, they had learned energy circulation and energy gathering, surpassing all their other siblings. In a few more weeks, though their journey had just begun, the siblings bore the bloodline of Drakon—a power feared even in Kaedryn's era with the destiny of Zal.

"Brother!"

Amara called out, her innocent, tiny voice carrying over the garden. Behind them stood two tall Dragon Knights, their imposing forms shading the siblings against the clear, harmonious sky—a stark contrast to the battlefield.

"Look, I just finished energy circulation!"

The happy, light atmosphere around Amara was the very opposite of her twin brother, Alexander. Opening one eye lazily to watch his sister, he scoffed.

"Energy circulation? You're falling behind, Amara. I've already moved on to energy gathering. You'll need to work harder to catch up."

From the balconies, Cecilia sat in a luxurious royal chair, looking down at her children with pride. Suddenly, a radiant streak of burning flames crashed into the Keep like a comet, shaking the entire structure.

The serene silence of the Keep shattered as dark clouds gathered overhead, and the air grew hotter by the second.

The Regent had returned.

From the battlefield, still engulfed in flame energy, Kaedryn gave a deathly stare in Cecilia's direction. Cecilia, sensing the immense danger, quickly sent a mental message to the Emperor.

'How did this man suddenly return unannounced? According to my calculations, it would take a day or three to travel from the Wastelands of Eldorin to Drakon State. This is bad news.'

From the bowing maids and servants surrounding Kaedryn's unannounced presence, he demanded in a cold, commanding tone:

"Tell me where Elyssia and Zal are—now"

The servant closest to him trembled, unable to respond under the suffocating aura of Kaedryn's flames. What was he, a mere mortal, compared to the presence of this monster?

"They… They… are…"

The servant stammered, struggling to find the courage to answer.

"They are in the Royal Castle. The Emperor came for them two weeks ago."

Without another word, Kaedryn disappeared in a burst of flames, leaving the Keep trembling in his wake. Moments later, Lancelot descended from the sky, his spectral lightning wings crackling against the storm

"Lord Lancelot!"

one of the knights called out, but Lancelot interrupted hastily.

"Where is Von Drakon?!"

Meanwhile, in the Royal Castle, a sea of powerful Rankers had gathered in one of the chambers. At the center of the room lay two silhouettes—a woman and a child.

Healers worked tirelessly around them, pouring their energy into the pair. The room was filled with the hum of healing magic, potions, and elixirs. At the front stood an old woman, the chief Healer, directing the efforts of the Clerics present.

"It's been two weeks, ma'am"

One Healer said, his voice heavy with frustration.

"We've used potions, elixirs, pills, and countless spells, but their recovery progress remains unbearably slow."

The old woman let out a sigh of disappointment. Though her expression showed weariness, a spark of hope still lingered in her eyes.

"These two individuals… I can confidently say their lives determine the fate of our empire. If anything goes wrong… Avalon will face the unrelenting fury of the Flame Saint. We cannot afford to give up—"

Her words were cut short as the Royal Castle suddenly shook from a massive impact. The walls and chambers trembled violently. Servants, maids, and knights alike lost their balance, as if caught in the midst of an earthquake.

In the Emperor's meeting chamber, seated on a raised dais within a grand hall decorated with gold, the Emperor presided over a council of officials. The atmosphere was heavy with discussion when the wild roar of Kaedryn reverberated throughout the entire castle.

"Asher! Where is my wife and child?!"

Seated atop his glorious throne, the Emperor let out a faint smile. His golden, piercing dragon eyes, long white silky hair, and bronze, sun-kissed skin radiated both wisdom and the calm aura of a ruler.

The officials around him began to panic. None dared to stand against the Flame Saint—no one except his older brother, Emperor Asher Von Drakon.

"Kaedryn… my reckless little brother. Even as a Saint, you cannot control your Trinket curse—Quick Temper. Must you always bring chaos?"