Prologue

It had been exactly 500 years since Etrireth the Rebellious was vanquished.

Mount Equilibrium, a colossal giant located at the northernmost borders of the world, had earned its name due to its unique appearance. Sunlight seemed to reach only one side of the mountain, creating a constant mirrored image—one side bright and elegant, the other shrouded in eternal darkness.

Some claimed this phenomenon was not a natural occurrence but an artificial monument, symbolizing a secret buried deep in the kingdom's foundations. But now, its peculiar appearance was no longer of interest to anyone. After all, this region marked both the beginning and the end of Etrireth's great rebellion.

Defeated, Etrireth the Rebellious had been sealed within the deepest core of Mount Equilibrium—a seal so powerful that it could imprison the most horrifying figure in Runalond's history for centuries.

To this day, the citizens of Runalond could not forget the massacres and atrocities Etrireth had once committed. It was a dark stain in human history, passed down through generations as a tale of caution. The fear of Etrireth's return had never faded from the people's hearts.

Driven by both hatred and fear, the kingdom of Runalond resolved to send formidable warriors into the seal, challenging the remnants of Etrireth in a futile attempt to erase his existence forever.

Unfortunately, the seal had a restriction: only one person could enter every 25 years. Any more than that, and its stability would crumble, risking Etrireth's escape.

No matter how immense a warrior's mastery of Rune Arts was, no matter how much the kingdom had developed, none had ever come close to calling themselves Etrireth's worthy opponent. It was no surprise, after all, it had taken the unity of the strongest Rune Artists of his time to defeat and imprison him within Mount Equilibrium.

Owen Spencer, the latest warrior chosen to challenge Etrireth, was considered the strongest among all his predecessors. As the seventh five-element Rune Artist and the current first seat of the Rune Arts Federation, he bore the immense expectations of finally realizing the kingdom's desperate dream.

Walking through the dark corridor leading to Etrireth's prison, Owen's mind was clouded with countless thoughts and questions. Even a seasoned warrior like him trembled at the thought of facing an opponent who seemed undefeatable.

In the dim light ahead, he could faintly see a massive door, plain, empty, and without a single pattern.

Owen stopped and took a deep breath. Every warrior who had entered this chamber before him had been humbled and defeated in laughable fashion. And yet, as a symbol of mockery and disdain, Etrireth had spared the lives of every single one of them.

But Owen vowed to be different. No matter what he encountered, he would fight until his last breath.

His eyes filled with confidence and determination as he gently pushed the door open. To his surprise, it carried no weight, swinging aside effortlessly.

Drawing one of the five wands attached to his waist, Owen swiftly traced a simple white pattern in the air and pressed his hand against it. Instantly, a radiant burst of light illuminated the hall.

Owen remained calm, scanning his surroundings for any sign of an ambush. Yet, to his astonishment, the hall was nothing more than a massive, empty square—devoid of constructs, pillars, or any place for Etrireth to conceal himself.

The walls were smooth, unmarked concrete, without a single scratch or sign of battle. The more Owen observed, the less this chamber resembled an arena.

His heart pounded uncontrollably. If Etrireth was not here, then where could he possibly be? Had he already escaped?

Trembling, Owen walked toward the far end of the hall.

"What… are these?" he whispered, his eyes widening as he read the faint words printed on the farthest wall. The letters, written in blood, were faded with time but still legible.

Owen read them line by line, absorbing every detail. With each sentence, the horror in his eyes deepened. The bloody letters constructed words and sentences strike Owen's heart more than any weapon or Rune Art could ever possibly do. 

Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore.

Owen collapsed to the ground. At this moment, he no longer looked like the strongest warrior in Runalond's history, but rather more like a broken man, lost in madness and denial of reality.

Memories of the kingdom's history flooded his mind. He recalled the faces of the previous warriors who had entered this chamber, their expressions as they returned.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

"I understand now, Etrireth." Owen's voice was hollow, his lips barely able to form the words. "Your remnant was never here."

He let out a weak, bitter laugh.

"Makes sense… How could a legend like you be chained inside this pitiful mountain, a symbol of mockery and inequality?"

"As you wish. As all citizens of Runalond wish."

After a brief silence, Owen slowly drew another wand and traced a pattern in the air.

This time, it was red.

Placing his hands on the rune, the inscription exploded in his direction.

"Owen, are you alright?"

Tyrone, the sixth seat of the Rune Arts Federation and Owen's most trusted companion, rushed toward him as he stepped out of the seal. The intricate patterns surrounding Mount Equilibrium gleamed brilliantly—sealing the chamber once more. The next time someone entered, it would be 25 years later.

"Undefeatable." Owen shook his head and sighed softly. His clothes were torn, his skin burned from the explosion he had cast upon himself. "I can confidently say—no one will ever be able to defeat Etrireth. Not in the past. Not in the future."

The other five members of the Supreme Seven Seats of the Rune Arts Federation wore various expressions, grief, resignation, and even quiet acceptance. But none showed irritation. The outcome was expected. As the seven strongest Rune Artists of their time, they understood better than anyone the sheer impossibility of defeating Etrireth the Rebellious.

"So be it…" They shook their heads. Now, their mission had shifted to fabricating a story, one where Owen had at least put up a worthy fight.

"Owen, can you walk on your own?" Tyrone asked, looking at him with concern.

Owen hesitated before offering a weak smile. "No, it's fine. You go ahead. I'll catch up later."

Tyrone wasn't surprised by his response. For some unknown reason, almost every warrior who had ever challenged Etrireth had chosen to linger at Mount Equilibrium alone for a short time after their duels. He didn't question what Owen intended to do, but he noted that his wounds were shallow, just burns and bruises, that was as much as he bothered to care about. 

"Alright then. I'll see you back at headquarters. We've got a lot to sort out…" Tyrone sighed before turning to catch up with the rest of the group.

Once Owen was sure he was alone, he lifted his head, gazing up at the elegant yet mysterious mountain, the place where all citizens of Runalond believed their greatest enemy lay.

With a deep sigh, Owen straightened his armour and removed the belt holding his wands. The confusion, fear, and weakness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a profound sense of respect.

He turned toward the sealed chamber and bowed deeply.

"Thank you, great warrior," he murmured, his forehead nearly touching the earth.

"With your presence, Runalond's reign may endure for eternity."