Chapter 5: Summoning of the Heroes I

Point of View: Lorian Vellorn The ritual was about to begin, and in the crowd, a handful of eager nobles tried to win the favor of the heroes. I couldn't blame them; after all, the summoning method created by the infamous Magnus Bridge brought to this world super soldiers—powerful weapons capable of destroying entire kingdoms. The excuse used to justify such power? "We need heroes to face the Lords." Pure nonsense, masking the greed of the King and the Nobility. Valion, son of the Count of Taldrin, approached me, his heavy hand resting on my shoulder. "Do you believe these heroes will be good? Or just more pawns for the war?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the circle formed by the priests, where three lifeless children lay. Valion, my childhood friend, had been corrupted by the rotten structure of Calyndor. I wondered what was left of him. A once idealistic young man now sought ways to accumulate power, regardless of the cost. He had been one of the greatest influences in my life, motivating me to become who I was today. But over time, he had lost his way, and the reality he embraced now seemed unrecognizable. Someday, I hope to save him from this spiral of destruction. But if that's not possible, I will be the one to end his life. It terrifies me, but the idea of seeing him as an enemy to be destroyed also seems inevitable. The truth is, as long as he's alive, his corruption will be a threat to everyone around us. "Actually, you want to ask if they will be easily manipulated," I replied, my tongue sharp as a needle, casting a brief glance at my friend before returning my attention to the children in the circle. "Don't you think this ritual is cruel? I mean, they're just children. Where do their memories, their feelings, their souls go?" "One life for another. Anyway, this is something that needs to be done. Without defense against the Lords, the kingdom of Calyndor will... no, I dare say the entire continent will fall, from the dwarves in the Grimdal fortress, the elves in the hidden kingdom of Aeloria, to the Veridian Empire. Nothing has the power to resist the Lords." To avoid being accused of treason, I remained silent. As much as I had a friendship with Valion, I couldn't help but wonder if this was brainwashing or a justification for the cruel greed. That psychopath of a mage is treated like a legend, when everything he created should be considered taboo. I glanced briefly at our king, Eryndor Valier of Calyndor, as the mages began chanting in an ancient language I didn't understand. The bastard had a smile on his face... A blinding light filled the hall, blinding everyone present. The magical circle, now animated, began to pulse with energy from another dimension, vibrating like a dark heart. Runes glowed ethereally, appearing on the children's bodies with a supernatural intensity, as if each mark was a branding, a seal of something much larger than they could comprehend. The sound of the chanting echoed in the room, deep and rhythmic, reverberating against the stone walls and making the atmosphere heavy, dense with the weight of a fate that couldn't be avoided. Each vibration of energy seemed to pierce the skin, invade the senses, until the air became thick and suffocating, as though the very essence of the world was being altered. It was as fascinating as it was disturbing. Intricate runes appeared on the bodies of the youths, glowing with a supernatural intensity. According to ancient studies, these marks would serve as catalysts, allowing the energy of reincarnation to bestow extraordinary abilities upon the heroes: immense physical strength, superhuman agility, impenetrable resistance, and a natural affinity for magic—everything that mages and warriors of this world could only dream of achieving. However, something seemed wrong. When the light finally faded and the runes disappeared from the children's skins, an uncomfortable silence filled the hall. Anxious whispers began to spread among the mages. The tension was palpable, and the normally imposing mages were agitated. Their gazes met with unnerving speed, and even Abimael, the royal mage, seemed to have lost control. His trembling hands, his rigid posture—everything betrayed the error. Something was wrong. He approached King Eryndor Valier of Calyndor, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. The confident smile that adorned the king's face vanished instantly. For a brief moment, a grimace of frustration appeared, but it was quickly replaced by the stoic, calculating expression he always wore in front of the court. "The ritual was a success," he announced loudly, hiding any trace of concern. "Now, I ask the mages and priests to take the children to a place where they can rest and recover their strength. Guards, please escort the nobles out of the palace." Since Magnus Bridge's disappearance, the royal family had been desperately trying to recover their lost prestige. The mage who once defied the limits of magic was now just a memory, but his legacy of madness left a deep mark. His absence didn't bring stability but generated rulers increasingly obsessed with power. Eryndor, the current king, is the embodiment of this obsession, a distorted reflection of Magnus. He hides his insatiable thirst for control under a facade of nobility, but his eyes reveal the emptiness and destruction he is willing to bring. The most ironic part is that, instead of learning from the past's mistakes, the kingdom remains trapped in the same cycle of greed, where one monster is replaced by another, hungrier and more dangerous. Eryndor doesn't care about the costs of power; he just wants to stay in control, no matter the price. As the crowd began to disperse, I couldn't help but notice the tension in Abimael's gaze and the contained nervousness in the mages' movements. Something had gone wrong, that much was clear. The king could mask his emotions, but I wasn't a fool. Something about this ritual didn't go as planned, and I intended to find out what it was—no matter the cost.