King Magnus Raegath

The Empire of Valtheria stood at the precipice of war. The banners of the once-divided Solmara and Mythrendel now flew under a single name, but unity did not mean peace. Across the borders, an enemy force stirred, their preparations mirroring Valtheria's own. The air was thick with anticipation, a storm waiting to break.

Valtherion, the man who had reshaped the continent through blood and fire, stood in the war chamber of his grand palace. Maps were sprawled across the table, marked with enemy formations, supply routes, and strategic points. His golden eyes gleamed under the dim candlelight as he traced his fingers over the maps, calculating, planning.

"They think they can challenge me?" Valtherion chuckled, his grin twisted in amusement. "How adorable."

Elyndra stood beside him, arms crossed, her piercing gaze scanning the maps. "Their forces are mobilizing faster than we anticipated. Reports indicate that they are fortifying their strongholds at the border."

Isabelle, his other queen and a skilled tactician, smirked as she adjusted her glasses. "Let them. The longer they sit and prepare, the more time we have to introduce them to our... little surprise."

The "surprise" was Valtherion's greatest invention yet—the mana-infused firearms, weapons capable of turning even the weakest soldier into a force of destruction. Unlike traditional swords and bows, these guns used raw mana as ammunition, firing precise, devastating blasts. Only those trained in their use could handle them without burning themselves alive.

Outside the palace, the capital was alive with preparation. Soldiers drilled relentlessly, their formations precise, their discipline unwavering. Blacksmiths worked day and night to reinforce armor and forge weapons. Engineers refined the mana-guns, ensuring their efficiency on the battlefield. War was coming, and Valtheria would be ready.

On the opposing side, the rival kingdom—known as the Dominion of Raegath—was not idle. Their king, Magnus Raegath, a seasoned warlord, had rallied his forces. Unlike Valtheria, which embraced innovation, Raegath's army relied on sheer brute force, massive war beasts, and powerful battle mages who could tear through enemy lines with destructive spells. Reports suggested that they had begun constructing fortresses along the border, preparing for a drawn-out war.

Magnus sat upon his throne, his dark armor glistening in the torchlight. "Valtherion is no ordinary man. His conquests speak for themselves. We will not underestimate him."

One of his generals stepped forward. "Our scouts report strange weapons being distributed among his forces. The enemy is preparing for something beyond conventional warfare."

Magnus clenched his fists. "Then we will adapt. Summon the warlocks. If they wield new weapons, we will break them with old magic."

Meanwhile, back in Valtheria, Valtherion stood atop the highest balcony, overlooking the bustling city below. He took a deep breath, feeling the pulse of his empire. He thrived in moments like these, the anticipation of war igniting a fire within him. The thought of battle, of blood being spilled in his name, sent a thrilling shiver down his spine.

A soldier ran up, saluting sharply. "Your Majesty, the armies are ready. We await your command."

Valtherion turned, his golden eyes gleaming with madness and excitement. "Then let them know. The war begins at dawn."

The Empire of Valtheria and the Dominion of Raegath—two great forces, destined for a clash that would shake the continent. As the first light of morning crept over the horizon, the sound of war drums echoed through the land. The battlefield awaited, and Valtherion was more than ready to show them the true power of his creation.