CHAPTER 1: JONAS
Year 2456 in the Darson Calendar, in a small house nestled in a quiet, remote area, the stillness of the night was suddenly torn apart by the loud cries of a tiny being.
"Ow, ow, oooooo...!!!"
The dim oil lamp cast shadows on the old wooden wall, where a woman lay, breathing heavily on a rough bed. Sweat drenched her forehead, her face pale, but her eyes gleamed with a mixture of happiness and exhaustion. Beside her, the old midwife, with calloused hands, gently wiped down the newborn child, her warm voice ringing out:
"It's a healthy boy."
The middle-aged man standing nearby trembled as he approached. His eyes were red from emotion. When the midwife placed the baby in his arms, his heart skipped a beat.
The baby was small, with rosy skin, hair as red as the setting sun, and his eyes still tightly shut.
"Welcome to this world, my son."
Mikeson, the father, choked on his words as he held his child. His rough hands gently cradled the fragile life, feeling the warm but delicate presence.
Though exhausted, the mother managed a smile, her eyes full of infinite tenderness. "Jonas… our son…"
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The Continent of Darson and The Card Magic
The vast continent of Darson is home to four great nations: Hayer, Oscarn, Livier, and Troys. For two millennia, civilization has continuously evolved under the influence of a mystical magic known as The Card—a supreme power that has shaped this world since its inception.
Every individual is born with the abilities of four destiny cards: Hearts, Diamonds, Clubs, and Spades. Each suit grants a unique power:
Hearts (♥) – Healing Magic: Grants the caster the ability to heal wounds and restore stamina.Diamonds (♦) – Speed Magic: Enhances movement speed and reflexes to an extraordinary level.Clubs (♣) – Offensive Magic: Fires a destructive beam of light, obliterating targets in an instant.Spades (♠) – Defensive Magic: Summons a shield that protects the caster from attacks.
The strength of each card is not fixed but depends on the magical prowess of its wielder. However, a person can only use one suit at a time, forcing them to carefully choose their strategy to maximize their power.
The fusion of The Card and various weapons has turned all four nations into war-driven machines, endlessly invading and plundering each other's resources. After centuries of conflict, the balance of power among Hayer, Oscarn, Livier, and Troys remains at a perfect stalemate—no one nation can completely dominate the others.
The Four Great Nations of Darson
Hayer – The Kingdom of Restoration (Hearts ♥️)
A land of vitality and regeneration, Hayer wields the supreme power of Hearts, specializing in healing magic and endurance. With the ability to heal wounds instantly and maintain physical stamina, their army can endure prolonged battles, exhausting their enemies before they themselves weaken.
Oscarn – The Empire of Lightning Speed (Diamonds ♦️)
Renowned for its speed and agility, Oscarn dominates the power of Diamonds, allowing them to move faster than anyone on the battlefield. With divine acceleration, their army can launch swift, decisive strikes, eliminating opponents before they can react.
Livier – The Empire of Destruction (Clubs ♣️)
A kingdom of absolute power, Livier masters the Clubs' magic of destruction, capable of firing deadly beams of light that can incinerate an entire battlefield in an instant. Home to the strongest mages in Darson, Livier believes that absolute strength is the only truth.
Troys – The Impenetrable Fortress (Spades ♠️)
A symbol of resilience and unbreakable defense, Troys rules with Spades, summoning impenetrable barriers. Their army is the shield of the continent, where walls never fall, and warriors never kneel.
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The Great War of Aras – Year 2484 in the Darson Calendar
In the year 2484 of the Darson Calendar, on the vast Aras Plains, the most brutal war in the history of the continent had entered its second year. Millions of lives had been swallowed by the vortex of death—from the valiant soldiers of the four great nations to the innocent civilians caught in the crossfire.
On the Southern Front, the armies of Hayer and Oscarn clashed fiercely. Hayer, with its invincible knights and powerful healing mages, relentlessly sustained their strength on the battlefield. However, opposing them was Oscarn's high-speed mechanized cavalry, striking like lightning—delivering fatal blows before vanishing without a trace, leaving their enemies with no time to counterattack.
To the North, Livier rained down waves of destructive firepower, enhanced by Mana Cannons—a supreme weapon possessed only by Livier. Their destruction mages stood atop massive arcane towers, casting spells so powerful that they could obliterate entire battlefields in the blink of an eye.
Yet, their adversary—Troys, the Impenetrable Iron Wall—would not fall so easily. The undefeated warriors of Troys, combined with their Spades' barrier magic, rendered Livier's attacks useless. Their mobile fortresses stood firm, their war machines counterattacking without pause, holding the line against Livier's relentless onslaught.
The war had raged on for so long that even nature itself seemed to scream in agony. The land was torn apart by endless barrages of magic, the sky was dyed red with the blood of the fallen, and the battlefield echoed with the desperate cries of warriors—a never-ending symphony of death.
From atop a distant mountain, far removed from the carnage, a young man stood in silence, watching.
In one of his eyes, the chaos below was reflected—destruction, lives crushed into nothingness, nations driven mad by power and ambition.
He smirked.
A long recollection surfaced in his mind...
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Two Years Ago, Year 2470 in the Darson Calendar
"Fuck, Dad, don't leave like this... Just hold on a little longer." – Jonas
"You're using those strange words again. What the hell does 'fuck' even mean, son? Hahaha..." – Mikeson, Jonas's father, forced a laugh despite the unbearable pain. His last bits of strength were slipping away.
"Shut up , and just focus on staying alive!" – Jonas shouted, his eyes bloodshot with fear.
The choking sobs of his mother echoed through the room, hammering into his ears like a painful reminder.
In desperation, Jonas unleashed every healing spell he could think of, pouring all his power into them. But no matter what he did—it was useless.
With the last remnants of his strength, Mikeson gripped his son's hand and whispered weakly:
"I don't know how... but a thought suddenly came to me... and I want to tell you this... If you wish to return to Earth... you must be the victor of the upcoming Great War..."
And with those final words, Mikeson closed his eyes, let go of Jonas's hand, and passed away.
"The Great War? Return? What the hell are you talking about?!" – Jonas screamed, shaking his father's lifeless body. "Say it again! Don't just go silent! Wake up!!"
Jonas stood still for a moment, his mind blank. Then, a sudden realization struck him—returning to Earth might be his only goal now. But what exactly was the "Great War" that his father spoke of? Every battle in this world seemed equally chaotic and brutal, so how could he possibly know which war was the one that mattered most?
When his father's funeral ended, Jonas returned to their simple wooden house—the place that had once been filled with warmth, now a silent reminder of what he had lost.
He also came to a cruel realization—he did not possess the power to revive the dead.
As he packed his belongings, each item he touched seemed to whisper memories of the past.
"Jonas, where are you going?" – His mother's voice trembled with worry.
"Perhaps this will be our last time together... before I leave." – Jonas continued packing, his voice distant, his eyes fixed on the objects he was placing in his bag.
"Leave? What do you mean? Speak clearly—what are you talking about?" – His mother pressed on, her face full of fear. Her hands clutched his arm, as if holding on could somehow stop him.
"I am simply fulfilling my duty in this life, Mother." – Jonas responded slowly. His words were quiet, but his determination was unshaken.
"You're abandoning me like your father did?" – His mother's voice cracked. She trembled, unwilling to let him go. She had already lost her husband—she could not bear to lose her only son as well.
"I'm sorry, Mother... We've always known that I'm different from this world. Thank you... to you and Father, for hiding my abilities." – Jonas turned to look at her, his gaze filled with gratitude and love. But deep within those eyes, there was an unshakable resolve.
"...That difference... It's time, isn't it? You're going to use it to change this world?" – His mother looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears. But there was no blame in them—only understanding. A silent farewell.
"Yes, Mother." – Jonas answered gently. Yet, his voice carried an unbreakable conviction. He turned back to his packing. There was nothing left to hold him back.
The next morning, as the first light of dawn crept through the wooden window, Jonas stood before their small home.
Behind him, the door closed with a quiet finality.
A chapter of his life had ended. A new one was about to begin.
He turned back one last time. His mother stood there, watching him.
She did not say a word. But in her eyes, there was everything—hope, sorrow, and an unwavering belief in her son's decision.
"Jonas..." – She choked out his name, but the words died in her throat.
Jonas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. A final embrace.
Her tears fell onto his shoulder, but they were not tears of weakness.
They were tears of love. Tears of acceptance.
And then—he walked away.
His footsteps never turned back.
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From that moment, Jonas became a phantom of war. Every battle he stepped into, whether large or small, he ended them. Day after day, Jonas continued moving from one land to another while wars raged around him, but he never felt satisfied. Each victory brought him one step closer to his goal, yet each triumph only made him feel... empty. The small wars, even though they ended, could not fill the void in his heart, where his father's dying words echoed, never fading.
The Great War that Mikeson had mentioned, a war unlike any Jonas had ever seen, still had not appeared. Meaningless conflicts repeated themselves, fought by nameless enemies in battles that brought no significant change. When he realized this, a vague feeling rose in his heart—did the "Great War" his father spoke of truly exist, or was it merely a legend he had left behind for Jonas to chase?
Jonas always appeared at the right moment, in the bloodiest moments, when war was at the peak of its devastation. He was not an outsider, nor was he merely an observer. He joined the battle at the most decisive moments, when lives were on the verge of being severed by swords, spears, and waves of violent magic. With the skills he possessed—the ability to wield all four card suits simultaneously—Jonas stepped into battle like a phantom. The screams, the gunfire, the hammering of steel against steel on the battlefield did not faze him. The armies of Hayer, Oscarn, Livier, and Troys—the mighty warriors, the brilliant generals—were all taken by surprise by his sudden arrival.
Jonas never stayed for long. He came, ended the war, and left as if he had never existed. Those who witnessed these battles never knew that it was Jonas who had changed the course of war. The following battles, the relentless offensives, all played out the same way. He entered at the last moment, dismantled everything in silence, and left when all was done, like a passing wind.
However, no matter how many wars he ended, Jonas still felt empty. The Great War his father had mentioned still had not appeared, despite him traveling through countless battlefields, ending brutal wars without anyone knowing of his presence. Each time he entered a battle, it felt like a random choice in a grand strategy game: ending one, then moving on as if nothing had ever happened. But... perhaps these were merely small wars.
Jonas had realized that. The Great War his father spoke of was not a small war, not a battle that could be measured by the number of lives lost. It was a war that transcended all others, a war filled with mysteries yet to be explained, a battle that only true victors would come to recognize. But to claim victory, Jonas had to keep moving, stepping into invisible wars he had yet to see, and search for what was truly meant to be the Great War.
From that moment, the title "The Phantom" or "The Destroyer" began to spread, referring to him. As he slowly lost his patience, Jonas gradually faded into seclusion...
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Caryon Town, Livier – A Small Tavern
Inside a rundown tavern, the dim glow of an oil lamp flickered over the wooden bar counter, where Jonas sat slumped over the table, his body weighed down by exhaustion, as if the entire world had become meaningless. His messy red hair covered half of his face, his disheveled clothing and the faint scars on his arms painting the picture of a wanderer who had long abandoned everything.
"How long are you planning to stay here, Jonas? It's been two days already." – The tavern owner, a middle-aged man with sunken eyes, sighed as he wiped a glass clean.
Jonas didn't bother to respond, lazily raising his hand and sliding the empty glass toward him. "Stop talking… just pour me another drink."
"…Haizz." – Another sigh echoed through the tavern, but the owner still complied.
At that moment, a voice rang out from a corner of the tavern, breaking the lethargic atmosphere.
"Have you heard? The Aras outpost was wiped out yesterday. In just five hours, over a hundred thousand people died."
Jonas flinched slightly. Even in the bloodiest battles he had ever witnessed, that number was beyond horrifying. "Only five hours?" – he thought.
Two men dressed in red military uniforms stepped into the tavern, their Clubs insignias gleaming under the oil lamp's light. They pulled up chairs right beside Jonas, completely unaware that they had just drawn the attention of someone extremely dangerous.
"So what do we do now?" – A blond soldier with glasses muttered. "We're being sent as reinforcements tomorrow morning. I don't want these next few days to be the last of my life."
"Shut up." – The brown-haired soldier snapped. "You know how Livier's army deals with deserters. Don't be stupid enough to say things like that out loud."
Right beside them, Jonas was now fully alert. He tilted his head slightly, pretending to still be drunk, but his mind was completely focused on their conversation.
"From what I've heard… in two days, a real Great War is going to break out."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"All four sides have taken too much damage already. It looks like this time, they'll throw everything they have into one final battle to end the war."
"But…" – The brown-haired soldier hesitated. "I heard it's only been nearly two years, right? Compared to the Great War of Irata, this is nothing. That war dragged on for four years before it was finally put down."
"Exactly… If it weren't for that Phantom, it could have lasted even longer."
Jonas smirked slightly at that nickname.
"Now that you mention it, it's been five years since he last appeared. He hasn't shown up at the last moment like he used to."
The brown-haired soldier continued, "But forget about that. The bigger issue is… Daner, the prophet of Hayer, has predicted that soon, an enormous Mana Storm will descend upon the Aras Plains. If any nation seizes control of that land, they could shift the entire balance of the war. And with spies everywhere, it wasn't hard for this information to spread across the continent."
"Soon? Did she say exactly when?"
"No. Just that it will happen soon."
CRASH!
The sound of a shattering glass echoed through the tavern, silencing the entire room.
Jonas rose to his feet, his gaze as sharp as a blade. He muttered an incantation in his mind:
"Diamonds, Diamonds, Diamonds, Diamonds."
Instantly, he vanished from his seat and reappeared right behind the two soldiers. Before they could react, Jonas's hands had already settled on their shoulders, radiating an icy chill.
A wave of killing intent surged through the air, freezing both soldiers in place.
"What the hell… he's too fast…" – Both men thought as cold sweat dripped down their backs.
"Repeat. Every. Single. Word." – Jonas's voice was low, dangerous.
Faced with the overwhelming pressure, the two soldiers had no choice but to spill everything they knew.
After listening, Jonas lifted his hands from their shoulders.
"…Thanks." – He muttered, before turning and walking out of the tavern.
For the first time in years, a glimmer of excitement flickered in his eyes.
His years in hiding had nearly made him give up, had left him feeling disconnected from this world. Information on ongoing wars had become increasingly difficult to obtain.
As Jonas's silhouette faded beyond the tavern doors, the two soldiers remained frozen in their seats, still trembling from the killing intent he left behind.
The blond soldier swallowed hard and turned to the tavern owner, his voice hoarse.
"…Who the hell was that guy?"
The tavern owner silently poured another drink, not even bothering to look up.
"Just a drunkard." – He replied, though the sharp glint in his eyes suggested he knew far more than he let on.
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The Aras Plains – The Final War Council
Hayer's Headquarters
Inside a large, well-fortified tent at the center of the military camp, General Alfonse, a battle-hardened warrior of Hayer with long silver hair and golden armor, stood before a vast map spread across the table. Red markers dotted the map, representing the troop positions of Oscarn, Livier, and Troys, and in the very center—the Aras Plains, where all forces were about to throw everything they had to seize control.
His eyes narrowed, and his deep, commanding voice rang out:
"Reports from our scouts have confirmed it. Livier and Troys are locked in fierce combat to the North, while Oscarn has deployed all reinforcements to the South to face us. They want to hold their position, but we will strike directly at the center."
A younger officer, Reiner, Hayer's knight commander, tapped the table lightly.
"But sir, Oscarn has the fastest army on the battlefield. If we engage them head-on, I fear we won't be able to close in before they retreat to a defensive stance."
Alfonse nodded but remained firm. "Then we will not let them retreat. This time, we will cut off Oscarn's escape routes. We have the most powerful Hearts mages, so we will use our superior healing to outlast them in combat."
A battle mage stood up—Velka, Hayer's chief healer. Her voice was cold and calculating:
"If we are to engage them head-on, I will need at least 48 hours to erect a large-scale healing barrier over the entire frontline. But if Livier and Troys finish their battle early, I fear they will turn their focus on us before I can complete it."
Alfonse clenched his fist, eyes scanning the map once more.
"There is no other choice. This is our last chance to secure Aras. Prepare yourselves—we launch a full-scale assault at dawn."
Oscarn's Headquarters
General Viktor, a seasoned war veteran of Oscarn, quietly tapped his fingers against the metal table before him. Unlike the other leaders, he did not wear heavy armor—only a simple commander's uniform.
"Hayer is planning to encircle us. They are betting everything on their healing magic to prolong the fight. But they forgot one crucial thing."
His second-in-command, Enzo, an expert in high-speed tactics, smirked.
"Right. They forgot that we are faster than them."
Viktor nodded, his sharp gaze reflecting over 30 years of battlefield experience.
"I don't need to claim absolute victory. I just need to wear them down, prolong the fight for a few more days. And when everyone is exhausted… we will finish it."
Enzo tilted his head. "You mean…?"
"We will hit and run. No direct confrontation—only ambushes, then retreat. They want to hold the Aras Plains? Fine. I'll let them keep it—at the cost of their own blood."
Livier's Headquarters
Inside the Grand Hall of the Sacred Fire Fortress, where Livier's high-ranking mages gathered, Marshal Marcellus stood before his assembled generals, his cold gaze sweeping across the room.
"My patience has run dry. Troys refuses to fall, and meanwhile, Oscarn and Hayer are preparing for a decisive battle in the South. Enough. We will crush Troys tonight."
Another commander, Cornelia, a powerful battle mage, raised an eyebrow.
"But Troys has the strongest Spades barrier magic. If we want to break their defenses, I need the mana cannons enhanced to maximum power."
Marcellus turned, gesturing toward the Mana Artillery Cannons lined up below the fortress.
"Then enhance them. No need to conserve mana. I want Troys obliterated beneath the power of our light."
Troys' Frontline
Unlike the other factions, General Thorus of Troys had no war councils, no elaborate plans. He stood alone in the midst of the battlefield, his heavy cloak billowing in the wind, his gaze locked onto the ceaseless bombardment striking against Troys' defensive barrier.
A soldier approached, voice laced with worry.
"Sir, Livier has prepared high-tier mana artillery. If they go all out—"
Thorus raised a hand, silencing him.
"I know. But they cannot break Troys' defenses with magic alone."
The soldier clenched his fists, his bloodshot eyes filled with tension.
"But our forces have been fighting non-stop for an entire week. If we don't receive reinforcements—"
Thorus turned, his eyes unwavering.
"Reinforcements? Troys does not need reinforcements. Troys needs warriors who do not retreat."
The soldier swallowed hard before bowing his head, unable to argue further.
Above them, the night sky lit up with the blazing fire of Livier's mana artillery. But even as the storm of destruction rained down, Troys' unyielding defenses stood tall—like an indomitable shield of steel.
The Aras Battlefield – An Endless Nightmare
Blood, screams, and magic tearing through the sky.
To the North, hundreds of flaming spells from Livier fell like a burning storm, transforming the battlefield into a blazing hellscape. But Troys held firm—Spades warriors conjured unbreakable shields, enduring each devastating strike without faltering.
To the South, Hayer and Oscarn clashed in a battle of sheer ferocity. Hayer's knights advanced like a raging flood, while Oscarn's lightning-fast units darted between them like streaks of lightning, dodging and countering with deadly precision.
Explosions. The clash of steel. The agonized cries of the fallen.
The Aras Plains had become the graveyard of thousands.
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Morning of the Third Day – The Bloodiest Phase of the Battle Begins
Northern Battlefield – Troys vs. Livier
On the northern front, where Troys and Livier clashed, the sky had turned into a sea of fire.
"Fire!!" – The thunderous command of Marshal Marcellus rang out, and instantly, a barrage of colossal mana cannons from Livier rained down upon Troys' defenses.
Massive orbs of energy spiraled through the air, forming dazzling pillars of magic light before crashing down like devastating lightning bolts upon Troys' defensive lines.
BOOOM!!
A portion of Troys' frontlines collapsed instantly. Dust, fire, and bodies ripped apart by magic scattered across the battlefield.
But when the storm of death finally settled, the radiant shields of the Spades mages still stood strong amid the thick, black smoke.
General Thorus, the leader of Troys, cast his cold gaze at the enemy forces.
"Push forward! Do not give those mages any chance to recover!"
Immediately, tens of thousands of Wall Guardians charged ahead, their fortified magic shields held high. Some were incinerated instantly by Livier's magical beams, but those who survived did not stop moving. They only needed one chance to close the distance.
"Hah! Idiots! Do you think charging straight at us will guarantee victory?" – Cornelia, Livier's battle mage, sneered. She raised her staff, her eyes glowing ominously.
"High-tier Clubs Formation! Wipe them out!"
BOOM!
A blinding explosion of light erupted, swallowing hundreds of Troys warriors in an instant.
But at that very moment—
RUMBLE!!
A massive war machine of Troys burst out from underground, shattering through Livier's defenses.
Survivors immediately stormed into enemy ranks, their weapons glowing with raw energy, slashing down Livier's mages before they could even react.
The war was no longer a battle—it had turned into a full-scale slaughter.
Southern Battlefield – Hayer vs. Oscarn
On the southern front, where Hayer fought Oscarn, the battle was just as brutal.
Hayer's army maintained their steel-tight formation, their Hearts knights surging forward, their healing magic radiating in waves of golden light, allowing their bodies to instantly recover from any wounds.
"Attack! Do not give them a chance to counter!" – General Alfonse roared, spurring his horse forward into the fray.
From high ground, General Viktor of Oscarn observed the scene, smirking.
"Fools. They still think they can defeat me by brute force?"
Just as Hayer's forces were about to clash with Oscarn's troops, a signal flashed across the battlefield.
"Now—retreat!!" – Enzo, commander of Oscarn's high-speed army, shouted.
Instantly, Oscarn's entire army vanished from their positions, retreating in the blink of an eye with their super-speed magic formations.
And before Hayer's soldiers could even react—
BOOM!!!
Hundreds of magic traps detonated across the battlefield.
Flames erupted from beneath the earth, engulfing entire squadrons of Hayer's knights in an instant.
Those who survived only had enough time to scream in agony before being caught in the chain explosions.
Hayer's army was completely trapped within Oscarn's magic minefield.
Alfonse clenched his fists, his eyes burning with fury.
"Damn you… Viktor! This time, I will crush you!"
But Viktor had already disappeared.
Only his mocking laughter echoed from a distance, as Oscarn's forces continued their guerrilla tactics, forcing Hayer into a defensive nightmare.
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At first, the war unfolded like any other large-scale conflict—Hayer clashed with Oscarn in the South, while Livier fought against Troys in the North. But none of them could have predicted that a single event would throw all four nations into absolute chaos.
That event was the "Mana Storm."
The prophet Daner of Hayer had foretold that a colossal mana storm would descend upon the Aras Plains, granting limitless power to whichever nation controlled its core. But no one expected her prophecy to come true at this very moment.
Northern Front – Livier vs. Troys
Livier and Troys had been slaughtering each other for hours, but when Livier's mages sensed the surge of mana in the air, they instantly knew—the Mana Storm was about to begin.
"Report to Marshal Marcellus immediately! The storm is starting!" – A mage shouted as he detected the shift in magical energy.
Marcellus narrowed his eyes before barking his next order:
"Send the entire main force to the center! No matter the cost, Livier must seize the core of the Aras Plains!"
But Troys would not be left behind.
"They're retreating?" – General Thorus of Troys muttered, watching smoke rise from Livier's camps.
A soldier quickly reported:
"No, sir! They're not retreating, they're moving toward the battlefield's center!"
"Then we move as well. If Livier wants it, then Troys will claim it first." – Thorus roared, raising his sword, ordering his entire army to advance.
Southern Front – Hayer vs. Oscarn
At the same time, both Hayer and Oscarn sensed that something was wrong.
Alfonse of Hayer was locked in fierce combat against Viktor of Oscarn when suddenly—a massive pillar of light erupted from the central plains.
A swirling violet vortex of mana twisted across the sky, cascading downward like a storm of pure energy.
The Mana Storm had begun.
For one brief moment, the entire battlefield fell silent.
Then, in the blink of an eye, every army changed their objective.
"General Alfonse! The mages report that the central mana is surging! If we don't seize it now, we'll lose our chance!"
Alfonse gritted his teeth, his eyes sharp as steel.
"All Hayer forces—march to the center! Crush anyone who stands in our way!"
Viktor of Oscarn reached the same conclusion.
"Enzo! Move the entire army toward the center! If Hayer wants it, we'll take it before they do!"
Chaos Erupts
In less than thirty minutes, all four great nations—Hayer, Oscarn, Livier, and Troys—had thrown their entire armies toward the heart of the Aras Plains.
The vanguard units had already begun clashing head-on.
As Hayer's cavalry met Troys' heavy infantry, Livier's artillery fire rained down upon them both.
As Oscarn's speed troops ambushed Livier's mages, Troys' suicide squads attacked from an unseen angle.
The war had completely collapsed.
There were no more factions.
No more strategic battle formations.
Only a bloody free-for-all.
Central Aras Plains – The Chaos Begins
Magic artillery shells tore through the sky, beams of destruction reducing entire sections of the battlefield to ash in mere moments.
Fire and blood merged together, turning the ground into a swamp of corpses.
"ATTACK!!"
Hayer's warriors roared, charging forward, their healing magic radiating in golden waves, keeping them alive despite their fatal wounds.
"WE WILL NOT RETREAT!"
Troys raised their massive defensive barriers, their unbreakable walls of magic absorbing wave after wave of attacks, standing like immovable fortresses in the storm.
"THEY CAN'T BREAK THROUGH! MAGES, PREPARE YOUR SPELLS!"
Livier's forces unleashed their mana cannons, beams of pure light incinerating entire platoons in seconds.
"LEAVE NO SURVIVORS!"
And Oscarn—their speed troops weaved through the battlefield, dodging attacks, striking from the blind spots.
"REMEMBER! OUR GOAL IS TO SEIZE THE CENTER!"
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Mountain Peak Overlooking Aras
The wind howled across the mountain peak, carrying with it the scattered remnants of war from the Aras Plains below. Jonas stood there, his sharp eyes fixed on the chaos unfolding beneath him.
Fire, light, screams. A storm of magic and blood.
The four great nations were tearing each other apart, like wild beasts locked in a mindless battle with no escape.
"This is it."
This was the war he had been searching for all along.
His fingers curled into a fist, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.
"I don't care who's right or wrong. I don't care who wins or loses. But if this is the Great War I need to find my way home..."
That thought echoed in his mind—but then, an image surfaced.
Her.
Soft, flowing hair. A gentle smile. Eyes so pure, filled with the most untainted love.
"It's been so long... since I last thought of you."
But her image blurred, drowned by memories of blood, of death, of this unforgiving world.
"If this is the only path back..."
"If victory in this war is the only way..."
"Then I will crush everything that stands in my way."
BOOM!
Jonas activated "Diamonds x4", teleporting directly into the center of the battlefield.
A blazing red streak tore across the sky, so fast that not a single soul had time to register where he had come from.
The familiar rush—absolute speed, supernatural agility—Jonas was like lightning itself, weaving through the storm of magic that rained across the battlefield.
And then, the moment his feet touched the ground, a terrifying killing intent erupted across the war zone.
"Clubs x4."
BOOOOMMM!!!
A devastating pillar of destruction rained down from above, so blindingly bright that the entire battlefield was swallowed in an explosion of annihilation.
An enormous section of the warfront was erased in an instant.
The soldiers caught in the blast never even had the chance to scream before their bodies were reduced to dust.
The mobile fortresses, the chanting mages, the warriors locked in combat— all were obliterated, leaving not a single trace behind.
For a moment, the battlefield fell into absolute silence.
Every remaining soldier turned their heads toward the source of the devastation—toward the one figure standing in the midst of this burning hellscape.
Jonas's gaze swept across the survivors.
"It's time… The opening act to my victory."
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Year 2460 of the Darson Calendar
Jonas jolted awake, taking a deep breath as if he had just escaped from a nightmare. He sat up abruptly on the old wooden bed, his hand instinctively rubbing his face. His eyes carried a deep, pensive look, filled with unease. His breathing was still unsteady, as if something had latched onto his mind, refusing to let go.
"I don't remember the exact moment. I don't remember what happened, nor who took my eye. There is only one thing that lingers in my memory—darkness."
"I once asked my mother about it—about the day I woke up with only one eye left. But her answer didn't help me understand anything better.
'Jonas, when I found you, you were lying unconscious in the forest. Blood from your left eye had soaked the ground, but… you were still alive. You didn't cry, you didn't scream—you just opened your eyes and looked at me as if nothing had happened.' "
"I tried to press her for more, tried to recall something—anything. But it was useless. I don't know who did it. I don't know why.
All I know is that when I woke up, it was already gone."
"I had touched my face, running my fingers over the bandages that covered my left eye, waiting for some kind of pain. But there was none. I felt nothing."
"No pain. No fear. Only emptiness—an absence that was invisible, yet more present than any wound I had ever suffered."
"Why am I still alive?"
"Who took my eye?"
"I don't know. I have no answers."
END CHAPTER 1