Once, there was a man who brought peace to all of the Northern Plains, where banditry ran free. He made houses for those he reigned over, ploughed farms to grow crops, and diverted a whole river to bring freshwater to his people.

When other Kingdoms, bloodthirsty and volatile, tried to attack the Northern Plains, the King was always there to stop the attacks. He never lost any men. Instead, he gained the deserters of other lands.

He did not stop there.

He mastered the magic brought by the foreigners, taking a special interest in divination magic. Curious, he took a peek at what his future had in store for him.

That was when he started going crazy. He became paranoid, ignoring all the advice given by his Royal Adviser, instead kidnapping small amounts of his citizens. No one knows what, exactly, he did. Some say he skinned them, drinking the blood that flowed from their bodies. Others say he used them for Dark magic, a branch that took others' lives to strengthen his own. Most, however, say that he fed them to his pet, the dragon Ordad.

His crimes only grew as he aged, eventually wiping out entire towns because the thought of a rebellion crossed his mind.

Luckily, the Gods above did not forgive his sins. They sent Four Heavenly Heroes down to Scurra, destined to end his reign. The Berserker, Balard, who could wipe out entire armies on his own. Scylla, the Mage, whose magic could alter the very fabric of reality. Opallo the Archer, whose arrows could strike an ant on the other side of the world. And, finally, Aphlos, the Hero, whose goodwill attracted the Blessings of all the Gods.

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Decades passed before they launched an assault. By the end of the Evil King's reign, the Four Heavenly Heroes had amassed an army that surpassed his own. 

The final clash destroyed everything. Both armies were depleted, all five Rulers tired. It was finally four against one. Balard blocked all the attacks with his body, Scylla made everyone stronger, Opallo shot arrows, and Aphlos was the one to deliver the final blow. 

But on his deathbed, the King said something that would haunt the world for hundreds, thousands of years: 'Beware the one who has my Soul.'

"Wow," said a young boy, his head covered in dark, shoulder-length hair. "What fucking bullshit is this?" He rotated the book, as though doing so would somehow change the contents. Then, he threw it at the far wall, crying, "It doesn't even have my name! Where are the sources? Who the fuck wrote this piece of garbage?" He crawled to the book, turning it so that the name of the Author was visible. He froze. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," he muttered. It was his father's name, Henry Gald. 

Suddenly, the door to the library opened, and an older, but still young, servant entered. "Master, are you okay!?"

"No, I'm the Evil King from this stupid book that got nearly everything wrong, written by my new 'father'. Say, when do I get to meet my father, Sylvia?"

Instead of reacting, Sylvia picked him up, cradling him in her arms. "Shush now, Master. Are you hungry? Is that why you were crying?"

"Yeah, I can't wait until I can speak again," the baby said, if it was translated. Otherwise, it sounded like, "Waaah!"