His vision darkened at the edges, but he kept going, his focus narrowing on the goblin as it reached for another arrow.
The moment its quiver came up empty, Travis summoned the last of his strength. With a cry of pure desperation, he hurled his sword. The weapon spun through the air, gleaming under the moonlight, before striking the goblin square in the head. Its body crumpled to the forest floor, lifeless.
The forest grew silent. The only sounds were his ragged breaths and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Travis limped toward a tree, his knees threatening to give way with each agonizing step. He collapsed against the trunk, leaning heavily on it. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the shaft of the arrow in his shoulder and yanked it free. A scream tore from his throat, louder than he expected. He moved to the arrow in his torso, hesitating for only a moment before pulling it out. His vision blurred from the pain as blood poured freely, staining his hands and dripping onto the ground.
The world around him spun, but he forced himself to look up at the pale glow of the moon filtering through the branches.
"Well… at least I tried," he whispered to himself, a bitter smile tugging at his lips as darkness edged into his vision.
......
[ A Month ago ]
The Golden Empire, the world's greatest force of power. Home to almost all the strongest adventurers in existence. Their leader? A single man, a force of nature with unparalleled might. A man whose talent was so rare it was said to occur only once in a billion lifetimes. His name was Rowan Sinclair—the world's strongest human.
His castle stood like a beacon in the capital of the entire continent. Its name was Taiyō, meaning "Sun" in a long-forgotten tongue, a fitting moniker for the seat of such blinding power. The castle itself was a masterpiece of gilded stone and towering spires, shimmering like molten gold under the sun's rays. Its vast halls resonated with an air of grandeur and dominance, every corner whispering of untold legends and unshakable strength.
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Inside, Rowan sat upon his throne, a massive structure of black obsidian veined with gold, carved with intricate depictions of triumphs over gods and monsters. His gaze was fixed upon the group before him—the heroes brought to him by one of the gods they so fervently worshipped.
His appearance was unforgettable, seared into the minds of anyone who dared look upon him. Standing at a towering seven feet, his physique was a perfect balance of lean and muscular, exuding both agility and raw power. His dark hair cascaded like the endless night, framing a face carved with sharp, regal features. His eyes were an abyssal black, deep and unyielding, like twin voids that swallowed all light. Even the blind could feel his presence, an overwhelming aura that seemed to shake the air itself. A single glance from him could make an ordinary person freeze in terror—or collapse outright.
Rowan’s gaze swept over the 19 students, his eyes piercing as if he could unravel their very souls. They squirmed under his scrutiny, each feeling as though their innermost thoughts and fears were laid bare.
' So, the gods have answered our prayers,' he mused silently. ' Now, it falls to me to mold these fledglings into something extraordinary.'
Rising from his throne with a deliberate, almost theatrical grace, he descended the steps. Each footfall echoed through the cavernous hall, heavy with purpose. The very air seemed to shift around him, charged with an almost tangible energy that made the students instinctively hold their breaths.
"Young heroes," he began, his voice deep and resonant, carrying authority tempered with a surprising warmth. "Welcome to the Golden Empire. I am Rowan Sinclair, the Emperor." He paused at the foot of the stairs, a kind smile softening his otherwise commanding presence. "It is a great pleasure to meet you all."
For a moment, the room was silent. The students, still overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his presence, struggled to find their voices. Rowan allowed the quiet to linger, letting his words sink in like seeds in fertile soil.
Everyone could only nod, their nervous silence filling the grand hall. None of them knew how to address royalty, let alone the Emperor himself. Their unease wasn’t surprising, and Rowan saw it immediately. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, breaking the tension.
“Do not fret,” he said warmly, his commanding voice now carrying a hint of reassurance. “You may speak however you like. Titles and formality aren’t necessary here. Now, let’s talk. I want to know you all personally and understand the roles you’ll play on the battlefield. Remember, the Vermillion King commands an army. He is no simple foe to confront—unless, of course, you’re a god. But that’s a story for another day.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the group once more. “Now, please introduce yourselves.”
One by one, the students hesitantly began to speak, sharing their names, their skills, and snippets of their pasts. Rowan listened attentively, his sharp eyes softening as he absorbed their words. His occasional nods and smiles eased their nerves, and by the time they’d all finished, the group was visibly more relaxed.
“Excellent,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Now that I know who you are, let me show you a little more of your new home.” He turned, gesturing for them to follow.
The students trailed behind him as they navigated the vast corridors of the castle. The walls shimmered with golden filigree, and massive tapestries depicting ancient battles and mythical creatures adorned the halls. Sunlight streamed in through stained-glass windows, casting vibrant hues across the polished marble floors. Every corner of the castle seemed alive with history, power, and beauty.
Despite their initial fear, the students found themselves captivated by their surroundings. The Emperor’s easygoing demeanor helped, too. Though his power was undeniable, his calm, approachable manner began to chip away at their apprehension.
TO BE CONTINUED