Chapter 1:

Thela was a sprawling city that extended out in four walled concentric circles. On the outer border, farms competed with the newly constructed magitech factories. Visitors would enter the city itself through the main gate, and discover the merchant district -also called Merchant Ring. Further in laid the residential district where most workers and store owners called home. The district before last belonged to the nobles, mostly made of secondary mansions for those who came from their territory to report to the capital.

At the center laid the two most important buildings of the Shicks Theocracy: the royal palace and the Great Cathedral.

When ten thousand years ago, the Archons -divine beings born of Mankind’s wish for salvation- slew the Old Gods and took their place, it was there that their prophet, Astraea Sirius, first uttered their names to the masses.

Ten millennia later, The Great Cathedral had become the greatest place of worship in the world, and Astraea was still here, guiding the faithful and relaying the words of their savior deities.

Having been granted eternal youth, the Pope of the Archon Faith looked like a young woman. Long ebony hair trailed down her back. Her fair, angular face knew no blemishes. Thin eyebrows were pursed as she read reports. Golden eyes, glowing with light-aspected Mana, roamed across the text.

A billowing robe of white and gold covered her body, and for sole accessory she wore a black cloak bearing the symbols of the six Archons. Those emblems covered her shoulders and back, always reminding people of whose messenger she was.

Suddenly she jolted. A feeling she had known many times surged through her body, alerting her. Jumping to her feet, she exited her personal quarters. She rushed through the wide halls and finally arrived at a place where few were allowed to enter.

In a room of white granite, the only thing that seemed interesting was a man-sized block of gray marble, bearing the crests of the Archons on its carved surface.

The Crest of Kotesh, the Archon of the End, He Who Marks The Death Of Eras, was lighting up. The red spider lily glowed ominously. 

This could only mean one thing. The tenth Overlord had assumed its role.

Then, in response, the five other crests on the sculpture lit up.

Four wings pointing to the cardinal positions. The Symbol of Marha, Archon of Freedom, She Who Shelters The Wanderer.

A horn of abundance. Malika, Archon of Life, She Who Heals All.

An orange flame. Ulgah, Archon of Mystery, He Who Gazes At The Arcane.

A sword and spear crossing over each other. Grimmiel, Archon of War, He Who Brings Glory To The Battlefield.

Finally, the last symbol illuminated the room. The golden scales who represented Balserion, Archon of Fate, he Who Guides The World.

This was it then. An Overlord was born, and so the Heroes were chosen.

Astraea only moved when two people entered the room. The Archbishop and the King.

“It can’t be.” Archbishop Merley gasped.

The Pope could understand his surprise. In the ten thousand years she had been alive, only nine Overlords had been marked by Kotesh. Each was a monster that had the potential to threaten the Archons, and so were marked as the enemy by the Archon of the End. Such a cataclysmic being was only born once a few millennia.

However, the ninth Overlord had only been defeated forty years ago.

“Worry not.” Astraea intoned. “I shall begin the divination ritual post-haste and find the heroes. All will be well. The Archons guide us.”

“T-the Archons guide us.” He replied, voice shaking, hands crossed over his heart in prayer.

Meanwhile the King, Karl Hilltak III, nodded his head in thought before addressing the Pope. “I shall have the armies ready in case of invasion. Pope, Archbishop.” He gave them a slight bow before leaving abruptly.

“Merley, get the couriers ready. We will need them.” The immortal woman told the praying man.

“Right away, your Grace.” He walked out of the room, ready to carry out his order.

Astraea sighed and looked at the carved stone in front of her for a few moments. A seventh symbol appeared: a black six-sided star.

“Damn it.” She cursed. She raised a hand and the lights on the Wall of Cycles blacked out.

She set forth to prepare the divination ritual. They needed to find those Heroes as fast as possible.

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Eve Mill Village was a small village at the border between the Shicks Theocracy and the kingdom of Grossrey to the South-West.

This village was not on many maps, and the recent growth of magitech distribution had not yet touched this rural place.

Farmers toiled the ground, raised cattle and then went back to their families. It was all the inhabitants needed for an honest living. Or at least, it was when bandits were not planning on pillaging and raping.

A rag-tag group composed of a dozen men were looking at a farm isolated from the rest of the village. They all wore clothes that were falling apart and they health did not seem to be the greatest, yet they all smiled maliciously.

They had been stalking this farm for the last two days. The owner was a pretty tough-looking guy who lived with his wife and daughter. However, the man was currently out, having gone out to run an errand in the village.

This meant that the bandits were free to go and steal all the food they could, and even have some fun with the ladies.

They approached the farm, fantasizing over the taste of meat, and how they could handle the two frail women.

Before they could penetrate forcefully in the house as intended, the door opened and the daughter came out.

She was a lovely vision for the scruffy men piled up in front of her house.

Blonde hair was pulled in a ponytail. Some short bangs hung on her forehead, while two longer ones framed her face. The young woman had a round face and soft features, currently set in a glare.

A simple tunic and pants covered a body that had a generous puberty. Working boots suited for farmwork covered her feet.  The only thing that seemed out of place was the greatsword that she was dragging with a hand. The thing was as long as she was tall, and wide enough that if she turned to show her profile, she could hide behind it.

Adeline Forgrange, or Ady as she preferred to be called, narrowed her blue eyes at the men who gazed lustfully at her.

“Okay, you lot. You have one chance to get out of my farm before I shove my sword up your ass and make you spin on it.” She growled.

“Hahaha! You heard that boys?! Girly thinks she’s scary.” One of the men advanced fearlessly. “Go drop your daddy’s sword, and then you can play with mine.” He chortled to himself.

Adeline sighed in disgust and swung low.

The bandit fell on his ass while his legs went flying. There was a moment of stunned silence before his head followed suit.

“GET HER!” The bulgar-wannabes charged at her, pulling shoddy knives out from their clothes.

Ady focused. Along her heartbeat, a warm feeling echoed from deep inside her soul. The Mana that formed her soul, her Essence, surged. It filled her body with strength. She braced her sword with the flat of the blade on her arm, and charged forward.

Three men were bowled over. Her charge led her to be in the middle of their formation, but that was exactly what she wanted. She once more grabbed her Essence and channeled it to her sword, then it changed in nature: the aspect of fire took over. Tongues of flame quickly covered the blade.

With a twirl, Adeline swung her sword in a circle. Most of the vagrants were swallowed by the wave of flames that resulted. They rolled on the ground, trying to put out the magical fire to no avail.

The last man, who was unharmed by virtue of being the furthest, was either brave or reckless. He raised his knife and leaped forward, intent of avenging his comrades, a war cry spilling from his lips.

Said war cry was interrupted by a thick leather boot planting itself between his legs. The only thing leaving his mouth was now a sad, pained whimper. He fell face first, holding his crotch. Adeline then planted her sword down, silencing him forever more.

By then, the other bandits had already turned to ashes. Their untrained body Essence not being able to counter the fire-aspected Mana. 

The blonde farmer sighed. She didn’t enjoy being that brutal, but it wasn’t the first time the farm had been targeted, be it by bandits, animals or monsters. She knew what she had to do to protect it, especially when her father wasn’t here.

She found the clean up to be the worst part, because that meant facing the lives she took with a cool head. As she prepared to do just that, she felt a sting on her left hand.

She was sure that none of the men had touched her, so what could it be? She lifted the appendage and gazed at the glowing symbol that was forming on the back of her hand.

They lived in the boonies but that didn’t mean that Adeline was ignorant. Anyone would recognize the crest of an Archon. Confronted with the fact that she was the heroine chosen by the Arbiter of Fate, Adeline had only one reaction. She turned back towards her house.

“Moooooooooom!” The 18-year old screamed.

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Ulgah Academy, named after the Archon of Mystery and patron of sorcery, loomed in the North of Shicks. It was the place where the greatest archmages came from. Its main building was a giant tower that could be seen from kilometers away. The rooftop was occupied by a great brazier, serving as a beacon, but also as a sign of reverence towards Ulgah. Furthermore, it also extended downwards equally deep.

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In one of the lower levels, an office was currently being used by a young man. Bent over a grimoire was a young elf. Wavy white hair fell over the right side of his face while the left side was held by an horizontal braid that hugged his skull. His long ears, each pierced with two studs, twitched. Light green eyes were focused on the text in front of him.

Alban Freenaud was a twenty years old man who took deep pride in his graduation at only eighteen. Since then, he had stayed as a scholar to deepen his knowledge. Which was why he was currently annoyed. How could someone learn with all the ruckus they were making outside his door?!

He finally had enough and rose to his feet. Standing up, it revealed how tall elves were. At 190 cm, Alban reached the average height for a male elf. The women were taller. 

He opened the door to find the source of all of this noise. He followed the sound down the hallway until he found himself at a wide inter-crossing section. 

Some students were fighting against a large stone golem. The moving pile of rocks was tall enough to reach the 5 meters tall ceiling. Its body was broad and sculpted to look like a chiseled man, and its arms ended in vicious maces. It was currently pounding at a magical barrier the students put up together. Cracks were spreading and Alban could tell that the barrier was going to break very soon.

“Ah! Mister Freenaud, help!” A younger student saw him approach the situation and begged for help. “Someone’s experimental golem got loose and he can’t control it!”

“I see that.” Alban’s gaze fixed itself on the golem’s form. “Alright, all of you may step back. I have the situation under control.”

“Uh?! Who do you think you are?!” A man in his thirties who still wore the student uniform, yelled, embarrassed that a younger person acted like that.

“Shut up, Roland. Freenaud is a freaking genius. He already graduated.” Another man stopped the older student.

Alban paid them no mind, advancing on the golem just as it broke the barrier that kept it at bay.

His Essence unfurled. Unlike brutish warriors, who used their Mana on themselves, a mage used his Essence to control the atmospheric Mana and shape it into spells. Naturally, commanding the world like that was difficult, and that was why casting methods like incantations, mudra and rituals helped the caster focus and mold Mana.

Not that a mage of Alban’s level needed a full incantation for such a foe.

The golem raised an arm, ready to crush the puny elf. Alban responded with a wave of his hand.

“Frost Chains.” Ice-aspected Mana gathered and shot forth. Just as the name indicated, it turned into multiple ice chains that entangled the rocky creation. It didn’t stop there as the cold spread, trapping the golem’s limbs into an icy prison.

It began to struggle, trying to escape, and it would eventually. Alban hadn’t put a lot of power into that spell. He just needed to have the artificial being stuck in place for a moment.

He focused on the flow of Mana, how it fluctuated across the golem’s body. He found the source: the spell that animated the rock.

The elven magician aimed at the golem with one hand. Golden light gathered in a small sphere at the tip of his finger.

“Piercing Light.” A thin line of light shot forth, piercing through ice and rock like they were butter. This was one of the reasons Alban had graduated early. He was one of the few mages who could aspect the Light element unto Mana without an Archon’s blessing.

The students around him exploded in cheers when the Golem collapsed on the floor. He gave a bow to his audience until he felt a sting on his hand.

Quickly casting his gaze on it, he froze as he saw the symbol of Ulgah form upon the back of his hand. The orange flame that lit the way to knowledge sat upon his flesh.

Alban felt a smile creep on his face and he raised his hand high in the hair, allowing everyone to see the sign of his greatness!

Instead of further cheers, a hushed silence fell on the room. 

“A new Overlord already?” Frightful whispers reached Alban’s ears. 

He almost forgot. For him, it was an opportunity to become a part of History. For others, it was the symbol that war was near.

“Don’t worry! Not only is the academy one of the safest places in the world, I and the other Heroes will dispense of the Overlord quickly! So swear Alban Freenaud! Mwahaha!” He exclaimed with a laugh.

Clearly, this was going to reassure them!

“Now, excuse me as I must prepare my luggage and head for Thela!” 

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A bar brawl wasn’t unusual. With the alcohol flowing, there only needed a spark for things to devolve into aggression.

The spark this time was an idiot who thought he could recover his debts by cheating at cards. The ace slipping from his sleeve onto the table was the starting sign for his neighbor to swing at him. Like a domino, it caused the cheater to tumble on someone else who spilled his drink on another inebriated customer. From there, more and more people joined in the brawling. The bartender had taken cover behind his counter and was waiting for the storm to pass.

One drunkard in particular was enjoying himself. Weaving and dodging away from bodies thrown around, slapping aside blows directed at him, he looked at home in the middle of this chaotic fight.

Hair whitened by age was swept back till they reached his shoulders. Some wrinkles and crow feet were signs of his many years. Gray eyes danced mirthfully, predicting how the fight was turning. A short beard and mustache, just as gray as his hair adorned his lower face to give certain of nobility.

He wore a black, short-sleeved tang suit. A silver, eastern dragon was embroidered on the hem of his jacket, rising to his left breast. His muscular, scarred arms were free for all to see, except for his hands which were covered by bandages.

Hwarang the mercenary was enjoying the buzz of alcohol after a successful mission. The bar brawls had become so common that he waddled through, laughing at the fools slugging each other.

His mirth evaporated and he sobered quickly when he felt a familiar sting. He checked his hand, and glowing through the bandages was the same brand that had disappeared forty years ago. The crossed sword and spear seemed to be mocking him just as he had mocked the other drunks around him.

Hwarang, former and current chosen of Grimmiel, swung a backhand without looking. The fool who had thought he was just another participant in the brawl went flying and smashed through a window.

“ENOUGH!” Hwarang roared, and a weight pressed down on the bar. The fight stopped as everyone felt as if they were in the presence of a predator.

The mercenary hailing from Kurogane just took a few printed pieces and threw them on the bartop.

“For the window.” He said before directing his steps towards the exit. He needed a good night of sleep before dealing with this bullshit. Then he was going to murder this new Overlord who threatened the peace his friends sacrificed themselves for forty years ago.

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Swamps, rotting wood, fungic growth. Such was the landscape of the Dead Lands. Two thousand years ago, A rift opened, spilling a flood of necrotic Mana which blighted the land. The seventh Overlord, Ulzul Macrit, had taken advantage of the rift to secure his reign as the Lich Lord and Maker of Abominations.

After his defeat by the seventh generation of chosen Heroes, the rift wasn’t closed, but someone had been put in charge of making sure the undead abominations wouldn’t leave the Dead Lands.

The fortress of Ulzul Macrit sat as it had been for the last two millennia. Upon its rempart, a woman was dancing and twirling. Humming to herself, her brown hair swayed freely in the wind. Purple eyes were currently closed while her aristocratic features were pulled in a slight smile. 

Her black and wine-red, shoulderless dress sashayed, a deep cleavage covered in roses pinned to the hem of the dress and a slit to the side of the dress showed the pride she had in her abundant curves. Thigh-high stockings covered luscious legs and heels-adorned feet which had no issue with dancing upon the rocky material of the castle wall.

Suddenly, pain assaulted her hand. Curious, a gloved hand rose and she froze at the sight of the symbol carved upon it. Four wings, each pointing towards a cardinal position. The symbol of Mahra, Archon of freedom.

“Hahahahahahaha!” Laughter erupted from the woman’s mouth. She doubled over in mirth. So deeply amused was she that she fell off the rempart.

She still laughed as she plummeted towards the ground, only to be caught mid-air by a bush. Or more precisely by a giant skeleton hand covered in flowers.

The giant undead covered in blooming flowers softly put her down on the ground. Only then did Rosetta, former second in command of Ulzul Macrit, Keeper of the Necrotic Rift, the Rotten Flower Lich, stop laughing.

“Very well, Archons! I will play my new role. Let me meet my new friends.” She raised her hands high, addressing the Heavens, eyes sparkling with paradoxical life.

And so she set forth. She had an ocean to cross to reach Thela.

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Pilum was a small trading port in the Highroad Mercantile Empire. Merchant ships often passed through, using the port as a resting point towards their destination. It was a place where you could find a bit of everything.

A hooded figure was walking amongst the crowd. The white hood covered their face and shadow and was attached to a wide, baggy white coat that covered their form down to their shins. Said shins were also covered by black boots with white fur covering the hems. The sleeves of the coat were wide and longer than the figure’s arms, obscuring their hands. The only thing uncovered about that person was the striped, white cat riding on their shoulders.

They seemed content to follow the flow of the crowd, until they caught a worrying scene in the corner of their eyes.

Off to the side of the main street, there was a dead end alley. In that alley, a bunch of rough-looking men were kicking a downed shape.

Narrowing their eyes, the hooded individual walked towards this savage beating, intent on stopping it.

One of the men not joining in on the beating was looking towards the mouth of the alley, obviously keeping watch. He quickly signaled the new arrival and the gang stopped the curb stomping they were in the middle of.

“Hello there, citizen. There is nothing to see here.” A false smile spread on the thug’s face.

The hooded figure just looked down on the target of such a beating. It was a woman. A Beastkin if the cat ears on her head and the tail were any indication. 

“Oh, that?” The thug was still smiling. “Just a gutter whore who didn’t pay for protection. You know how it is. An accident arrives so fast.” 

The white coat ignored him and was walking towards the cat woman when one of the thugs stopped them with an arm acting as a barrier. It showed how small the hooded person was, They barely reached the man’s chest at 155 cm tall. It also jostled the hood, uncovering the face beneath.

Long, snow white hair was revealed. It framed a pale, doll-like face in a Hime cut. The two bags framing the side of her face descended to her chest. Yellow eyes glinted in the light. But what was more striking, was the patch of crystalline, ebony scales trailing down her forehead in an arrow shape pointing down at her button nose. Another patch framed her jawline. And then, there were two equally black, crystal horns poking out of her skull. They hugged the sides of her head before pointing down, as if following her bangs.

“Well, ain’t you a cutie? Plus Devils do sell for a lot.” The thug who stopped her jeered.

The young Devil huffed. That was why she wore her hood. Unlike bovine Beastkins or the Eastern Oni, Devils had crystal horns that were easily distinguishable. Their already bad relationship with the other species had worsened in the past century since the 9th overlord had been a Devil.

Nevermind that she herself was only half-Devil.

Her tangential thoughts changed direction when the thug grabbed her by the collar.

“Don’t ignore me, you little-” Whatever he was going to say was lost as she sent a surge of Lightning-aspected Mana from her body to the hand grasping her.

Sparks jumped to his hand, and then his body spasmed. His knee hit the ground, his hand let go of her and he fell to the side. The Devil girl really liked this body-binding curse used through the lightning element.

“You little!” One of the thugs reacted first by drawing the sword on his hip. Slight slips of blue Mana emanated from his body. This was someone who knew how to reinforce their body. He quickly rushed towards the girl, planning to cut the revealed mage down before she could cast again.

In most situations, it would have been the good move. However, the swordsman had failed to take a variable into account.

The white cat on the Devil’s shoulder leaped to protect its mistress. Mid-jump, it started to grow. From a striped, white cat it quickly turned into a white tiger who pinned the man to the ground. The thug froze as the beast’s maw opened and a cold mist flowed out.

As a summoned Elemental, it was Baku’s duty to protect his summoner as long as she provided him Mana.

The remaining ruffians took a step back from the dangerous animal, ready to flee. Lightning struck them and locked their movement like their comrade before they could run.

The white-haired beauty lowered her hand, and then turned back to the beaten-up whore. She crouched in front of the half-unconscious cat-lady and put a hand on her head. The Beastkin woman whimpered. With her eyes closed, she thought another beating was coming.

The whimpers stopped as the pain faded away. Water Mana flowed and rejuvenated her body.

She opened her eyes to see the young girl who was healing her.

“Thank you.” She said, tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

“You’re welcome.” The Devil-blooded girl replied.

As she got up, the feline woman grabbed her hand, stopping her in place.

“Your name, please.”

“Marigold.” 

“Thank you, Marigold. Thank you a thousand times.” The Beastkin prostitute said, squeezing Marigold’s hand

Marigold squeezed back with a small smile before letting go and continuing on her way. She had a boat to catch to Thela, after all.

The crest of Malika, the Archon of Life, blazed upon her other hand. The horn of abundance of the healer.

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“Hmmm.” A young man of about 175 cm of height hummed, standing before a cave.

Deep azure, narrow eyes surveyed the entrance. Hair a darker shade of blue, almost black, swayed slightly. Locks of hairs were swept slightly to the side, the longest bang among them almost reaching the youth’s thin eyebrows. The sides grew freely to frame an angular, olive-skinned face. The only tar being a scar below his eyes that slashed across his nose.

Instead of human ears, two furry wolf ears grew from the side of his skull. A silver magatama dangled from a short chain on  his pierced left ear. A bushy tail as long as his body grew from his backbone.

Along with the magatama, he was also wearing an outfit he had taken a liking to after exploring the East. He wore a loose, blue kimono top alongside a white happi with black waves decorations, the wide sleeve letting his arms breathe. For his pants, he had a pair of black baggy pants and some traveling shoes. 

Two belts were hooked on his pants. Both used to hold swords. One was a katana, the hilt wrapped in black, the tsuba being a simple square, and the blade being sheathed in a purple scabbard. The second sword contrasted with the first by being a longsword with a white hilt, a hollow round pommel and straight crossguard. It was currently sheathed in its black scabbard.

Ira Lughwein had found his prey. He entered the cave, his Beastkin eyes quickly getting used to the dark.

Before he could reach the end, the current inhabitant noticed his footsteps. From the cavernous end, a light grew brighter and brighter before it became a wave of fire that filled the narrow path Ira was on.

The flames illuminated the source. A long sinuous, scaly body standing on two rear legs. Sharp talons. A long neck leading to a head full of fangs. Two front limbs that serve as wings.

The wyvern breathed, wisps of flames hugging its maw. The dragon-blooded beast had unleashed its breath upon an intruder. It should have been the end of that.

However, the wyvern still heard footsteps closing in on it. The fading flames revealed an unharmed Ira. The only difference being that he had drawn his katana.

The revealed blade had the particularity of having its shinogi, its blade ridge to be covered with runes. The katana was enchanted.

The wyvern fired another breath. Ira faced the fire head, and took a deep breath of his own. His Essence followed the air he took in and traveled through his body, reinforcing it. 

He swung his sword just before the flames reached him. The act created a vacuum that snuffed out the fire before it could burn him.

He then charged the beast and jumped. A flash of steel and the wyvern roared in pain. It had lost an eye.

Landing on the wall of the cave, Ira jumped away moments before the wyvern’s tail tried to crush him. The beast saw him mid-air and snapped its jaw at him.

Dense Mana formed below Ira’s feet, and he rocketed away by using those new footholds. This allowed Ira to dodge the bite and land another hit to the side of the lesser dragon’s head.

Landing away from the beast, Ira looked at his blade. He had done fine work smithing this blade. it went through scales easily.

The wyvern, maddened to have been injured twice, charged head first at ira. For his part, the Beastkin just jumped above the rampaging monster.

It slammed into the rock and went through it.

The open sky greeted Ira and the wyvern. After all, the wyvern had made its nest in a cavern at the edge of a sky island. Far below and a little bit to the east, Ira could see the village that  hired him to deal with the flying beast that was eating their cattle.

Seeing that it was now mid-air, the wyvern deployed its wings. It was now in its element. It had the advantage over the foe that harmed it.

Or, that what went through the wyvern’s head before Ira reared his sword-wielding arm back.

The wyvern turned around with a powerful beat of its wings, ready to unleash its flames. It was met with the effect of Ira swinging his katana through empty air. A crescent of white, sharp Mana whistled through the air and beheaded the beast.

Ira watched the wyvern’s downfall. He would need the head later for the bounty. He also let himself fall. A few hundred meters wouldn’t kill at his level of reinforcement.

A stinging sensation interrupted his idle sky-diving. 

“What the hell?” This was not a mark he recognized. The black six-branched star didn’t belong to the Archons, or even to one of the Old Gods he knew of.

“This call for a change of plans.” He had been planning for a trip to Myltiborg, but now he needed to go to Thela post-haste.