1 Prologue: A Millenium of War
The clattering of hooves and the squeaking of wheels echoed as an ornately decorated carriage rolled along a dirt road. Four horsemen flanked the carriage, each armed with sabre and pistol, with two horsemen on each side. Meanwhile, another horseman led the carriage along the dirt road, scouting ahead to identify any possible sources of danger before the carriage came across it.
"Your Highness," the carriage driver said. "We will be arriving shortly. Shall we have your guards announce your presence before arrival?"
"No need for that," replied a voice from within the carriage. "You know how much I dislike such unnecessary and over-the-top formalities."
The carriage driver simply chuckled in response.
As the carriage continued down the dirt road, one of the mounted riders pointed out what looked like smoke rising in the distance.
"Stop here," the occupant of the carriage ordered.
The door of the carriage then opened, allowing a well-dressed young man, around fifteen years of age, to step out of the carriage.
He stretched his arms a little before turning his attention towards the direction of the smoke.
Before him lay a village, a fairly large one, bustling with people going about their daily lives. The young man smiled as he saw this, but his main concern today lay not with the village. Rather, his focus returned to his main task at hand, the source of the aforementioned smoke.
Not too far from the village lay a large cluster of rectangular buildings, each with a tall chimney from which billowed smoke. The young man could almost hear the sounds of the machines within, hammering away at slabs of steel. Not long ago this tract of land, along with the nearby village, plagued the young man's mind, for it reflected the poverty-stricken nature of almost the entirety of his domain. Many lay homeless, starving, and penniless before he arrived, tired of nearly a millennium of warfare against a supernaturally strong foe.
Yet now, the people toiled harder, this time with some degree of hope that their suffering may come to an end. Though far from what the young man desired, at least his actions looked to be a step in the right direction.
He, Prince Claus of the Black Mountain, simply sighed as he remembered.
"Five years, huh," he muttered. "We've definitely come a long way, but we're not there yet…"
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Kingdom of South Illmatria
Royal Province of Moesia
City of Silanus, Royal Capital of South Illmatria
Roughly Five years earlier
A cracking sound echoed across one of the courtyards of the Royal Palace, as two wooden training swords clashed against each other. On one side, 18-year-old Prince Eric Tern, second in line for the throne of South Illmatria, swung his sword forcefully against his opponent's blade once more, sending his opponent's wooden sword flying. The opponent, 9-year-old Prince Claus Dayan, fourth in line for the throne of South Illmatria, found himself knocked away along with his sword. Before he could scramble to retrieve his weapon, however, Eric swiftly placed his sword beneath Claus's chin, the blade floating a mere few millimeters away from Claus's throat.
Eric smiled, before offering his hand.
"That's that," said he. "You've gotten quite better at this since we last met, but still have a long way to go."
Claus chuckled tiredly in response before accepting Eric's hand.
"Thanks," said he, brushing away some of his reddish-brown hair out of the way of his eyes as he did so. "I still don't think I like sword fighting, though."
"Oh, don't worry about it," replied Eric. "You should be able to deal with any ruffians that you might run into in the streets."
Claus's eyes widened in surprise, but Eric stopped him before any words exited his mouth.
"No need to worry," Eric reassured. "I won't tell father a thing."
Hearing this, Claus sighed a breath of relief before picking up his training sword.
"Can we do this again later?" Claus asked, which, to his disappointment, Eric shook his head.
"Father is holding a war council with the other nobles this evening," Eric explained. "He said he wants me to attend as well."
Claus's expression brightened for a brief moment before Eric continued.
"And no, you can't attend with me," said he. "You're still nine, for goodness sake. Do you really think father will let you in, even if I take you with me?"
Claus simply sighed at this.
"I only wanted to go outside of the city though," he whined, causing Eric to laugh in response.
"Yeah, I'm sure that's the only reason," Eric mentioned, before sighing at Claus's pouting expression.
"…Fine," Eric finally relented. "I'll ask father if you can come. But if he says no, you're not coming. Got it?"
Claus, his expression now brightened by Eric's response, energetically nodded in acknowledgement.
"Thanks!" he exclaimed, before rushing towards the exit of the courtyard. "I'll start packing!"
As Claus disappeared into the nearby building, Eric could only shake his head in astonishment at Claus's actions.
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Outskirts of Silanus
Claus took a deep breath of the outside air as the royal caravan exited the capital city. Though the King made the decision to not allow Claus to attend the war council itself, he permitted Claus to come along on the trip. As much as Claus wanted to attend said war council and, by extension, be treated like an adult, he decided to accept what compromise he received.
"Please be careful, your Highness," a voice from beside Claus said. "You might hurt yourself."
"You worry too much," Claus replied. "I'll be fine."
Claus then switched his attention to the person next to him. His short jet-black hair contrasted with his emerald eyes, while Claus barely made out the outline of some sort of pistol hidden underneath the folds of the person's jacket.
"Besides, Sergei," Claus continued, "I'm turning ten soon. You can't worry about me like that forever."
19-year-old Sergei Mateus sighed at Claus's statement.
"That's for His Majesty to decide," Sergei replied. "Neither you nor I have a say in that matter."
Claus made a pouting expression before returning to his seat.
"I know…" he whined, "But I won't be an adult until I'm sixteen. That's too long of a wait…"
"Well," Sergei pointed out. "Like your Highness said, you will be ten years old in two days. His Majesty will start treating you more like an adult by then."
Claus simply sighed at this.
"I hope so…" said he, before noticing something pass by their carriage.
"Hey Sergei," Claus called. "What's that?"
He then pointed at what looked like a two-wheeled vehicle operated by one person.
"Oh," Sergei said as he got a look at the contraption. "That, your Highness, is a bicycle."
"A bicycle?" Claus asked in curiosity.
"Yes," Sergei replied. "They're a type of two-wheeled vehicle growing in popularity amongst the commoners. Probably because they're cheap and easy to make."
"Hmm…"
Claus stared at the bicycles for a while before diverting his attention elsewhere.
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Town of Kastel
Claus, bored, stared at the ceiling of his room as he waited for his father, the King, to finish his war council. The room, as well as the castle which contained it, belonged to one of the noblemen of the kingdom. Claus, at this point, cared little about the details of his situation as he found himself with nothing to do.
"Bored, your Highness?" asked Sergei, who busied himself with cleaning his pistol. Claus simply nodded in response before flopping onto the bed.
As Sergei worked, Claus's curiosity drew his attention towards the disassembled pistol in Sergei's hands.
It looked to be a new model, Claus observed, with a rotating cylinder drilled with five holes for five shots. Claus watched as Sergei painstakingly filled each hole with powder and shot, fitted what looked to be a brass cap onto the sealed end of each hole, and returned the cylinder back to its place on the pistol.
At that moment, a knock on the door drew the attention of both Claus and Sergei.
"Master Mateus," a voice called from the other side of the door. "A word?"
Sergei paused for a few seconds before switching his gaze to Claus.
"Your Highness," he warned. "Don't move."
With that, he exited the room.
Claus, seeing an opportunity, got to his feet and rushed toward his luggage. He then pulled out a sword which he proceeded to fasten to his waist belt. The sword, though very much a ceremonial bronze piece, still possessed a usable edge in the event of an emergency.
Claus then quickly checked the door, before opening the nearby window.
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"An assassin!?" Sergei exclaimed, simultaneously careful to not let Claus hear. The person bearing this news, one of the Royal Guards, nodded in response.
"We already caught most of the assassins," he reported, "but unfortunately we let a few get away. Please be on guard, for they may come for Prince Claus next."
Sergei nodded, before his expression slowly transformed into a panicked one.
"Your Highness!" he exclaimed, before swiftly turning around and opening the door to Claus's room. As he noticed the opened window, Sergei's panicked expression transformed into one of genuine horror.
"Shit!"
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Claus raised his lamp and surveyed his surroundings, one hand constantly resting on his sword as he did so. He noted a few abandoned pieces of mining equipment in the abandoned mineshaft he found himself in, but nothing else in particular.
Sighing, Claus continued forward, pulling out a small notebook out form his shoulder bag as he did so.
"Strange," he muttered to himself. "According to that book, it should be around here… Did I copy it wrong?"
He glanced at the text written in the notebook before taking a look around himself once more.
"Maybe the location changed," Claus continued. "That was a really old book, after all…"
He stopped; eyes glued to what looked to be a branching tunnel from the main mineshaft.
"Looks like someone beat me to it."
Sighing, Claus returned his notebook to his shoulder bag before making his way into the tunnel.
He never guessed that this decision would change his life forever.
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The Kingdom of South Illmatria.
For millennia, this Kingdom, and its predecessor states, sat at the crossroads of the entire world known world. Both wealth and knowledge frequently passed through the region, enriching it greatly over the years. Armies of various empires came and went as well, but the region always prospered.
It all came to an end nearly a millennium ago.
In a period, which came to be known as the Age of Darkness, demonic armies swept across human lands, murdering, enslaving, and pillaging as they went. Their supernatural strength and adaptability swept aside nearly all human resistance in their path, so humanity ran. They ran, until they could run no longer.
A united human army thus made the decision to mount a desperate last stand in the Black Mountains, the easternmost region of South Illmatria. If South Illmatria, the crossroads of civilization, fell to these demonic invaders, they reasoned, then the human race may soon follow.
And, by some miracle, they held the line.
Day after day, the human army halted and repelled demonic attacks, despite also taking heavy losses. However, days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months became years.
Eventually, after nearly a millennium, South Illmatria, and human civilization as a whole, began taking this stalemate for granted. So long as the Black Mountain held, they had nothing to worry about.
For the people of the Black Mountain, however, it was a millennium of constant warfare and suffering, with no hope of help or relief from the outside world. Living past the age of 10 became a sign of good luck, while living past the age of 30 became a miracle. War and destruction slowly became engrained in society. The rest of civilization trended towards relegating the Black Mountain to a footnote of history.
However, as the people of the Black Mountain soon found out, fate had other plans for them.
All because one young boy touched a glowing rock.
