I will remember.

5697 A.R., Margrave Empire. Somewhere above the royal city, the clouds were dark and thick, and dense lightning storms could be heard. Once in a while, a ray of red lightning would lash out with brilliant but dreadful vigor, making the scene all the more terrifying. In between the clouds, the sun could be seen ever so faintly, albeit its illuminance almost shrouded in darkness.

A man, dressed in golden-red royal attire, was floating in the sky above the clouds, gazing at the sun while calculating something. His shoulder-length red hair matched perfectly with his short beard and mustache. It had been 5 years since the great war had begun, and Emperor Olav Margrave's conquest had already depleted the majority of his forces. If not for the restrictions placed on him by the world, he would have gone by himself to massacre the alliance. He was already at the end of his patience, and even if he was all-powerful, he still felt vulnerable.

"The time is near. SIGH. This gamble is going to be my last. I ain't involving myself with you after this, you old geezer !!"

Suddenly, Olav vanished from the sky and appeared in front of a golden castle, then floated towards its entrance. Two men immediately appeared in front of the entrance and stood to the side, respectfully waiting for their liege to enter. The older fellow among them fearfully inquired, "Shall we go ahead with the plan, Sire?" Olav glanced at him but ignored his question and walked forward into the castle. Olav walked silently into the castle with steadfast steps. With each step, he pondered all the moments in his life that had led to this point. He had feared nothing. Hailed as the last deity emperor of his time, his methods, actions, and thoughts were always regarded as the will of the heavens. But now he wore a frown on his face as he reaffirmed himself. Only after Olav reached his throne did he order the old butler, with slight ridicule, "Call everyone, Leif. Ragnar, I leave the rest to you. You know what to do."

With a brief nod, the seemingly young hunk of a man, Ragnar, appeared a couple of floors below the throne room. Carrying his blood-laden scimitar, he approached a room full of chained prisoners, among which were some rare mythical beasts. All the creatures in the room, including the humans, seemed to be locked in individual spatial prisms, unable to move at all. Ragnar brought forward a special token and used it to mysteriously move all the sealed prisoners, encircling them around him. Then he pressed the tip of the token, and the whole room started to shift and vibrate while an altar rose next to him. He then drew his scimitar from his back and began the sacrifice. Just as Ragnar was about to make the first sacrifice, he stopped his blade inches above the prisoner. Ragnar had been a faithful bodyguard to Olav for centuries now, and he would never second-guess his majesty's orders. But he still paused for a moment to pay his respects to the prisoners he was about to kill, to apologize for their deaths and then proceeded. After a few minutes, his entire arm was dyed red, and blood dripped from the scimitar. He then cut his wrist slowly to draw the maximum amount of blood possible before it healed automatically.

In one of the rooms of the golden castle, a cacophony of sounds was being generated by two people dancing with blades in the air. The sounds continued until the younger of them suddenly pulled a feint on his teacher, who instantly pursued it until the student revealed the hidden jab to the chest that was concealed very well. But suddenly the instructor swept his leg under the 18-year-old boy, making him fall to the ground face-first, the student raised his face to smile at his instructor and cried, "Come on!! Can't you let me win this round, at least for today?!"

This young man was the youngest son of Olav, Prince Markus Margrave. Markus was nearly 6 feet tall with jet-black short hair and a slim but toned body. With his physique, he looked handsome in a rugged, tough way. He resembled his father, except for the difference in hair color, but since he was six years old, he had never seen his father. Marcus was made to undergo mandatory training in various forms of martial arts. At twelve years old, he discovered that people awaken mana sensitivity at ten; however, he had never heard of mana before. Marcus then was told that he had a problem with his body and he had to train diligently if he wanted to practice cultivation. For twelve years he had been training in all forms of combat styles and Marcus had achieved peak mortal strength even without mana. His techniques and all-around well-developed muscles pushed him to new heights. But all this was not known to Marcus. He always fought only with his instructors who defeated him with ease. But today he was in a very good mood. He was jubilant at the thought that Father was finally going to talk to him and pay attention to him. Today was his eighteenth birthday and his father had returned to the castle from the war. When Marcus was told that there would be a celebration for him he was very excited. Being 18 was the mark of adulthood.

This war has been going on for a long time, and Marcus was very eager to join the front lines and prove to his father that he was very capable. He had been hearing news from different soldiers about the action on the front lines, the heroic deeds of his siblings, and his father's generals. But he once heard that his father couldn't participate in the battle despite being the most powerful man in the world. This confused him, but others told him that if his father participated, the world would break. Marcus was astonished when he realized how strong Olav was. His mother had died during childbirth, and all his siblings had either died or were fighting at the front lines. He had no one to tell him about his family's exploits. His trainers and teachers were all tight-lipped and would only provide information that was permissible for them to share. He would nag them a lot to glean some spicy stories about his family, but he would get nothing. Despite being born into a powerful, big family, he still didn't know how many siblings he had.

The instructor Lorak sighed and said with an irritated voice, "No young master, this is a very important day for you. You are no longer a child. All others are very much older than you and always have been taking very good care of you, but you must learn to face adversity. Try to find a solution by checking all possible scenarios that you have gone through, and try to formulate your next move. I wait this time. You will attack. Try to find out what I am missing. I am not your instructor, but your opponent. An opponent that you have not faced before. Just being fast and efficient is not always the answer. Strategize". Lorak was a tall man who looked like a middle-aged school teacher more than a martial arts trainer, with his round spectacles and almost grey curly hair.

He paused as if he was listening to someone, and then with a blank face he mentioned, "Young master, His Majesty is calling upon you to be present in the throne room in some time. I guess my lessons have come to an end."

Marcus' face lit up with a giant smile and surprisingly hugged Lorak, "Teacher Lorak, You would always be my teacher! Don't worry I am not going to forget you, just because our training has come to an end. I will come to meet you often and we can have that drink on the storeroom balcony." Marcus smiled mischievously as he let go of Lorak. He noticed that Lorak had a troublesome look on his face, but Lorak quickly recomposed himself and snarked at him, "Brat, do you think I have time to fool around with you? I already have my orders, I will be leaving the castle after this. Only fate knows if we might meet again. Always remember, whatever happens, you can always make it to your advantage. You just have to find out how." Marcus found a smile on Loraks's face for the first time since he met him, and he also became slightly emotional as he saluted respectfully to his teacher and vowed "Teacher, please be assured that, no matter what, your words I will remember."

Lorak turned around and walked away towards the exit of the hall. He couldn't help but murmur in his heavy heart, 'Alas, the day has come.'