The Fall of Dragfell Kingdom

The glorious kingdom founded by a sword saint who felled an evil dragon.

It was deep in the night, yet the sky was bright.

It was the time when even a whisper would be heard inside the castle, yet the clash of swords and battle rang throughout the night.

"HAHAHAHA, IT IS OVER UNCLE!" Eyes bloodshot while laughing like a maniac. A young man clad in battleplate had just killed the queen of Dragfell Kingdom. "If I cannot have her then no one else should!"

Dug dug… Dug dug… Dug dug…

"YOU!" The middle aged man whose age over 500s couldn't even say anything to the violence that had just fallen into his queen, his lover. His face was like a crumpled paper, gripping his sword as hard as he could to the point that his veins were bulging out.

The man then continued, "Your bloodline itself is a sin, you've lived for too long uncle. When would we be able to rise to the throne if we don't kill you here."

Jealousy and greed

Hear no reason, see no reason

Once a great king

Is robbed of everything

The third direct descendant of the great king Dio Dragfell couldn't hold his anger anymore. The noble that had just killed his wife was Daga Bloodfell, his nephew. Surrounded by knights, mages, and sword masters, he felt invincible.

Charles Dragfell the king, after losing almost everything, left with only a few loyal knights, dukes, and his trusted aide. Reasoning was included in one of the precious thing he lost. He was going mad. There wasn't a single trace of kindness in him anymore. Every pore in his body releasing anger and hatred, because those emotion couldn't be contained anymore.

He dashed quickly, disregarding the protection his nephew had. Then he thrust his palm forward, just an instant before his palm reach his nephew's chest, the surface of his palm glowed bright yellow. The time his palm touched his target, extreme heat were conducted quickly. His nephew, blown up harder than a balloon could, into a mist.

The surrounding were all warriors, they felt fear toward the king but they wouldn't let the fear control them. All of them brandished their weapons toward the king. The king tried to avoid them, but were still hit on his left shoulder.

And then the other nephew, Caecilion Runefell, wielded his magic staff with two hands horizontally. Suddenly a flash of light formed a lance dashing through Charles's chest.

Splurttt… His tough body was transformed into blood fountain in just one attack.

"Your majesty!" The people on Charles's side felt the same as their king. Plagued by anger, hatred, but also anxiety when they see the strongest person in the kingdom were brought down in one hit. Normally Charles wouldn't get hit or even wounded by such magic. King Charles fainted from the suddenly loss of blood in huge amount.

Farrel Farrion, the king's trusted aide, suddenly commanded, "Knights and my friends. Tonight might be the last night for us. But I wouldn't let our king fall here! I will join you all later in hell!"

Without hesitation, Farrel held his king into his back and brought him away from the fight.

Caecilion shouted, "Like I would let you!" He held his staff the same way like before, and the crystal on the tip of the staff flashed again.

However, a semi transparent dark purple wall that looked like a scale of dragon flashed on Farrel's back. The spear of light instantly deflected and dashing through its caster instead.

Swissshh… Drap…

Caecilion left hand fell to the ground.

"Do you think I would fall into the same trick again. No matter how great you have become as a mage, I would still be your teacher. Dragfell's number one Sorcerer."

Then he wasted no time and activate a high level magic dash skill over and over again, expending his mana because there is no tomorrow for him.

---

The place was dimly lit by a few torches. At the end of the room were a circle shaped stone tablet. The stone tablet was damp and an engraving with the mark of roaring dragon stabbed by a sword on his head top-down was etched in the middle of it.

Farrel sustain Charles's body in the air, aligning his hollow chest to the middle of the symbol on the stone tablet. Then he took a chalice of dark blood. It was the blood of evil dragon that the founding king drunk on the day he felled the dragon. The power contained in even a single drop of blood was intense, chaotic, and violent. Even when Dio Dragfell's cousins coveted the blood and drank them, they died on the spot instantly. Dio was one of the strongest heroes at that time, a sword saint that had trained his heart, body, and soul completely. Amongst many descendants, only the first child would inherit the blood of a sword saint mixed with the evil dragon blood.

Farrel poured both chalices on his hands into the symbol. And the symbol flashed dark aura. It suddenly become a dark mist swirling on the hole in the chest of Charles. Twisting violently spinning and expanding. Farrel won't let Charles down, he burned up his magic core and cast regeneration magic into Charles.

However, the blood of the evil dragon he inherited was reacting strongly.

"Kukk…!" The pain so unbearable it had woken up Charles. Charles quickly found Farrel by his side looking weak, due to long battle and exhausting his magic power. His dark brown hair lost its color starting from the scalp to the tip of each hair, becoming platinum silver.

Charles knew, Farrel were on the his last breath.

"Farrel, my friend. *gasp gasp* My queen and you… I will live and cherish both of you forever!"

Hot water as big as a corn seed, running down his cheeks. He couldn't mourn both his lover, his friend, and all people that were loyal to him.

Deep in his new heart, that beating hard like a dragon, he made an oath.

The blood of his people

Shall be paid in full

With only broken armor and the heirloom sword, a sword that looked sharp and slender yet sturdy, it was made of the evil dragon fang. He left the room and found his way out of the castle, while killing every enemy he found on the way. The sword itself doesn't shine like other swords that were made with metal. It was silky and smooth with the color of pale pearl. Every time blood stained the sword, the blood would get smaller and smaller as if the pores of the sword were sucking the blood in. The sword without luster met with blood. It was beautiful. This image would always remind Charles the betrayal that befell his kingdom.

'To the east. Yes. Where the empire's hand had not yet reached. I shall go and find power. And I will… I will surely will… Exact revenge on all who betrayed us. Their family, their friends, and the empire!'

'My sword will reach the emperor's heart!'

'He dared toying with the life of my people for greed.'

'He… and he… he would pay it dearly!'

-

Consumed in hatred, wandering

Revenge

He would walk the path of thorn

For revenge

Cling on this life

Whenever his sword drank blood, his new heart would beat hard. He could view a semi transparent weird words floating in his vision.

'HP? Mana? Buff? Debuff?' Mana was the only thing he had a vague understanding out of those random words. But he paid them no mind anymore, he kept walking away to the east.

After awhile, he had killed quite large number of empire's army. Every few kills of a high ranking general, a window with the word "Status" would flash. On the weird rectangular panel that contained words he didn't understand, he read: Level (751-300). Every few seconds, the number on the right side would grow bigger.

Charles had walked without knowing how far had he gone through. On the way to way to a neutral kingdom called Rovia, he once again felt weak, he saw his level is indicated as (751-750). Inside a forest, he found a big tree and fell asleep. For 100 years. While asleep, the middle aged king grew younger, and his level had dropped lower and lower to level 1.