“We made it”

“We sure did”

Paul could not believe his luck. Somehow, their group managed to survive an elven onslaught.

Unlike what most would assume, it was not due to their fighting skills, not even close. It was mostly because they chose to cower in fear while the brave ones carried on fighting.

After an exhausting battle of 10:1 numbers against them, the elves ended up depleting their mana, allowing Paul and his companions to easily spear them down.

And the reward for the deed was nice too; a single gold coin for each elven head. If everything went this smoothly, this war could be seen as a lucrative opportunity to grow rich at the expense of idiots.

That was one of the few reasons anybody was motivated to even participate in this unreasonable war, that and the mandatory conscription.

Those that were not involved in agriculture were forcefully conscripted.

Failure to provide at least one male per family would have been viewed as treason, punishable with higher taxes and in worst case, death by hanging.

Having no other choice, Paul ended up a reluctant participant in this war, but his only goal was to survive, no matter the cost.

Luckily, he found several like-minded people who shared his desire to keep their heads on their shoulders.

Nobody wanted to risk their lives for the sake of the kingdom. Such patriotic feelings vanished into thin air within the first few days of the war.

Those that were the most patriotic always took on the most risks, which is why they were also the first ones to die.

“Idiots”

That was the only way Paul could describe those people.

While he was by no means a brightest, he could at least recognize that his life was the only one he got.

If he lost it now, that would be the end of it. His story would be finished just like that.

“But I don’t want to die! Not fighting in a war I was forced to take part in!”

“What was our kingdom thinking? Why couldn’t they just keep chasing after demons and leave us be?”

Paul could only wonder at the injustice of the world he was living in.

Just because he was born into a commoner household, he now had to serve and die for the sake of keeping the noble households safe.

How was that fair in any way?

He remembered going to temples as a young child where they used preach the divine doctrine, “Human beings are born equal” and such.

Questioning the words of a god is a blasphemy, at least everyone claimed as much.

But the more he lived, the more he understood that the doctrine could not be further from the truth.

Where is the royal family during this war?

Did they even send a single member to lead the charge?

Of course not.

The most they would do is have a prince stand on top of a hill and observe the carnage from a safe distance.

“We are lambs driven to slaughter. There is nothing wrong with letting idiots die first and keep all the loot to ourselves”

Yet another day of finishing off the exhausted and defenseless elves.

Black butterflies flew along with the wind, feasting upon the countless rotting corpses.

With their over-reliance on magic, it was rather rare for elves to be proficient in physical combat.

Once their magic is taken away, it was easy to overpower them.

Paul could only smile at this golden opportunity.

Strangely enough, none has caught on to what they were doing.

Apparently the kingdom did not care about such corruption as long as the elves were dead, which allowed the likes of Paul to continue collecting elven heads as many times as they pleased.

Whenever they captured female elves, their fate was even worse.

Since they were prisoners of war, Paul and the others could to whatever they wanted with them before killing them.

“That makes 37 heads total”

“Yikes, an uneven number”

“How are we gonna split it?”

“Let’s look around, maybe there is another elf hiding nearby”

Over the last couple of days, this tactic allowed them to make a killing, quite literally.

Casualties on the human side were astronomical to say the least. You could not take five steps without stumbling upon someone’s corpse.

There were even ‘mountains’, corpses stacked on top of each other to be burned later. So many black butterflies encircled these gruesome mountains.

Since the dead no longer needed any of their belongings, Paul would occasionally pocket any kind of coins or small valuables in their pockets. It was grave robbery, but all is fair in times of war.

Following Paul’s example, Losen turned the rotting corpse of the Holy Knight over to check for valuables.

He could never have dreamed for the rotting eyelids to suddenly open themselves, staring at him with its empty sockets. The jaws of the dead man opened wide before breaking off and falling on the ground.

Streams of black butterflies emerged from the corpse’s throat, soaring into the sky.

Seeing that the corpse was moving, it was obvious that this was an undead monster.

“AAAH!”

Hearing Losen’s scream, the others were horrified to discover the undead Holy Knight stabbing the poor man with a sword, again and again, until Lose was no longer moving.

One of the butterflies landed upon Losen’s corpse.

Slowly, the corpse stood up, still bleeding all over, but now there was no life within his eyes.

“An Undead!”

“We must destroy it!”

Unfortunately, the fate had other plans.

Zombies and skeletons.

They started to appear from everywhere.

Climbing out of the mountain stacks, the underground, or anywhere there were intact corpses, undead were spawning like crazy.

Within a minute, Paul and the group were completely surrounded.

Having nowhere left to run or idiots to hide behind, Paul shoved the spear into the chest of one of the undead, only for the tip of the spear to break off as the undead kept coming closer.

What followed could only be described as the dead paying their dues.

Humans may be good physical fighters but they would get fatigued and once their stamina runs out, they were an easy prey for the undead.

And these undead were far tougher than the regular undead.

While there were multiple undead raids upon villages in human kingdom, it was a common belief that an undead could be destroyed by a blunt force impact or fire.

A farmer with armed with a hammer, rake, or a torch could most likely take on that type of undead.

In this situation though, the undead proved to be far more resistant to blunt physical impact and even displayed near complete immunity to fire.

So why were the regular undead and these undead so different in quality?

It was probably due to the level of the ones who created them.

Just by seeing how superior these undead were, it was obvious that the necromancer was far more powerful than an ordinary lich.

One lich was considered to be a threat to an entire kingdom and this necromancer’s work made liches look like an amateurs.

As the carnage continued, the countless butterflies gathered together, forming the shape of a pale woman.

“Humans were always such a bore to gaze upon. Always proclaiming selflessness but in reality caring only for themselves. Eternal hypocrites, are they not?”

“Yes, my Queen”

“That is indeed so, my Queen”

Knight of Land and Knight of Justice replied in unison.

Currently the two of them acted as her personal bodyguards.

After they were killed at the hands of elves, it was relatively easy to obtain their bodies and convert them into her loyal undead royal guards.

Depending upon the power the individual wielded in life, the undead could come back with varying degrees of intellect and self-awareness.

A common knight level or below would result in a mindless drone that would act as a cannon fodder.

A holy knight level would sometimes produce undead capable of limited communication and higher fighting ability.

As for the hero level or above; these undead retained their personalities, knowledge, and most of their power.

Though, undead had no access to Blessings since they vanished with the user’s death.

Undead were only loyal to the one who created them, in this case the Undead Queen.

Unlike the undead that were slowly rotting away, Undead Queen looked no different from an ordinary woman, aside from her pale silver hair and blood red eyes. Her black dress was adorned with countless golden butterfly shaped patterns.

Among all the undead she created, she stood out like a sore thumb.

Even if she was surrounded by them, she was different.

That was because all the undead she created were flawed, crude copies of what once was a great race.

No matter how much she tried, she could not recreate one specific kind of undead, the True Undead.

After the gods have purged them, only two survivors remained.

Undead Queen and Kanka.

Together, they had the capacity to revive their race, but Kanka had other plans.

If he was more powerful, Kanka could theoretically recreate the True Undead race, but at the rate he is going, it would take him centuries to reach such level of power.

While she had the capacity to create far higher quality undead than Kanka, Undead Queen could not convert them into the True Undead.

The only way she could was to mate with another True Undead, but Kanka was adamant at refusing her advances.

But Undead Queen was the persistent type, a borderline yandere.

As the last male True Undead, Kanka was the target of her unwanted affection.

No matter what, she had to revive her race.

And this war was a perfect opportunity to gather valuable pawns to serve under her whim.

Then the undead could be sent to search all over the human kingdom, the more the better, and when she has Kanka cornered, Undead Queen would pounce on her prey with no chance of ever letting him go.

Undead Queen playfully licked her lips.

“Oh, Kanka, my dear, I will find you soon…”

* * *

“It is not enough! Give me more of a challenge, damn you!”

Such were the cries of a man in a seemingly empty valley.

Not a single other human was in sight.

Only things other than him here were the corpses of at least 20 dragons, all bested by his hands.

Man in question was once hailed as the strongest hero of the human kingdom, the pillar that supported the weight of humanity.

The Sword Saint.

In a certain noble family line of master swordsmen only one member per generation would inherit the title of the Sword Saint.

And this was none other than this man.

Arisius Aristan, the 11th Sword Saint since the establishment of the Aristan Household, known as one of the mightiest if not the mightiest human beings in the entire world.

Most unique thing about him was his clothing; all of them were of dragon skin. They were a mere testament to his unending obsession.

Today’s hunt ended in yet another disappointment.

All of the dragons that were hiding in this location turned out to be mere low tier dragons, too weak to be considered even a slight challenge.

After searching for the last couple of months, he hoped to encounter at least one Dragon Lord, but luck was not on his side.

Now that he killed the dragons, he would take his time to eat them, starting with their hearts.

By eating the heart of a dragon, it was possible to grow stronger, but that was only applicable if the dragon in question was stronger than you, otherwise, the power boost was rather insignificant.

Still, it was a waste not to eat their hearts; at least they would allow him to be even just slightly stronger. And when it came to strength, he could not pass up even the tiniest amount.

No matter what, Arisius vowed to find and hunt down the Dragon Lords.

Until then, he could never be considered the strongest.

Such was his obsession.

It all started with a Dragon Lord, specifically the Earth Dragon Lord.

Long before the rise of Knight of Light, Sword Saint was considered the ultimate hero of humanity.

Born to Aristan Household, Arisius inherited the Grace of Power at the age 10. Ever since then, he was the one who bore the title of the Sword Saint.

Divine Grace was not a blessing given by a god, but a power that is passed down to a single member of the Aristan family.

There could only be one user of the Divine Grace, with it passing down from one user to the next, with none being sure of how or why.

Before the time of gods, there was no such thing as blessing. But there one in a thousand manifested Talents and within those talented individuals, only a few were fortunate enough to have a Divine Grace.

A gift of this reality upon the chosen ones, it was considered no less than a miracle. Such was the power of the Divine Grace.

It is said that blessings were created by gods to emulate the Divine Grace.

But in terms of quality, Divine Grace was undoubtedly superior.

In simple terms, Divine Grace Arisius possessed made any wish he made come true, to a certain extent.

Most Divine Graces gave only a single ability per user, but the type of Grace that belonged to the Aristan Household was unique, as it simply desired to gain more and more power.

So instead of being limited to a single ability, it would steadily expand its arsenal and become stronger with each user. By the time it reached Arisius, the Grace had evolved to the point that it could grant him nearly any ability he could think of.

Of course, the Grace had some limitations.

While it could give him certain ability, it was up to him to develop it.

For example, he could ask for fire resistance, but when it manifested it would be a low level ability, becoming stronger with each subsequent usage.

The main versatility of his Grace was the fact that the number of abilities he could ask for was virtually unlimited.

On the downside, Divine Grace could not create the impossible. It still followed certain rules of the world.

While Arisius could perceive and use mana, he lacked the ability to use magic.

In his case, his body was simply incapable of molding mana into usable magic power. Divine Grace could not grant him the ability to use magic.

But with how much power his Divine Grace provided him, usage of magic was unnecessary.

If a blessing is a seed of Deity’s power, then the Divine Grace was the seed of power of the entire world.

Gods embodied the elements, but the elements were creations of this world that gods simply took over. All the power that gods possessed originated from this world, and the power of the world was greater than them all.

Maybe that is why the champion chosen by this world is usually of higher quality than a champion chosen by a mere deity.

Arisius made that fact abundantly clear.

By the age of 11, he was already a Holy Knight level warrior.

By 13, he became the youngest Hero Level in history of the kingdom.

And by the age of 18, Arisius became the first to reach the Legendary Hero Level in the last 300 years.

He could have reached that level far sooner, but he took his time, never completely committing to honing his skills, his natural talent and Divine Grace more than made up for it.

Part of his Divine Grace was the fact that he would gain ten times the experience a normal person could gain. So, a single day’s worth of training for him would be equivalent to ten days of intense training for a normal warrior.

Combined with the additional benefits his Divine Grace gave him, it was no wonder he managed to reach such heights.

At some point, he grew bored with his power and sought out opponents who could truly pose a challenge to him.

Many ended up falling by his blade, but those that managed to stand their ground against him managed to earn Arisius’s respect.

Such individuals could be counted on one hand.

One was the late Elf King who proved to be as great of a magic user as Arisius was a swordsman.

And another one was the Demon King, Sorin Draco. Their brief clash may have ended in stalemate, but Sorin Draco was the first to leave an ever-lasting injury upon the Sword Saint’s body.

Granted, it was only a scar over his eye, but it was inflicted with such power that not even Divine Grace could heal it completely.

Even if those few managed to earn Arisius’s respect, deep down Arisius knew that if he were to go all out, none of them would even come close to his level of power.

In his arrogance, Arisius declared himself to be not only the strongest human in the kingdom, but the strongest mortal in this realm.

Had he not encountered the Earth Dragon Lord, Arisius would have taken that belief to his grave.

Because of his belief in being the strongest, Arisius would challenge anyone who looked strong, just to prove himself superior.

This time, he ended up picking a wrong opponent.

Their confrontation ended in an instant defeat.

Unfortunately, Arisius was not the victor.

Even with his Divine Grace, he hardly knew what had hit him.

Such was the overwhelming power that Dragon Lords possessed.

It was on another level, beyond anything he could have imagined.

In an instant, Earth Dragon Lord took away all the bravado and confidence that Arisius had built up over the years.

Just like that, his ego was irreparably broken.

Arisius’s image of his invincible self was shattered into countless pieces.

At that moment, Arisius came to realize that he was a mere frog in a well and that there were beings that far exceeded his level of power.

Getting almost killed by the Earth Dragon Lord opened Arisius’s eyes to the bitter truth. He was by far not the strongest being in the world, not as long as Dragon Lords were around.

Now he had a hole on his body, covered up by scar tissue, a reminder of his one and only defeat.

That was how it all began.

As soon as he recovered, much to the horror of his household and the royal family, he set off on a mad quest to slay every last one of the Dragon Lords.

It has been almost twenty years since then.

Sword Saint leaving the human kingdom left a large power gap, which forced the kingdom to speed up the cultivation of heroes.

In order to do that, the bar at which a warrior was considered a hero was significantly lowered, which is why current heroes were weaker than those of the previous generation.

Until the recent rise of Knight of Light, kingdom lacked a person that could be referred as the kingdom’s champion.