The invasion from another island had unified Silver Flower Island in a way rarely seen before.
Normally, the three kingdoms—Elowen, Silver, and Bloodstone—were plagued by internal struggles, constantly at odds with one another. They had never truly been united. However, recent threats, including the resurgence of demons and now this legendary invader, had begun pushing them closer together.
The conflicts and internal struggles on Silver Flower Island were not driven by revenge, prejudice, or mere tribal warfare. It was a struggle for power and dominance. The Elowen Kingdom sought to establish itself as the undisputed ruler, forcing the Silver Kingdom and Bloodstone Kingdom into submission. Naturally, the other two refused to bow. Instead, they allied against Elowen, resisting its growing influence—despite Elowen's overwhelming strength and its two legendary knights.
This was not a conflict fueled by hatred or grudges that could fade over generations. Those conflicts, rooted in emotion, could sometimes be resolved when new rulers emerged with a different perspective. With the right leadership and effective diplomacy, even centuries-old blood feuds could be set aside.
Squabbles based on conflict of interest, or better said, conflicting facts, were different from emotional ones. They could not be resolved by changing perspectives, nor could they be softened over time. No matter how wise or competent the rulers were, as long as the root of the dispute remained.
The best way to resolve a factual dispute was through negotiation—by dividing land, sharing resources, or making mutual concessions. But what happens when there is no middle ground? When no compromise can be reached?
That was the situation on Silver Flower Island.
The Elowen Kingdom saw itself as the island's rightful ruler. It was the only kingdom with two legendary knights, and it demanded recognition as the supreme power. The Silver and Bloodstone Kingdoms, however, refused to acknowledge such authority. There was no possible compromise—either Elowen was superior, or it was not. One side had to yield, and until that happened, the conflict would remain unresolved.
A blurry yet crucial distinction can be made: when a conflict based on a dispute of fact breeds hatred between the opposing sides, it evolves into something far more dangerous—a battle not just of reason, but of emotion. This transformation marks the birth of blood enmity, a grudge that festers across generations and fuels endless war.
However, the situation between the Elowen Kingdom and its two neighbors had not yet reached that point. Despite their dispute over dominance—over who should rule and who should submit—their leaders did not harbor personal hatred for one another.
On the lower levels, it was a different story. Many common soldiers, nobles, and officials resented the rival kingdoms, their minds poisoned by years of conflict and national pride. But among the highest ranks, among the legendary knights who shaped the island's destiny, there was a surprising level of mutual respect—even friendship.
And that was the key difference.
As long as the leaders of a dispute of fact remained rational and free of hatred, the conflict, while impossible to resolve without compromise, would never descend into true blood enmity.
In worlds without magic, subordinates wielded power because their leaders depended on them to maintain rule. If too many of their own people turned against them, even a king could be overthrown. But in a land where legendary knights existed, things were different. No subordinate, no matter how angry or resentful, would dare rebel against a ruler whose personal strength could crush armies.
A conflict based on an unresolvable dispute of fact could stretch on indefinitely, lingering like an open wound until the balance of power shifted. If one of the Silver or Bloodstone Kingdoms produced a legendary knight of their own—or if one of Elowen's two legendary knights perished—the reality of the dispute would change.
But until then, the conflict would remain frozen in place.
That said, because this struggle was driven by power and benefits rather than pure hatred, there was room for pragmatism. When a greater threat arose—one that endangered all three kingdoms—the dispute of fact could be temporarily set aside. A rational mind would always prioritize survival over pride.
And that was exactly what happened when the demons returned… and when the mysterious Golden Knight appeared.
For ordinary people, disputes of fact often spiraled into blood enmity. Hatred was easy to nurture when one fought the same enemy over and over. But legendary knights were different. Their lifespans were longer, their experiences far greater, and their perspectives far wider.
That was the difference between warriors and rulers.
...
Each of the three kingdoms sent two Golden Knights, along with a legendary ship, and set sail for Greenmoon Island.
The two islands were neighbors, and over the years, a line of communication had formed between them. Golden Mages from both sides held regular conferences, exchanging knowledge on newly developed spells and magical advancements.
However, their relationship could not be called warm. They spoke to one another out of necessity, not camaraderie. Their proximity forced interaction, but there was no real sense of trust or kinship between them.
Even so, that minimal diplomatic connection ensured one thing—they did not see each other as enemies.
The voyage to Greenmoon Island would be relatively short and was not considered particularly dangerous—after all, the island was close. Had their destination been the Flicker Empire, even legendary ships would have struggled against the perilous journey.
The Greenmoon Island was nearly identical in size and resources to Silver Flower Island, and it suffered from the same lurking dangers. It was named after the eerie phenomenon that occurred every night—its moon shone a deep, unnatural green.
Legends spoke of the island's green moon as a lingering scar from an ancient disaster. Long ago, a demonic outbreak tied to the Demon King of Green ravaged the land. Even after the demonic artifact responsible for the outbreak was removed, the moon remained forever stained by its influence.
Such aftereffects of demonic outbreaks were not uncommon. Silver Flower Island, too, bore its own curse. Despite being located in a warm ocean, it endured a mini ice age every year. Some scholars argued that this was a blessing in disguise—without the cooling effect of the demonic residue, the island's climate would have been hot.
However, Greenmoon Island's curse was far worse.
At the start of each new year, for several days, the island was plagued by the Greed Disease—a terrifying affliction that stripped away reason and drove the weak-willed into murderous frenzies. Even the promise of a few coins was enough to make people kill without hesitation. This curse had ruined Greenmoon Island's new year celebrations, turning what should have been a time of joy into a dreaded period. Unlike Silver Flower Island's cold season, which was inconvenient but survivable, the Greed Disease outbreak claimed lives every year.
For ordinary citizens, those days were the most feared of the year. No one celebrated. No one wished for the new year to come sooner.
Fortunately, knights and mages were immune. With their powerful mental fortitude, they could easily resist the curse's effects. But for the common folk, precautions had to be taken.
The Greed Disease was at its worst in those few days, but its influence never truly vanished. Throughout the year, everyone under the green moon felt an increased sense of greed. Most of the time, the effect was mild, almost imperceptible, but it was always there, lurking beneath the surface.
Over the centuries, the people of Greenmoon Island adapted. Laws were put in place. Every household was required to have a basement equipped with chains—restraints to lock themselves away when the Greed Disease struck. During the outbreak, cities entered complete lockdown. Anyone found wandering the streets was considered a threat and was executed on sight by patrolling knights and specialized troops.
It was possible for ordinary people to resist the curse. Those with sufficient willpower could undergo special training to withstand its effects. The government issued Green Passes to those who passed the tests, exempting them from the need to chain themselves away each year. But even those with a Green Pass were still subject to martial law during the outbreak—no one was allowed to roam freely once night fell.
For the homeless, the government built massive detention camps. They had no choice—on the nights of the Green Disaster, anyone without shelter was either contained… or killed.
Despite countless attempts, no mage had ever succeeded in developing a cure, nor had any magical formation been able to suppress the Greed Disease. The only true immunity came with great power—knights and mages were unaffected. But becoming a knight was not an option for most. For the majority of the population, imprisonment was the only way to survive.
If left unchecked, a single night of the Green Disaster could claim countless innocent lives.
And so, the people of Greenmoon Island lived under the shadow of their cursed moon, trapped in an endless cycle of greed, fear, and bloodshed.