Amidst the turmoil unfolding in the valley, far beyond the dense forest, a lone figure sat atop the cliff of a towering mountain, gazing down at the world below.
For the first time, his face was revealed in full clarity.
He was an imposing man—eight feet tall, his body both lean and powerfully built. His pale skin bore the nobility of a prince, yet his chiseled muscles, sharp contours, and prominent veins spoke of a warrior forged through countless battles. He was completely bald, his face devoid of a beard, giving him the fierce and untamed presence of a barbarian.
But his most striking feature was his eyes.
Three elongated, eerie irises adorned each eye, arranged in an unnatural pattern—something beyond human comprehension. Each iris swirled like a cosmic nebula, their concentric rings glowing with an otherworldly radiance. The largest, central iris was flanked by two smaller ones, and when aligned, their pupils formed a perfect, abyssal void.
His body was covered in intricate tattoos, ancient symbols of unknown origin. One, however—the marking that had once been carved upon his head—had now mysteriously vanished.
Had he been clad in armor, he would have resembled an unstoppable warlord. Yet at this moment, despite his domineering presence, he sat there in silence—alone, like a king without a throne.
His face was filled with a smile—one of deep satisfaction.
In his hand, he held the still-beating heart of Hero Kang, freshly ripped from his chest. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before muttering, "You can take this now."
As soon as the words left his lips, a small, lizard-like creature scurried across his arm, its scales shimmering in the moonlight. It leaped onto his hand and seized the heart with its tiny yet razor-sharp claws.
The creature was a Spirit Eater—a rare, chameleon-like beast with the uncanny ability to consume spirits and unleash devastating spiritual attacks where physical assaults failed.
He smirked. "Hey, Blackie, it's all yours now. Eat to your heart's content—no one's going to take it from you."
As the beast tore into the flesh, its sharp teeth slicing through the organ effortlessly, he winced slightly and pulled his hand back. "Hey! Don't eat my fingers again!" he scolded, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "Because of you, those two fools thought I was some crazed cannibal who eats human flesh... but it was you who wanted roasted meat."
For a moment, his amusement faded, replaced by a tinge of sorrow. His expression darkened as regret flickered across his face.
He remembered the time when he was just an Awakener at Level 30, still looking like an ordinary human. Back then, he had spent a fortune at an auction on what he was told were Wyvern eggs, believing they would become his powerful battle companions. But in the end, he had been deceived.
Three months later, the eggs hatched—not into mighty wyverns, but into two tiny, lizard-like creatures. Spirit Eaters.
Rare? Yes. But completely unsuited for combat or defense.
By the time he realized he had been tricked, it was already too late. He was still weak then, powerless to demand a refund or seek revenge. For a moment, he had considered abandoning them. But the thought of discarding creatures so rare—especially a black and white Spirit Eater, even rarer than the normal kind—made him hesitate. Not to mention, the sheer amount of money he had poured into raising them.
So, he kept them.
As he trained and hunted, striving to level up, the two creatures tagged along, refusing to leave his side. He eventually gave them names: Blackie and Whitie.
But they were useless.
They didn't fight, didn't defend, didn't even help in any meaningful way. They just ate, wandered around, and occasionally caused trouble. More often than not, they got in his way. He became the laughingstock of his peers—mocked for dragging around what seemed like harmless pets instead of real battle companions.
He had once felt dejected because of his pets. He was weak, and so were they. A worthless master with worthless companions—or so he had thought.
But in the moment of true despair, when the Fire of Truth burned with divine fury—flames that consumed both body and soul, leaving nothing behind—it was them who saved him.
Whitie had sacrificed itself, shielding his soul from the relentless inferno. Blackie, though it survived, had been gravely wounded, barely clinging to life nourish the remanent of his soul shred.
Even now, as he sat there, staring at the horizon, his heart ached at the memory. A single tear slid down his face.
But he no longer feared.
He had grown strong. Strong enough that no force in this world could threaten him the way that fire once had. Strong enough to shape the fate of kingdoms with nothing but his own hands.
Now, there was nothing left for him to do here. His purpose had been fulfilled.
All that remained was to wait—to watch the consequences of his actions unfold in the valley below.
With that thought, he rose to his feet. The wind howled around him as he turned toward the north, his silhouette framed against the rising dawn.
This was just the beginning.
The origin of this world would soon be revealed.
And the one who had once been known as Rei—a man who had lived a normal life—had been summoned by the Divine Will itself.
His lips curled into a smile.
"Now… the destruction truly begins."