The kingdom burned beneath a sky torn open by fire and betrayal.
Virelion — once hailed as the crown of martial purity, a kingdom where warriors trained not for power but for balance — now lay in ruins. Its palaces, sculpted from white marble and dragonbone, crumbled like paper under the onslaught of invading empires. The air reeked of blood and divine fury.
In the heart of the capital, where the twin lion statues once stood proud, a boy watched everything fall.
He was small. Dirt-caked. Bloodied. Only six years old, but his eyes had already aged.
Behind him, the gates to the Sanctum of Kings—a sacred chamber sealed for centuries creaked open, awakened by lineage and desperation. Golden runes flickered across the shattered floor, reacting to his footsteps. He stumbled into the chamber as thunder cracked, carrying the cries of dying warriors on the wind.
The boy knelt before a dark pedestal.
Upon it lay a single object: a rolled, jet-black scroll bound in dragonhide and sealed with red wax that pulsed like a heartbeat. The Heir's Vein Codex — the legendary Worldbreaker Manual.
His fingers trembled as he reached for it.
The moment his blood touched the seal, the wax shattered silently, vanishing like smoke.
He heard voices — not whispers, but thunderclaps in his soul.
"The kingdom falls, but the heir survives."
"You will crawl, you will bleed, and only then will you rise."
"Ours is not a legacy of comfort. It is a path carved in pain."
"When you are broken, we shall teach you how to break the world in return."
The boy screamed as the scroll opened for the first time in over a thousand years.
His veins glowed faintly with crimson light. Not from power — but from the burden.
Outside the sanctum, royal banners were torn down. A shadowed general of the Empire held the decapitated Virelion crest in one hand, and a burning torch in the other.
"Let no blood of Virelion remain. Erase them from history."
But deep within the temple's ruins, the boy vanished into the underground, scroll in hand, carried away by the last loyal guardian.
Ten years passed.
And the world forgot Virelion.
Except for one silent shadow growing stronger each day…
The boy no longer cried.
His fists were scarred, his body hardened.
The scroll now whispered techniques that shattered stone.
The world thought Virelion was dead.
But the Worldbreaker was only just beginning.