Chapter 15 TRG Vol. 1 Epilogue

Epilogue

A land where no human, save for the legendary Hero of the past, has ever set foot. Beyond the Farthest-North Mountains, a vast sea of trees stretches to the horizon. At its center stands a colossal tree, so tall it seems to pierce the heavens. And, as if one with the tree, a black tower stands like a spear plunged into the earth.

It was a tower built long ago by a single, mad member of the Long-Eared-Tribe, one who had become obsessed with a dark art: devouring the world’s circulating mana and making it his own. He built it using a wicked magic that harnessed miasma. And at its summit rests the tower’s master, who lost half his body in a great battle with the Hero and has been in a deep slumber ever since.

That Thing is covered from head to toe in sharp, pitch-black armor, making it impossible to tell if it is made of metal or wood. The part where its face should be is torn open, as if ripped apart by the claws of a giant beast. Yet, nothing can be seen within—only utter blackness. It was nothing but a dead suit of armor, devoid of any life. But now… after enough time has passed for that ancient war to become legend… that Thing has begun to faintly stir.

With a sickening crack, the section that was its head lifted, exposing that gaping rift to the empty air. That Thing had sensed it, clearly. Another one of its servants had just been extinguished.

The next instant, an ear-splitting roar burst from the rift. The sound echoed out from the tower, rolling across the entire sea of trees, reverberating off the surrounding mountains. It was like the blast of a horn, signaling the start of a new war.

Who is it? Who dares to carry that same, abominable aura… the one that forced me into this long slumber?

Who is it that dares to uproot the miasma I have so carefully sown, scattering it as if plucking common weeds?

The Demon King’s roar echoes through the sea of trees. And that roar is a summons, awakening those who served it long ago.

From deep within the forest, a grey-skinned giant with three twisted horns. From a chasm at the tower’s base, a rift so deep it seems to touch the earth’s core, a pair of eyes glitters like lightning: a dragon, covered in murky scales. And in the ruined city of the Dwarves, once a place of glory, a malformed bat with four ears and five eyes takes flight.

All of them, as if in answer to their master’s call, let out their own roars. They roar to assert their existence. They roar to declare that the Dark Age of Humanity has, at last, begun.

Far, far away from that northern land, a man is walking alone down a road. A man who sees the world he was born into through a completely warped perspective.

He does not know that monsters are a threat far beyond humanity’s ability to handle.

He does not know that felling a monster with a sword alone is supposed to be the stuff of fairy tales.

He has no idea of the true heights of power he himself has reached.

“…They call it the ‘Royal Capital,’ so it must have all kinds of entertainment and good food, right?”

This man, muttering such appallingly carefree thoughts, knows nothing.

He does not know what awaits him on the path ahead. And he has absolutely no idea that the very people he left behind are, at this very moment, forging a net to hunt him down.

And so, the story begins.