A Leonine Man—his body covered in wounds—stood blocking the trembling villagers behind him.
He was tall, muscular, his entire body covered in burning red fur. His lion's mane stood on end, drenched in blood. His thick, sharp claws, like blades, dug into the ground to steady his bleeding form.
Every breath he took was a shudder. With every step back—blood trailed in a long streak behind him.
He still wouldn't fall. Because behind him… were people with nowhere left to run.
Before him—were humanoid creatures with technology that didn't belong in this world.
They were clad in glowing blue-violet metal armor, electrical currents pulsing across their bodies. They held energy weapons, their visors emitted scanning beams, and tubes on their backs made them look like a cross between man and machine. Silent. Cold. The light from their armor reflected in the pool of blood beneath his feet.
A robotic voice echoed from the command device in the center of the formation:
"Warning: Class B Metamorphosis Anomaly. Potential threat. Exterminate target."
The Leonine Man looked up. His orange-gold eyes—still burned with fire. But deep within… was a profound sorrow.
He let out a low growl. Not to threaten. But as if bidding farewell.
And then…
BOOM!
A pillar of green energy shot straight from a cannon in mid-air, striking the sky above him.
He didn't have time to scream. Didn't have time to brace himself.
His body exploded in an instant. Blood, flesh, bone, internal organs—ripped into scattered fragments.
Part of his head flew onto the ground, eyes still open. The rest of his body was incinerated, his claws broken off, flung straight into the crowd behind him.
The villagers screamed in terror. Some were splattered with blood on their faces, trembling and wailing as if cursed.
And that… is how this story began.
"A while ago"
Nestled in the southeastern border region of the continent of Vallaris, tucked between a narrow valley and dense forests, lay a small village named Eldenrest.
With a population of only about one hundred people, Eldenrest had no castles, no nobility, and no strong city walls. Simple wooden houses stood close together, surrounded by meadows and terraced fields. The villagers lived by farming, raising livestock, and trading with merchants passing through the northern trail.
No one in the village knew what war was. Nor did anyone wish to leave this place. For them, a day with food, loved ones by their side, and the sun rising over the hill was enough.
And to keep that life peaceful, there were two names the whole village trusted: Sann and Keal Lionhart.
Sann—the elder brother, 34 years old, tall, broad-shouldered, with a messy brown hair like a lion's mane and a thick beard. He was once a seasoned mercenary across the northern regions, but after his mother passed away, he returned to the village and became the villagers' pillar of support. Despite his intimidating appearance, Sann was surprisingly kind-hearted—always ready to carry an elderly blind woman down the mountain or fix a widow's roof without taking a single coin.
And Keal, his younger brother—only 22 years old, with coal-black hair that stood on end and muscles nearly as toned as his brother's. Though younger, Keal was much more active and hot-headed. He was often the first to grab an axe and chase away Goblin packs that dared to venture near the eastern forest.
⸻
Early that morning, Eldenrest was bathed in soft sunlight. Smoke from cooking fires drifted up from the wooden houses. Mrs. Ren was sweeping her yard. Mr. Tal was fixing a broken chicken coop fence from the night before. Children ran merrily along the small stream, catching frogs.
In the middle of the village, Keal was squatting, sharpening his spearhead.
"Brother Sann, yesterday some Goblins were loitering near old Ghen's tent. Should we clear them out today?"
From the stables, Sann, carrying a bundle of dry hay, called back:
"It's early. Let me finish my meal first. And don't overdo it. Goblins are stupid creatures, they were probably just hungry last night."
"If they're hungry, go somewhere else! If they come near the village, I'll smash them dead!"
Sann burst out laughing. He put down the hay and walked over, ruffling his younger brother's hair with a hand as big as a frying pan:
"Calm down, kid. Today I heard the little ones say there's a new harvest festival tomorrow. The children are practicing their dances. Want to go watch?"
Keal grimaced:
"You go watch. I'll go hunting. I'll clear out the Goblins first so the kids can enjoy the festival in peace."
That was Keal—cold to his enemies, but warm to his villagers. He had always been that way since he was little.
The people of Eldenrest cherished the two brothers like family. Though they had no families of their own, Sann and Keal were the two pillars that kept this small village standing strong through years of turmoil. Countless times, they had repelled wandering monster hordes, repaired broken roads, or led sick villagers over the mountains to the regional clinic.
Life flowed on, peaceful as a small stream through a meadow.
No one knew… that in just one more day, this tranquil land would turn to ashes.
That afternoon, Sann returned to the village to the boisterous cheers of the children. On his shoulder, a heavy wild boar—its dark gray hide flecked with dried blood, its long tusks bared, and its eyes still wide open, unable to close.
"Wild boar!!! It's a real wild boar!!!"
"Uncle Sann, you're back!!"
The children swarmed him like a disturbed beehive. They ran around him, jumping up and down, some tugging at his shirt, others touching the pig's leg to make sure it wasn't a lie.
Sann set the heavy animal down in the middle of the village square, sweat dripping from his forehead. But he still smiled. A smile full of the essence of a seasoned man, strong, and always gentle with those around him.
"The whole village feasts tonight!"—He clapped his hands. "Grilled ribs will be made by my own hands!"
"Wooooow!!!"—The children cheered.
The adults also began to gather. Everyone quickly split up—some tended the fire, others prepared spices, some set up a temporary grill right in the village square.
Meanwhile, at the corner of the village, a group of children were practicing their dance for the new harvest festival—an old tradition from their ancestors' time to thank the Moon God for blessing the harvest.
The children wore hats made of leaves and flowers, holding small bells. They danced to the steady beat of drums, both clumsy and endearingly cute.
Sann stood watching from a distance, hands on his hips, nodding with satisfaction. He said nothing, but his eyes held a joy and a sense of peace that no words could fully express.
And Keal?
As expected, he was nowhere to be seen in the village square.
At that moment, he was secretly making his way through the small forest to the north, hands in his pockets, a long blade of grass in his mouth. His black hair stood on end, his face held high, his walk mischievous, looking just like a young wolf stalking prey.
"Hunting Goblins? What a lie!"—He scoffed to himself.
Because, in truth… Keal was on his way to a familiar meeting spot with a special girl: Lyra.
Lyra, 19 years old, the daughter of the village blacksmith. She had bright orange-red hair tied high, gentle brown eyes, and a smile like a small flame warming everything around her. Not overly striking, but every time Lyra smiled, Keal felt his heart beat like the village drum during a festival.
They had known each other since childhood. But only this year, as Keal started to "grow into a man," did he begin to secretly date her, avoiding the "supervision" of his older brother Sann.
At the ancient tree near the silver stream, Lyra was already sitting there, idly twirling a wild flower, watching the water flow. And then, Keal appeared—leaping down from a tree branch like a wild cat.
"Excuse me, young lady, are you waiting for an extremely handsome and incredibly muscular young man named Keal?"—He gestured grandly, his face beaming like a kid who had just stolen some braised fish.
Lyra giggled, shaking her head:
"Fifteen minutes late, and still playing tricks."
"I really was hunting Goblins. It's just… they were smarter than I thought. They saw me and ran away in fear."
Lyra raised an eyebrow:
"Then why is there still mud on your shoes?"
Keal choked… then burst out laughing.
"Well… that's the swamp I waded through chasing them. If you don't believe me, come with me sometime and see!"
Lyra said no more. She leaned her head on Keal's shoulder, gently. And Keal… his eyes wide, his face flushed. Though he was the one who would shout "I'll hack those Goblins to death!" in front of Lyra, he was just a boy who didn't know where to put his hands to feel less awkward.
While the village square began to fill with the savory scent of grilled meat, and children danced around the bonfire, Keal sat with Lyra, telling all sorts of stories… mostly exaggerations of his hunting "victories"—stories that Sann, if he heard them, would surely give him a merciless rap on the head.
Eldenrest that autumn evening, no one knew that…
This would be the last time the whole village would hear such complete laughter.