A young warrior with dark hair and piercing dark eyes limped forward, each step leaving blood trail across the cold stone floor. His armor was shattered—nothing more than broken steel clinging to his bloodied figure.
His body covered with the marks of a savage battle, slashes across his chest, a shattered shoulder, missing fingers. But his blood covered eyes—those cold, unwavering eyes—burned with a light that refused to die.
He was determined while wrath, and sacrifice flared within them.
In his hands, he carried a grotesque offering: the severed heads of three fallen warriors.
One of the head is of an elven woman, and the two are bearded men. They all had been once his comrades. They were his friends. They were his family and fellow adventurers who shared good meal and hard times with him. Their eyes remained open in frozen disbelief, as if still processing the betrayal that had taken their lives.
Aurelus reached the altar at the heart of the dungeon. There stood a great pedestal of golden stone carved with celestial runes and divine symbols stood in the middle.
It glowed faintly even in the darkness, pulsing with hidden power. With reverence and grim resolve, Aurelus placed the heads atop the altar and knelt, blood dripping from his body onto the ancient sigils while he chanted the summoning script from the ancient scroll they found.
As if awakened by the offering, the golden stand ignited with blinding light. The runes shimmered, pulsing with radiant heat that illuminated the pitch-black dungeon with divine fire.
The earth trembled beneath him but Aurelus refused to be shaken with it.
Stone rained down from the cracked ceiling as the sacred chamber responded to the long-awaited summoning. The atmosphere thickened—like gravity itself had multiplied—crushing the air from Aurelus's lungs. And then—
KHIAAAA!~
A roar echoed from beyond the veil of his mortal comprehension. The pressure intensified, forcing Aurelus to his knees, his head bowed while he gasped for air. His heart pounded as he felt a towering presence slowly made itself known before him.
From the light emerged a majestic beast: a phoenix, stood about ten meters tall and glowed like a morning sun. Its wings like curtains of flame, its eyes radiant orbs of molten gold. Its feathers shimmered with flowing rivers of heat and brilliance. Even in the chaos of the dungeon, its presence brought order and stillness, as if time and space bowed to its will.
Seeing it uAurelus felt like he was in a different world.
The beast hovered above the altar, its radiant wings unfurled in divine splendor. Its gaze settled upon the kneeling warrior and then at the head offerings on the altar.
The severed heads began to ignite, burning with silent grace under the phoenix's divine scrutiny. It seems that his sacrifice had been acknowledged by the massive holy beast.
Aurelus struggled to lift his head. The weight of the phoenix's presence pressed against every muscle in his body.
Then came the voice—not through sound, but inside his mind, resonating like a command etched into his very soul:
"State your name, human."
Aurelus gritted his teeth and summoned what strength remained in him. Blood streamed from his lips as he lifted his gaze.
"My name is Aurelus, Lord of Flame. I am your humble petitioner."
The phoenix hovered in silence, its glowing eyes studying him. Not his face but his soul.
It saw everything.
From the ashes of memory, it read Aurelus's life like a sacred text: a child born in a forgotten village, left to rot by parents who never wanted him. He survived the cruelty of the world alone, broken and beaten countless times, yet never defeated. From mud and agony, he had risen no matter how hard it became.
He trained with swordmasters and studied ancient scripts. Slayed monsters and demons alike. His pain forged him like fire on steel. But with every step forward, he lost a piece of his humanity - all for his desire for power.
Eventually, Aurelus became one of the founding member of the Golden Stars, an elite group of A-Class adventurers. Together, they brought hope to countless villages and took on missions no one else dared to accept. They were his family in all but blood.
Until now.
Until the scroll of truth revealed the secret behind the dungeon's power: to claim the blessing of the Phoenix, one must offer the heads of the three most treasured allies.
The moment the words were read, doubt infected the group. Suspicion. Fear. One of them tried to run while another drew their blade. Aurelus acted faster and decided to become the hunter instead of being hunted.
Before regret could root itself, he decapitated the first.
The others fought. Cried pleaded for their lives in the name of their friendship.
But Aurelus remained focus to his ultimate aim and still executed them - ignoring the cries of his conscience.
And now, their remains stood as proof of his resolve.
The Phoenix's eyes narrowed, its judgment not of malice or mercy—but of weight. Truth. Worth.
"Do these sacrifices bear the weight of your soul?" the Phoenix asked,
The words hit Aurelus like a hammer to the chest. He channeled what little mana he had to steady his body, his voice and his mind. His limbs trembled beneath the pressure.
"Yes," he said, solemn and slow. "These were the three closest to me. My comrades. My blood, my shield, my home. I have loved them... and I have killed them. All for the sake of power that only you can grant."
The flames of the Phoenix flickered.
"Why seek such power, mortal?"
Aurelus clenched his fist. He could no longer lie—not before this divine judge.
"Because the world is broken. The kingdoms rot from within, the strong prey upon the weak, and justice is a coin only the rich can afford. I've seen villages burn while nobles drank wine. I've buried children who deserved better. If the world will not fix itself, then I will fix it. Even if I must stain my hands in the blood of those I love."
The Phoenix was silent for a while.
"Do you believe yourself purer than the rot you seek to cleanse?"
Aurelus clenched his fist, he is determined to fight for it even if it would eventually cost him his life.
"I will take my chances."
Hearing his answer, the holy beast spread its wings, and the altar erupted in flame.
The three heads were engulfed, reduced to ash within seconds. Their smoke curled upward, spiraling into the Phoenix's chest like a solemn prayer being accepted.
Then, from its heart, a single drop of golden blood emerged—hovering in the air and stopped inches before Aurelus. It shimmered like liquid starlight, impossibly dense, impossibly bright.
Aurelus's breath caught in his throat.
He knew, instinctively, what this was.
Floating before him right now is the embodiment of power. He could not help but salivate while staring at it.
It is a known fact that the blood of the Phoenix was a divine elixir, a gift from the heavens, a source of boundless energy, regeneration, and might. With this, he would become more than a man. A warrior no longer bound by mortality.
A King that is worthy of fear and respect.
The Phoenix's voice boomed one final time.
"Very well. You have done well, Aurelus. You have proven resolve where others would break. You have sacrificed where others would falter. Now, receive your reward."
The drop hovered closer.
"But before you drink—swear your soul unto me. Swear your eternal loyalty to the Flame Everlasting."
Aurelus did not hesitate.
He stood, despite the trembling of his limbs, and stepped forward. The golden blood hovered inches from his lips.
"I swear," he said. "By my name, by my sword, and by the blood I have spilled—I swear eternal loyalty to you, O Phoenix. I shall become your sword. Your will. Your fire."
The Phoenix's eyes gleamed with approval.
"Then rise, Aurelus. No longer a mere adventurer. You are now—Aurelus, King of the Blazing Dawn. With this power, your path is now clearly set to your ultimate desire with ease and victory. "
The drop of golden blood surged forward, entering his mouth and spreading like wildfire through his veins. Aurelus screamed, his body convulsing as divine fire burned through his every cell, rewriting him from within.
His wounds vanished.
His missing fingers regrew.
His shattered armor turned to ash—and from the ashes, golden scales began to form, covering his body like holy armor. His aura exploded outward, shaking the dungeon and sending a pillar of golden light into the skies above.
When the light faded, Aurelus stood tall—no longer a bloodied warrior, but a divine avatar clad in golden flame.
The Phoenix vanished, its task complete, leaving Aurelus alone in the silent aftermath.
He looked at his hands and his body that has gone transformation. His dark eyes and hair had turned golden form the power of the Golden Phoenix. He felt absolute power surge within.
Aurelus has been reborn and his legend was just starting.
"T-Thank you… Golden Phoenix," he whispered, bowing low before the altar with gratitude and victory in his face. His every movement echoed with strength. He felt like a storm given form.
As he turned to leave, still humbled, the voice of the beast rumbled through the chamber once more.
"Human. The truth is... you needed only one sacrifice to earn my favor," the Phoenix said, its massive wings folding with celestial grace. "But you brought me three. Therefore, I shall give you… another reward."
Aurelus froze mid-step, his breath catching.
Another reward?
His heart pounded again—not with joy, but apprehension. A chill ran down his spine as he turned around, lowering his gaze in reverence.
"I… I would gladly accept it, thy Holy Beast. Although I do not deserve it, thank—"
Before he could finish, a blinding light surged inside his eyes. Aurelus staggered, gripping his head as an unexpected vision erupted in his mind like firestorm.
It was unlike any vision he'd received through prayer or relics. This was vivid, consuming, terrifying.
He saw a battlefield scorched with fire. A great city burned in the background. And there he stood—clad in regal armor, golden blade in hand—facing down a single warrior.
This warrior… was unlike anything Aurelus had seen in his life.
His opponent was a young man wielding strange weapons. One was a sword wreathed in blue flame, the other… a long, tube-like device that spat bursts of fire with every motion. Strange armor covered his body—lighter than plate, darker than leather—etched with runes that seemed mechanical rather than magical. But most disturbing of all…
There was no Divine Frame.
Aurelus felt the blood drain from his face.
In dreams, even illusions, all beings retained a Divine Frame—the symbolic mark of fate, Even the names and class of everyone had already been etched by the heavens the moment they are born. But this warrior… he had none.
He was blank. A phantom. A riddle the gods refused to name. He was Frameless.
He watched the clash—his future self roaring in fury, swinging golden blades with wrathful power. His swing brought destruction only to miss his aim. The nameless warrior dodged with uncanny speed, moving with a grace that didn't belong to this world. Sparks flew. Fire clashed. Metal rang. And then—Aurelus, King of Flame and Gold, was brought to his knees.
He gasped as a barrel was raised to his forehead. The warrior's face was shrouded, but his eyes were cold and furious. His eyes glowed with power while his golden wings glowed behind him.
Aurelus felt as if he were nothing but a stepping stone.
And the next moment, a blast of fire from the barrel was followed by darkness.
Only then did it clicked to him. It was a vision of his execution in the future.
The vision shattered.
Aurelus staggered back in the dungeon, drenched in cold sweat despite the firelight.
"My final reward," echoed the Phoenix, "is a warning: Beware of the Frameless Warrior."
Present Day.
The golden throne room was vast, echoing with silence. Tapestries of crimson and gold lined the walls. Fires flickered in Phoenix-shaped sconces. King Aurelus stood motionless, eyes fixed on the cold marble floor. A memory still burned in his mind—a vision that haunted him more with each passing year.
The third prince.
Born from an weak commoner under mysterious conditions. Survived an execution ordered by himself. And the most terrifying detail?
That child had no Divine Frame.
Aurelus clenched his fist. The weight of his crown felt heavier than ever. He had sacrificed everything—friends, love, humanity—for power. And now that power trembled before a nameless child.
What does it matter if it was his child if it would only bring his throne down in the future?
He turned with a cold fury every time he remembers the cold gaze that Frameless warrior looked at him.
"That child must be found," he muttered. "No matter what. I don't care if he shares my blood. No one—no one—is allowed to stand against me."
His voice thundered across the throne hall.
"Hammish. Report."
A dark-robed man stepped forward and knelt. Hammish, his most trusted spymaster. The man whose whispers controlled the underbelly of the kingdom.
"My King," he said, voice even, "as of this morning, the decree has been carried out across the Empire. Over ten thousand children have been executed so far. We have scoured even the outermost villages. No child without a Divine Frame has been found."
Aurelus's gaze darkened.
"None?"
"None, Your Majesty. There are rumors… but nothing confirmed."
"Make another decree," Aurelus ordered, voice like iron. "Anyone found without a Divine Frame is to be declared a threat to the realm. Kill them on sight. I'll grant any wish to whoever brings me the Nameless Warrior's head."
Hammish bowed and began transcribing the new decree on a scroll sealed with the royal sigil. Fear would sweep the land again. But fear, to Aurelus, was necessary. Peace built on weakness was no peace at all.
And until the Nameless Warrior was dead, Aurelus would know no peace.
Elsewhere…
The sun dipped low over the forested hills, casting long shadows over a secluded hut tucked between tall pines. Robert stood outside, breathing heavily. His journey had been rushed. His boots were caked in mud. He slammed the door open without knocking.
"Marissa!" he shouted, eyes scanning the room.
Inside, Marissa sat near a small hearth, cradling an infant in her arms. She was feeding him warm milk with a cloth-wrapped bottle. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance.
"Oh! What took you so long? Is this what 'early' means to you—"
He silenced her with a gesture.
"No time for jokes. I have bad news and…"
"…Good news?"
"No. Worse."
Her expression fell. "Speak."
Robert swallowed, then stepped closer, his voice a whisper. "Please calm down first..."
Marissa went pale as she heared the whole story from Robert. Now that the real identity of the child is revealed and the King's decree was aimed for its death, anxiety started to consume her.
The baby in her arms cooed softly, unaware of the storm building around him.
"Impossible," she breathed.
"No. It makes sense now. No Divine Frame. The attempted execution. The fact he was smuggled out by Jorthon himself—one of the King's few remaining loyalists."
"But why would the King want his own son dead?"
Robert's eyes hardened. "No one really knows. But one thing is for sure, the King will not stop until he exterminate the child - even if it will cost innocent lives."
As the words settled into silence, heavy footsteps crunched the leaves outside. Robert froze. Marissa turned toward the window.
A group of armored knights emerged from the woods, faces obscured by steel helms, each bearing the sigil of the Phoenix.
The captain, a grizzled man with a blood-red plume, pointed his sword toward the hut.
"Surround it," he growled. "There's something hiding in that little house… and I intend to find out what."
Marissa's eyes locked with Robert's. No words needed.
The child is in danger. And they both know that the time to decide whether to surrender or save the child has come.
Meanwhile, Rin grumbled at the taste of milk he was drinking,
NOMMMM~
It was his baby words for,
"Do you guys have beer?"