The very first sound that reverberated through the vast, quiet chamber was a fragile, high-pitched infant’s cry.
It pierced through the suffocating stillness of the royal room, freezing every servant, attendant, and warrior present in their tracks for a breath.
The royal physician, his hands glistening with sweat and blood, looked down with wide eyes at the tiny, trembling child cradled in his palms.
He glanced back toward the velvet bed where the exhausted woman lay struggling for air, her chest heaving heavily under the dim moonlight.
But before a single word of relief could leave the doctor’s dry lips, another sharp, distinct wail answered the first.
The doctor blinked, his mind momentarily coming to a complete halt.
“Two…?” he stammered in complete disbelief.
He checked the newborns once more, carefully adjusting his grip, almost as if he expected one of the infants to dissolve into thin air like a phantom.
“A second child… born only an hour after the first! What a divine miracle…”
By all rights, the royal room should have erupted into glorious celebration, cheers echoing down the grand stone corridors.
Instead, the tall, imposing figure standing directly beside the bed remained perfectly, chillingly still.
Kazama Shatilion—prince of the ancient kingdom of Nuru on Site 3 of Powerland, a revered third-generation warrior of the royal line—could barely draw breath into his lungs.
His knuckles turned white as he stood frozen, staring down at his fading wife.
His wife, Princess Malisa, slowly turned her heavy, exhausted eyes toward him.
The brilliant aura that usually radiated from her skin had vanished completely, leaving her pale and shivering.
“Kazama-kun…” she called softly, her voice barely a whisper against the quiet.
He dropped to his knees immediately, taking her ice-cold hand into both of his warm palms.
“I’m here, Malisa! I’m right here!”
She tilted her head weakly toward the two infants resting in the doctor’s arms.
A faint, profoundly gentle smile touched her pale lips.
“Name them…” she begged quietly.
Kazama tried desperately to smile back, forcing a optimistic tone into his cracking voice.
“What’s the hurry? You should rest first, my love. We can take our time and decide tomorrow once you have recovered your strength!”
“No…”
There was a sudden, heartbreaking intensity in her quiet refusal.
“I want their names now…” she insisted, her eyes locking onto his.
Kazama swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward the royal doctor.
The old physician slowly bowed his head, refusing to meet his prince’s desperate gaze.
His silent, heavy posture told Kazama everything he did not want to hear.
“What… what happened to her?!” Kazama whispered, his voice trembling with growing horror.
The doctor lowered his head further, keeping his voice down.
“Prince Kazama… her life force has burned out entirely during the birth… She does not have much time left in this realm.”
The doctor’s words struck Kazama harder than any high-grade weapon or divine strike ever could.
“No!” Kazama violently shook his head.
“No, that’s impossible! We have the grandest healers in the capital! I’ll carry you myself right now! I’ll find the absolute best healers in all of Powerland!”
Malisa squeezed his trembling fingers with every tiny bit of strength remaining in her body.
“Kazama-kun…” she whispered.
He stopped, staring at her through a veil of unshed tears.
“Please…” she pleaded softly.
Her fading eyes moved toward the two squirming infants who had finally grown quiet in their blankets.
“Before I die… before I close my eyes… I want to call my sons by their true names.”
Kazama’s fierce warrior’s resistance shattered into pieces.
His shoulders slumped, tears spilling over as he leaned close to the babies, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
“Rihasa…” he said, looking at the firstborn child.
He turned his tear-filled gaze to the second infant, holding him gently.
“Ahasha.”
Malisa repeated the names softly, her chest rising in a slow, labored breath.
“Rihasa… Ahasha…”
With the absolute last reserve of her failing mortal energy, she leaned her head slightly forward and placed a soft, lingering kiss on the foreheads of both children.
“My precious children… listen to my words, even if your tiny minds cannot yet understand their weight…” she whispered, her voice fading like melting snow.
Kazama lowered his head into the edge of the mattress, weeping quietly.
“Make this world remember you for what you become…” Malisa murmured, her eyes staring peacefully at the ceiling.
“Not for your family… Not for your royal blood… Not for a famous surname written beside your names…”
A final, beautiful smile appeared on her face.
“Let your own true potential speak for you…”
Her hand slowly slipped from Kazama’s grip, limp and lifeless.
The light in her eyes faded completely as the room fell into a heavy, irreversible silence.
Three agonizing months passed after Malisa was gone.
Kazama remained in the quiet, drafty halls of the Nuru estate.
The fearsome prince, whose very title had once made enemy armies tremble on grand battlefields across Powerland, now found himself utterly defeated and exhausted by two tiny infants who cried relentlessly whenever he dared set them down.
Day after grueling day, he learned how to prepare their food, how to cradle them to sleep, how to soothe their stomach aches, and how to stay awake through endless, dark nights that felt like they would never end.
He was completely drained, his warrior spirit burdened by heavy grief, but he never uttered a single word of complaint.
Then, on one gray morning, the heavy wooden doors to his private chambers were slammed open.
A breathless servant rushed inside, his face pale with raw terror.
“My prince!” the servant gasped out.
Kazama looked up immediately from the cribs, his hand instantly resting near his sword hilt.
“They have crossed the borders in massive numbers! They are actively burning and destroying the outer city streets as we speak!”
Kazama’s dark eyes hardened like cold steel.
The entire world had become extremely dangerous, volatile, and lawless following the bloody conclusion of the Second Cosmic War.
Even after the legendary Dragesta R.
Jaff had miraculously intervened and saved the Powerverse from total annihilation, peace had failed to reach every remote corner of the realm.
The proud Kingdom of Nuru on Site 3 remained constantly surrounded by ruthless, power-hungry invaders who genuinely believed that raw strength gave them the divine right to butcher, pillage, and rule.
Kazama turned his head, casting a deep, quiet look toward the cupboard where his two infant sons lay fast asleep.
Then, he raised his voice and called for his most loyal companion.
“Flink!”
The doors opened again, and the steadfast retainer entered, bowing deeply.
“I am here, Prince Kazama.”
“Flink, listen carefully to what I am about to say,” Kazama spoke.
His voice was unnaturally calm, but his golden eyes burned with an icy, lethal intensity.
“After I am gone from this world, my children can trust only you. You are the only person who carries enough honor to hold that trust.”
Mr.
Flink immediately dropped to one knee, looking straight into his lord’s eyes.
“My prince… you know without hesitation that I would gladly give my very life for them!”
“Then make me a promise right now,” Kazama commanded softly.
“Ask anything, my prince, and it shall be done!”
“Protect them with your body,” Kazama said, stepping closer to his loyal servant.
“Raise them with care. Make them strong enough—unbreakable enough—to survive this cursed, blood-soaked world.”
Flink looked past Kazama, staring toward the infant cradles with unwavering devotion.
“I promise you, on my soul and lineage, it shall be done.”
Kazama reached down, picking up his heavy, gleaming longsword, and buckled it around his waist.
“Good…” Kazama muttered.
He turned on his heel, striding briskly toward the grand exits of the castle.
Flink stood up quickly, calling after his retreating back.
“My prince! Where are you going?!”
Kazama paused for a fraction of a second, looking over his shoulder, his cape billowing in the cold wind flowing through the open archway.
“Where a true prince belongs when his defenseless people are in danger…”
Without waiting for another word, Kazama descended to the lower courtyards, mounted his black warhorse, and rode alone into the burning, chaotic city.
As the wind whistled past his ears, his tragic past flashed through his mind—memories of his mother and father dying in brutal conflicts, leaving him as the sole survivor of his family line.
Now, he was fighting to ensure his own sons would not share that same lonely fate.
The main streets of the city were pure, unadulterated chaos.
Smoke billowed high into the sky, blotting out the sun in heavy grey clouds.
Savage enemy soldiers marched between crumbling stone buildings, setting fire to markets while terrified citizens screamed and fled in search of safety that did not exist.
Then, suddenly, every attacking soldier on the main boulevard felt the very air change.
One of the lead raiders stopped mid-stride, his breath catching violently in his throat.
“What… what is this suffocating pressure?!”
Another hardened warrior looked frantically down the wide cobblestone road.
“Where is this sudden anxiety coming from?!”
Through the thick curtain of rising black smoke, a single black horse emerged at a calm, methodical pace.
Kazama Shatilion sat atop its back, a brilliant, shining longsword resting casually across his lap.
He did not scream or roar.
He simply looked at the army of invaders with cold, detached judgment.
“KILL HIM!” a squad of twenty heavily armored soldiers screamed, charging forward simultaneously with spears and heavy axes raised!
Kazama made a single, subtle motion.
FLASH!
A blinding, razor-sharp arc of condensed solar light swept across the entire width of the street in less than a microsecond.
The twenty charging attackers froze in place.
A second later, their weapons shattered, and all twenty men collapsed onto the stone pavement simultaneously, completely neutralized.
Kazama brought his horse to a smooth halt, slowly lifting his arm and pointing his glowing blade directly toward the remaining dozens of terrified soldiers.
“If you came here today to bring mischievous death to my innocent people…” Kazama’s voice boomed across the entire district like thunder, “…then bring it on!”
An explosive, crushing golden aura erupted from Kazama’s body, expanding outward and slamming into the surrounding buildings, cracking the foundation stones.
KAZAMA SHATILION — STATS
* Speed Mastery: 90%
* Endurance Mastery: 60%
* Strength Mastery: 80%
* Technique: Unique Sword Style / Ultimate Acceleration
* Power: Solar Absorption
His Unique Sword Style allowed him to seamlessly merge hyper-precise strikes with lightning fluid movement, while his Ultimate Acceleration tech made his physical attacks virtually impossible for normal eyes to track.
Fueled by his Solar Absorption power, he drew energy directly from the sky, converting it into raw, devastating combat force.
The surrounding enemy soldiers began backing away in sheer terror, trembling under his aura.
Then, a second aura slammed onto the street.
It was heavy, dark, and utterly oppressive, cracking the cobblestones like glass under raw weight.
Kazama’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits.
“So… you’ve finally decided to show yourself,” Kazama stated coldly.
A massive, towering figure stepped through the ruined archway of a collapsed building.
It was Hanji Shoto, the notorious 2nd Commander of the invading forces.
HANJI SHOTO — STATS
* Speed Mastery: 60%
* Strength Mastery: 100%
* Endurance Mastery: 80%
* Technique: Bold Strength / 200 kg Weight
* Power: Abnormal Strength (Capable of shattering mountains)
The two legendary warriors faced each other across the narrow, blood-stained street.
“Kazama…” Hanji growled out, a grotesque, arrogant sneer spreading across his heavily scarred face.
“You have always been a persistent, annoying little problem for us.”
“And you still talk far too much,” Kazama replied instantly.
Hanji threw his head back and laughed maniacally.
“Hahaha! This time, I’m not here just to defeat you! I am going to murder you right here in the dirt!”
His dark eyes narrowed with malicious glee.
“Then, I am going to reduce this entire city to ash!” Hanji taunted.
“I also happen to know that your precious wife just died, leaving you with two helpless little infants hiding in your palace! Once I execute you, I’m going to stroll up to your castle, slaughter your children, and then I’ll—”
SWISH!
Before the word could fully exit Hanji’s mouth, Kazama vanished entirely from sight.
A blinding gold trail cut through the air.
Kazama’s blade flashed across Hanji’s thick chest with terrifying speed before the commander could even raise his arms to guard!
A thin, deep line of crimson blood burst open across Hanji’s heavy armor.
Kazama materialized behind him, his sword held steady, his eyes burning with lethal fury.
“Don’t you ever dare mention my children again…” Kazama warned, his voice dropped to a terrifying whisper.
Hanji touched the bloody wound on his chest, looked at his fingers, and his cruel grin grew even wider.
“Now this… THIS is going to be interesting!” Hanji screamed!
They lunged at each other!
Steel slammed into raw physical power!
Lightning-fast speed clashed against impenetrable endurance!
Shockwaves blasted outward with every exchange, blowing away smoke and shattering nearby stone walls as their fierce duel escalated!
Far away from the main district, however, a entirely different, hidden battle was beginning inside the quiet confines of Nuru Castle.
Inside the nursery room, Mr.
Flink’s ears twitched.
He suddenly picked up subtle, swift footsteps echoing down the quiet stone corridors.
He immediately understood what those muffled steps meant—assassins had breached the castle perimeter to murder the prince’s bloodline while Kazama was occupied!
Acting with practiced speed, Flink scooped up baby Rihasa and baby Ahasha, placed them deep inside a heavy, padded oak cupboard, and clicked the latch shut.
“Stay hidden, young lords…”
Flink drew his steel blade, positioning his body directly between the door and the cupboard.
BOOM!
The double doors were violently kicked off their hinges!
Flink raised his sword, preparing to give his life in battle.
To his complete astonishment, the first invading soldier who stepped through the threshold collapsed instantly to the floor, unconscious!
A second assassin fell right beside him, his weapon clattering harmlessly against the stone!
A tall, striking woman stood in the dusty doorway, her fists glowing with powerful martial aura.
Flink stared in shock, lowering his blade slightly.
“My… Princess Olivia?!”
She offered a cool, confident smirk.
“Long time no see, Uncle Flink.”
Olivia moved through the corridor like an unstoppable tempest, executing flawless martial arts strikes that knocked out the remaining infiltrators one after another.
Flink quickly joined her side, clearing out the last of the enemy soldiers.
When the hallway finally fell completely quiet, Olivia immediately turned her head toward the wooden cupboard.
“Are my sister’s children safe?” she asked, her sharp tone softening.
Flink stepped over the unconscious bodies and carefully opened the padded wooden doors.
The two infants were awake, gazing up with big, curious eyes, completely unharmed.
Olivia walked over, staring down at the newborn twins, her fierce expression melting into genuine warmth.
She was Princess Malisa’s older sister.
Both women hailed from the legendary Allver lineage—a bloodline known for its incredible willpower and combat affinity.
Early in their youth, their parents had tragically perished in a sudden shop accident, leaving the two young sisters alone to navigate a harsh world.
Instead of breaking, both Malisa and Olivia had trained themselves relentlessly, carving out successful, revered paths through their own sheer discipline.
While Malisa had eventually fallen in love with and married Prince Kazama Shatilion, Olivia had taken a different path, marrying a skilled martial artist named Railer Dragesta—who happened to be the son of the cosmic hero, Dragesta R.
Jaff!
For Olivia, coming to this castle to safeguard Malisa’s newborn boys was no longer just a royal obligation or a duty.
It was deeply, fiercely personal.
To be continued…..