A long time ago, the seven kingdoms of this land were not just rivals. They were the foundation of an old and unbroken world where power meant everything, and only the strongest could rule. For many years, these kingdoms fought wars, but one thing remained clear—true strength came from their warriors.
Each kingdom was proud of its best fighters, warriors so skilled that they became legends. Each kingdom has countless fighters. But only five stood above all others—the champions whose names were known throughout history.
In every kingdom, there was always one fighter who would rise to become the greatest. But the kingdom where this story starts was different.
The Kingdom of Fara, ranked fifth among the seven, was a place where people worked hard and stayed humble, yet strong. Its fighters were skilled, but they lacked overwhelming power. There was nothing that truly made them stand out. It was a kingdom of quiet strength, where people lived with hope, even though it was often overshadowed by the stronger kingdoms around it.
In the back streets of Fara, where dust and memories of the past filled the air, a boy named Shiro wandered aimlessly, searching for something to fill the emptiness left by his parents' death. Alone, abandoned by fate, he had grown up in the slums, with nothing but a burning desire to survive.
Shiro's life was simple, though far from easy. He had no idea of the potential within him, no clue that he had a hidden power. For Shiro, the only thing that mattered was finding a way to get by, eat, and stay out of trouble.
One day, while walking the streets, his luck changed. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol as five drunken men stumbled toward him, their eyes full of anger. They were clearly looking for a fight.
"Hey, kid!" one of them sneered, his breath smelling of liquor. "Looking for trouble?"
Shiro's eyes flickered, but he didn't say a word. He didn't want to fight. But fate had other plans. The five men surrounded him, mocking him. The air grew tense, and as they moved toward him, Shiro reacted without thinking.
His body moved faster than he had ever known it could, his fists landing with perfect accuracy. Within seconds, four of the men were on the ground, groaning in pain. The last one barely managed to stay on his feet, his face pale, sweat dripping down his forehead.
As Shiro stood there, unaware of his own strength, a figure stepped from the shadows—a boy named Riku, watching with wide eyes, a mix of shock and curiosity on his face. He was no ordinary passerby—he was a fighter, someone who recognized strength when he saw it.
Riku stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Hey, you... Can we talk for a moment?"
Shiro turned, still unaware of what had just happened. His face was blank, though his body still buzzed from the fight. "What do you want?" he asked,
Riku studied him for a moment, his mind racing. The way Shiro fought—without hesitation—was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was raw, instinctual. But there was something more, something deeper.
"You don't realize what you just did, do you?" Riku asked, his voice a mix of wonder and concern.
Shiro blinked, confusion crossing his face. "I don't know what you mean. I was just trying to get away from those guys."
Riku narrowed his eyes, as if trying to see something hidden beneath Shiro's casual words. "You're stronger than anyone I've seen in years. And you don't even know it."
Shiro hesitated, still unsure, and gave a small, unsure smile. "Thanks... I guess."
Riku watched him for a moment before sighing softly. "You really don't get it, do you? That wasn't just luck. You fought like someone who's been training for years." He paused, then added, "You can keep hiding in the shadows, or you can find out what you're really capable of."
And so, Shiro's journey in the Kingdom of Fara began, though he had no idea what lay ahead. But in a kingdom where warriors were born from blood and strength, he would soon discover that his destiny was not something he could escape.