As I showered comfort onto my mother, my eyes remained vigilant. Many thoughts rushed through my mind:
Why are Ostinian troops in Tumedia?
Is this a declaration of war?
Why hasn't the public been notified?
Before I could find answers, an intruder barged in. An arrow, engulfed with a trace of mana, zipped through the air—too fast to dodge. It struck my left arm, forcing me to release my mother. In the moment I turned to regain my grip on her, I left myself open.
Multiple arrows plunged into my back.
The sound of blood dripping echoed in my ears. My vision faded. I lost too much blood. I cursed my weakness. I regretted my powerlessness.
The attacker charged at us, sword in hand. His eyes were steady—determined to end both me and my mother.
But grace intervened.
The villagers came.
Armed with machetes, clubs, axes—they stormed in. One after another, they struck the soldier. His body was dismembered. Organs spilled across the floor. His blood bathed our home. Bones became ornaments of the ground. His soul, forever bound to that house.
I turned to my mother.
She didn't blink. Still gripping the kitchen knife, her feet trembled violently. Paralysis.
As if things couldn't get worse...
I brought a chair from the living room and sat her down. Then I followed the villagers, fleeing to the neighboring village for refuge.
---
To the north of Kinisha, the village we arrived in was already occupied. Not by Ostinian troops—but by Kinishian forces. They had transformed it into a command center and recruitment camp.
I found a small shed to hide my mother, keeping her away from danger.
Then, I asked around.
I needed to find the commanding knight of this squad. Eventually, I was led to his tent. I approached, requesting entry.
Denied.
I didn't care.
I barged in.
And then—I felt it. His presence. A force like none I'd encountered before. It was as though I had stepped into a lion's den—or no, deeper still—into the very chambers of a god.
This was the domain of Goliath.
He looked ordinary in build. But the strength I sensed from him? The strength of a hundred men, perhaps more. I quickly dropped to my knees and apologized.
But then, something strange.
He didn't flinch at my face.
He didn't recoil or show disgust. He looked at me as though I bore the mark of a warrior. A scar forged in a battle with fate itself.
From that moment on—I knew.
I no longer wished to be a priest.
I wanted to be like him.
"I came here to request shelter for me and my mother," I began.
"But instead… I have a different request. Please… take me as your student."
My head touched the floor. I begged.
He laughed. Bursting with laughter.
"My student? Have you ever even held a sword? You look less than thirty."
"I've never used a sword," I admitted. "But I've wielded a dagger. Used it to defend myself since birth."
"Stand up," he said.
"Bring your mother here. Let me see her."
I didn't know why he wanted to see her—but I obeyed.
I brought her to him as quickly as I could.
He examined her condition. Her trembling. Her stillness.
"She's nothing more than a burden," he said.
"Show me you have what it takes to be my student. Kill her, and I will accept your offer."
He handed me a sword.
"Use this. It's sharp. A single swing to the neck—over in seconds."
My heart froze.
"What is this?" I whispered. "You expect me to kill my own mother? She's all I have."
"WEAK!" he barked.
"I knew you didn't have what it takes. Everyone I ever knew—I killed them. Every one of them. That's how I attained my strength. I carry no burdens."
He gestured around us.
"Look at the bodies piled in this encampment. None are Kinishian. Every one of them—Ostinian.
I alone slaughtered hundreds. With nothing but a sword sharp as a god-star.
Look at my back."
He removed his cloak.
His body... it was a canvas of torment. Scars. Cuts. Burns. Every weapon known to man had left its mark on him.
"I have been reborn with the blood of every man I killed," he said.
"Now I won't repeat myself. Kill her, or I kill you."
I trembled.
But that fear—it twisted.
It turned into something else.
Joy.
I screamed—
"There's nothing more I want than strength! To punish those who looked down on me… to end the lives of those who wished me death… to eat the flesh of those who wished vultures would eat mine!"
I swung the sword.
It slashed into my mother's left arm.
She screamed.
The pain—the terror—it snapped her out of her paralysis.
And I fed on that fear. It made me lust for more.
"You… YOU!, were the worst of all," I snarled. "You claimed you loved me—but I always saw it. The knife in your hand. The coldness in your hug. When I became a priest, you pretended to smile. But you never forgave me. You blamed me for Father's death. You never even visited me in college. You sent me into the forest to die."
She stared back, trembling.
Then she shouted:
"Curse you! You're a curse! I should have killed you when I had the chance.
The priests watched me too closely.
I prayed the Firstborns would devour you every time I sent you into the woods.
I never loved you. Not for a second. Your face reeks of devil's hands! ,I never accepted you as my son, I will happily die knowing that not for one second did I ever love something like you"
"RWWWWWWWWWW!!!" I screamed, tears in my eyes.
I ended it.
I cut her apart—limb after limb.
Arms. Legs. Breasts.
And finally, her head.
I dipped my hands into the blood… and into my mouth they went.
Salty. Sweet. Divine.
the flesh I ate, all for power, all for strength, all for retribution
I had become a monster.
And it felt… right.
"Well done, my child," said the knight commander.
"From today, I become your father. And you—my son."
His eyes. So genuine. No hate.
Just like Lisa's.
I had a father now.
A family.
"Follow me," he said.
We left the tent. Entered a wooden wagon—shabby in build, but glorious in content.
Weapons. Spears. Swords. Daggers. Even tools for women warriors.
"Choose," he said.
And I chose.
I touched every weapon. Felt their weight.
But I returned to my roots.
The dagger.
"I have found it," I said.
"Nice choice, young lad," he smiled. "Mind not the dagger's size, All weapons—great or small—can slay dragons when wielded right."
"I never asked. What's your name, lad?"
I was stunned. But I remembered—I was his son now.
"Asmon," I said.
"Mine is Luther Penguard.
Some nickname me 'The Goliath.' "
---
The flocks of crows.
The noise of bells.
The whispers of mouths.
These are the sounds that rise from the tallest castle in the continent—home of ASMON THE GOLIATH, Emperor of the Tumedia Empire, and its High Bishop.
---
"Three hundred years," I said.
"Yes… it's been more than 300 years since I last saw him—my father, Luther Penguard."
"These dreams... these flashbacks... they always return."
Sound of iron doors creaking.
"My Lord," said a servant.
"An envoy from the Ostinian Kingdom is here."
"Tell him to wait in the throne room," I said.
"I am coming."
As I walked, my aura leaked.
Red mist flooded the castle. My strength could be felt in every breath.
I alone built the greatest empire known to man.
From the far western seas to the eastern edge of the world—*Tumedia was mine.*
"HAIL HIS GRACE!"
"EMPEROR OF TUMEDIA! KING OF KINISHA! HIGH BISHOP—ASMON THE GOLIATH!" the people chanted.
I sat upon my throne—taller than any man. Forged of rare earth, gold, and silver. A throne worthy of gods.
The envoy knelt, trembling.
"G-Good day, my grace," he stammered.
" I come from Ostina, to deliver a message of peace and corporations between the two nations" he said
"Why do you speak?" I asked.
"For does a cow speak to a lion… as it is being consumed?"
He turned to run.
Too late.
My arm swung.
His body exploded.
Flesh coated the room.
"Clean this mess," I commanded.
"Gather his meat. Bring it to my chambers.
Also—bring me a glass of dragon blood."
The world would remember this day.
And the world… would know my wrath.