With the rising sun casting golden light across the open sea, the silhouette of the infamous island of Adora emerged from the mist. Known across the southern seas for two things — the unmatched beauty of its women and the dark tradition of human trafficking — the island remained a sore wound on the map of Elyndros. Just a few kilometers from its white‑sand shore, a colossal ship sailed silently.
At its helm was Kar — a lone pirate from Marlen, famous for sailing without a crew. His ship, enchanted and animated by his own rune magic, moved like a living beast across the waters. Kar leaned against the railing, his messy silver hair fluttering in the sea breeze, his eyes fixed on the coast through his enchanted binoculars, which glowed softly with runes.
"Aiii, aiii, aiii... Look at those melons—plump, round, perfectly sculpted as if carved by some provocative goddess... and the curve of that one—wide hips, narrow waist, like an hourglass forged for sin. Mmm, that angle—lying sideways on the sand, her dress riding up a little, revealing a bronzed thigh, her hair in the wind like she's posing for a painting. This is art!" he murmured to himself, licking the tip of his pen as he sketched in his worn leather notebook—filled with crude yet impressively detailed drawings of women he encountered across the seas.
A pigeon, his long‑time magical companion, perched on his shoulder.
But then Kar's expression changed.
"What the hell..."
On the beach, beyond the palm trees, he spotted a line of people—women, children, even the elderly—chained at the ankles, forced to march toward a long vessel. Armed men barked orders, their cruel laughter sharp as they whipped the captives forward.
Kar let out a sigh, snapping his notebook shut.
"Damn it... El Dourado's job already drained me to the bone. I only took this detour to enjoy some first‑rate eye candy, and what do I find? Slavers?! I can't let these cuties be taken like that! The guys... well, maybe they deserve it. Heh."
The pigeon cooed and pecked gently at his ear.
"Alright, alright. Operation Justice Boner starts now!"
Adora Beach — Moments Later
The pirates were almost finished. One of them—a burly man with bronze skin, dreadlocks, and a rusted cleaver—grabbed a girl by the face.
"You'll fetch good coin, darling. Saltar's nobles love the shy ones."
She turned her face away, trembling. She was young, with large jade‑green eyes glistening like polished stones. Her golden hair, even dirty, shimmered in the rising sun. Her fair skin, marked by scratches, still looked like porcelain. Her features were delicate, with full lips bitten by fear—pure, fragile beauty amid horror, like a flower in the mud.
Another brute slapped a chained boy for walking too slowly. The crew's laughter echoed through the cove.
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew inland—and then stopped.
"Hey," a pirate frowned. "You feel that?"
A shadow stretched across the beach. Not from clouds. Something darker.
The sea behind them churned, as if in fear.
A rune appeared midair—a massive circular glyph of deep violet, glowing with Primordial Shadow energy.
BOOM!
Sand exploded upward as Kar landed in the center of the beach, crouched, cloak billowing.
"…Did someone call for a half‑naked badass with righteous fury?" he said with a grin, then licked his lips. "Also… holy hell, that angle. Worth the detour."
The pirates froze.
"Th‑That's Kar! The pirate with no crew!"
"He wiped out the Crimson Fleet with a smile on his face!"
"I heard he cursed a Navy general to walk backward for life!"
Some dropped their weapons.
The leader didn't. He stepped forward, sword in hand.
"He's just a perv! Kill him!"
Kar sighed and raised his hand.
Rune Manifestation: Shadow Bind!
Dark tendrils erupted from the ground like serpents, grabbing ankles, wrists, throats. Five pirates were slammed into the sand before they could even scream.
The leader charged forward with a roar.
Kar vanished.
Shadow Slip—he reappeared behind the man, tapping his shoulder.
"Behind you, sunshine."
He drove a rune‑etched fist into the pirate's back. The impact made a crater, blasting sand in all directions. The man flew twenty meters and crashed into a tree, unconscious.
The others fled. Screaming.
Kar stretched his arms, cracking his neck.
"Damn, that was exhilarating."
The chained captives watched in disbelief. One woman approached cautiously. She was dark‑skinned and golden‑toned, with chestnut brown eyes that flickered like amber in the sun. Her body was voluptuous yet firm, her curly hair framing her face like a living painting.
Kar looked at her with intensity, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"You… you saved us," she said, blushing.
Kar winked.
"Of course. How could I let beauties like you be sold to pigs? I'm Kar, protector of curves, bane of scoundrels, master of solitary naval glory!"
His pigeon facepalmed with its wing.
With the sun fully up, Kar stood tall on the beach, shadows still writhing at his feet. A hero to some. A menace to most. But everyone agreed on one thing:
Kar—the pirate with no crew—was not someone to be messed with.
Central Port of Marlen — Morning of the Final Tournament
Marlen's port buzzed with life. Waves lazily splashed against the stone piers, reflecting the sun's glow on taut sails. Hundreds of vessels danced on the water, draped in colorful flags, family crests, and enthusiastic cheers. All were headed toward the same destination: the Final Tournament.
At the heart of the chaos, Kalter's Ceremonial Ship stood out like a noble vessel—crafted from black wood with golden enchanted details, its prow adorned with maritime dragons and faintly shimmering blue magical shields.
Around a thousand participants—hailing from provinces, archipelagos, and small islands—boarded under the watchful eyes of registrar mages and elite guards. It was a hive of tension: whispers, watchful eyes, hands on hilts, false smiles. The atmosphere felt ready to burst.
Among them, Vlad Vince boarded to deafening applause.
"VLAD! VLAD! VLAD!"
"Our champion!"
"He's already won before even fighting!"
Vlad smiled like a prince. Upright, crimson cloak fluttering, blond hair tied in a perfect knot. He waved charmingly, paused for handshakes, blew kisses to the ladies on the balconies. His charisma was as potent as any spell.
But behind his eyes, the pressure was real. The Vince name demanded victory.
Not far away, leaning against an enchanted metal column, Diaz Enker stood unnoticed. Shadows enveloped him; his sword sheathed across his back. His golden‑gray gaze didn't fix on anyone—only on the ground before him.
"I have to win. I must crush these false names. Show those bastards the weight of an Enker."
He inhaled deeply. Anger rose slowly—hot, precise, silent.
Alkan Vir, arms crossed beside the central mast, watched with measuring eyes. His gaze flickered toward Diaz. Yesterday's encounter at the inn still burned in his mind.
"I want to face him. Not out of hatred… but to see who of us wins."
Then, like a stone thrown into a tense lake, a voice rang out.
"I'm not here for an arranged marriage!"
All heads turned.
Atop the boarding plank, with sunlight illuminating his short red hair, blood‑red eyes, and three rings dangling from his left ear, stood a young man with a defiant stance.
"Just to show all of you—and especially the nobles—that I am the genius of this era!
ARON VERMELION!"
He released his aura.
A wave of magical pressure rolled out like a seismic impact. The air thickened. The ground seemed to hum. Hair and cloaks flickered involuntarily.
"H‑HAM?!" many exclaimed, stumbling back.
"Vermelion...?!"
"Could he be a descendant of that family?!"
"The ones who founded Marlen… I thought no more Primordial‑Core families existed!"
"But… he's just a kid!"
"He's not ordinary…"
The crowd simmered with rumors, fear, and fascination.
Vlad ground his teeth. His smile vanished instantly. Rage contorted his face.
"You're lucky you can't fight here yet, you worm… I'd end you and your entire lineage right now!"
Aron just smiled. His gaze never wavered.
Alkan, from the corner, raised an eyebrow, almost amused.
"A Vermelion… this just got interesting."
And then everyone felt it.
A chill ripped through the air. Not magic. Pure intent.
Tension condensed like molten lead.
A footstep resonated on the enchanted deck.
Diaz.
Without taking his eyes off Aron, he unleashed his contained wrath. His eyes glowed metallic, and an aura around him took shape. It didn't flicker—it roared silently, like a lion ready to pounce.
Everyone turned to him. It was different from Aron's pressure. Older. Darker. Personal.
"I don't care about this marriage either," Diaz said in a firm voice. "But don't go prancing around like you're the most gifted in all of Elyndros."
Aron looked at him warily. His aura dimmed slightly.
"Damn… what a monster," Vlad thought, biting his lip. "But why is everyone here if nobody wants to marry?!"
Then he clenched his fist around the gleaming metal glove—plated with runes and dark blue details—his nerves practically buzzing:
"IT DOESN'T MATTER! I WILL WIN! For the sovereignty of the VINCE!"
The ship's magical bell rang, announcing departure.
Sails billowed with enchanted wind. Warriors, geniuses, bastards, and legends boarded toward the fate that would decide not just a betrothal—but Marlen's new power.
Aboard the Imperial Ship
Asla stood in silence, leaning against the varnished railing of the imperial ship, her pale hair whipping in the wind like banners before a storm. Around her, the deck bristled with ceremonial music, silver goblets, lavish attire, and haughty murmurs.
This was the ship of the chosen.
Filled with nobles, sponsors, magical order leaders, and seasoned power-players.
They were here not to fight—but to watch—and judge.
Among them were Analia Vir, standing proudly among her children—Sara, cold and impassive as marble nobility, and the spoiled Arlin, sipping enchanted wine like it was a trophy.
Further ahead, reclining in a portable Vince throne, Klaud Vince watched with his braided golden beard, wearing a look of icy certainty.
Arrogance hung thick in the air—each important name believing themselves the star of the show.
Analia Vir stepped forward, her lips curling in a venomous smile, voice loud:
"Lord El Dourado, since we're all here together, shouldn't we see the famous bride? Or will my Alkan end up disappointed?"
The taunt drew stifled giggles and scornful glances from the nobles.
Joe Kalter, El Dourado, didn't show anger. Instead—he laughed heartily:
"HAAA HAAA!"
Then, in his theatrical tone:
"My daughter will only be revealed when we all reach the Arena of Gálvora. And those who don't... will never know the privilege."
He extended his arm toward the horizon.
There, beyond low clouds and magical mist, the Sea of Runes stirred.
A stretch of ocean completely enchanted—alive.
Water shimmered with deep blue and mystical purple.
Floating mirrors drifted in the air, magical serpents broke the surface, ancient ruins hovered, siphoning magical energy from the environment. Semi‑humanoid sea monsters and flying sharks hunted in the shadows.
Nature itself defied reality.
Kalter turned to the guests with a predator's grin:
"This is not just a tournament... it's a sieve. A divine winnowing. A forge to choose gods."
He raised his cup, and the surrounding runic lights blazed.
Asla allowed a thin smile, thinking: "This will be perfect for my lord!"
"Welcome to the Sea of Runes. Welcome… to the Selection of Gálvora!"
Meanwhile, aboard the Participants' Ship
Suddenly, the magical propulsion crystal at the heart of the participants' ship began to glow… red.
But not a common red. A pulsing, intense, almost organic glow. As if the crystal itself were screaming.
The deck shook.
A dry crack, like bone splitting, echoed through the vessel.
— "What...?" someone murmured.
CRAAACK!
The sound repeated—this time louder. The floor beneath their feet split with rune-like fissures, and from the wood jets of scarlet water gushed, as if the sea had pierced the hull.
— "The ship is... BLEEDING?!" a mage shouted.
BLOOSH!
The entire ship shuddered violently, like a colossus grabbing its base. Some fell; others ran to the rails only to see black water tendrils slither from the depths and envelop parts of the structure.
— "Aaah! It's going to swallow us!"
Panic.
Screams. The sound of metal splitting.
From the tallest mast, the Marlen emblem flickered, then exploded into luminous fragments, plunging everyone into a pulsating red magical darkness.
It felt like being inside a living, furious beast's belly.
A thunderous roar came from beneath the sea.
And then...
— "THE SHIP IS SINKING!"
Holographic images of El Dourado appeared in the sky above each ship:
"ATTENTION, PARTICIPANTS. Welcome to the first trial. Simple rules:
Build your own magical boats.
Swim through monsters and illusions.
Fight each other if needed.
Forge alliances... or betray.
But above all...
MAKE IT TO GÁLVORA ALIVE.
Take care:
— The Arena opens only to those who arrive standing.
— If you're rescued, carried, teleported... you are ELIMINATED.
Joe Kalter, standing on the floating grandstand against the open sky, raised his hand and shouted:
— "IN GÁLVORA… YOU EITHER ARRIVE BY YOUR OWN STRENGTH — OR DIE TRYING!
— HAAA HAAA HAAA!"