The arrival of the knights changed everything in the Waste Land. Their heavy footsteps echoed across the cracked earth beneath my feet, shaking the brittle ground as they moved forward like a relentless storm. Their armor shone coldly in the harsh sunlight, each piece polished to a deadly sheen that reflected nothing but fear and destruction. These were not ordinary soldiers; they were hunters, merciless and unyielding, sent to finish the job their ancestors had started centuries ago.
Argen stood beside me, his eyes sharp and watchful, never once leaving the knights as they marched onward with unwavering purpose. "They are more than just fighters," he whispered, his voice low and heavy with meaning. "They are executioners of lies, tasked with erasing the truth. They want to rewrite history to suit their own darkness."
I clenched my fists, the warmth inside me pulsing like a steady flame that grew stronger with each passing moment. "Why do they hate the Light Kingdom so much?" I asked, my voice thick with anger and confusion.
Argen's eyes darkened, the weight of centuries of sorrow pressing down on him. "Because the Light Kingdom was a beacon of hope and power, a kingdom built on strength and unity. It was feared and envied, a shining light in a world shadowed by greed and cruelty. The knights could not accept its strength, so they destroyed it to hide their own weakness."
His words echoed in my mind as I remembered the stories of the past, tales passed down in whispers and half-forgotten legends. The Light Kingdom was once the greatest of the five kingdoms, known for its martial arts called the Light Fist. Its warriors were unmatched, their power fueled not only by skill but by an inner light that connected their souls to the world around them. But that power had made them a target.
The knights had swept through the land five hundred years ago, burning villages, slaughtering innocents, and shattering the delicate balance that had held the kingdoms together. The Light Kingdom fell, buried beneath a mountain of lies and bloodshed.
Yet the dungeon remained. It was a place where the past and present collided, a contested ground between the Light Kingdom and the Knight Kingdom. Half of the dungeon belonged to the Light Kingdom, and half belonged to the knights. A massive sealed door divided the two territories, impenetrable and mysterious, glowing with runes that pulsed with ancient mana.
Neither side had been able to break through, but the knights hungered for the dungeon's treasures. They believed that controlling its power would secure their dominance and finally erase the Light Kingdom's legacy forever.
Argen's grip on my shoulder tightened. "You must train harder. Your light must shine brighter than their darkness. You carry the hope of our people, and with it comes great responsibility."
I nodded, swallowing the fear and doubt that churned inside me. Every day became a battle against my own limits. Argen's training was brutal and unforgiving. He taught me to breathe with purpose, to focus the mana flowing inside me into precise, powerful strikes. He showed me how to move with the grace and unpredictability of water, to become both fluid and unstoppable.
The light inside me grew stronger with every passing day. What was once a faint glow had become a blazing fire that spread warmth through my body and sharpened my senses. I could feel the energy coursing beneath my skin, like a river waiting to break free from its banks.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of crimson and gold, a terrifying roar echoed from deep within the dungeon. The sound vibrated through the air like thunder, a chilling reminder of the monsters that lurked inside.
Argen's face grew grave as he watched the shadows. "Soon, you will face these creatures. They are the guardians of the dungeon, born from mana and darkness. Fierce and unforgiving, they will test every skill you have learned and every ounce of your strength."
My hands trembled, but I forced myself to stand tall. The path ahead was dangerous and uncertain, but I could no longer turn away. The fire inside me demanded action.
The next morning, Argen took me to the border of the dungeon, where the mana was thick in the air, heavy and electric. The massive door shimmered with runes that pulsed softly, a barrier between two worlds, ancient and unbreakable.
Neither kingdom had cracked its code, and the battle for the dungeon's treasures raged on outside its walls. The knights' hunger for power had only grown, fueled by lies and ambition.
As I stood before the sealed door, the light inside me flared fiercely, pushing back the creeping shadows that threatened to consume us.
Argen's steady hand rested on my shoulder. "This is where your true journey begins. The light you carry is the legacy of our people, and it will guide you through the darkness ahead."
I took a deep breath, feeling the ancient power of the Light Fist flow through my veins like a river of fire. The enemy was everywhere—within and without. The knights hunted us relentlessly, the dungeon threatened to swallow us whole, and the world around us was steeped in lies and betrayal.
But I was no longer just a boy from the Waste Land.
I was the bearer of light, the last hope of a forgotten kingdom.
And I would fight to reclaim what was lost.