NOVEL NEXT Prologue
They say the God of Life and the God of Death were once lovers.
Life flowed into Death, and Death returned into Life. From their bond—fierce, passionate, divine—came a child. Not salvation. Not ruin.
Resurrection.
But immortality is not a gift. It is a burden. A curse.
As monsters returned again and again, defying their natural ends, the world cracked. The God of Death, drained by the endless rising dead, withered. Meanwhile, the God of Life, she who once gave breath and bloom, grew insatiable.
Creation curdled into control. Renewal twisted into domination.
She burned countries in divine flame, rebirthing them warped and monstrous. The God of Death, now the Father, entombed her inside a volcano's heart—her eternal flame locked in stone.
But the damage had been done.
It began on December 12th, 2012, a date seared into history. Matthias Cavon IV, High King of the island-continent of Cavon, desperate to save his people from the growing plague of immortal monsters, sought to end the cycle at its root. With the help of his court mage Alastair Blitz, ancient rites and technology forgotten by time, he summoned the First Wave. Foreigners, outsiders, "Adventurers," as the court called them. They called themselves Players.
They arrived disoriented, clumsy in their movements, swinging iron blades like children pretending at war. It took them months just to push back the goblins from the outer fields. They died often, but unlike the monsters they fought, they did not return. This wasn't a game as they thought. Death was real.
Many stopped fighting. Some wandered off, built taverns, married locals, or vanished into the woods. And then, among them, emerged a name that drew both mockery and scorn.
Arslan.
A dreamer. A fool. A man who wore a cape before he could wield a sword properly. He called himself a "hero" while others scraped by for copper. He roleplayed while others survived.
But he endured.
On December 12th, 2013, the Second Wave arrived, and with them came a new hunger. These Players didn't hesitate. They min-maxed, grinded, slaughtered every beast from the Whispering Woods to the Dragonspine Peaks. They were ruthless. Efficient. Heroic, in the way only numbers could measure. The Mother of Dragons, the Werewolf of the Whispering Woods Dead, looted, and forgotten.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
And for the first time, the people of Cavon looked at the Players with awe.
Then came the Lich.
In the summer of 2014, the boss of the Fourth Leveling Zone brought progress to a halt. He consumed hundreds of adventurers in one week. Corpses piled, morale broke. The dream of escaping this world, whatever that meant, faded.
From the ashes of failure rose a guild: B4, short for the world from before as the leader, Xuang, would say. It gathered those who had seen enough to know this wasn't just a game. This was survival. And if there was an end, they would reach it. Even if it meant death.
They tried. They failed.
And then Arslan returned.
Still clad in the cape. Still smiling like a fool.
But now, he was different.
With unrelenting optimism and a plan built on days of observation, Arslan led B4 into the Lich's crypt and emerged with victory. With the spoils of that first win, B4 controlled the city of Cupiditas in the northwest and built Nova Civitas, the first Player-made city in the northeast. The north became theirs. The world changed.
December 12th, 2014: the Third Wave arrived and B4 closed off the northern zones to protect newcomers from advancing too quickly, from dying senselessly. Not everyone appreciated their caution. Whispers of tyranny spread. Many new Players didn't even remember logging in or if this was a game at all.
Under pressure, B4 split. Blood Dragon, a new guild led by Xuang, focused on teaching and integration of Players and NPCs alike. B4, under Arslan, remained focused on endgame threats.
Secret bosses were discovered. Power grew. Conflict brewed.
Then came the raid on the God of Death.
The fight was chaos. Dozens fled. Warnings were issued. But Arslan and the berserker Fandalon refused to fall back. With the sacrifice of a dear friend of theirs, a healer mage, they felled the God of Death.
Arslan lay in a coma for weeks. B4, now under the leadership of Hadvar Ahlgren, took reckless action. They baited the God of Life with Blood Dragon's NPC army in what became known as the Massacre of Cavon's People.
A line was crossed.
Yes, they crossed the line.
Carnifex rose from the bloodshed, founded by the zealot and self-proclaimed king Hadvar, who believed only through conquest could they break the game. For a moment, a fragile alliance between B4, Blood Dragon, and Carnifex existed.
Together, they slew the God of Life.
But it was a mistake.
The God of Resurrection descended, not as a savior, but as an executioner.
On September 15th, 2015, nearly all high-leveled Players were slain. Even Arslan, the brightest star and strongest hero, fell on that day. And with him, hopes of escaping the game world as well.
The Gods rose again.
The alliance shattered.
No Fourth Wave ever came.
By 2016, the continent was divided.
In the West, Blood Dragon formed the Heavenly Union, integrating with Cavon's native inhabitants.
In the East, Carnifex enslaved them, exploiting every NPC for their escape plan.
Progress froze. Trade stopped. Leveling zones became borders. And those who had once cried for help, the people of Cavon, were trampled beneath Player wars.
On June 6th, 2018, a slave awoke.
In a Carnifex labor camp, covered in mud and blood, he had no name. No memories. Only suffering.
But when the opportunity came, he fought, for he had hope. He had hope for he had heard of a name that felt like fire. And he made it his. The boy who once dreamed of being a hero was gone, but its mantle passed down to a new Player.
Stick Arslan.
He escaped.
And he will make the world remember what it meant to challenge the Gods.