Heaven Defying King

The wheels of the carriage groaned as they rolled over the uneven cobblestone streets, the rhythmic clatter mingling with the distant hum of a waking city. Dawn had barely stretched its golden fingers across the sky, yet the slums of Rhovan, a complete contrast of the golden capital known as Paradise, were already alive with desperation. To be frank, people seem to always ignore the bad side of an empire, powerful and Prosperous as this, The Empire of The Setting Sun, Solaria. -Even an empire as powerful as Solaria has a place like this.- the Nobel woman thought. Under the great King Atticus. The empire has been led to unending prosperity. Atticus, a man well versed in war, conquered the whole continent of Oceanus and named it Solaria after his empire. A large, mountainous island of endless fields, situated in the center of the world that divides the world's water bodies into 4 parts. The northern Continent known as Erethea, The Southern Continent known as Atlas, Eastern Continent known as Ellysium, The Western Continent known as Pandemonium, And lastly The central Continent now known as Solaria.

The reason such places still exist in this empire is because Atticus isn't as great a king as he is a general. The court of Solaria, the ruling government, controls the laws and the greed of humans who have attained great power began to manifest. Atticus' big brother, Strualus, also Atticus' royal advisor, rules the court acting as the acting head, controlling the empire and its subjects in place of Atticus. The noblewoman inside the carriage barely paid attention to the outside world, yet the muffled cries of the beggars clawed at her ears. A cluster of ragged figures had gathered near the slow-moving vehicle, their gaunt faces contorted with need.

"Please, my lady! A single coin—just one!" cried a frail old woman, her skin like parchment over brittle bones. A child, no older than six, clung to her rags, his hollow eyes reflecting the carriage's polished wood as if it were a gateway to salvation.

"Have mercy! My son is sick!" another voice wailed, a man missing an arm, his remaining hand outstretched. "We have nothing—"

Their pleas were cut short by the heavy boot of a guard. With a forceful shove, the old woman tumbled backward into the filth-ridden street, landing with a pained yelp. The child shrieked, scrambling to her side, but the armored men showed no concern.

"Filthy wretches!" barked Sir Varkas, his dark crimson cloak billowing as he swung a gloved hand at the air, as though to brush off the stench of poverty. "Know your place!"

The other guards followed suit, shoving and kicking until the mob scattered like frightened rats. Some cursed under their breath; others merely wept.

Inside the carriage, Lady Vivienne Valcrest, the third child and only daughter of the duke of Solaria, Draka Valcrest, The dragon Slayer, said to have killed a dragon bare-handed and possessed as much wisdom as his strength. Vivienne did not so much as flinch, maintaining her spoiled noble personality. Her brown eyes, sharp and calculating, barely spared the scene a glance as she adjusted the cuffs of her embroidered sleeves.

"The weak are hunted by the strong. It has always been so."

Her mind drifted to the jungle—where beasts devoured the frail, where predators stalked the foolish. The world outside was no different. Nobles, warriors, and adventurers alike rose above the desperate masses, and those who could not claw their way up simply… ceased to matter.

Still, their cries were irritating.

"Enough, Varkas," she murmured, her voice smooth yet laced with quiet authority. "Their wailing offends me."

The captain of her guard nodded stiffly, stepping back from the scattered beggars. With a crack of the reins, the carriage lurched forward, the smell of damp earth and unwashed bodies fading as they approached the heart of the city.

-The Adventurers' Guild-

The Guild stood like a fortress against the sprawling chaos of Rhovan. A towering structure of black stone and ironwood beams, it bore the scars of countless years—weathered carvings of dragons and battle-worn banners lined its massive double doors.

The entrance was flanked by towering braziers, flames licking the morning air, their glow barely touching the depths of the Guild's cavernous interior. Inside, the scent of sweat, steel, and ale created a thick atmosphere, mingling with the raucous laughter and shouts of hardened warriors.

The hall was vast, lined with long wooden tables where adventurers feasted, gambled, and boasted of their exploits. Trophy weapons, heads of slain monsters, and relics from forgotten ruins decorated the walls, each telling a story of those who had come before.

At the far end, an enormous board displayed parchment notices—requests for monster hunts, treasure retrievals, and mercenary work. A group of half-drunk men laughed as one of them tore down a contract, his scarred hand gripping it like a prize.

To the left, a bar stretched along the wall, manned by a silver-haired bartender polishing a mug with a knowing smirk. Behind him, shelves of exotic liquors gleamed in the dim light.

Vivienne stepped inside, her heeled boots clicking against the worn stone floor. A few heads turned—some with intrigue, others with suspicion. Noblewomen did not frequent the Guild.

She paid them no mind.

"Lady Valcrest?" A voice cut through the noise.

A woman clad in simple yet well-tailored attire approached—Sarina, the Guild's steward. Her sharp green eyes flickered with recognition. "We've been expecting you. This way, please."

Vivienne nodded, allowing herself to be led past the rowdy throng. A few adventurers muttered as she passed, some sneering at the presence of a noble in their midst. Others simply watched in silence.

They ascended a narrow staircase, leading to a quieter wing of the Guild. Sarina stopped before a thick oaken door, its iron handle worn with age. With a measured push, she swung it open, revealing a dimly lit chamber.

A single table sat in the center, a candle flickering atop it. The air was cooler here, free of the noise below.

Vivienne stepped inside, her gaze steady.

"I am looking for someone," she said, her voice carrying a weight that even Sarina did not ignore.

The steward hesitated only a moment before nodding.

"The Phantom Slayer."

A shadow shifted in the room. With every distortion of the shadow, pressure grappled down her throat. As the shadow materialized, the pressure increased. The pressure abruptly stopped, as footsteps were heard echoing into the room.

"Interesting".