Deep within an uncharted land, far beyond the reach of humans
There lay a kingdom
A land of warriors.
A land of strength.
A land untouched by human conflicts.
Inside the grand palace of the Amazarak, the ruling tribe of fierce, battle-hardened won—
A stunning, powerful queen lounged on her throne.
Her long, toned legs crossed elegantly, golden ornants adorning her tanned skin.
Her piercing eyes glead with curiosity as she rested her cheek against her knuckles.
"How is the human?"
Her voice was smooth, yet commanding.
The female warrior kneeling before her lowered her head in respect.
"He is weak, but will recover."
The queen narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers against the armrest of her throne.
"Any information about him?"
The warrior shook her head.
"No, Your Highness."
The queen let out a soft hum, her lips curling into a sly smile.
A human, washed up in her land?
This was rare.
And rare things… always had value.
She knew one thing for certain—
No human ever reached their lands by accident.
And this one…
He might prove entertaining.
Her voice was like silk as she spoke.
"This human… he bears the mark of our goddess, Enthiya?"
The warrior beside her nodded.
"According to our Oracles, yes."
A pause.
The Queen's gaze flickered with intrigue.
Enthiya—one of the Three Goddesses.
The sa goddess who blessed the so-called 'Heroes.'
The sa goddess who was worshipped by the follower of the Saint of Three Gods.
How interesting.
A dangerous smile played at her lips.
A hero of the Goddess… washed up in her lands?
Fate had brought him here.
And fate… always had a plan.
The Queen of Amazarak paused, her smirk widening as she tilted her head slightly.
"So… this is the will of the Goddess?"
Her tone was amused, yet laced with sothing deeper—
Intrigue. Desire. Possession.
She ran her fingers lightly along her jawline, deep in thought.
Inside her mind—a single realization ford.
This young man…
He was different.
More handso. More charming.
More… appealing than the rugged, battle-hardened n of her tribe.
And she wanted him.
Her eyes glead with hunger as she turned to her warriors.
Then—her tongue flicked across her lips, slow and deliberate.
"Tell the others…"
Her voice dripped with authority.
"…This hero is mine."
The warriors exchanged glances—but none dared to question her.
For when their queen desired sothing…
She always got what she wanted."
Queen Zephyra took a slow, deliberate step forward.
Her golden ornants clinked softly, the fabric of her robes sliding smoothly over her sun-kissed skin.
A dozen elite warriors followed behind her, their expressions unreadable—but their loyalty absolute.
She was not a queen to be challenged.
For in Amazarak, the throne belonged only to those with bloodline, power, magic, and mastery.
And Zephyra had all four.
None dared to oppose her.
None dared to claim what was hers.
The flaps of the healing tent swayed gently
Queen Zephyra stepped into the healing tent, her sharp eyes scanning the unconscious man before her.
He lay still—his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.
Her gaze traced over his body.
His smooth, pale skin.
The hard lines of his muscles.
His strikingly handso face.
A man born for battle… but also for sothing more.
But then—her eyes settled on the empty space where his left arm should have been.
And she smirked.
Sothing stirred inside her.
A man like this—so strong, so promising—was incomplete.
Unacceptable.
She wanted him whole.
She wanted his hands to touch her, to caress her, to belong to her.
And she would ensure he was perfect.
Her perfect warrior.
Her perfect man.
Zephyra turned to her healers, her voice firm yet sultry.
"Once he awakens and regains his strength… ensure that he cos to at the palace."
The healers lowered their heads in obedience.
Zephyra smirked one last ti before turning away.
Her hips swayed with confidence as she stepped out of the tent, her warriors following silently.
Inside her mind, one thing was certain.
This hero had been given to her by fate.
And she would not let him go.
For Queen Zephyra, restoring this handso man's left hand was a trivial matter.
With her magic, resources, and the secrets of Amazarak, she could give him back what he had lost—
Stronger. Better. Unbreakable.
But as she walked through the palace halls, a wicked smirk graced her lips.
Inside her dirty, possessive mind—
"Don't worry, handso…"
"I'll make you whole again."
"I'll make you perfect."
"And once you're mine… you'll never leave my side."
anwhile in Klimbert region
Inside his private chamber, Klimbert's fingers drumd aggressively against his desk.
His face was twisted with fury.
All his ticulously crafted plans—gone.
The weaker noble territories he had aid to conquer?
Out of reach.
And why?
Because that damned king had interfered.
Now—he was trapped.
Forced to stay still.
Unable to strike.
"Anem."
His trusted butler stepped forward with a bow.
"Yes, my lord?"
Klimbert's eyes darkened.
"Status of our troops?"
Anem adjusted his glasses.
"They have all returned to our region, my lord. Since we cannot make any moves at this ti."
Klimbert gritted his teeth, annoyed but unsurprised.
"Report on recruitnt. And our total forces?"
Anem nodded, listing the numbers with precision.
3,000 active troops guarding our borders.
7,000 standby forces that were originally prepared for invasion.
15,000 in reserve, awaiting mobilization.
30,000 fully trained in the barracks.
But then—Anem's voice lowered slightly.
"…Due to the royal forces being stationed in our region and others, we are limiting active training. Only 1,000 soldiers train per week, and we rotate them to avoid suspicion.
We have also ensured all advanced training is done in secret."
Klimbert's lips curled into a dangerous smirk.
"Good."
He leaned back in his chair.
So what if he couldn't move now?
Ti was still on his side.
The king wouldn't be watching forever.
And when that ti ca—
He would strike.
Klimbert leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening.
Armand? Not worth it anymore.
It was clear—Armand would not strike first
Instead—he would wait.
Let Armand sit in their fortress, untouchable.
anwhile—he would move elsewhere.
"Anem."
His butler stood at attention.
"Yes, my lord?"
Klimbert waved a hand lazily.
"Ensure the plan proceeds as scheduled."
Anem bowed.
"Yes, my lord."
The plan to sabotage his neighboring regions—
To weaken their soldiers, to spread whispers of instability, to turn the people against their own rulers—
Would continue.
Klimbert's eyes glead.
"Our spies?"
Anem adjusted his gloves.
"Already positioned among the noble elite's workers. Their trust has been secured."
But then—his tone turned grim.
"…However, we cannot move within Armand. Their counterintelligence is unmatched. No spies have succeeded in infiltrating their ranks."
Klimbert scoffed.
"Bah, who cares? We don't need to bother with Armand anymore."
His eyes turned toward the map sprawled across his desk.
His true targets.
"These other regions… they have rich lands. They hold the resources I want."
He ran a finger over the borders of the weaker noble territories.
"Once I take them… I won't just have a stronger region than Armand."
His grin stretched wider.
"I'll have a stronger region than the king himself."
( End of Chapter )
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