In the heart of the Great Forest of Alariel, a vast and ancient woodland that stretched for hundreds of miles, the elves had made their eternal home. This sacred realm, where the sunlight filtered through towering, silver-leaved trees and the air shimmered with the whispers of forgotten magic, had long been a haven for all elvenkind. High Elves, Wood Elves, Dark Elves, and even the rare, reclusive Moon Elves gathered here, their lives intertwined in the grand harmony of nature.
Before the rise of the Heartless Republic, Alariel was a proud and independent kingdom ruled by the noble bloodline of the High Elves. Their rulers, born with unmatched grace and wielders of ancient, arcane power, had guided their people for millennia. The kingdom had flourished, its spires of crystal and living wood rising like silent sentinels among the towering oaks and ever-blooming meadows.
However, this peaceful existence was shattered by the ambitions of the Holy Remia Empire. Driven by greed and blinded by their own sense of superiority, the human lords of the Empire coveted the beauty and power of the elves. Their armies marched into the emerald depths of Alariel, their eyes filled with lust for the Elves' immortal grace and their ears deaf to the pleas for peace.
To the humans of the Western Empire, the Elves were nothing more than exotic prizes, living trophies to be chained and paraded as proof of their dominion over all races. Thousands were captured, their elegant forms forced into cruel bondage, their songs silenced by iron chains.
It was during these dark days that the Heartless Guild, still in its infancy, first laid eyes upon the shattered remnants of the elven people. Drawn not just by the allure of the Elves' beauty, but by a deep, unshakable belief that all beings deserved freedom, the guild launched a relentless campaign against the Imperial slavers. They cut down the chains of oppression with the same ruthless efficiency they had used to carve out their own territories, their battle cries echoing through the forest as a promise of liberation.
After many gaming years of bloody skirmishes, daring raids, and midnight rescues, the Heartless Guild shattered the Remian stranglehold on Alariel. They drove the slavers from the forest, their blades slick with the blood of their foes, and returned the elves to their rightful place among the trees.
Grateful beyond words and bound by a deep sense of honor, the elves swore fealty to their liberators. In a grand ceremony beneath the ancient boughs of the World Tree, the High Elven nobility pledged their eternal loyalty to the Heartless Guild, agreeing to join the nascent Heartless Republic as an autonomous province. In return, the guild promised to protect their lands and preserve their way of life, allowing the elves to govern themselves while still benefiting from the strength and security of the Republic.
Thus, Alariel became part of the Heartless Republic, its graceful spires now flying the emblem of the Heartless Guild alongside their own banners, a symbol of the unbreakable bond forged in the fires of liberation.
Crimson still remembered those days, the fierce battles fought beneath the ancient canopies of Alariel, where the air itself seemed alive with the crackling power of elven magic. He recalled the haunting melodies of the elven battle chants, their voices rising like a storm as they reclaimed their sacred groves from the iron grip of the Holy Remia Empire. The clash of blades, the rush of magic, and the cries of freed slaves still echoed in his mind, a vivid reminder of the ideals that had once driven the Heartless Guild.
As he looked out over the lush green landscape before him, where towering trees swayed gently in the breeze and shimmering streams wove through the forest floor like veins of silver, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. It felt as if the forest itself was welcoming him back, its ancient, whispering leaves remembering the warrior who had once bled for its freedom.
He felt a swell of pride, a deep, unshakable conviction that they had done the right thing by standing against the Empire. By freeing the elves, they had struck a blow not just for one race, but for all who sought to break free from the chains of oppression. It was a decision that had changed the course of history, one that had united countless races under the banner of the Heartless Republic.
Crimson took a deep breath, the cool, fragrant air filling his lungs, and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The journey had been long and bloody, but seeing the vibrant life of the elven homeland thriving once more reminded him why they had fought so fiercely all those time ago.
After he was done taking in the view, Crimson adjusted his grip on the Crimson Edge and resumed his journey, his powerful strides swiftly eating up the distance as he cut through the dense forest paths. The realm of Alariel, for all its serene beauty, was far from a peaceful sanctuary. The ancient magic that permeated its soil and air, the very life force of the elven homeland, also gave rise to creatures that mirrored the wild, untamed power of the land itself.
Thick-rooted treants, their twisted limbs creaking as they moved, lumbered through the underbrush like ancient sentinels. Their bark-like skin glistened with sap, and their glowing eyes burned with the fierce, protective spirit of the forest. Some stood as tall as the trees themselves, their mighty limbs capable of crushing boulders with a single swipe, while others, smaller but quicker, darted between the trees like shadows, their vine-covered limbs lashing out at anything that drew too close.
Gnarled stone golems, their bodies covered in layers of hardened rock and thick moss, rumbled through the forest like living boulders, each step sending tremors through the ground. These silent, unyielding guardians blended seamlessly with their surroundings, often mistaken for mere boulders until they sprang to life, their glowing, crystalline eyes locking onto intruders.
Even the air itself buzzed with the wings of forest sprites, tiny but vicious creatures with razor-sharp claws and needle-like teeth. They flitted between the branches like whispers of wind, their high-pitched, eerie laughter echoing through the trees as they hunted in swarms.
Crimson moved swiftly, his eyes keenly aware of every flicker of movement and rustle of leaves. He didn't slow down, his senses honed from decades of battle. He was ready for whatever this enchanted, unpredictable forest might throw at him.
This was the perfect spot for Crimson to grind his experience while traveling. The realm of Alariel, with its dense, ancient magic, naturally attracted higher-level monsters. If he remembered correctly, the creatures here typically ranged from level 326 to 344, significantly stronger than those found in the outer regions of the Republic. This high level wasn't just because of the potent magic that flowed through the land, but also the age and ferocity of the creatures that had thrived in this untouched wilderness for centuries.
He mentally sorted through the various monster ranks in this world, each one representing a significant leap in power and danger:
Common – Basic monsters, often found in beginner areas.
Uncommon – Slightly stronger with minor enhancements, often found in larger packs.
Rare – Tougher foes with unique abilities and higher drop rates.
Elite – Powerful monsters, typically acting as mini-bosses or leaders of their kind.
Field Boss – Monsters that dominate entire regions, usually requiring groups to take down.
Dungeon Boss – Guardians of dungeons, significantly more dangerous and often guarding rare treasures.
Raid Boss – Massive, world-shaking threats that once required entire guilds to defeat.
World Boss – Legendary creatures of immense power, often the stuff of myths, capable of decimating entire armies.
Divine Boss (Rumored) – The pinnacle of strength, said to be beings with god-like power, their existence whispered of in ancient texts and forbidden lore.
Given the dense magic in Alariel, it was no surprise that even the Common and Uncommon monsters here were stronger than their counterparts in other regions. There were also persistent rumors that the heart of this forest held creatures approaching the level of Field Bosses or even Dungeon Bosses, making this area one of the most dangerous yet rewarding hunting grounds in the Republic.
For a warrior like Crimson, this was a perfect opportunity to push his limits, test his skills, and gather experience. With the Heartless King's Battleplate and Crimson Edge in his grasp, he felt confident that even the most fearsome monsters of Alariel would fall before him.
As he ventured deeper into the lush, magic-infused wilderness, he tightened his grip on his blade, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows for movement. The hunt was on.
He didn't forget his original objective of investigating the western border, but he also thought, "Why not increase my experience points and level up while traveling? I can multitask." It was a simple yet efficient approach. After all, every monster he cut down brought him closer to becoming even stronger, and the dense magic of Alariel promised rich hunting grounds.
After hours of relentless travel, carving his way through waves of aggressive tree-like monsters and towering earth elementals, Crimson finally reached the outskirts of the elven capital. Vanima, the heart of the realm of Alariel, stood before him, its towering, white stone walls glistening under the filtered light of the enchanted forest canopy.
Vanima was not just a city — it was a marvel of natural and architectural harmony, the second-largest city in the Heartless Republic and home to millions of elves from every corner of the realm. The towering, spiraled structures rose high into the mist-laden sky, their smooth, ivory-white surfaces etched with intricate, glowing runes that pulsed with the life of the forest itself. Massive trees intertwined with the architecture, their roots and branches forming natural bridges and walkways, creating a seamless blend of nature and craftsmanship.
As he approached the massive, vine-covered gates of Vanima, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer scale and beauty of the city. Despite the countless battles he had fought and the many lands he had conquered alongside his comrades, the sight of Vanima never failed to impress him. The air here was different — fresher, thicker with the rich scent of wildflowers and ancient trees. It felt alive, almost as if the city itself was watching him, judging his intentions.
The gates, made from polished white stone and reinforced with living roots, stood open, guarded by a small group of elven sentinels. They wore elegantly crafted armor made of enchanted silver and vibrant green cloth, their long, flowing hair cascading down their backs like streams of moonlight. They held long, slender spears, their tips shimmering with a faint, magical glow.
One of the guards stepped forward, his sharp, emerald eyes locking onto Crimson's figure as he approached. The elf's gaze briefly flicked to the Heartless insignia on Crimson's cloak, and a flash of recognition crossed his face. Though many of the younger elves might not immediately recognize him, the veterans who had fought in the Liberation Wars knew well who the High Elders were, even without their titles.
"Welcome to Vanima, traveler," the elf said, his tone respectful but cautious. "May the blessings of the World Tree guide your path. What brings you to our capital Sir?"
Crimson gave a slight nod, his eyes taking in the majestic sight of the city beyond the gates. He had no intention of revealing his true identity just yet, but he also saw no reason to hide his affiliation.
"I'm just passing through," he replied, his voice calm and steady. "On my way to the western border. I thought it wise to stop by Vanima for rest and perhaps some supplies."
The elf nodded, his posture relaxing slightly. He stepped aside, gesturing for Crimson to enter. "Then may your blade strike true, and may your path be clear. Welcome to Vanima."
With a final nod, Crimson stepped through the gates and into the city, his mind already shifting to his next steps. He would need to find an NAA branch here to restock his supplies, perhaps even offload some of the rare monster materials he had collected in the dense forests.
"Time to see how much this realm has changed," he thought, his eyes narrowing as he took in the vibrant, bustling city around him.