Scene shifts to the past.
A few weeks ago, within the ancient halls of the Royal Academy of South Ryehem a history instructor stood before his students — heirs to noble families and future generals, ministers, and rulers. The instructor, a stern man with streaks of silver in his dark hair, spoke in a steady voice that commanded attention.
"Have you ever wondered," he began, his sharp gaze sweeping over the class, "why nations still wage wars against each other, even though each nation is blessed by its own god?"
A hush fell over the room. Kazuki, seated by the window, set down his pen and looked up, already sensing this was a lesson worth remembering.
The instructor continued, "It is because the gods, though mighty, are bound by laws greater than themselves. At the highest point of existence stands the Supreme God — the one who governs over all other gods. According to His decree, no god may directly interfere in mortal affairs when their followers battle each other. They may bless, strengthen, and protect their people from outerworldly threats, but when mortals choose to fight among themselves, it is their war alone to win or lose."
A murmur spread through the class. Some students exchanged uneasy glances. Others leaned forward, fascinated.
"But," the instructor raised a finger, silencing the whispers, "there is one exception to this rule. If a sacred agreement — a treaty sworn between nations — is violated, the god of the wronged nation has the right to intervene, while the god of the guilty nation is forbidden from shielding them. Breaking a treaty is not merely a political offense; it is a sacrilege. And in those moments, the wrath of the divine is absolute."
One of the students raised his hand. "Sir, what happens to a nation that breaks such a treaty?"
The instructor's lips curled into a grim line. "Historically, those nations are erased. Their lands scorched, their people scattered, and their names remembered only as cautionary tales. It is why treaties are signed not just with ink and paper, but with offerings to the gods themselves."
The students fell silent, the gravity of the lesson settling heavily in their minds.
Scene shifts to the present.
Back in his room within the royal mansion of South Ryehem, Kazuki finished shading the last lines of a detailed landscape sketch — a scene of mountains rising above a misty valley. He set his brush aside and leaned against the window, gazing out at the sun-drenched courtyard.
That lesson from weeks ago returned to him now, clearer than ever.
"So even gods have their limits… yet mortals carry the burden of their own choices," Kazuki thought. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But perhaps, those limits only exist until someone figures out how to break them."
The wind rustled the trees, carrying the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers. Kazuki took a deep breath, feeling strangely light. He grabbed his sword, sheathing it across his back, and stepped out of his room.
The academy grounds were alive with activity, students training, servants tending to the gardens, and scholars discussing strategies in shaded courtyards. Yet to Kazuki, it all felt like a distant hum — the world itself quietly watching.
He tilted his head toward the sky.
"Whatever fate awaits… I'll be ready."
And with that, he strode toward the academy grounds, the faint echo of the instructor's voice and the memory of ancient laws lingering like a whisper in the wind.