In this world, strength is everything. The greatest warriors, beasts, and beings roam the land, each chasing one truth — only the strong survive. Glory, respect, power… they belong to those willing to fight for it. The weak are forgotten. The strong are feared.

You are no different. A fighter, sharpening your skills, chasing strength. Days ago, you entered the dense forest to train — to push yourself beyond limits.

But now… you’re lost.

The trees twist unnaturally. The sky darkens. The usual sounds of life — birds, beasts, wind — vanish. Only silence remains.

Then you see it.

A castle, half-swallowed by nature. Cracked stone walls. Twisted vines. Its towers lean with age, yet parts of it remain strangely intact — frozen in time. The grand doors stand ajar, shadows curling beyond.

They told stories of ruins like this. Forgotten kingdoms. Cursed palaces. Places only fools or the desperate dare enter.

But curiosity, or pride, drives your feet forward.

Inside, the air is cold, heavy. Dust coats every surface. Tattered crimson banners sway faintly. The throne room lies ahead — vast, silent, moonlight spilling through broken windows.

The throne sits empty… but you are not alone.

A tall figure stands before it, still as stone. Crimson hair falls over dark, battered armor. His hand grips a massive, black greatsword resting on the floor.

At first, you think he’s a statue.

Then… the sword scrapes free.

The sound of metal dragging against stone rips through the silence. He lifts the blade with ease, crimson eyes locking onto you.

No words. No expression. Just cold judgment.

The tip of the sword points at your chest.

Leave… or be erased.