Thousands of kilometers away, after crossing many wide seas, there was a huge continent.

This continent was shaped like a V.

It was massive, stretching nearly six thousand kilometers from end to end.

From the top of the V down to the second arm of the V, the land was surrounded by oceans.

Long coastlines spread across the edges, and along these coasts stood countless ships.

These ships were not made of wood like the ones used for short sea travel.

They were enormous, far bigger than anything known in Elora.

Their bodies were made of iron, dark and heavy, yet they floated calmly on the water.

If the people of Elora ever saw these ships, they would freeze in place, staring for one or two days without moving.

Their minds would fail to understand it.

"How can iron float instead of sinking?"

"How can someone even build something this large?"

Such questions would echo endlessly in their thoughts.

But on this continent, no one seemed surprised.

People walked along the coasts as if these iron ships were no different from fishing boats.

Workers loaded goods, sailors shouted orders, and the ships slowly moved in and out of the harbors.

To them, this was normal life.

What was even more shocking was what lay beyond the coast.

There were vehicles moving on wide roads.

They were not very fast, but they moved on their own without horses or beasts pulling them.

Black smoke puffed from their backs as they rolled forward with a steady sound.

If Vivian saw them, he would recognize them instantly.

They looked just like the Benz Patent-Motorwagen from Earth.

Simple, early machines. Slow, noisy, and rough.

Yet they proved something terrifying.

This continent was walking a path of knowledge far beyond Elora.

They had crossed the sea, mastered iron, built floating giants, and even created moving machines.

While Elora still relied on blades, beasts, and magic, this land had chosen a different road.

This was the continent of Axian, the place where the Clown came from.

If anyone thought that its level of growth ended with iron ships and moving vehicles, they would be completely wrong.

The true wonder of Axian was its infrastructure.

Everything was planned with care.

There were systems to carry away waste underground.

Houses were built in neat areas.

Roads for vehicles were separate from paths meant only for people to walk on.

Nothing was random. Everything had order.

It looked like a modern civilization, one that had moved far ahead of its time.

Yet among all these things, there was something even more unbelievable.

Something that would feel like a dream to any ruler.

This entire continent, spread far and wide, was ruled by only one person.

No councils. No kings under him. No divided power.

Just one.

To the people of Axian, this person was not merely a ruler.

He was like a god. No, he was a god in their eyes.

He had ruled them for an unknown amount of time.

No one knew when his rule began. No one remembered a time before him.

Generations were born, lived, and died under his reign.

Most of the time, he remained unseen.

But once in a while, he would appear before the world.

When that happened, cities would fall silent, people would kneel, and even the proud would lower their heads.

Because in Axian, his presence alone was enough to remind everyone who truly stood above all.

All of this might sound strange to ordinary people.

But because this ruler, along with some of his followers, lived for an extremely long time and ruled without changing, the people slowly accepted it as something natural.

Over time, they stopped questioning it.

They began to believe that he was truly a god who had come down to the mortal world to guide them.

With that belief, the idea of rebellion almost disappeared.

Very few people even dared to think about going against him.

And even if someone did try, if a group ever came out onto the roads to protest, they would be wiped out completely.

There was no mercy, no warning.

Everyone involved would be massacred, leaving behind only silence.

This truth was known by all, and because of that, fear never needed to be spoken aloud.

Even so, the continent of Axian was peaceful.

The ruler never took away the people's daily rights.

They could live, work, travel, and speak freely in their normal lives.

In fact, many believed that he had given them these rights in the first place.

There were old historical records that supported this belief.

They spoke of a time thousands of years ago, when Axian was ruled not by a single person, but by something called the Religion of Love.

According to those records, the God of Love had descended personally and created this religion with her own hands.

At first, it was gentle. People followed it willingly. It spoke of care, unity, and kindness.

But as time passed, everything changed.

The religion began to force people to convert.

Those who refused were dragged into the streets and burned alive on wooden stakes, right in front of everyone.

It was done openly, as a warning.

Women suffered even more.

The things done to them were so cruel that they could not be explained in human words.

Their pain went beyond reason, beyond sense, beyond mercy.

And then, when it seemed like nothing could be done, that person appeared.

He came alone.

No army followed him. No banners were raised.

Yet by himself, he wiped out the entire Religion of Love.

Temples fell. Priests died. Believers screamed.

When it was over, the land was soaked red, and a river of blood flowed through the streets.

The followers believed their deity would descend to save them.

They prayed. They cried. They waited.

But no one came.

In the end, people began to believe that the God of Love had never existed at all.

That everything about her was nothing more than myth, stories made to control the weak.

Time continued to flow.

Now, in the present age, Axian was extremely peaceful.

That ruler never killed without reason.

Even if someone spoke badly about him, nothing happened to them.

There were no sudden executions, no cruel punishments, no random fear.

To the people, he was a messiah.

No one thought of him as evil. No one even tried to see him that way.

Compared to the horrors written in history, his rule felt kind and stable.

The place where he lived was treated like a sanctuary.

Ordinary people could approach it without fear.

There were no walls meant to keep them away, no threats carved into stone.

This place lay at the very center of the continent.

At the center stood a massive castle.

It was old, yet perfect, as if time had no power over it.

Around the castle, for nearly five kilometers in every direction, there were no houses, no roads, no cities.

Only greenery.

But this greenery was not wild or messy.

Trees were placed with care.

Grass grew evenly. Small rivers flowed in calm paths.

Flowers bloomed in patterns that pleased the eye.

Everything felt alive, peaceful, and watched over.

It was not just land.

It felt like a statement.

This was the heart of Axian.

And at its heart lived the one they called God.

And right now, inside the castle, there was a large hall.

This hall was not filled with luxury or gold.

There were no grand lights or shining jewels.

It was simple, clean, and quiet.

The decorations were plain, chosen more for calm than beauty.

No servants stood nearby. No guards waited in the shadows.

There was only silence, deep and unmoving.

At the center of the hall, hanging on the far wall, was a large portrait.

The portrait showed a woman sitting calmly.

Her posture was relaxed, yet every small detail of her body showed grace and quiet authority.

She was extremely beautiful, but not in a sharp or flashy way.

Her beauty felt gentle and heavy at the same time.

Her eyes were calm, deep, and still.

Her long eyelashes seemed almost alive, as if they might flutter out of the painting at any moment.

Her eyes were deep black, like polished obsidian.

Her hair was long, smooth, and silky, flowing down past her waist like dark water.

In this silent hall, standing before the portrait, was a man.

His face was exactly the same as the woman's.

The same shape. The same calm eyes.

The same sharp yet gentle features.

It was as if the portrait had been carved into a living form.

His long black hair fell freely down to his waist, shining softly under the dim light.

His eyes were dark like ink, unreadable and deep.

His face looked as smooth and refined as jade, without a single flaw.

He wore a simple white gown.

In his right hand, he held a bamboo flute.

He did not play it. He only held it loosely, as if he had forgotten it was there.

His gaze never left the woman in the portrait.

There was sadness in his eyes.

But more than sadness, there was tenderness.

A feeling so deep and quiet that it felt heavier than grief.

It was calm, steady, and endless, like the ocean beneath a still sky.

He stood there for a long time.

Then, in the silence, he softly muttered a single word.

"Mother…"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.