The desert wind blew gently over the royal burial grounds. Silence blanketed every corner of the old cetery, broken only by the soft sound of Khan’s footsteps among the rows of still headstones. He stood before a fresh mound of earth, marked by a plain, naless stone. But Khan knew who lay beneath it—and that was enough.
He knelt slowly, pulling sothing from his pocket—a small, worn-out trinket, a toy they used to fight over as children. A birthday gift they once swore never to argue over again. But all of that was swept away by hatred, ambition, and blood.
"I’m giving this back to you... may your soul rest peacefully, brother," Khan whispered. He didn’t cry, but his eyes were empty, as if holding back a storm that refused to break. Then he stood, brushing the dust and sand from his crimson robe—and walked away, leaving the past behind that headstone.
---
A few days later, cheers and celebration filled the city of Samsara. Khan was officially crowned as the new Sultan. There were no uprisings, no major protests. The common people welcod him with hope. As it turned out, bloodline wasn’t what mattered most to them—they wanted justice and courage. And Khan had proven both.
From a distance, Ren stood on the palace balcony, watching the victory parade unfold. Khan was carried in splendor on the back of a white elephant, waving to his people.
"You’re lucky, Khan... you never lost who you are, even when the world tried to force you into soone else," Ren thought, hiding a faint smile this face. The public’s eyes were fixed in admiration on Sultan Farid al-Samsara, but only Ren knew the weight behind that smile—the tired lines and quiet burdens masked beneath the crown. The golden sunset glinted off the simple headdress—a symbol of hope and a responsibility not easily borne.
After the roars and applause quieted down, Ren found himself drawn by the sharp, mouthwatering aroma drifting from the culinary festival in the palace square. Though 70% of Samsara was barren desert, there existed a rare spice plant that grew only in the cracks of the desert’s karst stone—called "Mirah," the key to Samsara’s signature curry. To Ren’s tongue, it was a strange yet captivating flavor—earthy spices blended with skill and care.
Khan—now officially Sultan Farid al-Samsara, rightful son of Sultanah Diana binti Raheem—stood tall in his ceremonial robe. Though his new title echoed throughout the palace, his close friends still called him "Khan" with familiar ease. Ren studied the Sultan’s face—gentle smile, but ever-watchful eyes, reflecting a leader who remained grounded even at the peak of power.
In the grand hall lit by bronze lanterns, Ren walked confidently toward the Sultan. He bowed deeply in formal salute. "Greetings, Great Sultan of Samsara," he said firmly, his tone full of respect—a recognition of Khan’s new role without diminishing their friendship.
Farid furrowed his brow slightly, sensing the gravity of the mont. "Mm... Strange to hear you call that," he murmured, a mix of wonder and ease in his voice. A faint smile still played across his sharp nose as he glanced around the hall, aware of the many eyes awaiting his words.
Ren replied calmly, but with conviction. "If I don’t, your dignity will be questioned."His voice was diplomatic, like a budding flower of statecraft knowing when to bloom. He then looked toward the governnt officials and noble figures of Samsara—representatives of a people now placing their hopes on the new Sultan’s shoulders.
Farid exhaled slowly, stroking his chin. "Very well... I personally—and I’m sure the people of Samsara as well—owe you a great debt. If not for your efforts, the destruction from the previous battle would’ve been far worse." He offered Ren a respectful smile, solidifying that, no matter what, their alliance was unshakable.
Ren returned the smile quietly. "I’m honored, Your Majesty." He adjusted his stance like a loyal soldier, subtly reminding that it was trust and solidarity—not anger or vengeance—that must be nurtured.
Farid shifted his gaze, searching for aning in Ren’s presence in the great hall. He asked with strategic curiosity, "I assu gold and won aren’t what you’re after. So, tell ... what do you want?"
Ren didn’t hesitate. "Very well, Sultan. I request access to the royal library—along with one block of Damascus steel, if Your Majesty permits." His voice was calm but resolute, as if he had already calculated the price of the request.
Silence fell. The nobles leaned in, sensing a micro-dialogue that might reshape the military and technological future of the realm. Farid turned to his aide, and a soft yet commanding voice echoed through the hall. "Do we still have any of that steel available to give?"
The aide—the trusted custodian of the kingdom’s assets and heritage—nodded firmly. "Yes, Your Majesty. Damascus steel remains abundant in the structure of Samsara’s defensive walls. However... we are unable to mine it on a large scale. The forging technique has been lost."
Ren and Farid were both taken aback. A simultaneous breath echoed. The aide continued quietly, "The kingdom has worked hard to recover that knowledge, but for the past hundred years, our research has never succeeded."
"I see... Well then, Nico, do you still want it?" Khan asked, his eyes flashing toward Ren with a mix of hope and questions that only comrades-in-arms could understand.
Ren’s lips curled into a confident smile, his voice ringing like the chi of fine steel. "Of course," he said with determination. To him, the chance to study a legendary material said to co from the hands of gods was an irresistible calling.
---
Ren was granted access to the royal library—a vast chamber filled with ancient shelves and scrolls from the cold records of the 10th century. Beneath the dusty glow of flickering lanterns, his heartbeat seed to sync with the whisper of history echoing between the towering pillars and heavy wooden desks.
While waiting for the legendary steel to be prepared, Ren imrsed himself in the ancient docunts—this was the heart of knowledge in Samsara, a kingdom believed to have existed for over a thousand years. No one knew for certain who its founder was, but legend claid that after the collapse of the Hell Gate into this world, the ancestors wove an empire out of dust and blood.
In the early scrolls, records written in script akin to ancient manuscripts spoke of a Hell Gate that once opened in the northwestern region—whether by magic or high alchemical experintation—releasing creatures from a dark dinsion. It was said that on the night the gate opened, ash and fire tore through the sky—a scene that burned the entire coastal population to cinders, leaving ruins and wandering spirits trapped in mist.
At that ti, the holy city of Al-Harima stood as humanity’s last stronghold—but it fell. A warrior-princess from the First Caste was sent to seal the gate with ancient karst incantations, but the result was tragic: the city was destroyed, its people turned into kreep—living shadows trapped between life and death.
Samsara was born from the loyalty of Al-Harima’s forr soldiers, who took on a sacred mission to restore the world and banish the demons back to their realm. It was said that Samsara was created by divine will, answering the cries and prayers of its people. Two forms of divine miracles erged: the first was a fortress, and the second was a divine soldier who could command sand—chosen from among Al-Harima’s surviving warriors.
With that power, a kingdom was ford, and within ten years of its founding, Samsara had grown into a militarized state under its fourth Sultan, who initiated the "Prism Experint"—an attempt to harness the gate’s energy through forbidden alchemy to ta interdinsional creatures. The project failed, shaking the nation’s magical foundation: hundreds of citizens vanished, the northern sky turned violet, and magical intoxication spread among the soldiers.
Thus began the era of the "Dust Crisis"—the spread of black karst energy that infected human digestive systems, giving rise to abominations: half-human, half-bee creatures controlled through alchemical injections. This disaster nearly brought Samsara to its knees—until the miracle of Damascus appeared.
Ancient texts spoke of a mysterious figure nad Al‑Mazes, who accidentally discovered a glowing stone that could control monsters. He founded his own kingdom not far from the Sultanate of Samsara and eventually allied with them in the war against the demons.
The Damascus steel—now so revered—was believed to be a remnant of the gate: shards of iron that had pierced deep into the earth, infused with karst energy. The Sultan of that era hid the tal, layering it beneath bricks and stone within Samsara’s iron walls.
Ren felt chills down his spine. In front of him, scrolls on alchemy described this as a forbidden science—one capable of creating artificial life: takwin, or homunculi.
In docunts from the 47th century, he read of Sultan Yamin I, who successfully forged Damascus steel into a sacred weapon. He used it to battle the demonic prince Asmodues and subdued his forces, forcing the western cities to surrender. But the cost was imnse—an entire generation perished in the aftermath, and the sky bled with ember-like stones, a sign of divine curse.
Ren realized he wasn’t just studying science—he was stepping into the heart of a conflict between magic, politics, and morality. Beyond that, he was dealing with the legacy of Damascus: an object that could regenerate, but if misused, could unleash waves of death like in the catastrophe at Nerath.
After finishing a scroll, Ren murmured, "How do you even explain this... such a dark era... But yeah, war demands sacrifice. Even , if I had been in their place, I probably would’ve made the sa choices. I have to respect these alchemists—for at least being accountable."
His research was far from over, but now his direction was clear: he would master the regeneration formula of Damascus, uncover both real and false secrets, and build a technology that would ensure victory in the battles to co.
Before the ancient shelves, Ren lifted a scroll titled "Fragntus Damaskus" from the end of the to. The lantern light swayed gently, and thousands of silent words cried out—awaiting the hand of a scientist from another world to bring them to life once more.
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