Eons ago, a battle was fought between Chaos and Order, one spurned on by an unseen third party, the all consuming Void which surrounded them. It was a time filled with unfathomable tragedy and bloodshed, and though even those who participated in it already started to forget the details of this Primordial War, there still existed relics which served as reminders of a time when siblings were forced to kill one another in endless battles orchestrated by the first of the vile gods of corruption.

  One such reminder was a mighty blade, the true name of which had been buried with its former master, shattered in the struggle between Light and Dark due to a ploy concocted out of jealousy and treason. A weapon once considered one of the finest creations of the God of Blacksmiths being left to rust was believed too much of a waste, leading to its shards being gathered and the blade being reforged. However, the result was incomparable to its original form, as it now harboured the wrath of both its wielder and the foe it struck down, turning it unstable and robbing it of its former might. The blade therefore received the name Balmung, the Blade of Divine Wrath, and it was placed in a vault until a use for it could be found, though countless millennia would pass before that day came to pass.

  It was neither when the first mortals started to walk under the guidance of their creators, nor when the 7 Divine Tribes first saw the light of day. Not when the 7th Tribe was forsaken, and the remaining 6 found their way into the mortal realm, and not when these 6 first set foot unto Moros, the world we now call home.

  Past the first human kingdom, the first beastkin nation, the first dwarven mine, the first elven forest, the first demonic palace, the first orcish war. Even when the empires of old turned to dust, the moon split into 2, and the continents drifted apart, the blade laid dormant in its vault.

  However, as evil began to rise on the newly created landmass of Corus, and humans were driven to the brink of extinction by monsters of all shapes and forms, the blade began to react, and found its way into the hand of a certain mortal to bring balance into the world once more. The Holy Blade appeared before none other than the young Dragon of the South, Freya Andrea Sangdracon, who inherited the will of Norgod the Golden to protect humanity from those aiming to devour it.

  She faced many a trial on her path, though she seldom had to overcome them on her own, as many among those she encountered would become inspired to follow her, if only for a while. When the day came on which she crossed with the Northern Lion, she not only managed to fight him on equal grounds, but forced him to cease the aggressive expansion of his kingdom, thus preventing him from conquering the entire continent. Six times they would meet each other on the battlefield, though each time they would be interrupted before one of them could emerge as the victor. In their final fight, they were said to have officially buried their grievances and parted amicably, vowing the next time they would meet they would do so without their swords in hand. However, this day would never come.

  Not all who followed Freya did so out of the good of their heart, as some among them not only grew jealous, but also leered with greed in their eyes at the mighty weapon she wielded. So when the time came when the Northern Lion fell, and chaos descended upon his kingdom, Freya and her companions made their move to calm the panic his sudden disappearance had caused. Before anything could be done, Freya's companions tricked her to follow them to an open field, and, as she tried to make sense of the situation, was stabbed in her back by those she trusted most.

  In her final breaths, Freya cursed the fools blinded by greed, and thwarted their plans to take her weapon as their own, as she plunged Balmung deep into the earth and sealed it in place with her blood. No matter how many tried, be it with strength, trickery, or magic, none were able to retrieve the holy blade from the ground. What followed were countless wars being fought over the lands in which the sword was planted, as though nobody was able to use it at the moment, there may come a day on which that would change.

  However, it was not one of the traitors' kin, nor was was it either of the warring factions which would manage to pull the sword from the ground, but a simple mercenary, a direct descendant of Freya herself, Yannick Bacque, who would both retake the sword and the name of his ancestor, and use it to bring an end to the senseless wars by bringing the region under his control and naming it after the relic sword Balmung. As he was not of royal blood, and thought the crown of a king too heavy for his head, he instead decided upon turning the region into a dukedom, declaring himself the Duke of the Holy Blade. Though he would die fairly young, his child would continue his heroic efforts, as would their descendant, and so on.

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  Though the presence of the holy blade forced peace back into the contested region, the surrounding nations, especially the Kingdom of Jhargas, repeatedly tested the patience of Balmung's Duke in attempts to weaken the region with constant small skirmishes, though they were not only defeated every time, they also more often than not had to pay a rather heavy price. This would go on until the emergence of the Three Thrones, leading to Balmung begrudgingly joining the Northern Alliance, thus seeing itself forced to cooperate with its former enemies.

  After the Arcane Union declared its independence, Balmung started to bury its grievances with Jhargas under the mediation of the Emperor of Merdelum, which would later result in a secret alliance between the three nations as they fought together in the Edenian War.

  “Which brings us to the end of the blade's legend, as 98 years ago, the last Duchess of Balmung gathered the remains of the former Northern Alliance under one banner, turning it into the Kingdom of Albion. With that, we have covered the last topic of our Human History lessons. As you know, the final exam will be next week, so if you have any questions until then, make sure to ask them in time. Seeing as the weather is quite nice today, you may leave early today. Until next week!”, the teacher concluded his monologue, causing his students, all of them around the age of 10, to hastily storm out of the class-room.

  Among them, Siegfried Barolt, slightly taller than the other students his age, with short, blond hair, and two of his friends, who were currently discussing their futures as they made their way outside of the building. After having finished their primary education, it was now the time to decide which path they wanted to follow in life.

  “I think I'm going to follow my dad into adventuring. He let me use the tablet of the Guild, you know, the one which can tell you what class you're most suited for? Turns out I got what it takes to become a swordsman, just like him!”, one of them proclaimed proudly.

  “So, you going to some military academy, or are you going to follow your father around for a bit to learn from him?”, the other asked.

  “Of course he wouldn't let me work without properly learning how to wield a weapon first, so military academy it will be. Probably the one in Tose”

  “Oh, the one at the border? Heard that there were many high-ranking adventurers who came from there! I'll probably stay here though, since I want to continue studying.”

  “Didn't you want to become a mage? Certainly got the grades. What about you, Siggi?”

  Siegfried was ripped out of his thoughts, as he had only been half-listening to his friends as they walked.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Remember yesterday, when I picked up the cross that wandering priest dropped, after which it started to glow? The priest approached my parents today and said I might have a future within the Ardent Path, so I might be headed for Alma to train there.”

  “Oh man, really? That's huge!”, his friend exclaimed, but he shook his head.

  “Yeah, but I don't know if I'll go yet. Have to talk it over with my parents first and stuff.”

  “You should definitely go! Just imagine, I become a swordsman, Oliver becomes a mage, and you, a cleric? That's like, the classic adventurer party!”, his friend continued, causing the blond boy to mull it over in his head.

  “You know, that does sound pretty cool. However, that means we'll all be quite far apart for some time, right? We might change our minds about all of this, and what if this is the last time we see each other?”, Siegfried asked.

  “Eh, I wouldn't worry about it too much. After all, we can still write each other. And if we do happen to change our minds in the future, that will be a problem for future-us, right?”

  “True.”, the other two affirmed.

  “Well then, with that out of the way, lets drop our stuff at home and meet back up at the fountain! I found a great spot where we can play!”, the boy called Oliver mentioned, and the three each hurried home.

  They would continue enjoying their remaining time together until the day each of them went their separate ways.