"Mr. Wizard, please tell us the story of the Heavenly Emperor again!" A small boy with tousled hair tugged at the sleeve of the elderly man seated by the campfire.

  "Yes! The one who fought all the gods!" Another child clapped her hands excitedly.

  Around the crackling fire, other children gathered closer, their faces aglow with anticipation. Even the adults in the small traveling caravan drifted toward the fireside circle while pretending their interest was merely casual.

  The old man called Mithral—though few knew his true identity—smiled warmly, the firelight casting curious shadows across his weathered face.

  "The Heavenly Emperor, is it?" Mithral's voice carried the gentle rasp of age yet possessed a resonance that commanded attention. "Haven't I told that tale thrice already this moon?"

  "But it's the best story!" the boy protested, settling at Mithral's feet.

  Mithral tapped his curious silver-gray staff once against the ground. The fire flared higher, momentarily shifting to deep azure. The children gasped with delight.

  "Very well," he said, leaning forward. "I suppose there's always time for one more telling."

  "Throughout Latvaria, from the humblest village to the most magnificent city, one legend eclipses all others—the tale of Edward Reinhart, the mortal hailed as the Strongest Under the Heavens."

  As he spoke, the campfire's shadows seemed to dance in strange patterns.

  "Who was Edward? Where did he come from? These questions have filled countless scrolls, sparked endless debates among scholars, and inspired bards to craft songs that echo through generations."

  Mithral's gaze swept across his audience. "To truly understand Edward, you must first understand the world into which he was born—a realm of chaos, suffering, and perpetual conflict."

  The fire crackled loudly, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky.

  "The cosmos consists of five realms: The Mortal Realm where we dwell, The Divine Realm of gods, The Nether where spirits wander, The Abyss where primordial beasts slumber, and Hell where demons scheme. Each exists in precarious balance, though 'balance' is perhaps too generous a term for their eternal struggle."

  Mithral's fingers traced patterns in the air, and for a heartbeat, some swore they could see ghostly outlines of these realms floating above the campfire.

  "The Mortal Realm was the battleground—simultaneously blessed and cursed. The gods demanded worship, the demons craved bloodshed, and monsters hungered for flesh. All immortals coveted the Mortal Realm as their prize, and mortals paid the price."

  A cold wind swept through the camp, causing the flames to dance wildly.

  "War, death, and poverty became as common as breathing. The gods bestowed powers and techniques upon their chosen champions—and, naturally, to grow their own power and worship. The devils did the same. And so the cycle of violence continued, unbroken for ten thousand years, until most mortals resigned themselves to being mere pawns in a cosmic game."

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  One of the younger children clutched her doll tighter, eyes wide.

  "But then," Mithral continued, his voice softening, "a child was born."

  The fire dimmed, burning lower until only glowing embers remained.

  "His origins remained unknown, even to himself. Found abandoned at a humble temple, raised by monks who recognized nothing special in him save perhaps his unusual determination. Yet somehow, this unremarkable babe would become the world's final hope—bringing salvation to a realm that had accepted its doom."

  Mithral sprinkled a pinch of powder into the fire. The flames roared back to life, now tinged with gold and crimson.

  "Edward Reinhart began as all warriors do—seeking strength. Yet where others sought power to dominate, he sought power to protect. His journey took him to every corner of Latvaria, challenging immortals who had lived for thousands of years. With each victory, his legend grew."

  The wizard's voice took on a rhythmic cadence, almost like a sacred chant.

  "When the Celestial War began—immortals battling openly for control of the Mortal Realm—Edward stood alone against gods and demons alike. For seven days and seven nights, he fought at Heaven's Gate, wielding techniques that mortal flesh should not have contained. Mountains crumbled. Seas boiled. The sky itself tore open."

  Mithral's eyes seemed to glow briefly with more than just firelight.

  "God or demon, all eventually knelt before him. Heaven's Chosen. The Mortal who surpassed immortals. The Strongest Under The Heavens. Edward Reinhart. The Mortal Who Rejected Immortality."

  "That's the best part!" one of the boys interrupted.

  Mithral nodded, his eyes distant. "Yes—his refusal of eternal life was perhaps his most shocking act. A man who had slain gods, who had been offered ascension, chose to remain mortal. His pride and honor would not allow him to abandon his humanity. He had accomplished his goal: reuniting the Mortal Realm and bringing peace. What need had he for eternity?"

  The fire suddenly dimmed again, shadows lengthening across Mithral's face.

  "As Emperor, he ruled justly for twenty years. None dared oppose him. Then one day, he simply vanished."

  The children gasped, despite having heard this part many times before.

  "No one knew where he went. Some suspected the remaining gods had set a trap. Others blamed demons. Many believed both had worked together to eliminate their greatest threat. Regardless, the Mortal Realm plunged into anguish. Reinhart had been their guiding star. Without him, hope dimmed."

  Mithral's voice grew softer, more reflective.

  "The people revolted. War consumed the realm once more."

  The wizard drew a deep breath, his shoulders momentarily sagging.

  "Centuries have passed since then. Peace has mostly returned, but people still speak of him—a legend mothers tell their children to inspire hope and courage.

  The most popular theory now is that Edward was an emissary sent by the True God, the Creator of All Things. Or perhaps he was that Creator himself, come to balance the realms and restore harmony."

  Mithral paused, gazing into the fire as if seeing distant memories. The children waited, sensing there was more.

  "That's enough for tonight, little ones," the wizard finally said, rising from his seat. "The hour grows late, and we have many miles to travel tomorrow."

  The children reluctantly scattered to their tents, whispering excitedly about gods and demons and the legendary Emperor.

  Once alone, Mithral stared into the dying embers. From within his robes, he withdrew a small medallion bearing the imperial crest of a kingdom long fallen to dust.

  He lifted his cup toward the star-filled sky, his voice barely a whisper.

  "Edward Reinhart, wherever you are now, I hope you finally found that peaceful and lazy life you always wanted, my friend."

  A shooting star streaked across the heavens as if in answer.

  Little did anyone know, across the vast boundaries of worlds and dimensions, Edward Reinhart was most definitely NOT having a peaceful life.