Golden is a wealthy kingdom bordering Greaton to the east, separated by the Emerald Range; to the west it borders the magnificent Eldloss Sea; to the south it borders Hesmor through the Internic Range, and it is the human kingdom closest to the Dragon Continent. Golden is rich thanks to trade with the Elf race and the selling of weapons to Greaton. The people here live prosperous and happy lives. The poor receive large subsidies from the state until they can stabilize their lives. Besides that, Golden also puts great emphasis on combat and spends a large part of its budget on warrior and magic academies. Golden is almost a perfect nation, with a developed economy and education, and a fair, good social welfare system.

  Everything about Golden now seems admirable, but in the past, Golden was a barbaric and impoverished nation known as Ossa. Ossa was ruled by large tribes, proud warriors who regarded war as honor and slavery as achievement. The nation consisted of six tribes: the SilverFang Tribe, the BloodClaw Tribe, the NightWing Tribe, the DragonScale Tribe, the RhinoHorn Tribe, and the Venom Serpent Tribe. These tribes constantly fought and slaughtered one another, yet when the age of Madenes began, they united to face a common and overwhelmingly powerful enemy.

  Ossa was forged by the strongest of the six tribes, the chieftain of the BloodClaw Tribe, Reddan, known as the Red Berserker. Through sheer strength, Reddan led Ossa in the final battle against Madenes, a battle later remembered as The Death of the Dark God. After the war, Ossa lay in ruins. The chieftains of all tribes had fallen, and Reddan himself vanished without a trace. Ossa would have collapsed entirely if Greaton had not intervened with the Rebirth Pact.

  Aid from the greatest human kingdom helped Ossa stabilize. They provided medicine and food, rebuilt facilities, and constructed schools and hospitals. Under that support, Ossa gradually recovered and began to develop in a more civilized direction.

  However, the true turning point that transformed Ossa entirely can be attributed to one man, the person who changed the fate of the entire nation, turning a barbaric Ossa into the prosperous and civilized Golden known today: the First King of Golden, Golden Richer.

  Inside a grand and splendid hall, shining bright with sparkling magic stones, jeweled walls hung with magnificent and artistic paintings. At the center stood a luxurious long table filled with delicacies and fragrant Meli wine, and on both sides sat the six patriarchs of Golden’s great houses. They were the Council, those who held the supreme power of Golden , having the right to question even the king and depose him if more than four votes agreed.

  Sitting first on the left was Net, leader of GoldenFang, the family that succeeded after SilverFang was dethroned. He was a fair-skinned middle-aged man with red hair; a sharp aura emanated from him, and his eyes were closed as if awaiting something. Next was Nash, leader of the BloodClaw, a short, thin man with strangely long and developed arms. His tiny slitted eyes looked dangerous; he seemed to smile, yet perhaps not. At the end sat Heria, leader of the VenomSerpent, a woman full of allure and charm, with a voluptuous figure and mesmerizing beauty though within that beauty lay a deadly poison.

  Opposite them sat Hush, leader of the RhinoHorn, a large and muscular brute whose bulging eyes stared lewdly at Heria’s heaving chest, his face glowing with lust. Beside him was a young man with beast-like eyes and white scales on his skin,he was Drake, the patriarch of the DragonScale Tribe. Finally, there was Mys, leader of the NightWing, cloaked entirely in black, a mysterious figure whose gender was unknown only the strangely distorted voice hinted at something unnatural.

  “All members seem to be present. We may begin the council” Richer appeared, dressed in an elegant suit, smiling like a gentle spring breeze. He slowly walked to the throne and sat down.

  “I know you all have questions,” he said, “but before you challenge me, think about who led you all to this day, a powerful Golden.”

  "I have never forgotten your merits, your Majesty, however, merit belongs to the past while guilt and responsibility belong to the present." Nash’s shrill voice echoed as he took a sip of Meli wine, then continued speaking.

  "We are the origin, the savages, we crave war and are ready to die for it. War brings land and slaves, brings glory and achievement. But the war with Hesmor brought nothing, no wealth, only young, weak slaves without skill or labor power. The soldiers have fallen meaninglessly. We come here for an answer, for a reason strong enough to justify the lives of the soldiers who have fallen."

  "Chief Nash hasn’t said it all yet," Heria spoke up, her voice clear as a bell. "And if your answer is not reasonable, your Majesty, we will discuss the act of dethroning you as a gesture of appeasement to Hesmor! That is also your intention, isn’t it, Hush?" Heria threw a charming glance at Hush, who at that moment was captivated by her beauty.

  "Huh! Right, right, right! Whatever you say is right! Hehehe!"

  The three other clan chiefs remained silent. The great hall suddenly sank into stillness; everyone felt the gravity grow heavier, it seems that Richer was not very pleased with those questions, powerful waves of “Will” emanated from his body, enveloping the entire room. A few smiles faded; even Hush turned serious, staring gloomily at Richer.

  "So, you truly think you’re a king now, Richer. A man from outside! Do you think everyone is too stupid to know the truth about ‘Silver Fang’? Am I right, Net, the loyal dog of its master!"

  Net calmly looked at Hush, eyes as if staring at a fool or rather, at a dead man. Even his allies were shocked by Hush’s stupidity. No one ever spoke so bluntly; this was politics, not a fish market. Everyone fell silent, praying for what was about to happen to Hush.

  "Very well, everyone. I understand all your opinions, and I will give a satisfactory answer. The war with Hesmor was not out of whim, and what we gained was not meaningless, but very, very much," Richer said loudly and clearly.

  "First, it was a warning. We warned Hesmor that Golden is not an easy target when a real war breaks out. You have never met Astor, but I have met him many times. He is a true merchant, a man full of schemes and ambition. He had endless debates in my father’s office. The terms and benefits that even my father once could not refuse, and neither could Greaton. Hesmor under Astor’s rule would stretch its claws toward Golden if he became True King. Secondly, I will confess to all of you one truth that the main material used to forge Dark Despair is 'Black Ash", the ashes of those who died in despair, burned inside Cerberus’ stomach. The children were catalysts living beings haunted by daytime nightmares; their negativity spreads like a plague, gnawing at the souls of the slaves in the dungeon. A perfect environment, a perfect cage. The product became far superior, and the clients were very satisfied." He became more and more excited, more and more frenzied as he spoke.

  "You used innocent children for your weapon production plan?" Mys’s voice suddenly cut through Richer’s storytelling.

  Richer stopped. His excitement faded away. Mys’s words were like a bucket of cold water that calmed him down.

  "Chief Mys, they are slaves. Blood has been shed, and hatred has been sown. They carry Hesmor’s blood, and when they become strong enough, the blades they raise will point toward Golden itself. Their end is the smile of all the poor children in Golden. Do you think the social welfare budget falls from the sky? This is the choice, Mys."

  Mys fell silent. The chief of NightWing no longer reacted. Perhaps she accepted the answer or perhaps not. No one knew what she truly thought.

  "Alright, next, about the dethronement issue, if after everything I’ve said, anyone is still not satisfied, then vote. Those who agree to proceed with dethronement, raise your hand."

  Richer looked over all six clan chiefs. No one took the lead to raise their hand. The outcome was decided. Richer smiled.

  "If there are no further opinions, I declare today’s meeting concluded."

  Exitus lightly touched a peculiar stone on the wall; behind him lay the corpses of two spiders, their eyes pierced through.

  "Rumble... Rumble..."

  Some kind of mechanism was activating. The wall split apart like an opening gate. As the dust slowly settled, what appeared inside was a strange room with walls made of red bricks. There was a sofa facing away from him, a table with a floating orb, and a small fireplace where flames flickered softly. Near it stood a golden chest. “A golden chest.”

  Exitus’s eyes sparkled. In the Abyss, there were only three kinds of chests. Wooden chests contained ordinary items, with an extremely low chance of good equipment, something like Draco’s potion was already an incredible stroke of luck. Golden chests held better treasures, sometimes even artifacts, but most golden chests were mimics in disguise. Platinum chests were extremely rare, only appearing inside Memory Chambers.

  “Welcome to my room, Exitus.”

  Jester’s voice echoed suddenly, filled with eerie allure. Exitus flinched and slowly walked toward the sofa. Jester sat there, smiling at him with approval. In his hand was a steaming cup of tea. He gently blew on it and took a sip, his face relaxing in satisfaction.

  “Or rather,” he continued, “this is the Memory Chamber , a place that stores the worst nightmares. There is only one hidden room in every 10 floors. Your reward is a random treasure chest; don’t worry, its quality will always be gold or higher, and… one fragment of nightmare from those who once held a wish.”

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  As he spoke, he pointed at the floating orb. Exitus curiously approached it. Inside was a black page suspended in midair, releasing a dark, dangerous aura.

  “Touch it, Exitus… and you shall see.”

  Exitus slowly reached out to the orb. His hand passed through its surface easily, inside was some kind of strange, cool liquid. When he finally touched the black page, the Madenes book trembled violently. Exitus’s pupils turned completely black, swallowed by darkness. The page appeared within the book; the letters writhed like tiny black worms.

  “The Wish of Wealth.”

  Golden Richer was the young heir of a wealthy merchant family. They belonged to a small clan located on the border of Greaton. Richer grew up in luxury and silk, surrounded by laughter, chatter, and the flattering voices of maids and servants. His family worked in commerce, mainly in silk, but they also dealt in food, metals, and even weapons.

  Compared to other young masters of his age, Richer was a good boy. He possessed a kind nature and was trained to become the next head of the Golden family thanks to his natural talent in magic, specifically Earth Elemental magic. Since childhood, he had felt a deep closeness to nature, always listening to the call of Mother Earth. He often pressed his face against the soil, feeling its gentle warmth spread across his cheeks. Perhaps he was more suited for farming and raising animals than for life as a merchant.

  “At least it’s better than being locked in a room reading those dull books,” he thought.

  Inside the family head’s room, gilded with gold and diamonds, mostly gold, of course…

  

  “I don’t really think I’m fit for the position of family head, father. My brothers would be more suited than me. I want to devote myself to cultivation maybe I could even develop a better and more advanced agricultural model if I applied magic to it, father.” Richer whispered softly, his voice small as an ant’s, afraid to meet his father’s eyes.

  The father remained silent. He didn’t even spare a glance at his foolish son. What truly occupied him were the documents spread on his desk. A strange silence filled the room. Richer stood frozen like a statue. Sweat ran down his face as he knew trouble was coming. After all, he understood his father too well.

  “He’s like a machine that filters information coldly. If it’s not something he deems important, he simply doesn’t hear it,” Richer sighed, turning away in sorrow.

  Suddenly, the stack of papers slammed shut. His father spoke.

  “Wait.”

  From the air, he drew out a cigar. A spark of fire ignited at his fingertip, lighting it. Wisps of smoke drifted upward, and only when they brushed the ceiling did he finally speak. His tone calm, as if confiding in a friend.

  “We’ve been father and son for more than ten years, haven’t we? There are things that, if I don’t care about, simply disappear from my mind, you know? Mm. Just like how your mother left. I can’t even remember her face anymore. What was her name again? Ah, but anyway, something very strange happened in my mind today. It’s strange how I can still clearly remember the nonsense you just said. Do you know what that means? It means you’ve said the same damn thing over and over again, you bastard.”

  Hamter’s face flushed red, his mustache trembling with rage. The cigar burst into flames and turned to fine ash.

  “You should thank Enesus for giving you that cursed talent. Otherwise, I would’ve sent you to the afterlife with a single spark. I have too many children, and none of them get to tell me what to do.”

  He suddenly stopped and sat quietly. A deep sigh escaped him, and his eyes softened with sorrow. His tone shifted, light and gentle, like a spring breeze.

  “My son, I truly want to see you fulfill your dream. I have many children, but they are all useless. I do not want everything I have built in my lifetime to disappear, you understand? We are feeding countless people. There are things we cannot control. This world does not respect spoken promises, you know that. If I were not an Archmage, our goods would have been stolen long ago. You are the only one with the potential to reach, or even surpass, that level. You can make this family more prosperous than ever. Go now, and never bring this matter up again.”

  Then, firmly, he thought to himself:

  “Not for me, but for Golden. An Earth mage for farming? Don’t make me laugh.”

  Richer continued to live in comfort and abundance. He lacked nothing, from delicious food and glittering jewels to rare tomes of magic and finely crafted enchanted weapons. Yet he always felt that his father was wrong, that he should never have been forced in such a way. He had lost his freedom and his dreams. By the age of fifteen, he had already become a Mage, having engraved his first magic core. Perhaps, once he became stronger, he could finally choose his own path.

  But time did not wait for Richer. The Golden estate burned to ashes in a single night. The loyal servants lay sprawled in pools of blood. Luxurious silks and ornaments were torn and turned to cinders. Commoners stormed in, clawing and stealing whatever they could lay eyes on.

  “Why? Why is this happening? I… I must find Father!”

  He ran toward the golden-lined family chamber, forced open the heavy diamond door with magic, and screamed:

  “Father! Run! Everyone’s gone mad! What’s happening? Huhuhu… I don’t know anymore. Esla, Rost, they’re all dead, all of them! They just lie there and won’t wake up! What should I do, father!?”

  After all, Richer was still a naive child. He had never killed even an ant, let alone faced such horror. Hamter exhaled heavily. His eyes half closed as he pressed a trembling hand against the blood pouring from his chest, a wound torn open by something sharp.

  “I am mortally wounded. My magic core is shattered, I am finished. But… I still have one left. I will self detonate. Listen carefully, Richer. Beneath this chair is a special shelter that can withstand a full strike from a Sorcerer King. Hide there, wait it out, then escape. I was wrong, Richer… I was greedy. This is what they came for. It is a Nightmare Stone, a relic that grants any wish to its holder. I wished for eternal wealth. I wished to own all the gold in the world. I wished to become the richest man alive… but it never answered me, Richer. It never answered me. Take it, perhaps it will answer you.”

  Beneath the golden chair, a faint blue glow shimmered. A narrow passage opened below. Richer crawled inside like a tiny mouse, dragging himself through the foul stench of the underground sewer. He sobbed as he moved. In a single night, he had lost everything. Yet in a cruel twist of fate, that also meant he could finally do whatever he wished… true freedom.

  Boom!

  Richer covered his ears. The explosion marked his ultimate loss. It told him he was now the last surviving descendant of Golden in this world.

  “I don’t want freedom anymore… sniff… sniff… not like this… I don’t want this. Give father back to me. Waaah…” Richer had somehow achieved his wish in the cruelest way imaginable.

  The tunnel collapsed from the blast. Behind him was a dead end. Only the darkness of death remained.

  “Ahead is darkness too… but at least it holds a sliver of hope.”

  Mana gathered in one of his eyes. He wanted to save as much magical power as possible. Feeling his way in the dark meant certain death. The narrow passage was filled with nothing but filthy rats and the stench of sewage. Exhausted, Richer did not know how long he had crawled or wandered. He only knew he was starving and cold. He collapsed, unconscious. From his chest, the Nightmare Stone shimmered faintly with an eerie dark light.

  Richer woke on the familiar bed, a faint scent of yulan drifting, and sunlight dancing and flickering across his face through the window.

  “This is…?… Home? It was all a dream, but it felt very real, extremely real" Richer was confused.

  “Hey, what’s wrong, young master? Did you have a nightmare that left you so absent?”

  Before Richer now stood the beautiful maid Esla. She folded his blanket neatly and greeted him with a bright, welcoming smile. She helped him up, gently patted his back, and tucked the two locks of hair at his temples neatly aside.

  “You must be hungry, young master. Today we’ll have one-horn beef soup. It’s a delicacy and very rare.”

  Richer’s stomach gurgled; Esla snorted softly and tapped lightly on the young master’s forehead.

  “See? I knew you’d be hungry. Now hurry, go wash up so we can eat.”

  Richer walked on like a soulless man, passing servant after servant. They greeted him warmly, with friendly smiles, everything as before, as if none of it had ever happened.

  “Oh right! Father, my father!”

  He ran quickly to the familiar gilded chamber. The door opened to reveal the large figure seated there, the same mustache, the same face. Yet something was deeply wrong.

  “Father! I was wrong, I was wrong! I had a nightmare, it was terrible, truly terrible. I promise to train diligently. I will not disappoint you again. I promise I will make this family prosperous.”

  Richer rushed forward and hugged his father tightly, burying his face in the warm body. Hamter sat motionless, reeking of a foul stench as if he had not bathed in ages, as if he had crawled out from a sewer. His eyes were milky white. He licked lightly at Richer’s right eye.

  “What are you doing, Father?”

  In response, he screamed, “Chit, chit, chit…” Then he clawed at Richer’s face, tearing out the eye still attached to a shred of flesh.

  “Aaahhh!!” Richer screamed in pain. He flung Hamter away. Strangely, the heavy body of the old man flew like an empty can, smashed into the wall, and began gnawing at the bloody eyeball he had just torn out, the prize of his vile deed.

  “Argh!” Richer woke up from the nightmare. The pain clawed at his mind, making him fully awake. His face was now soaked with blood dripping from one eye socket.

  Richer was in pain, extreme pain. He did not hurt because his eye had been torn out; he hurt because he knew it was all real, all of it had happened. Esla lay dead in a pool of blood; his father had self-detonated along with the enemy. And now he was here, struggling with hunger, cold, the stabbing pain in his eye socket, and a swarm of huge sewer rats that eyed him as food.

  “When I was rich, I lied on the finest silks, soft and fragrant with the scent of flowers.”

  “When I was rich, I ate the finest meats, tender, melting, a delight in the mouth.”

  “When I was rich, everyone around me treated me exceedingly well; not even a single hair of mine will be dared to be touched.”

  The Nightmare Stone flickered; it needed a bit more, one stronger negative emotion. Richer sat there as a strange fury flared in his chest, Hamter’s voice echoed in his ears.

  “When I am rich, I will annihilate all enemies, avenge my father. Let Golden shine forever, be the most powerful and mighty house. No! The Golden Empire will live forever. And I will be the most powerful and wealthiest person in this world.”

  The Nightmare Stone flared; a dark red aura flowed from it. Jester appeared in the form of an old man with red eyes, his smile eerie and sinister.

  “I accept your wish, mortal small one.”

  A boy as thin as a stick appeared in a small town; a indescribable stench clung to him. He approached a nearby shop, and a guard sneered, chasing him away:

  “Hey, sewer rat, just crawled out of the cesspit, get out of here. This place is for people with money only. Trash like you, the farther the better.”

  The boy looked up at the savage guard, flung a “Mage” certification medal into the man’s face.

  “M-M-Master Mage, this blind dog-eyed one begs you, please come in. Let me contact the supervisor directly to avoid misunderstandings.”

  In the supervisor’s spacious, airy room, Richer ate ravenously, the ordinary food strangely delicious to him now. The supervisor grinned crookedly; if the medal weren’t verified as real, a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old mage, there’s a high chance he was the heir being trained in some family. The supervisor was only a small town official who dared not offend such big figures.

  “Erk! Calm down, my friend. No need to be tense. I came to talk business, a mutually beneficial deal.”

  “Oh? What do you wish to sell, sir?”

  “Gold. Pure, solid gold.” Richer produced a splendid golden statue.

  The supervisor gaped and praised:

  “Wonderful! So exquisitely crafted, lifelike. It looks like the mouse is gnawing on something, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Richer touched his right eye through the bloody bandage. “Beautiful, right? I call it ‘Hamter the Mouse.’”

  Richer lost hist eye