(Writer’s Note: Alright, readers, Ragna is taking a breather to recharge his cores and deal with his family drama. For this chapter, I am taking the wheel. No sarcastic corporate commentary, no modern physics lessons. Just pure, unadulterated history. We are turning the clock back over a millennium. Let me tell you the story of the First King—before the crown, before the godhood, back when he was just a hero trying to save a broken world.)

  Thousands of years ago, during the suffocating and dark reign of the Demon King, Arya was merely a wandering hero. He had not yet reached the absolute pinnacle of existence; he was a cultivator at the Dharma Body level, carving his path through the world with grit and a blade.

  Deep within a forgotten, wild forest, he stumbled upon an impossible sight.

  An infant girl lay nestled amidst the wild foliage. She was striking—her hair and her eyes were a matching, vivid shade of blue. But it wasn't just her appearance that froze the hero in his tracks; it was the terrifying entities guarding her. A massive, imposing monster stood silent vigil beside the child, while a majestic phoenix, wreathed entirely in chilling blue flames, encircled her in a protective ring.

  As Arya watched from the shadows, another beast—a frenzied, bloodthirsty monster of the woods—lunged from the underbrush to attack the defenseless infant.

  It didn't even make it halfway. The blue phoenix flared, unleashing a torrent of azure fire that incinerated the attacking beast to ash in a single heartbeat.

  Who is she? Arya thought, his mind racing as he cautiously stepped out into the clearing.

  Sensing his approach, the guardian monster turned its massive head. It locked eyes with Arya, quietly assessing his soul. Finding no malice, the beast simply moved aside, parting the way for the hero to reach the girl. The blue phoenix, its duty done, calmed its raging flames and rested gently near the small infant.

  Arya knelt. He scooped the tiny girl into his arms, feeling a strange, profound warmth. Looking up at the ancient, mythical guardians, the hero bowed his head in deep respect. With their silent blessing, he carried the child away from the wilderness.

  He named her Alexia.

  Arya raised her with his own two hands. He fed her, sheltered her, and when the time came, he trained her. Her development was nothing short of miraculous. Alexia grew with an explosive speed, displaying a fierce strength and a quiet wisdom that completely defied her age.

  For a man who lived a life surrounded by death and war, this child became his peace. Arya loved her fiercely, as his own flesh and blood. For a brief, fleeting time amidst a world on the brink of destruction, he was truly happy living with her.

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  But peace is a fragile illusion during the era of the Demon King.

  The inevitable day of the final, apocalyptic battle arrived. By then, Arya had ascended to Divine Core Stage 3—a walking, breathing force of nature. Beside him stood Alexia, already a formidable warrior in her own right at Dharma Body Stage 1.

  They charged into the abyss together, fighting with a bravery that would be etched into the very foundations of the world. But history rarely records the true, agonizing cost of victory.

  In the chaotic, bloody climax of the war, a horrific tragedy unfolded. Alexia’s mind was overtaken—possessed by the suffocating darkness of the Demon King. Or, at least, that is what Arya believed.

  Faced with the absolute destruction of the world and the twisted corruption of his beloved daughter, the hero was forced to make the ultimate, unforgivable choice.

  Arya struck her down.

  When the dust of the apocalypse settled, he fell to his knees, cradling her lifeless body in his bloodstained hands. He wept, his agonizing cries swallowed by the devastated battlefield. In the frantic chaos of the war’s immediate aftermath, he could not even take her body with him.

  They won the war that day. The Demon King was defeated. Arya would go on to unite the realms, become the First King, and eventually ascend to Godhood. But the man who saved the world spent the rest of his immortal life drowning in an ocean of grief.

  However... legends are rarely as simple as they seem.

  Back on that scorched, forgotten battlefield, long after the hero had departed and the blood had dried into the earth... Alexia woke up.

  She stood amidst the ruins, the bright blue of her eyes blank and entirely empty. She remembered nothing of the hero who raised her, nor the war that had just ended. And with a fractured mind, she stepped forward into the unknown...

  She wandered aimlessly through dense forests and dark dungeons, surviving on wild fruits and starving when the unforgiving land offered her nothing. Driven by pure, unfiltered survival instinct, she grew terrifyingly powerful, slaughtering every monster that dared to cross her path.

  But she couldn't control the sheer scale of her power. Her attacks triggered massive explosions that annihilated entire forests and left behind gigantic, scarred craters. The world, terrified by this walking natural disaster, branded her with a grim moniker: the Witch of Calamity. She was soon officially recognized as a catastrophic threat to humanity.

  So, who do you send to stop a world-ending threat? You send the hero.

  Arya was dispatched to exterminate her for the sake of the humans. By this time, the power scales were staggering: Arya had reached the Divine King Stage 2, while Alexia stood at Void Amalgamation Stage 3.

  When they finally met on the battlefield, the fog in her mind began to lift. As she lived through her chaotic life, her memories had slowly pieced themselves back together. She finally remembered all of it—the warmth, the training, the father who loved her.

  She recognized him immediately. But when she looked into her father's eyes, she didn't see love; she saw only a cold, unyielding killing instinct. Heartbroken, Alexia simply surrendered to him.

  Arya, perhaps sensing no actual malice or intent to harm from the "Witch," stayed his blade. Instead of killing her, he sealed her away.

  She rested within that magical seal for centuries. But it was too late for reunions. By the time the seal finally weakened and shattered, Arya had already transcended and left the world of Xeria entirely. He ascended to godhood, completely unaware that the daughter he mourned was still lingering in the mortal world.

  Free once more, Alexia disguised herself and began living quietly among the humans. Her new purpose was simple but profound: she set out to find a worthy human to pass down the martial teachings of the father who had left her behind.