Demon Prison First Layer.
A fine, blood-red rain fell from the sky, drifting down over the ancient buildings below.
The pitted roads within the city had collected rainwater into puddles, and pedestrians hurried along through the rain.
In the eastern district of the city, inside a dilapidated wooden house.
A burly figure in battered armor held a four- or five-year-old child in his arms and told stories of their race's history beside the campfire, naturally embellishing them with praise for their ancestors.
"The world we live in is divided into layer upon layer of small worlds. The small world we inhabit is called Demon Prison First Layer..."
Listening to his father, the little boy nodded seriously.
"Father, was our Nether Race truly glorious once?"
"Our ancestors once controlled several small worlds. We were undeniably a powerful force." The burly man nodded firmly.
"Then why is that glory gone?"
Hearing this, the burly man's expression turned awkward.
"It is normal for races to rise and fall. No powerful race lasts forever. At least the treasures left behind by our ancestors during our glorious era remain in our treasury... As long as we are not exterminated, our Nether Race will still have a chance to return to the peak. But that will require the efforts of every descendant of the Nether Race, including you."
"Mm! In the future, I want to join the Nether Army too and become a warrior like Father!" the little boy nodded excitedly.
"Shadow, I hope you can become a scholar, not a warrior."
"Why?"
"A warrior's honor is too light, yet the challenges they face are too heavy. Death follows them like a shadow..."
Carrying the dream of leading his people to rise again, Shadow defied his father's wishes at the age of eleven and joined