Sicily World.
"The Devil Tree's roots have already spread beneath our feet. There is no hope for us."
At Moya Mountain Monastery, a tall, gaunt man with an upright, stern bearing held a broad-hilted greatsword. Bronze rust mottled its edges, and it emitted a green ghostly glow that enveloped him. An indescribable desolation filled his voice.
Beneath the man's feet lay a floor paved with Moya Mountain's hardest stone. An icy wind mixed with shards of frost swept across the mountaintop, freezing the moisture at the corners of his helpless, despairing eyes. With a thud, he suddenly dropped to his knees.
Before him stood a statue of a majestic woman, seated upon a towering stone chair. In her left hand was a dazzling gemstone, symbolizing the light that guided the way; in her right, the Supreme King's Sword, symbolizing the highest royal authority of the Ancient Sicilian Dynasty!
Thud, thud, thud, thud...
An old crone leaning on a wooden staff entered. Her back was bent and hunched, her cloudy eyes a blank expanse of white. The skin on half her face had been burned away by something, exposing the muscular fibers beneath in a savage, terrifying sight.
"Sicily the Great was the strongest recorded figure in this world's history, from ancient times to the present. A thousand years ago, Sicily the Great led this world's most elite legion into an alliance with the Wizard World. After resisting a powerful and evil invading enemy, she never returned. Now, even my own life is about to reach its end."
With every step the old crone took, a pale yellow halo rippled beneath her feet. Wisps of earth-vein spiritual aura evaporated from the ground and were absorbed by her deathly body, replenishing the wrinkled skin.
The old crone came to the tall, gaunt