Old Man Oro took a slow sip of his tea, letting the anticipation settle over the gathered crowd like a thick mist. Then, with a deep breath, he continued his tale.
"The other kingdoms and empires grew restless as time passed. The more they heard about The Stormbringer's children displaying monstrous talent at an unbelievably young age, the more uneasy they became. They had struggled just dealing with the Cloudpeak King alone—if they allowed his lineage to rise, wouldn't his bloodline eventually dominate the entire continent? That thought festered like a plague in their hearts."
His gaze swept across the tavern, watching as the customers leaned in, completely engrossed. Then, he smirked.
"So, knowing that petty schemes and underhanded tricks would no longer suffice, they made a decision—one so grand it would shake the entire continent."
He set his teacup down with a soft clink, his voice dropping to a grave tone.
"They formed an alliance. Fifteen of the thirty-three nations on the Verdellia Continent banded together, including three of the four great empires that ruled vast territories. And together, they declared war on the mightiest yet tiniest nation—the Cloudpeak Kingdom."
A heavy silence filled the tavern before a customer finally blurted out, "That's insane! Fifteen nations against one?"
One man, still wide-eyed from the revelation, asked, "Grandpa Oro, didn't the Cloudpeak Kingdom have any allies?"
Old Man Oro let out a long sigh. "They had many friendly relations, yes. But when faced with such overwhelming odds, those so-called allies chose to stay neutral. After all, who would dare stand against the combined might of fifteen nations? Everyone believed Cloudpeak was doomed."
He shook his head before letting out a small chuckle. "But fate has a way of proving people wrong."
The tension in the room thickened. The old man's next words came slow and deliberate.
"The war wasn't the one-sided slaughter everyone expected. Instead, a battle unlike any other erupted across the land. The Stormbringer and his kingdom—true to their name—stood firm against the raging tide of enemies. Against all odds, they held their borders, pushing back the invaders."
The tavern erupted into murmurs of disbelief.
"But how?" One man blurted out, his face a mixture of shock and fascination. "How could one kingdom withstand the might of fifteen?"
Old Man Oro smirked. "Because the king was not alone."
The chatter died instantly.
"It turned out that The Stormbringer had cultivated an army unlike any other. They were not just soldiers—they were elites, each one a force to be reckoned with. Though they were vastly outnumbered, their sheer power and discipline overwhelmed the enemy forces."
His voice lowered, his next words sending a shiver down the spines of those listening.
"And above all… The Stormbringer himself stood at the frontlines."
A deep breath. Then—
"It was said that when he stepped onto the battlefield, the tides of war shifted in an instant. He did not lead from the safety of the rear—no, he charged forward, cutting down thousands with his own hands. Wherever he passed, bodies fell like autumn leaves in a storm. Blood stained his armor, his hands, the very earth beneath his feet. The kind and gentle king the people once knew… was nowhere to be found. In his place stood a relentless monster, one who slaughtered without mercy. One whose mere presence sent waves of terror through the enemy ranks."
A long, heavy silence filled the tavern. Then—
"Whoa…" someone finally exhaled, as if releasing the breath they didn't realize they were holding. Despite the absurdity of the tale, no one dared to laugh. Instead, they found themselves hanging onto every word, eager to hear what would happen next.
Old Man Oro took a deep breath, his expression turning grim as he continued, his voice low and heavy.
"And so, the war raged on. Two months had passed since the great battle that shook the continent began, and the allied nations found themselves in a dire situation. Their losses were mounting, far greater than they had anticipated. Worse still, they couldn't even lay siege to the Cloudpeak Kingdom and wait for their supplies to run dry—the sheer resistance the kingdom displayed made that impossible."
He shook his head. "The longer the war dragged on, the more the allied nations began to realize an unsettling truth: if this continued, their losses would far outweigh any potential gains. And it wasn't just that… the neutral nations were watching, waiting. If the alliance grew weak, even in victory, wouldn't they become easy prey in the future?"
The tavern was deathly silent now, the weight of the story pressing down on its listeners. Then, Old Man Oro's expression darkened.
"So, they made a choice. A desperate, vile choice."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.
"They conspired with the greedy noble families of Cloudpeak—those who had long been dissatisfied with the king's rule. Together, they devised a scheme, one so treacherous that it would bring disaster upon the entire continent."
A pause. A breath. Then—
"They plotted to assassinate not just the king's wife… but also his four children."
A collective gasp rippled through the room. A few people cursed under their breath, others clenched their fists. But Old Man Oro wasn't finished.
"The nobles had long held grudges against the queen. If not for her, they believed, the king might have married their daughters instead. The allied nations, on the other hand, saw his children as a looming threat—monsters in the making, just like their father. If they killed them all, wouldn't the king finally break? Wouldn't they erase the greatest danger to their future?"
He exhaled slowly.
"And so… they acted."
The tavern held its breath.
"They went through with their plan."
His next words were like the swing of an executioner's axe.
"They succeeded."
The silence was deafening. Then—
"How despicable!" one of the customers spat, slamming his fist on the table. Murmurs of outrage filled the air, the entire room now buzzing with disbelief and fury.
"They murdered children?" another voice growled.
"What… what did the king do?" The young man asked, his face pale.
Old Man Oro closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them, his gaze filled with something unreadable.
"No one—not his allies, not his enemies, not even his most devoted followers—expected what happened next."
He let the words sink in before continuing.
"When the king heard the news, he abandoned the battlefield and flew back to the palace. He needed to see it with his own eyes. And when he did… when he saw the lifeless bodies of his beloved wife and children lying before him…"
The old man's voice trembled, as if even retelling it was too much.
"They say he went mad."
The air in the room grew thick.
"He howled. He wept. He screamed."
Old Man Oro's fingers tightened around his cup.
"His grief was so intense, so all-consuming, that it overflowed into raw power. The ground beneath him cracked. The very palace crumbled. The sky raged with unrelenting thunder, as if the heavens themselves mourned with him."
The light in the tavern flickered, casting eerie shadows across his face as he continued.
"And then…"
A sharp intake of breath.
"Then, they say, the king—his eyes burning with tears of blood—in his spite, in his agony… summoned a devil."
A shiver ran through the room.
Old Man Oro's voice deepened, turning almost theatrical as he leaned in, his words slow and deliberate.
"The creature that emerged… was unlike anything ever recorded in history."
Oro paused and took a deep breath before describing it.
"They say it had long, wild black hair that reached down to its waist, its massive, feathery wings darker than the abyss itself. Its eyes—pure black, save for the burning crimson of its irises and pupils. Its fangs, twice the length of any man's. Its nails, thick and jagged like serrated blades. Its skin… pale, but stained and corrupted by the dark energy pulsating through its veins—veins that bulged and twisted, as though barely containing the monstrous power within."
A shudder passed through the room, but Oro's tale was far from over.
"Many who laid eyes upon the beast collapsed where they stood, their minds unable to withstand the horror. Then, with a single deafening roar, the devil unleashed a wave of energy so powerful that it sent shockwaves across the land. A colossal pillar of black energy erupted from its body, stretching to the heavens, as if binding the sky to the earth itself. The entire continent trembled. The skies darkened, suffocated by swirling clouds of shadow, and the air grew thick with impending doom."
The listeners held their breath, captivated, terrified.
"Even those with the strongest of minds—those who did not fall unconscious—stood frozen, their sanity teetering on the edge. They say that in that moment, the bravest of men were reduced to fools, left to gape in dumbstruck horror at the nightmare unfolding before them."
"Some men were so overcome with terror that their legs gave out beneath them. They fell to their knees, hands clasped in desperate prayer—pleading to gods they had never once believed in." The old man chuckled dryly, his voice laced with irony.
The customers reacted in different ways. Some smirked, entertained by the story's theatrics, while others swallowed hard, their gazes locked onto the old man with unblinking focus.
Old man Oro leaned forward, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "They say the devil devoured everything in his path… including the king himself. Nothing could withstand his wrath. He breathed torrents of black energy that stretched as far as the eye could see, obliterating everything in their wake—whether it was a towering fortress or an entire mountain. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured massive spheres of dark energy, each the size of a city, and hurled them at random, reducing the land to ruin. He sought nothing but destruction."
The room was deathly silent as Oro continued.
"They say sometimes he would cackle—a twisted, manic laughter that sent chills through the souls of those who heard it. Other times, he would scream and wail, his cries echoing like the lament of a tormented god."
The old man's tone grew solemn, heavy with the weight of the tale.
"And just like that… in a single day, the thirty-three nations of the continent were no more. The Cloudpeak Kingdom, the once-proud great empires, was reduced to dust. Mountains were flattened, rivers and lakes evaporated into nothingness. No life remained—only the aftermath of the devil's devastation. A cursed land of smoldering black flames and an ever-present, suffocating miasma that reeked of death."
A murmur rippled through the crowd as Oro leaned back in his chair.
"The only survivors were those who lived on the far borders of the continent… or those fortunate enough to flee before it was too late. They are the ones who carried forth the legend of what was once called the Verdellia Continent."
The tension in the room was palpable.
"Wait… is that how the Dark Continent came to exist?" one of the patrons asked in a hushed voice.
Oro nodded, his expression grim. "That is what the records claim. They call it 'The Day of the Dark Calamity.'" He paused before adding, "But there are whispers… rumors that the devil from over four thousand years ago still lingers in that forsaken land. And that is why the Dark Continent bears another name…"
His voice dropped to a near growl.
"They call it 'The Devil's Land.'"
A collective shudder ran through the tavern.
The customers erupted into a flurry of debate—some questioning if such devastation could truly have occurred, others whispering about the sheer number of lives lost that day—if this story was true. But the most unnerving thought of all was that such a being, a true devil, could still exist in their world… waiting.
Then, in the midst of their frantic discussion—
Thud!
CRASH!
The unmistakable sound of a table smashing into pieces echoed through the inn.
"SHUT UP!"
A single voice roared above the noise, cutting through the tension like a blade.
All heads snapped toward the source.
It was the same man who had sat alone earlier, eating with an almost ritualistic focus. The same man who had watched the room with detached calm, his gaunt face partially concealed by an unkempt beard, his pale eyes sunken beneath dark circles.
But now, that eerie stillness was gone.
His body trembled, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. Sweat beaded on his pallid skin, and his fingers clawed at his forehead as if trying to steady his own thoughts. His long coat, once a mark of quiet refinement, now only accentuated the disheveled state of the man beneath it.
And yet…
Even as his eyes darted wildly, even as his body shook with panic—he was smiling.
Silence choked the room.
Dozens of eyes fixated on him, watching, waiting.
After a moment, he exhaled, seeming to regain his senses. His gaze flicked over the staring crowd before he cleared his throat.
"Ahem."
His voice was suddenly calm, clear, as if nothing had happened. "Apologies for the disturbance."
Reaching under his cloak, he pulled out a pouch of coins and tossed it onto the remains of the broken table. "This should cover the damages," he added, then turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.
The serving girl hesitated before stepping forward, snatching up the pouch. But when she peeked inside, her breath caught.
Gold. Dozens of gleaming gold coins.
Her eyes widened in shock. The cost of his meal, the table—none of it even amounted to a few silver coins. This was far, far too much.
"Sir!" she called after him, hurrying toward the door. "This is—this is too much!"
The cloaked man didn't turn. He simply waved a hand dismissively.
"It's fine. Keep it."
Then, without another word, he disappeared into the night.
The tavern remained still for a long moment, the air thick with confusion. Then, murmurs rose among the patrons. A trio of rough-looking men exchanged glances, a gleam of understanding flickering in their eyes.
Without a word, they paid their tab and slipped out of the inn, trailing after the stranger.
At his usual seat, the old storyteller, Oro, took a slow sip of his tea. His wrinkled features tightened in thought, his eyes narrowing slightly.