CHAPTER 121: SEVEN RIVERS EMPIRE

It was common knowledge that, unlike monsters, humans weren’t born strong.

To rise, they had to walk the path of cultivation—step by painstaking step, inch by brutal inch.

First came the Iron Rank—a realm most never reached. Out of a thousand commoners, perhaps one might step into it. From those few, only a fraction would ever break through to Silver. And even fewer still would ever catch a glimpse of Gold—the peak of mortal comprehension.

Damien was certain: back in Valthorn City, there were no more than a handful who even knew about the existence of the Channel Forging Realm.

And only upon reaching that realm could one construct proper mana channels—the very framework that supported true power.

So imagine, he mused, someone born with them.

Born with channels already forged?

Just how much of a head start would that give someone? How much of an advantage?

Damien couldn’t even begin to fathom it.

His thoughts wandered briefly back to the book he’d just read—to the mention of the nameless warrior.

The Sky Scar... I’ll have to look into that someday.

He made a mental note, imprinting the name into memory.

With a lingering sense of wonder and anticipation swirling in his chest, Damien carefully returned the ancient book to its place on the shelf. Then, without another word, he turned and strode deeper into the library.

His heart burned with questions, but now wasn’t the time for answers.

There was still one more thing he needed to find.

"Let’s see where the king hid his secret skill."

Of course, Damien didn’t expect it to be actually hidden—just stored in some forgotten corner of the royal archives, waiting for the right eyes to stumble upon it.

His gaze swept over the rows of tall, imposing bookshelves as he walked. The scent of parchment hung thick in the air, mingling with the musky scent of aged leather bindings and mana-ink.

The deeper he ventured into the collection, the quieter it became—so silent he could hear the gentle thrum of mana flowing in the walls.

He passed rows of historical tomes, alchemical guides, and arcane journals. His footsteps echoed on the polished stone floor, steady and purposeful.

And then, just as he turned the corner of a high shelf, something caught his eye.

A book.

Not particularly large, nor bound in gold or gem-encrusted leather—but striking in its own subtle way. The cover shimmered faintly under the glow of the mana lanterns overhead, its surface a dark, obsidian-black hide etched with a silver hammer crest at the center.

The Blue Hammer royal insignia.

Damien didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, gently reached out, and pulled the book from its resting place.

The moment it left the shelf, he felt it—an invisible pressure brushing against his skin, subtle and ancient.

So this is it...

Immediately, Damien’s eyes lit up.

This was exactly the kind of book he had been looking for.

An Amateur Guide to Blue Hammer Kingdom Geography

He chuckled softly at the title. It might’ve sounded humble, but to him, this was gold.

"Oh? So there are empires on this continent," Damien muttered, flipping through the crisp pages. "Not surprising... with a landmass this massive, it’s only natural for dominant powers to emerge."

It was the law of the world—where resources accumulated, power followed. Be it beast or man, civilization or chaos... wherever abundance reigned, strength was born.

With that thought, Damien dove deeper into the book.

Each page opened up like a map in his mind.

The Radiant Continent—sprawling, immense, ancient—was ruled not by scattered kingdoms but by four titanic empires:

The Seven Rivers Empire

The Great Flame Basin Empire

The Sky Cleaving Empire

And the Oceanview Empire

Each of them controlled territory so vast, it eclipsed the combined landmass of Earth several times over.

Damien’s fingers gently traced the map etched into one of the inner pages. His gaze sharpened when he found what he was looking for—his kingdom. Or more accurately... former kingdom.

Both the Valthorn Kingdom and the Blue Hammer Kingdom were tucked away on the very edges of the Seven Rivers Empire.

They were part of the Boundless West, a remote region that lay neglected, forgotten—an afterthought to the mighty Empire’s gaze.

A barren land in the eyes of the highborn.

So remote that the empire doesn’t even bother to collect taxes.

That detail alone said enough.

The Empire had no interest in these outer fringes. It didn’t police them, didn’t enforce order—left the petty kingdoms to squabble for scraps.

To Damien, this was the best possible news.

He now understood why no one had interfered when he took over the Blue Hammer Kingdom. No empire watchdogs. No divine knights storming down to uphold imperial law.

Just silence.

A silence that gave him space to grow.

Damien slowly closed the book with a satisfied thud, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Every second spent here was worth it.

Now, the political fog that clouded his understanding of the world had cleared. The broader map of the continent had finally taken shape in his mind.

He now knew where he stood—on the edge of a dying region, far from the eyes of power.

The Boundless West...

He repeated the name in his mind.

The farthest frontier of the Seven Rivers Empire. Wild, lawless, untamed.

And somewhere beyond Valthorn, beyond even Blue Hammer... lay unclaimed land. Unknown. Uncharted.

Damien’s thoughts immediately jumped to the Ten Thousand Beast Forest.

That cursed expanse of life and death.

He let out a slow breath.

"It appears that forest isn’t as simple as it seems," he murmured, narrowing his eyes. "Good thing I didn’t dive too deep... otherwise, I might not have lived to regret it."

That place was more than just a natural habitat for beasts. It was a forbidden frontier.

And beyond it... the map ended.

He leaned back for a moment, letting the information settle into his thoughts. His empire was now part of a greater, intricate web—one where every decision mattered, every step carried consequence.

But Damien welcomed the weight of it.

He hadn’t chosen the quiet life.

He was here to carve his name into the map—not to follow it.

"I can’t afford to be careless. The world is vast... and filled with unknown dangers. A single mistake could lead to death."

The words sounded dramatic—maybe even arrogant—to anyone listening. After all, every battle Damien had faced so far had been decisively one-sided. With the support of his Acceleration Talent, not a single enemy had forced him into a corner. Victory had become second nature, and defeat... a foreign concept.

His confidence had grown unchecked, swelling like a wave crashing against the sky. Some would’ve called it pride. Others, hubris. But to Damien?

This was how it should be.

A soft scoff escaped his lips as he stepped between two tall bookshelves.

"Only those with toxic conviction dare to reach the summit."

That was his philosophy.

The world wasn’t kind. It didn’t reward the modest or the cautious—it consumed them. Being cautious might let you live a little longer, but ambition was the only path to rule.

Lost in thought, time slipped away unnoticed.

By the time he emerged from his contemplative silence, half an hour had passed.

In that time, Damien had scoured nearly half the library, gathering knowledge like a dragon hoarding treasure. Dozens of old tomes and secret scrolls now lay in his spatial ring, neatly stored and categorized.

Everything of value, he had claimed.

Except... one thing.

His gaze shifted, narrowing toward the back of the library—toward the statue.

But before that...

Damien’s attention briefly turned to the two scrolls currently in his hand, the old parchment crackling faintly as he adjusted his grip.

Blue Ape Forging False Path

Two-Headed Minotaur False Path

These were no ordinary manuals.

They were blueprints—solid, tangible frameworks—for cultivating the False Path all the way to Gold Rank. For most, False Path cultivation was like wandering blind in a fog, stepping into darkness without knowing if the next step would be your last. But these scrolls illuminated that darkness.

They weren’t just books.

They were lifelines.

"Priceless," Damien murmured.

In the Valthorn Kingdom, their current False Path methods didn’t even guarantee safe progress beyond Iron Rank. Some were lucky to hit early Silver—but most either stagnated or died.

With these in hand, that bottleneck would shatter.

Damien carefully tucked the scrolls into a separate, reinforced case in his ring. These needed to be delivered back as soon as possible—before even the hammer technique.

But just as he turned, he felt it.

A pressure.

Subtle at first, but unmistakable—like a hand pressing gently against the core of his soul.

His eyes locked onto the statue at the far end of the library.

There it stood: an enormous, weathered figure carved from obsidian-black stone. The warrior it depicted was broad-shouldered and cloaked in battle armor. His hands gripped a massive hammer, its head resting on the floor like a totem of divine judgment.

Even from tens of meters away, the statue exuded an oppressive presence.

Not mana. Not killing intent.

But will.

A residual imprint of the warrior it honored.

The hammer, though sculpted, seemed to vibrate with ancient energy. Damien’s instincts flared—something sacred lingered here. Something forged in fire and blood.

"This must be it..." he whispered, stepping forward slowly.

His footsteps echoed through the silent rows of bookshelves, as if even the library held its breath.

Each step brought the pressure closer—not in weight, but in depth. It bypassed his physical defenses entirely, clawing at the edges of his spiritual sea.

And Damien smiled.

Because this—this—was the kind of trial worthy of remembering.