The world seemed to hold its breath as Yujiro Hanma continued his solitary march, each step echoing like a war drum across the scarred lands. The wind howled low across the cliffs behind him, but he didn't turn back. Not once. His crimson hair whipped wildly behind him, and the earth beneath his feet cracked with each movement.
His eyes—sharp, hungry, restless—looked ahead.
As he ran, memories of a past conversation replayed in his mind.
Veldora's voice, smug and booming, floated in his head like a wind chime in a storm:
"Hmph! So the strongest demon lords are Guy, Milim, Luminous, Leon and Draguel. And Dagruel… oh, he's a wall, I tell ya. Big guy. Real big. They say he was once the 'Pillar of the World'—Draguel the Titan King."
Yujiro smirked to himself as his feet blurred across the soil.
"Draguel."
A fitting next challenge.
The vast landscape around him began to shift. Grasslands faded into rocky terrain, which then crumbled into patches of sand and cracked soil. The air grew heavier, thick with tension. Not magic, not fear—just the scent of wild, untouched power.
Then he saw them: five caravans slowly trudging along a wide dirt path, protected by a group of seasoned adventurers. Their armor was worn but sturdy, and their eyes scanned the horizon carefully. These were no amateurs. The route they traveled was dangerous, and they knew it.
One of them—a young man with a scar across his nose—saw a blur approaching from the horizon. His eyes widened.
"Stop the carts!" he barked, holding up his fist.
The others obeyed immediately. The travelers tensed. Women pulled their children close. Merchants drew their curtains tight. Adventurers drew weapons.
"Something's coming… fast."
And then—he appeared.
A monstrous figure slowed to a walk just outside the ring of wagons. Towering, muscular beyond human logic, shirtless with only his pants, boots, and that unshakable predator's grin. His presence alone made the horses snort and stomp in fear.
He looked like a man—but something deep in everyone's instincts screamed otherwise.
"Is that… a person?" one guard whispered.
Yujiro Hanma's eyes scanned them with bored amusement. His voice was calm, but it pierced like thunder.
"Where is Damargania?"
The lead adventurer, a man with two short swords strapped to his back, stepped forward, cautious. "That's not a name you hear often…" he said, hand hovering near his weapon. "Why would someone like you want to go there?"
Yujiro's grin faded.
"Where is it?"
His voice was sharper this time—calm, but filled with the weight of unquestionable authority. It wasn't a request. It was a warning.
The air grew heavier. The adventurers exchanged nervous glances. The same man finally gave in and nodded.
"South. Keep heading south from here. Past the last ridge, you'll see the start of the sands. You'll know it when you see it. That place isn't like anything else… High magicule levels, sandstorms, monsters, and worse."
Yujiro didn't thank him. He didn't nod. He just turned his eyes south and began to move again—faster than before.
Within seconds, he vanished in a burst of dust, leaving the caravan in stunned silence.
One of the younger adventurers whispered, "Who the hell was that guy?"
The leader took a deep breath. "No idea… but I sure as hell wouldn't want to be whoever's in Damargania."
Meanwhile, farther south…
The sands of the Desert of Death began to shift. The wind howled in unnatural rhythm. Beasts hidden beneath dunes stirred. Ancient bones poked through the sand like monuments of fallen gods.
And high above, in the heart of the desert, The Heaven Tower loomed. A monolithic structure of white stone and obsidian metal, standing like a mountain carved by titans. At its peak was Draguel, silent, eyes closed in meditation.
Even seated, Draguel's form was immense, towering over most mortals with ease. Over two meters tall at rest, he exuded a quiet strength, the kind that didn't need to be flaunted. His physique, well-toned and statuesque, gave the impression that he could crush mountains or split the heavens—yet he remained still, serene.
The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps echoing through the polished marble of the high chamber.
It was his brother, Glassord.
Clad in dark silver robes embroidered with ancient markings, Glassord's presence carried both wisdom and tension. Though far from weak himself, his aura naturally diminished in the presence of his elder brother.
He approached with a respectful pause and spoke calmly.
"Brother… you've been like this for days now. Barely moved. Not even to eat or speak."
Draguel didn't respond immediately. His gaze was still fixed on the horizon where the golden sky met the swirling sands.
"The sky feels heavy," he said at last, his voice low and firm like shifting stone. "And the earth… restless."
Glassord raised an eyebrow. "A storm, perhaps?"
Draguel shook his head slowly.
"No. Something else. I don't know what it is. I can't explain it. But I have this… feeling."
"Feeling?" Glassord echoed.
"Something is coming," Draguel said. "I don't know what. Or who. But it draws nearer."
Glassord frowned. In all the centuries he had stood beside Draguel, he had learned to trust his instincts. His brother rarely spoke of feelings. He relied on certainty, logic, patterns, and power. But now… he seemed unsettled, even if only slightly.
"Could it be some new faction? A rival Demon Lord?"
Draguel shook his head again. "I would have sensed that. This is not political. It's not calculated. It's like the wind changes… and you just know a storm is coming. Not because of clouds, but because you feel it in your bones."
Glassord turned to look at the landscape below the Heaven Tower, where the Desert of Death sprawled endlessly in all directions. The land was dead to most, cursed by history and thick with magicules, but to those who ruled it, it was more alive than anywhere else.
"Should we prepare the Tower's defenses? Alert the city guardians?"
Draguel was silent for a moment.
Then he stood.
With that one movement, the air shifted. Cracks spidered along the marble tiles beneath his feet. His robe fluttered like a banner caught in a divine wind. Though he had not activated any power, the sheer pressure of his presence rising was enough to stir the environment around him.
"No," he said. "Let everything remain as it is."
"But—"
"If this… whatever it is… means to come here," Draguel continued, his gaze sharpening, "then I will greet it myself. I want to see it with my own eyes."
Glassord watched him carefully, then slowly nodded.
"Very well. But I will remain close. In case your feeling turns into something more."
Draguel gave the faintest smile. "That would be wise."
As the last rays of sunlight bled into the storm-choked sky, the air around the Heaven Tower grew still. Too still. The kind of stillness that comes right before something breaks.
Far to the south, over the dunes of the dead lands, something moved. Something fast. Something that defied reason.
Yujiro Hanma.
A monster in the shape of a man, whose every step crushed stone, whose muscles rippled with unfiltered killing intent, was tearing through the sand like a force of nature. His face was twisted in that familiar smirk—the grin of a predator closing in on a worthy meal.
"Let's see what kind of monster lives in that tower…" he muttered, eyes gleaming.
The Titan and the Beast.
Their meeting was inevitable.