A thunderous roar shook the world. Schwarzwald, the largest and most ancient expanse of woodland on the continent, was nothing short of hell on the Mortal Realm. The once-proud and timeless forest now lay half-devoured by flames. These weren’t ordinary fires but the pure hellfire spat out by the hellfire’s vessel from Hell. Had it not been for the Wind Spirit King’s intervention, not a single tree would have survived the inferno’s ravenous hunger.0

At the heart of the ruined forest stood the elves’ sacred ground, Elfo Sagrado—a place that, until mere hours ago, had basked in tranquility for centuries. Now it was transformed, unrecognizable, from the holy refuge of the elves into the front lines of a war against hell itself.0

All around, the air shook with monstrous roars. Demonic beasts swarmed toward the sacred ground’s heart, their screams a cacophony of hunger and hatred. The elves fought desperately to repel them, their arrows, spells, and blades forming a silver web in the darkness.0

Many among the elves were no ordinary warriors. There were Transcendents here—those whose names were legend among their people, whose power could tip the scales of war in any ordinary age. Yet today, even the strongest elves found themselves struggling. These monsters were different. Their flesh was tougher, their hunger for destruction bottomless. What would have been...0