2. The Twilight Empire

In this lifetime, Arian arrived in an era much earlier than in his previous one. Consequently, the knowledge of the ancient kingdom Eldorin belonged to the realm of “history” for him.

Fortunately, as the former god of time, no one was more versed in history than he.

“The Age of the Ancient Magic Empire—that is what future humans call it,” he began.

“In truth, during this era, the elves were the true masters of the land. Following them were dragons, dwarves, orcs, goblins, kobolds, and other fantastical races. Humans were still few in number.”

“As the first human nation, Eldorin occupied only a corner of the continent, barely a fraction compared to the Western Elven Court.”

“At the same time, Eldorin faced threats from multiple orc clans and the ancient green dragon lords of the southern Emerald Mountains.”

“In the empire’s final days, three major orc clans frequently invaded, pillaging villages and slaughtering tens of thousands of civilians.”

“However, the empire’s wizards dwelled in the floating city high above the clouds.”

“The noble mage aristocrats considered themselves exalted, indifferent to the suffering of the lowly surface dwellers…”

Recalling this, Arian couldn’t help but find the so-called “empire” somewhat laughable.

Called an empire, yet he knew that in this ancient age, Eldorin was more akin to a primitive slave-state city, wielding no real control over its lands.

Its borders were vague, and the modern concept of national boundaries did not exist.

The term “Ancient Magic Empire” was merely a flattering title.

In reality, it was no more empire-like than the Holy Roman Empire.

Arian remembered how Eldorin’s final days unfolded—

Ten years from now, the ancient green dragon lord of the southern Emerald Mountains, leading legions of half-dragons and draconic hybrids, would march north, destroying hundreds of surface villages, devouring hundreds of thousands of civilians, and annexing much of Eldorin’s surface territory.

Meanwhile, the wizards above in the floating city would continue to drink fine wine and revel in their banquets, oblivious to the cries beneath.

Thirty years from now, still during Arian I’s reign, a portal to the Abyssal Plane would open near Eldorin.

Millions of demons would pour forth, slaughtering indiscriminately.

History would call this the “First Abyssal Invasion.”

The Western Elven Court, superior in both governance and magical prowess, easily repelled this demonic tide with little impact.

But Eldorin was not so fortunate. Despite its mere 3,000 wizards, it was powerless before the vast demon legions and was instantly annihilated.

On that day, the demonic horde swarmed the floating city, destroying it within an hour.

Thus, the first human nation in history was destroyed.

“Ah, the ancient kingdom of Eldorin was simply too weak. Not to mention the Elven Court, even nearby orc and goblin clans posed tremendous threats.”

“Called a magic empire, yet it had barely 3,000 wizards—less than a fraction of the elven magician population. Only about thirty were high-level wizards above the sixth circle, and not a single legendary wizard existed.”

“The flourishing of magic had nothing to do with the majority of the lowly surface dwellers.”

With this memory, Arian was certain: he must seize every moment to prepare for the looming crises in ten and thirty years.

The Abyssal demon invasion thirty years hence was both a peril and an opportunity.

According to Arian’s plan, since he intended to build a vast empire spanning multiple planes…

The Abyss, with its countless layers rich in magical minerals, divided among various demon lords and lacking a true ruler, was the perfect frontier!

Thus, when the Abyssal Gate opened, if the empire had a sufficiently powerful legion of spellcasters…

Would it not be mankind’s chance to counterattack, reclaim portions of the Abyss, and assert control?

“We must train as many spellcasters as possible before the Abyssal Gate opens in thirty years!”

“Relying solely on the 3,000 mages in the floating city is far from enough…”

There was only one solution—

Break the mage aristocrats’ monopoly on magic in Eldorin and select magical talents from the common folk beneath the floating city!

Resolute in this goal, Arian stepped out of his chamber and left his lavish palace.

A cool evening breeze swept by, lifting the emperor’s splendid robes.

Clouds drifted alongside him as stars twinkled all around.

This was the floating city, the ancient empire’s capital and home to 3,000 mage nobles.

Arian approached the city’s edge and gazed down upon the land below.

His eyes pierced through the layers of clouds, beholding villages dotting the surface, rivers flowing under moonlight, golden wheat fields, and farmers laboring the soil.

A gust stirred the wheat, sending waves of gold rippling across the fields.

The land and rivers nurtured the first human civilization.

The lowly commoners, powerless in magic, toiled and died on this land, while the arcane ruling class enjoyed wealth and splendor above in the sky.

“Your Majesty? So you were here!” came a clear voice from behind.

“Enjoying the view, Your Majesty?”

A man with sharp eyes, clad in resplendent robes, radiated the haughty aura typical of the empire’s mage aristocracy.

Upon seeing the emperor, he bowed respectfully.

“Gut?” Arian turned and recalled the man’s identity from memory—

Gut, a ninth-circle archmage and the head of the shaping school in the empire’s magical council.

Within the council, eight archmages represented different magical disciplines, holding the highest status among wizards.

Arian himself, as emperor, was also the chief of necromancy.

“Yes. I was admiring the scenery and pondering some matters…” Arian said calmly.

“I was thinking whether Eldorin should confine itself to a mere corner, whether it should be content with its current glory. Should we not set our sights on a broader world?”

“After all, compared to the nearby ancient dragon lords and the numerous orc clans, the empire is not yet strong enough.”

“Not to mention the flourishing Elven Court in the west.”

Gut smiled.

“Your Majesty, what are you saying? This is already the empire’s most glorious and prosperous era.”

“All thanks to Your Majesty, the past emperors, and the guidance of the council.”

Most prosperous? Arian felt a faint urge to laugh.

He knew this was merely the empire’s last fading glow before its fall.

An empire that allowed orcs and goblins to invade its villagers, with only 3,000 mages and most surface commoners never even touching magic…

“By the way, Chief Gut, is there something you wished to discuss?”

Arian steered toward the matter at hand.

“Oh, yes,” Gut smiled broadly.

“The grand festival is approaching. I wanted to ask if Your Majesty intends to host the hunt in the Lower Realms again, as we did last year?”

A hunt?

Arian raised an eyebrow.

He knew full well what the so-called “hunt” entailed.

Ancient history books from his previous life contained a vivid description of Eldorin’s last days:

“In the final days of the ancient magic empire, hunting the surface commoners by the mage nobles residing in the floating city was a legal and popular pastime.”

In this primitive and brutal age, nothing better demonstrated the ruling class’s power and status than hunting helpless living humans who lacked magic!

“No.”

Arian said firmly.

“Not holding the hunt this year?”

Gut asked in confusion.

“No,” Arian’s tone was calm but resolute. “The hunts will no longer be held.”

“Your Majesty means—?”

Gut looked somewhat bewildered.

“In a few days, I will issue new edicts.”

The emperor waved his robe decisively.

“You only need to carry them out.”