In a far-off age, the world was a forest of titans, banners colliding like storm-tossed seas.

Predators met prey; survival of the fittest ruled like iron weather over a battlefield of bone.

Every day, countless factions and champions fell, leaving ash against the horizon.

And yet, new banners sprouted like bamboo after rain, green blades piercing the damp earth.

War was endless; the people starved, a gray wind blowing through empty homes.

Yet the world’s engines roared forward, forged by battle like steel hammered red in a furnace.

Losing meant an abyss, so every power clawed for anything that could make them stronger.

Prosperity swelled on war’s tide, while darkness hid behind the glow like a shadow under lantern light.

People watched the glittering ascent, and the weak were left in the alleyway’s cold.

Time ground on; the top factions matched blades, stalemated like winter ice locking two rivers.

The longer the war, the deeper the scars; the land pocked with wounds, races thinned like forests in drought.

Kindling a war is easy; quenching it is hard when no side holds the mountain’s peak.

The times asked for a hero, as if a hidden hand nudged fate’s wheel.

Among humans, one rose to reverse the tide—Yugou Sage.

His path wasn’t the mainstream Mage or Elf User, but a brand-new calling: Sword Wielder.

The Sword Wielder’s power shattered expectations, his rise a comet carving fire across a stalemated sky.

In mere decades, he became the strongest to the public eye, and humans held the highest banner.

Even as an unbeaten blade, ending a centuries-long war was a bramble with roots deep in stone.

He fought on for decades, brushing the threshold of a higher realm like fingers on a sealed door.

His strength surged manyfold, a river in flood breaking banks and swallowing stone.

At last he crushed the peak factions and drove them to withdraw from the Central Continent.

Then he lifted the Central Continent into the sky, an island in cloud, and layered wards like aurora veils against intruders.

With everything set, he founded the Mizumi Clan with his consorts, pavilions blooming atop the clouds.

To claim the entire Central Continent should’ve sparked fury like wildfire, yet the world bowed in uneasy peace.

Only the strongest among the peak factions knew a different shadow upheld Mizumi, not Yugou alone.

So the era of war ended, and a Peaceful Prosperity dawned like morning light over rice fields.

The weak no longer lived under others’ knives; commoners ate warm and slept safe by humble hearths.

Every race’s civilians gave thanks to the Mizumi Clan, while the high ranks wore colder smiles.

Development slowed in peace, almost still, but steady as an old river hugging its banks.

Thus an age-old world turned a new page, leaves whispering under a gentler wind.

…