A new race appeared in a world where humans, elves, and demons all lived alongside one another. It was the race of giants, who were not only larger than the other races but also possessed astonishing vitality. The giants’ arrival started a war between the races, all of whom desperately wanted to ensure their own survival.
A new race was bound to attract attention, and the giants’ great strength was taken by the other humanoid races as a threat to their kingdoms. They united their forces and attacked the giants.
A year later, only the giants remained.
They spread through the land, establishing their own kingdoms, which were influenced by the local cultures they’d superseded. Consequently, cultural differences between neighboring giant kingdoms led to friction, then to a long period of war between nine nations. One of them was called Arvosa.
A monster was born in the Kingdom of Fire.
These events occurred very soon after Gallarus took his very first breath.
“This child is no good. Offer it to the Fire God now!”
“P-please, reconsider…!”
The king of Arvosa assessed every newborn, casting the children he deemed to be unpromising into fire so that the Fire God might bless his kingdom.
The giants followed a meritocratic system where the strongest enjoyed the highest status. Their king was the strongest warrior of all.
“We can’t go on like this…”
“All our babies are getting killed.”
“Damn this stupid king…!”
The king’s fanaticism in allowing only the strongest to live had begun to meet with opposition from his people, yet none of them were powerful enough to overthrow him. His unparalleled strength ensured he kept the throne no matter how unpopular he was.
“What do you say of this child?”
The king picked up Gallarus from the babies lined up before him.
“What in the world…?!” the king exclaimed, instantly sensing something extraordinary.
And then the newborn Gallarus grabbed the king’s arm…and snapped it in two.
“Gwaaarh!”
Never before in the giants’ history had a baby been born who was stronger than an adult, and it was not just any adult whom baby Gallarus had injured—it was the strongest of the giants in the kingdom, who held on to the title of king despite fierce competition.
Baby Gallarus reached for the king’s head next and twisted it, breaking the king’s neck… Or at least, that was what the king’s aides claimed, but their testimonies were a little unclear. It was, however, an undeniable fact that the king had been slain by a baby whom some believed to be an incarnation of the bad karma the king had earned himself through the practice of infanticide.
Whether such superstitious ideas were justified or not, the baby had shown himself to be the strongest giant in the kingdom and, as such, was entitled to be the king. A few months after his birth, when Gallarus was still a nursling, he became the king of Arvosa.
Gallarus had been born miraculously strong. The old king he’d killed had been hailed as the strongest not only in his kingdom but also in all the world, and so that title had been passed onto Gallarus. No other giant could rival him.
His earliest memory was of attending a war council where adults were discussing how to deploy the troops. He couldn’t talk yet, but he understood that the meeting was about a war, and it was in that very war that his true potential was recognized.
As a two-year-old toddler and king of Arvosa, the Kingdom of Fire, Gallarus was sent into battle at the very front line. His unique skill hadn’t manifested yet, but despite that, Gallarus’s superior strength alone allowed him to mow down all his opponents.
By the time he was ten years old, he had crushed the Kingdom of Water. At twenty, he annexed the Kingdom of Wind as a vassal state. At thirty, he destroyed the Kingdom of Earth. Undefeated, he was the strongest king the world had ever known.
The other five kingdoms united to defend themselves against the Kingdom of Fire, and for several decades, Gallarus’s advance came to a standstill.
The Kingdom of Fire, Arvosa, had an active volcano at its center, and at the summit was an imposing castle. In that castle, Gallarus, the ninth king of Arvosa, was sitting on his throne with his ministers around him. He was looking very fed up.
Gallarus’s kingdom was thriving at the time. He’d made the captives and slaves from the conquered kingdoms into laborers in his own land. The giants had an innate admiration for strength, so Gallarus, the victor of hundreds of battles, was a very charismatic figure to them. Most of the soldiers he defeated joined his army, which was growing in strength every day.
Gallarus had made forays into the remaining five kingdoms many times, but the problem he encountered was that instead of fighting his army, his opponents retaliated by murdering civilians in Arvosa. It was frustrating for Gallarus to have people he was obliged to protect. Being king wasn’t as enjoyable for him anymore. He hardly ever got to draw his sword those days.
“I’m bored…”
Every day, he applied himself to the task of developing his kingdom. It had been so many decades since he’d fought anyone worthy. His ministers were telling him it would be too risky to have him battling on the front line. That he should learn about his people so as to understand them. That a king didn’t rule his country alone and it was important to consider different perspectives.
“Times have changed, I guess.”
Gallarus didn’t personally care about any of those things he was constantly being told he should be doing, but since he was the king, he thought it was his duty to follow through.
It became impossible for a single person to start a war. The Arvosa throne wasn’t left empty even for a single day. The nation cherished its people and grew.
But neither of those goals were what Gallarus had chosen himself. The older he grew, the more bored he felt.
“What a dull time to be king…”
“Your Majesty, they’re here.”