There was silence. There was wind. There was vastness. There was water—
Yeah, water. Nothing but water.
Drake opened his eyes. It was fully dark, just like his hair. There were five young boys with him. They weren't very muscular, but also not so lean. They sat in a semicircle, crouched positions, all with shining white hair and eyes. They had external wounds with blood. Drake felt an itchy sensation in his eyes—he couldn't see through his left one. Blood was flowing out of it.
Suddenly, a sound echoed in their ears:
"How long are you guys going to sit there, weeping over fighting a ravager? When are you going to grow up?"
That was Captain Waltz. He was a man in his late forties with shining white hair and eyes. He wore full closed light clothing—not fabric, but a material known to this world, perfect for a high-ranking officer in the Warcrier. A clumsy hat sat sideways on his head. He was in charge of this Cradle, where young men went to hunt whales to become Warcriers. These whales were monstrous creatures that populated these worlds, and the tribe that inhabited this world was called the Crier Tribe.
As Drake recalled his thoughts, the guy in the middle slowly woke up. His name was Evan. As he stood straight, the area widened—they were traveling on a big sea animal. It didn't have scales; it looked like a snake but had almost six limbs and fins to travel in water. It was a Ripple, a creature bonded to the Crier Tribe, carrying them.
This Cradle was their tradition: for young guys to experience real-life battles. The five young men had been shaken to their bones on their first hunt. With a troubled expression, Evan asked,
"Sir, why didn't he help us? If he's coming with us, does seeing young ones suffer make him happy?"
Waltz was silent for a moment, then asked,
"Why did you come here, kids? Just to cry and weep over fighting a ravager? Has the fear gotten to your heads so high that you complain about him not joining the battle? You even dare accuse him of enjoying your suffering?"
Evan replied, "Sir, now that we let go of the ravager, there's no meat—no food for us. We didn't perform well in the Cradle. If we went back like this, wouldn't the queen be angry with us?"
"Why do you think he didn't do anything? It's to test what you young ones are capable of. Just because today's hunt didn't go your way doesn't mean you failed. Not many perform well—only a handful shine here."
He stopped for a moment and looked at Drake, then continued:
"And about the food? You don't need to worry."
As his view widened a little more, there was almost a troop of Ripples—in formation: ten, five, three, two, one. They were pulling a great sea creature. Its size was easily larger than one or two kilometers, its lower jaw completely cut off. Its body had no fins or limbs—just a body. It seemed to have a hole near its tail, with standing scales where its heart must be.
There was a man in his thirties, sitting with a katana on his back. Its sheath was black with golden lining; the guard on the handle was gold, the handle fully black, and a small string of thick golden cloth wiggled in the air. He rested one foot forward, slightly leaning on it. Grey hair and eyes. A large scar ran from his face, cutting his left eye to the middle of his torso. He had no cloth on his upper body—just a black tunic with golden lines. He didn't seem like he'd used any effort to fight that thing. It was like he was a disaster befallen on the whale creature. Hot steam rose from his body, and he had a nonchalant look on his face.
"Wait—wait, sir! Is that a Cleaver? Can someone damage a Cleaver like that without getting hurt? And he doesn't have any blood on him. How did he do it, sir?"
There was a little giggling sound.
"At this point, I don't know what he's capable of. But you know he's a Creator, right? So he created some sound, waved his hand, and that enormous thing was like that the next second."
Then, a drop of blood spilled from his eye—it was Drake. He was thinking about the Commander sitting on the Cleaver.
He's one of the chosen ones, right?
He gritted his teeth. Why can't I perform well in battle? If I was a little more powerful—if I too was a chosen one—I'd be able to kill those wretched whales.
Drake's eyes started to heal. Then everyone sat at ease. Evan was lost in thought:
"How could he be this powerful?"
Then, the guy sitting next to him—with a calm look on his face, it was Phil—said,
"Come on, Evan. You know who it is, right? It's the God Killer—Levize."