Deep within the mystical realm of Zhou lay the Zen Forest, one of the few woodlands where spirit energy flowed like an invisible river through every tree, every stone, every breath of wind. In this world, only spirit energy sustained life, and those blessed enough to awaken their connection to this power were revered as mages—wielders of forces beyond mortal comprehension.
The Zen Forest pulsed with untamed life. Monsters of every conceivable horror stalked between ancient trees whose branches scraped the very heavens. Creatures born from nightmares prowled the undergrowth, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. In such a realm where chaos reigned supreme, order seemed an impossible dream—until the Behemoth arrived.
This legendary beast transcended even the dreaded S-rank classification that spelled certain death for any who crossed its path. The Behemoth was power incarnate, a force of nature that could reshape reality with a mere thought. Recognizing the need for balance in the forest's savage ecosystem, it chose four ogres from among the countless tribes and elevated them beyond their mortal limitations.
To these chosen four, the Behemoth gave a sacred mandate: maintain the order. The ogres established villages throughout the forest's expanse, their combined might keeping the worst predators in check and creating pockets of civilization amid the wilderness. For generations, this fragile peace endured—until a new threat emerged from the shadows.
A beast arose that, while not matching the Behemoth's godlike power, surpassed even the mighty ogre chiefs in raw strength and cunning. It swept through the forest like a plague of destruction, shattering the carefully maintained order with each thunderous step.
The great battle that followed would be carved into legend. All four ogre chiefs united for the first time in centuries, their combined armies clashing against the rampaging beast in a conflict that shook the very foundations of the forest. But their efforts were in vain—one by one, the chiefs fell, their forces scattered like leaves before a hurricane.
From this crucible of defeat, something miraculous occurred. As the beast prepared its final assault, a new warrior emerged—not quite ogre, not quite something else, but a fusion of both. The first oni had been born, and with him, the Crimson clan. The other ogres whispered his name with reverence and fear: the Hero of the Ogres.
The crimson-skinned warrior fought with the fury of a thousand storms, his newfound power pushing the beast back step by agonizing step. Though he could not deliver the killing blow, he bought precious time until the Behemoth itself descended from its eternal vigil.
When the ancient entity finally dealt with the threat, something unprecedented happened. The Behemoth, impressed by the red ogre's courage and sacrifice, spoke a name—his name. In Zhou, naming was more than mere identification; it was the forging of an eternal bond, a sharing of power that elevated the named beyond their previous existence.
The other ogre chiefs watched in stunned silence, their hearts burning with jealousy and rage. Why him? Why not us? What made him worthy of such honor?
The newly named hero established his Crimson village with the Behemoth's blessing, and with that act, the unity among the ogres shattered forever. The other chiefs launched assault after desperate assault against the Crimson clan, but each attempt met with crushing defeat. The hero's power had grown beyond their comprehension.
Driven by desperation and envy, the other ogres eventually achieved their own evolution to oni status. But as the original chiefs withered and died, they passed down their hatred like a poisoned inheritance, ensuring that each new generation would inherit their ancient grudge.
– – –
In the shadow-shrouded lands of the far east, another settlement sprawled across the twisted landscape. Here dwelt ogres who bore little resemblance to the nearly human Crimson clan, for these were the Trollbreed—a testament to ambition's dark price.
Even after achieving oni evolution, their hunger for power had remained unsated. They embarked on a grotesque experiment, seeking to discover which powerful races were genetically compatible with ogre blood. The answer came in the form of trolls—a 99% compatibility rate that opened doors to horrifying possibilities.
The Trollbreed systematically captured trolls, forcing unholy unions that birthed a new subspecies of ogre. These abominations towered like living mountains, dwarfing even the mighty silverback apes of the deep jungle. Their bodies possessed regenerative abilities that could restore severed limbs within hours, combined with strength that could shatter boulders with casual blows.
Through the settlement's twisting paths, a particular Trollbreed warrior made his way toward the chief's dwelling. The massive structure loomed ahead like a monument to brutality, its walls adorned with the skulls of defeated enemies. The messenger approached with deliberate steps, then dropped to one knee before the entrance, his head bowed in submission.
"Speak!"
The voice that erupted from within was like the grinding of tectonic plates, a sound that seemed to emerge from the deepest pits of the underworld. Even seasoned warriors felt their blood turn to ice when their chief spoke. The kneeling ogre's voice trembled as he delivered his report.
"Chief, we've received a message from them. They warn that we must desist from tormenting the Crimson any longe—"
The words were cut short by an explosion of splintered wood and fury. Chief Brummak burst through his hut's door like a force of nature unleashed, his massive frame radiating murderous intent. The very thought of being threatened—threatened!—by another sent his rage spiraling beyond control. His first instinct was to march directly to the Crimson village and paint its walls with ogre blood.
The Trollbreed society was built on a single, immutable law: only the powerful deserved respect. Power determined leadership, power determined survival, and power would determine who inherited the chief's mantle when death finally claimed him.
Brummak's roars of fury echoed through the settlement as he stormed toward the border, his footsteps leaving cracks in the hardened earth. At the forest's edge, he wheeled around to face the messenger and two other warriors who had been trailing him like loyal hounds.
His massive finger pointed directly at the trembling messenger. "Ulmak," he growled, his voice like grinding stone. "Report to Krozan that I'm going to visit the demon-kin who dared threaten us. He's to assume control of the settlement until my return."
Ulmak bowed deeply before turning back with his chief's message clutched tight. Meanwhile, Brummak pivoted south, his silhouette disappearing into the wilderness as he set out to confront the demon-kin who had made the fatal mistake of challenging Trollbreed authority.
– – –
The world of Zhou teemed with countless forms of life, and ogres represented merely one thread in its vast tapestry. The Zen Forest occupied the heart of the Morvain continent, a land where S-rank monsters roamed as commonly as rabbits in gentler realms. This continent was but one of four that comprised the entirety of Zhou, each with its own distinct character and dangers.
Across the turbulent seas lay the Elyndor continent, domain of humanity's greatest ambitions and darkest schemes. Here, traditional monarchy had long since crumbled, replaced by something far more complex and ruthless. Power rested not in the hands of kings or emperors, but within seven ancient bloodlines whose influence stretched back through millennia. These Great Houses formed the Elyndor Council, their combined authority governing through a delicate balance of alliance, betrayal, and calculated violence.
In the frozen wastes of the north stood Rimegard, a continent locked in eternal winter where ice-capped mountains scraped the belly of storm clouds. Unlike the fractured politics of other lands, Rimegard had achieved true unity under their Ice Emperor—a figure whose power was absolute and whose word was law from the highest peaks to the deepest valleys.
Finally, there existed Valmyra, a continent where an unprecedented experiment in governance had taken root. Here, humans and monsters coexisted in harmony that would seem impossible elsewhere, their societies built on principles of democracy, equality, and fairness. Leaders rose through election rather than conquest, and disputes were resolved through dialogue rather than bloodshed.
Each continent represented a different path that civilization might take, and their interactions would shape the destiny of Zhou itself.