THE PRIMORDIAL WHEEL OF TIME

chapter 1: Blood reapers 1

The world whispered of an organization cloaked in silence, one whose tendrils spread across every nation like veins beneath the skin. They were called the Blood Reapers, an enigmatic order that thrived in darkness. Every country held one of their headquarters, yet few could even imagine the sinister truth of what went on inside.

Their purpose? Blood. Not merely samples, but the very essence of life itself—extracted, stolen, hoarded. What they did with it remained a mystery, but every drop carried a weight of terror.

One such headquarters lay buried deep beneath the government’s own residence. A labyrinth of cold stone chambers stretched under the feet of unsuspecting officials, and tonight, its walls would tremble with the whispers of a secret meeting.

Yet, above ground, on the sunlit veranda of the same government residence, life played out in startling contrast.

Afternoon on the Veranda

It was one o’clock.

Every day at this exact time, Theodor and Zarch played their daily game.

Zarch was gifted — in combat, in strategy, even in trivial things like gaming. Theodor had long since realized he couldn’t defeat him fairly. Still, Zarch often pretended to lose on purpose, a false generosity that made Theodor grit his teeth even more.

“Beep! Beep! Full blast! Zap! Zap!”

“Oh yeah, I got it, I win!” Theodor shouted.

“Nah,” Zarch grinned. “Dream on. You won’t win against me.”

“Pow! Pow! Clack! Clack!”

“You sure?” Theodor smirked. “This won’t end like every other time?”

“Hahaha! Then prove me wrong and win!” Zarch laughed.

Their fingers moved rapidly, controllers clicking.

Then the screen flashed.

KO! Game Over.

Theodor leaned back with a victorious smile. “What did I say? Didn’t you lose again?”

Zarch chuckled bitterly. “Seems you’re only happy because you cheat every time. Otherwise, how could you defeat me?”

But rather than replying, Theodor instead changed the subject. “The Francis Academy will soon send their domitarian student for the Seven-Year Trial.”

Zarch raised a brow but didn’t seem bothered by the shift. “That’s for sure. But their influence hasn’t grown much since they started it.”

“Not yet,” Theodor admitted. “But it will. That much is indisputable. Before the end of this upcoming trial, their power will rise without question.”

Then he leaned back, his gaze shifting toward the horizon. He wasn’t worried about the academy’s influence. Something else gnawed at his mind. “Let’s set the trial aside for now. We need to talk about what we’re going to accomplish this year. I’m not satisfied with just being another candidate for the throne of Overlord. And there are over a hundred of us in this nation alone." His voice hardened. "You think I’ll settle for stagnation? I want us to push our training further—take it to the next level.”

For two years, both young men had borne the title of Overlord candidates, yet the throne remained distant, guarded by countless rivals.

Zarch shook his head. “You aim high, don’t you? But training alone won’t bridge the gap. Among the hundred candidates, some are twice as powerful as the rest. And then, there are those so far beyond us we can’t even dream of comparing.”

But Theodor’s eyes burned with determination. “That may be true. But it’s not reason enough to stop me. I won’t surrender. That’s why…” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I want us to go for the TIR.”

Zarch stiffened. “You mean the Terminal Intent Raft? That’s suicide. We’re nowhere near ready. When the time comes, even then, we won’t be ready.”

Theodor smirked. “Time, huh? We’ll rule over it.”

“Rule over…?” Zarch sighed, pinching his forehead. “You probably heard the name somewhere without studying it, so let me enlighten you. TIR isn’t just some training ground. It’s a test. If you succeed, you gain the power of an Overlord. But if you fail…” His voice lowered. “You die.”

“Of course I know that,” Theodor scoffed. “Who do you take me for?”

Zarch ’s jaw clenched. Theodor’s resolve unsettled him. He pressed on, his tone sharp. “Listen carefully. TIR is no ordinary test. It doesn’t even happen in our world. It takes place in an interdimensional ruin—once a divine world, now a wasteland filled with the power of dead.”

Theodor ’s eyes widened. “Ah…”

Zarch seized on his reaction. “When the entrance opens, every world would have the chance to send candidates. But there’s a challenge before you can even enter. Fail, and the penalty isn’t just rejection. You could lose your life force, your rank, your spiritual powers… even your realm or your law intent.”

Theodor’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “A challenge, huh?” His resolve only deepened. If it was that brutal, then the reward must truly be worth it.

Zarch groaned inwardly, thinking his words had discouraged him. But Theodor was already imagining himself standing as an Overlord.

Zarch went on, desperate. “And once you enter, there’s no way out. No doors. No escape. No one knows what lies within because no one has ever returned to tell the tale.”

They argued back and forth, but eventually, the conversation dwindled. Theodor fell silent, and Zarch, relieved, thought he had finally managed to dissuade his friend.

Three months passed.

Beneath the government residence, in the Blood Reapers’ headquarters, a meeting commenced. The chamber buzzed with voices, the air heavy with tension.

Their leader entered, his presence silencing the room. “We’re late. Let’s begin.” He took his seat, and his assistant rose to address the gathering.

“Today’s meeting concerns the upcoming seven-year trial of the Francisca Academy. We must decide whether to intervene and how best to reap the most promising seeds. Planning will take one month, followed by group training. Assignments will depend on performance. Make your requests now, before the administration finalizes placements.”

The chamber erupted into debate.

Ronald, one of their sharper minds, stood. Let’s analyze both current and historical data about the children who are to under go the Seven-Year Trials—their origins, their contracts with the academy, and so on. Then, we can base our plan on those results.”

The assistant nodded, intrigued. But another voice cut through, doubtful. “For twenty-one years, nothing’s changed. The academy only admits children under one year of age. If we base our plans on uncertain information, we’ll fail—like fourteen years ago, when we infiltrated the Catholic school only to find nothing.”

Many dismissed the man’s words—his reputation for eccentricity often undermined his insight. Yet Fitch, another member, spoke up. “He’s right. If our analysis is flawed, we’ll waste time and resources infiltrating only to return empty-handed.”

The room stilled, weighing his point.

The assistant adjusted his glasses. “Indeed. We cannot afford such losses. Perhaps infiltration first, then analysis?”

The debate raged on until a new thread emerged.

“There are rumors,” Klause said, lowering his voice, “of a Black Destructive King. A child, only seven years old, said to wear the robes of fransisca Academy. Yet he always seen arround the Azurh academy.

A ripple of disbelief spread.

“A seven-year-old? At the level of a King? Absurd!”

But Klause persisted. “The Francisca Academy is secretive and deep-rooted. Do not underestimate them.”

Still, the idea was dismissed.

Finally, the assistant spoke again. “Enough. Instead of blind infiltration, let’s create an event. A cover that will allow us to gather information discreetly.”

No one opposed the idea.

The leader nodded. “Approved.”

A member explained, “An event could be a public occasion—games, challenges, rewards for points accumulated. Through it, we can collect information quietly, without alerting any faction.”

“I don’t fully get it,” another muttered, “but I’m in.”

Plans unfolded quickly. Ronald volunteered to oversee the event.

But the man who elaborated it insisted the should chose him.

The manager suggested targeting three zones simultaneously, breaking their usual routine. The leader approved.

And eventually Ronald was assigned as the overseer while the one that elaborated it was ask to be a support - though he wasn't pleased he still had to follow the orders.

The then proceeded with how they were going to organized the event. Before the meeting came to an end. And the leader depart after he had said. "This conclude todays meeting you may proceed as you see fit.

As the meeting ended, while the manager lingered in the corridor the assistant called him as he followed his trail. His footsteps echoed, sharp and deliberate. "Manager. Wait."

As the Manager stop and turn. The assistant was already beside him.

“Send a Blood Reaper to Azurh Academy immediately,” he ordered. His tone was ice. “There is a talent hidden there. One we must claim before anyone else.”