The Sandworms' Origin and Purpose

Sandworms, typically creatures of desert regions, were an anomaly in the lush southern continent, known for its dense forests. However, a past incident led the southern kingdom to commit the seemingly mad act of “importing” sandworms from the desert.

Though it might seem like sheer madness, the outcome proved otherwise—this decision brought prosperity to the entire southern populace.

Historical records revealed that an alchemist once made the following claim:

• “With sandworms, the kingdom’s food production could increase fivefold.”

 

The kingdom, seizing this opportunity, successfully captured and domesticated sandworms.

As the alchemist had confidently predicted, the fertilizer produced by the sandworms miraculously increased food production tenfold. This monumental achievement marked an era where famine became a thing of the past.

However, the details of this alchemical breakthrough and the nature of sandworms were kept strictly confidential.

Why?

Put simply:

• “If people knew, it’d cause chaos.”

 

Indeed, the moment this information became public, all hell would break loose.

For instance, the fertilizer produced by sandworms wasn’t just any fertilizer—it was composed of digested remains of other monsters. Furthermore, the material used to ferment and age the fertilizer? Soil, leaves, and human labor—provided by none other than the kingdom’s prisoners.

And the sandworms themselves? They weren’t just soil-eating creatures—they were carnivorous monsters that preferred flesh.

The Tunnel’s Chaos

Keeee!
Kee-!
Ke!!

From the depths of the tunnel, a swarm of writhing creatures emerged. Sandworms—specifically their juvenile form, known colloquially as mini-worms—burst forth in massive numbers. Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of them surfaced, their numbers overwhelming.

“What the hell is this?!”

“It’s monsters! Somebody call the soldiers—monsters are attacking!”

“My arm! It bit my arm, this damned creature!”

Mini-worms were about the size of small snakes—tiny by monster standards. Because of this, even an untrained farmer armed with a pickaxe could easily dispatch one.

But the problem wasn’t their strength.

Keeeeee!

It was their sheer numbers.

The swarm of worm-like creatures, numbering in the thousands, exceeded what ordinary prisoners or even guards could handle. Unfortunately, this was a penal labor camp—an isolated prison doubling as an execution site.

Deaths among prisoners were a daily occurrence, and the guards’ primary role was to prevent escape attempts, not fight monsters.

In this hopeless situation, the prisoners were left with only one option:

“Fight! Fight, you fools!”

With no one else to save them, they had to fend for themselves—unless they wanted to become fertilizer for the worms.

Desperate Struggles

“Uaaaargh!”

“Grab your spears—no, your pickaxes and shovels!”

Crunch!
Squish!
Splat!

Thus began the battle for survival. The prisoners fought with every ounce of strength they had, wielding their crude tools as weapons. It was a desperate struggle for life in the darkness of the tunnel.

Yet, amidst the chaos, one group stood out for their surprising calm.

Thud!

“Whew, so this is what it feels like to have my aura technique sealed. It’s incredibly exhausting.”
“You’re holding up well, though. It proves you weren’t overly reliant on it. But you’re using too much strength—if you keep that up, you’ll tire yourself out. Try… this.”

Slash!

“What… what did you do?”
“I just didn’t waste energy. This way, you conserve stamina and increase your power. If you master it, your skills could improve two or threefold.”
“Thank you for your guidance, senior!”
“Good.”

While others fought for their lives, these two were chatting as if in a training session. Their casual camaraderie was reminiscent of a sparring match in a swordsmanship academy, not a deadly battlefield.

The pair was none other than Ihan and Yord, senior and junior knights exchanging tips in the midst of chaos.

“Are you two seriously doing this here, you lunatic training maniacs…?” muttered Jake, shaking his head in disbelief as he diligently hacked away at the worms.

Jake understood that merely cutting off their heads wasn’t enough. These creatures might look like earthworms crossed with mealworms, but at their core, they were monsters with extraordinary regenerative abilities. If not thoroughly crushed…

“Aaaagh!”

…things would only get worse.

A nearby prisoner was being devoured by the worms—a gruesome and pitiful sight. But Jake didn’t feel sympathy.

After all, the prisoner was a wanted bandit he’d seen on bounty posters—a man who had pillaged villages and killed even children.

Why waste pity on such a person? If anything, being eaten by monsters was a fitting end.

Survival of the Fittest

The prisoners in the tunnel were no ordinary people—they were often those too dangerous for the kingdom’s soldiers to handle. And so, they were sent here to fight monsters.

If a worm died, it would be harvested for fertilizer. If a person died, their body would also become fertilizer.

An endless cycle of suffering. A hellish reality created by human cruelty.

Arend’s Perspective

“Why… why are they so strong?”

Arend could only gape in disbelief as he watched Ihan, Jake, and Yord decimate the worms. He had barely managed to kill twenty, while they had effortlessly wiped out hundreds.

“This… this can’t be…”

He clenched his fists, frustration boiling within him. Ihan’s strength was understandable—he was a renowned knight, capable of defeating hundreds singlehandedly.

But the other two?

Jake and Yord, unfamiliar names among the kingdom’s knights, moved with extraordinary skill. They weren’t as overwhelming as Ihan, but their precise movements and efficiency far surpassed those of the royal knights.

And this was despite their aura techniques being sealed by the poison they were forced to ingest—poison that suppressed both magical and martial abilities.

Yet they were still strong.

Incredibly strong.

“…Damn it all!”

For the first time in his life, Arend, a royal born and bred, swore out loud. The bitter realization of his own weakness stung more than anything else.

 

The Sandworm Onslaught

The sandworms attacked five consecutive times within a single day.

Time of day didn’t matter. Acting purely on instinct, the monsters would emerge whenever they felt hungry, ambushing humans without warning. Be it evening or the early hours of dawn, prisoners were repeatedly assaulted, and any delayed response often led to casualties.

Rest was a luxury that didn’t exist in this place. The constant threat of a sudden attack turned the tunnel into a perpetual execution ground, leaving its inhabitants in a state of constant dread.

It became clear why people referred to the tunnel as a hell without reprieve.

Assessing the Threat

“Lucky for us, these sandworms are relatively weak.”
“…Weak, you say?”
“Weak?”
“…That’s what I said.”
“You really need to work on your speech patterns.”

Ihan considered smacking the back of Arend’s head for his insistent formalities but decided it wasn’t worth the energy. He simply shook his head and continued.

“Sandworms that live in desert regions are massive and ferocious. They’re incredibly strong, probably because surviving in the harsh desert requires it. By comparison, the ones we’ve been fighting today…”

“…are weaker variants?”

“Exactly. What you might call selectively bred. Over time, only the smaller, weaker ones capable of adapting to the southern continent’s environment survived. That’s why they’re far less dangerous.”

“…I’ve never seen a real sandworm before,” Arend admitted.
“Only read about them in records.”

“Really? That’s understandable, I guess.”
“D-Don’t look at me like I’m pathetic!”
“…What’s this idiot talking about now?”

Smack!

As Arend threw a sudden tantrum, he found himself flat on the ground, felled by a single punch from Ihan.

“I didn’t even hit him hard.”
“He must be exhausted.”
“From what?”
“…I guess he’s tired in his own way.”

Jake offered a half-hearted defense of the prince—perhaps out of respect for his royal status.

“This is why spoiled nobles are useless,” Ihan muttered, clicking his tongue in frustration. He’d brought Arend along in hopes of teaching him a lesson, but the prince was proving to be more hopeless than expected.

“Still, he’s got talent. Didn’t he hold his own without using aura techniques?”
“You two managed just fine as well.”
“That’s because you’ve been training us for days, Senior Ihan.”

Jake and Yord had been practicing under Ihan’s guidance, learning how to fight effectively without relying on aura techniques. It was an uncharacteristic act of consideration on Ihan’s part, but it showed his willingness to support a promising junior or a friend.

Arend, however, was a different case. Ihan hadn’t offered him any such support—he’d simply dragged him here. For a knight unaccustomed to fighting without aura techniques, it was akin to being bound hand and foot.

Yet, Arend’s performance wasn’t entirely terrible. His innate talent was evident, even if it was underutilized.

Still, Ihan couldn’t help but think:

“Royal brats like him need a wake-up call.”

Why Bring Arend?

The reason Ihan brought the eighth prince to the hellish tunnels?

The prince had never once apologized to him. That alone was enough to irritate Ihan. But more than that…

“A royal who gets used by his own subordinates? Ridiculous.”

Ihan found the idea of a prince so oblivious and manipulable utterly unacceptable. He was determined to uproot that rotten foundation and instill some sense into him.

When Jake heard Ihan’s reasoning, he gave him a skeptical look.

“…What? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“No, it’s just… you’re more considerate than I thought.”
“Come again?”
“It’s hard to believe you’re doing this out of kindness. You’re not exactly known for respecting royalty.”
“…Shut up.”

Ihan turned away, choosing not to respond further.

Uncharacteristic Kindness

‘…This isn’t like me.’

Though he hated to admit it, Ihan knew he was acting out of character.

Why?

‘…Pity?’

Yes, as much as it annoyed him to realize, he pitied the eighth prince.

Why?

‘Because he’s a clueless idiot being used by everyone around him….’

Watching Arend reminded Ihan of himself in his previous life. Back when he’d just been commissioned as an officer, he’d been naive, thinking that working hard was all it took to succeed. He’d let himself be used without even realizing it.

He couldn’t help but feel sorry for Arend.

Despite his noble birth and talent, the prince was living such a pitiful existence.

It was unnecessary—an exercise in excessive meddling, really.

Still…

‘Who knows? Maybe this will turn out to be meaningful.’

Ihan thought back to his own past. What if someone had been there to call him out? To say, “Hey, you clueless idiot, get it together!” How different would his life have been?

Maybe this was his way of finding satisfaction—seeing if telling this “clueless idiot” the truth would change him.

‘…Is this why people enjoy training games?’

Perhaps people liked watching alternate versions of themselves succeed where they had failed.

‘…I’m an idiot, too.’

With a self-deprecating smile, Ihan dismissed his thoughts.

A New Arrival

Tap, tap.

“…You’re here.”

[Instructor, I’ve brought the antidotes and food supplies.]

The voice belonged to Taechang, a collaborator with a knack for stealth. His sudden appearance interrupted Ihan’s musings.

“You’re late,” Ihan said.

[I-I worked hard to sneak in alone… like a one-man infiltration movie!]

“Excuses.”
[But it’s true…!]

Taechang looked genuinely aggrieved, but Ihan wasn’t interested in sympathy.

Elsewhere

“Hm?”
“What is it, Max?”
“…I feel a familiar presence.”
“Presence?”
“Yes, but let’s not dwell on it. We have a busy schedule today, remember?”
“Ah, right….”

The man referred to as Max was an imposing figure—his sheer size alone exuded authority. Yet his boisterous and somewhat simple demeanor gave him an odd charm.

His name:

Maximus Iron de Lionel
The “Black Lion of the North,” a knight of unparalleled renown.