Without fear of the afterlife, the warrior lost sight of his purpose, and the piles of corpses increased. From each war, the warrior became bolder, and he would try to surpass his combat skills in hopes of achieving what was close to invincibility. No longer did the cheers of his people urge him, but the obstacles he would pass from the flow of his adversaries’ blood. Soon corpses buried the cries of his people as they plead for his return, the return of their real king. No longer did their benevolent sovereign stood before them, but a demon. As if to prove their fears true, he went so far as to lap up the blood of the fallen, regardless if it mingled with those of his own people. What was once a free country was now home to cadavers, and he was the only survivor to a dead land..

The Ancestors witnessed these turn of events, and they reacted. At once they appeared before the hero, questioning him of his ways. When asked of what he fights for, the champion spoke not of his countrymen, but of great strength that he wishes to obtain. No remorse was shown on his face, nor was their recognition of the bones he stepped on. Angered over their mistake and the warped form of a beloved king, the Ancestors turned their blessing into a curse, allowing him to keep his eternal life but at the price of his strength. Before they left him, powerless and bare of his previous glory, the Ancestors gave his kingdom back but one that suited his rule. From the carcasses arose the new nation, and just like their ruler, they were cursed. Unlike the living, they will survive off the life of others, and to remind them of their ruler’s sins, they will live on, reliving their punishment to no end...