Long ago, during a time ruled by the Potato Bone, there existed a peculiar hierarchy where the big potatoes occupied the top while the small ones settled at the bottom. In this era, injustice was rampant, and justice seemed to work only for the weak, the destitute, and the blind.
On another continent, renowned for its wealth, power, and thriving commerce, a nation stood as the epitome of glory among all the countries on the continent. Any businessman who desired to preserve his honor and riches had to share his profits. Dividing their house into three parts, one portion belonged to the individual, while the remaining two were claimed by King Shamsal.
King Shamsal, a legendary warrior and unmatched combatant, had never been wounded in battle or challenged in bravery. His stamina was extraordinary, capable of fighting for twelve consecutive hours without tiring. He could undertake a journey requiring seven batteries to power, never pausing except to tread on mud and continue running.
To witness King Shamsal’s feats of bravery was to perceive an otherworldly being. He could disperse demons single-handedly, slaughtering them effortlessly, and those who dared to flee did so in an attempt to save their lives. The oppressors, hypocrites themselves, knew no king more tyrannical than King Shamsal, for he oppressed the poor with impunity, convinced that being related to heaven granted him the right to subjugate the impoverished.
Every time King Shamsal opened his eyes, he would find an exquisitely beautiful woman by his side, sent to him as a gift. Whether bestowed by war or bestowed by the king, such a woman could cost one’s life, as the kingdom trembled under his rule, anticipating his next acquisition. The poor suffered under the burden of taxes, while injustice reigned above the city of Bindal. Any wrongdoing committed by the poor would lead to imprisonment and a sentence of two years or more.
Meanwhile, King Shamsal resided comfortably in his palace, with his barandars lacking oil and stability in the city of Bindal. On the southern edge of Bindal, there resided an aged craftsman named Satyan. Despite his age of a hundred and five years, Makeri Datyan possessed exceptional skills in his trade and was renowned for his family legacy. He had assumed his father’s work at the tender age of nine and continued to uphold his craftsmanship.
Satyan, the creator of the war weapons found in the king’s palace, held no dispute with the king’s household. King Shamsal had never laid eyes upon the elderly Satyan, nor did he concern himself with the old man’s existence. Beneath the elderly craftsman’s care, there were seventy-one young workers, each living their lives under his guidance.
Thanks to the exceptional war equipment he crafted, the kingdom exempted Satyan from taxes. Yet, beyond the walls of his workshop, the poor endured hardship and persecution under King Shamsal’s rule. The old man possessed only one wife, who, despite her age, remained devoted to him. Together, they had reached the age of seventy, blessed by God with only two offspring—a daughter and a son.
Their daughter, Sadirat, a tall and beautiful woman of twenty-five years, became a beloved figure among the local boys. However, her mother required her assistance in household chores, preventing her from marrying until her younger brother did so. It was her duty to care for their mother at home, and only then could she be married off and transferred to another household.
With a four-year age difference, Hatyan, now twenty years old, resided within the same community. Except for God, Hatyan had no interests outside his business, which revolved around hunting.