"Sit down, sit down! Today is a truly special day," the old man said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. He gestured for me to follow as he led the way into the main hall of his sprawling mansion.
The interior was a masterclass in opulence, decorated with gold leaf and rare, shimmering ores that caught the light from the vaulted ceilings. Rows of statues stood tall along the perimeter—sculptures of men whose stony expressions radiated a sense of absolute arrogance and indomitable power. No matter how many times I stepped into this hall, the sheer scale of the wealth on display never ceased to amaze me.
Everything in that mansion was prohibitively expensive, a testament to a life of extreme privilege. And yet, there he was: the owner of it all, sitting before me in his ragged, filth-stained clothes with the dishevelled appearance of a common street beggar. The contrast was as jarring as it was nonsensical.
"What makes today so special?" I asked, settling into a plush chair while trying my best to play along with his eccentricities.
"You will know soon enough," he replied, his voice softening into an unexpectedly warm tone. He leaned forward, his eyes searching mine. "Tell me, do you remember every tale I have told you up until now?"
I suppressed a groan. I wanted to tell him to be serious, but I knew better. Every time we met, he began with this same annoying interrogation. It made me feel like a child in a classroom, and he was the stern teacher obsessed with rote memorisation.
"You know very well that even if I wanted to forget, the memory orbs you gave me wouldn't allow it," I muttered. "They never stop buzzing with your stories, even when I'm trying to sleep."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cluster of five small, obsidian-black beads. The moment they left my hand, they began to float in the air, orbiting one another with a faint hum. These annoying little devices were relentless; they replayed the old man's voice on a loop, retelling every legend and myth he had ever shared as if I were too dim-witted to grasp them the first time.
"You will thank me for that later," the old man said mysteriously. A wide, satisfied smile spread across his face, and he gave a slow, knowing nod. It was clear he took a certain sadistic pleasure in torturing me with his "gift."
Of course, I couldn't refuse the beads. Accepting them was part of a recurring quest he issued—one that provided a daily reward of five coins. To someone like me, that was the difference between a meal and an empty stomach. I couldn't afford the luxury of being annoyed by a benefactor.
"Today, I am in a good mood," the old man continued, his eyes twinkling. "So, I have decided to answer the question you ask most often."
"And what question is that?" I asked, though I already knew.
"The question of where I found all these... incredible tales."
I had been about to say "bullshit," but I bit my tongue at the last second. The last time I had been that blunt, he had flown into a towering rage and cancelled our meeting entirely, costing me my daily income. Even if he intended to spend the next hour blathering about nonsensical history, I had to sit there and listen. In this world, life wasn't cheap, but it certainly wasn't easy for those of us at the bottom.
"I will tell you, but you must drop that cynical attitude of yours," the old man said, his expression shifting from mirth to a sudden, piercing gravity. "These stories came from my mentor. He was a truly great man—a saviour who rescued me back when our kind was being slaughtered like insects by our greatest enemies. He had an extraordinary story to tell. Do you want to hear it?"
"As if I have a choice," I replied, shrugging. I made sure my tone conveyed exactly how dull and bored I felt, hoping to move things along.
The old man seemed completely indifferent to my lack of enthusiasm. "I know you are intelligent, despite your lack of a Class. You have a hunger for knowledge; you love to read and research. I also know that your greatest dream is to obtain a Class and finally have a real chance in this miserable life. So tell me, young human boy: who is our common and greatest enemy?"
'Young human boy?' That was a strange way to put it. For a fleeting second, the phrasing made me wonder if he wasn't human himself. But then I remembered how truly senile he was and pushed the thought aside.
I answered calmly, relying on the common knowledge taught in every school in the kingdoms. "The zombies, perhaps? They are the most brutal species. They exist only to feast on our flesh and swell their own ranks."
"Wrong answer," the old man snapped. "Try again."
I blinked, stunned. What? I never expected my analysis to be dismissed so easily. It was a fundamental fact of our world. I opened my mouth to argue, to cite the casualty reports and historical records of the zombie wars, but he raised a single, warning finger. His gaze was stern, silencing my protest before it could even begin.
"Then it must be the monsters," I countered, ticking them off on my fingers. "The werewolves, the vampires... oh, wait. Perhaps it is those arrogant, filth-ridden dragons who spend their days intoxicated by their own might and hoarded wealth!"
"No," the old man replied instantly. He paused for a moment, letting the silence stretch between us before adding, "They are the Angels."
"W—What? No way!" I lurched out of my seat, my voice echoing sharply against the high, vaulted ceilings. "That is impossible! They are the ones who guided us toward the light. They were the only ones who truly extended their hands to humanity when the apocalypse first rained down upon our heads. For god's sake, they are our mighty guides!"
"You speak like someone who lived through those times and witnessed everything with your own eyes," the old man remarked. His calm demeanour was startling. "Or perhaps you believe you are someone with enough authority to reach beyond the locked doors of history and grasp truths that are hidden from the public eye."
He had a point, and it stung. I was reciting the dogma of the Three Kingdoms, but he had yet to provide a shred of evidence for his outrageous claims. "Everyone knows what they did during the Dark Days," I insisted, though my voice lacked its previous conviction. "They saved us."
"And yet, here you are," the old man said, tilting his head as he studied me. "A Classless human boy—intelligent, diligent, resourceful, and possessing a fighting spirit that refuses to break. Tell me, Hye, have you ever truly questioned your origins?"
"My origins?" I sank back into my seat, feeling a sudden, hollow sense of loss.
"You are far too smart not to have considered this on your own," he continued. His attitude was unsettlingly grave; the usual eccentricities and manic smiles had vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp seriousness.
"If you possess all these remarkable qualities—and if so many other Classless humans possess such outstanding talents—how is it possible that your ancestors failed so miserably during the dawn of the apocalypse?"
I remained silent.
His words pierced through my defences, burrowing deep into my mind. I had spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, wondering what my grandfathers could have possibly done—or failed to do—to end up without a Class.
I was a social pariah, a "loser" by the world's standards, but my mind and my instincts told me I was meant for more. As I processed the old man's words, the world seemed to shift, becoming both clearer and infinitely more disturbing.
In our society, inheritance was everything. It was an immutable law. Classes were the ultimate legacy; if a family held a Class, their descendants had a path to power.
If a man and a woman from different Classes formed a union, there was even a chance for a new, hybrid Class to emerge. However, if even one parent was Classless, their offspring were at an extreme risk of inheriting that same void.
This biological reality was the wedge that drove the classes apart, creating a chasm between the elite and people like me. It was the reason I lived a life devoid of hope, and the reason my future children and grandchildren were already condemned to the same fate before they were even born.
"It is a matter of simple logic," the old man said softly, his voice cutting through my spiralling thoughts. "If you have such high potential, then how is it that your parents did not? How is it that your grandparents were found wanting? I would wager that many of the Classless today possess talents that far exceed those of the so-called elite. You do not deserve to be treated as refuse. But the question remains… how did you all end up like this? How did you end up in the dirt?"
At this point, I began to connect the dots, though the picture they formed was terrifying. I stopped searching for excuses and looked him in the eye, my tone dejected. "So, this is your argument? That our enemies are the very beings who supposedly saved us?"
"I do not make such claims without good reason," the old man agreed, his gaze unwavering. "If I am wrong, then I dare you to provide me with a single other explanation for why you have ended up in such a sorrowful, stagnant state."
I looked down at my hands, calloused and empty. The System hummed in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of the "trash" quest I was currently performing. For the first time, the "Great Guides" didn't feel like saviours; they felt like jailers.
I found myself unable to offer a rebuttal. Deep within the recesses of my soul, I had always harboured a quiet, burning belief that I was special. I didn't deserve the squalor, the anonymity, or the constant degradation of being Classless. That singular conviction was the only thing that kept me tethered to this miserable existence, preventing me from simply giving up on this wretched life.
"But I am not telling you this merely to point an accusing finger at our enemies," the old man said, his voice dropping an octave as he reached into a hidden pocket of his tattered suit. "I am telling you this to explain the existence of a truly terrifying entity among them."
With a flourish, he produced a strange, mesmerising orb. It was roughly the size of a tennis ball, but its composition was unlike any material I had ever seen. It was a deep, pulsating crimson, and as I stared at it, I got the distinct impression that the object possessed a life of its own. Swirls of dark red waves churned violently beneath the surface, crashing against the inner walls of the sphere like a miniature, trapped storm.
"That enemy possessed a terrifying power—a power that acted as the catalyst for everything to reach this absolute rock-bottom state," the old man said. He tossed the orb high into the air, catching it with a casual flick of his wrist as if he were toying with a common marble.
Even with my limited knowledge, I could tell this wasn't a standard magical artefact. It was clearly one of the precious antiques he hoarded in this mansion, a treasure that he nonetheless treated like common dirt. My eyes were locked onto the orb, tracing its trajectory up and down, as the old man's voice pulled me back into his narrative.
"That bastard had the ability to rewind time every one hundred years," the old man said, snatching the ball out of the air and clenching it tightly. "And he could do it one hundred times. But he wasn't the only one gifted with such a terrifying reach. Humanity was blessed with a counter-measure—someone just like him."
"Rewind time?!" I blurted out, my scepticism finally boiling over. "That's impossible! There is no record of such an ability or skill in any Class known to our world. Not even the High Classes of the Three Kingdoms can manipulate the flow of time!"
"Do you truly believe such a rare and unique ability would be exposed to the public?" the old man asked slowly. His eyes were fixed on mine, and for the first time, I saw no hint of a bluff. He believed every word of this madness as if it were the absolute, undeniable truth. "The powerful do not share their greatest weapons with the masses, boy. They bury them."
"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I leaned in, searching his face for the punchline to a joke I was certain was coming.
"I told you, kid: today is a special day." He didn't offer a direct answer. Instead, he thrust the glowing orb toward my face, the red light casting long, dancing shadows across the golden walls of the hall. "Do you like it?"
"You're far too stingy to actually give me anything you own," I replied, refusing to fall for his games. I had learned long ago that his "gifts" always came with a heavy price or an annoying catch.
"Hahaha! Correct!" He barked a laugh, sounding like a sly and miserly merchant as he pulled the orb back to his chest. "That mighty human I spoke of was my mentor. He saved my life and entrusted me with a great deal of secrets—secrets about what he lived through, what he saw, and the truth of what really happened in his past lives."
"A wise man, clearly," I said, though I was starting to feel a growing sense of unease. He was toying with me, using the orb as a lure to pull me deeper into his delusions. "But why would a man like that be so generous with someone like you?"
"Because he needed me to find an heir," the old man whispered. "Someone who would be able to finish what he started. Someone who could do what he failed to do."
"And what exactly is that?" I asked. My interest was beginning to wane, replaced by a sudden, sharp desire to leave this mansion and be alone with my thoughts. I was tired of riddles.
"That man discovered a flaw," the old man said, his fingers tracing the surface of the orb with a tenderness I had never seen him exhibit before. He usually treated his possessions with total disregard, but he held this sphere like it was a holy relic. "A flaw in the ability shared by him and that bastard from the Angels."
I watched him, noting the strange shift in his energy.
"For this ability to function, there must be a counterpart," he explained. "It is a fundamental law of nature. For any great force to exist, two opposing powers must coexist to balance the scales. One cannot exist without the other."
I nodded, though my enthusiasm had completely evaporated. I sat there, a Classless boy in a golden palace, listening to a madman talk about the laws of time, wondering when my ten coins would finally be earned so I could go home.
"So, that man realised he was the sole reason that bastard was able to commit such atrocities against humanity. For the other races, the loop was a curse of ignorance; they would forget everything they had lived through and be forced to relive the horrors of the apocalypse from the very beginning, over and over. A hundred years would pass, and then that bastard would rewind time again—and again, and again."
"But we have our own version of that power, right?" I asked plainly, trying to sound engaged. "Why didn't this mighty human mentor of yours actually do something to stop that evildoer?"
"He failed," the old man said. He spoke with a heavy, hollow tone, as if it were he who had personally tasted defeat, rather than some legendary figure born from his own fractured mind. "He tried his absolute best, one cycle after another. But for ninety-nine consecutive lifetimes, he was thwarted. In the end, it was expected."
"Don't you see how stereotypical and boring this story is?" I couldn't help but let my cynicism leak out. "Come on! I bet you're going to tell me the enemy was perfectly prepared and had all his plans in order, unlike your self-proclaimed hero who just wandered into a trap."
The look the old man gave me was sharp enough to draw blood. I immediately regretted the jab. I needed his coins desperately; I couldn't risk losing my only source of income over a bit of snark. "I'm just trying to... see things from every angle here," I added hurriedly, doing my best to fake a look of sincere regret.
"If you say so," he said slowly. I could tell he wasn't entirely convinced by my apology. "As you just noted, that wretched, self-proclaimed angel had the full support of his race and countless contingencies in place. So, our hero..."
The old man emphasised the word our, staring at me until I nodded in submission. How could I object when this man held the bowl of my rice in his hands?
"He decided to make one final, risky move. A bet, if you were to ask me for a single word to describe it. Even now, I cannot express the depth of my respect for the courage it took to attempt such a feat."
"Sure, he sounds incredibly brave and mighty," I said, once again letting my mouth run faster than my brain. Surprisingly, the old man didn't flare up in anger this time. He didn't even give me one of his usual burning glares. Instead, he smirked—a dark, knowing expression that suggested something momentous was about to happen.
"Phew!"
With a sudden, casual flick of his fingers, the old man launched the crimson orb directly at me. It happened so fast I didn't even have time to raise my hands. The moment it struck my chest, the sphere shattered like fragile, thin-walled glass.
"What the hell—"
As the shell smashed against my body, the red waves that had been swirling restlessly inside were suddenly liberated. Without invitation or warning, they erupted into thick wisps of energy that coiled around my limbs like living vines. They took control of my form with terrifying ease, ignoring my frantic attempts to push them away.
I scrambled to my feet, swatting at the air as if trying to extinguish a fire. However, the more I struggled, the faster the energy spread, soaking into my skin and clothes.
"What did you do to me?" I shouted, my voice cracking with panic. "I didn't mean what I said! Please, I was just joking! Just spare me!" I tried to plead for mercy, but the old man simply stood up and watched me with a look of profound, weary finality—as if I were already beyond salvation.
I turned to run, but at that precise moment, my legs gave out. I lost all sensation in my lower half. Dammit! Not my legs... please don't let this burn me alive!
"With this, I have fulfilled my duty and delivered the final gift to the one who deserves it," the old man began, slipping back into his maddening riddles.
"Stop being crazy! This isn't the time to lose your goddamn mind!" I screamed. A sudden, violent gush of heat invaded my torso, spreading through my veins like molten lead. It felt as though the energy was made of pure dragon fire, and I was nothing more than a dry, withered piece of kindling.
"Remember this..." Despite my agonised pleas, he stepped forward until he was standing directly over me. "This is a token of gratitude, human boy—a debt you will eventually have to repay to my people."
"Stop talking nonsense and end this madness!" I roared in a fit of rage and terror, but he didn't seem to hear me.
"I trust you, just as my mentor trusted me in the days of old. Do not forget: you must find and save my race. The real angels are facing a catastrophe that began the moment the apocalypse befell them. Find them. Help us. Just follow the Golden Quests whenever they appear, and you will find your chance to repay this lifetime debt. As for those who currently claim the title of Angels... they are nothing more than fallen husks, the darkest species the universe has ever produced. Be certain of that..."
"Screw you!" I managed to choke out.
Before I could say another word, my vision was completely engulfed by the roiling red energy. The world turned into a blur of crimson heat. I could see his lips moving, continuing his lecture, but no sound reached my ears. In the final moments before my senses failed, I saw him throw one last object toward me. Then, the heat reached my brain, my consciousness fractured, and everything went black.