The Klorade Academy, a city built upon the art of battle, welcomed the broken and the gifted alike.
Here, the world's magic was divided into layers—
Support, Basic, Holy, Advanced, Supreme, Heavenly.
Few could even dream of touching the last two.
But Arin's magic capacity was unlike any they had seen. Where others collapsed from mana exhaustion, he stood and demanded more.
He made friends—four, to be exact.
One of them was Sharo, a reckless boy with lightning in his veins and a grin that could outshine the sun. Together, they trained day and night.
It was during one of these reckless nights that an elf appeared—
Eldrin, the Wandering Sage. He sensed his potential and offered to teach him the depths of true magic.
Eight years later, Arin stood at the academy gates once more—not as a child, but as an adventurer.
His journey had only begun.
Five years had passed since Eldrin vanished into the explosion that shook the northern forest.
Five years since Arin, Sharo, Hanase, and Neblaheim had sworn they would grow stronger—strong enough to reach him.
Now, for the first time since then, their carriage rolled toward the massive stone gates of Klorade, the famed city of blades and adventurers. They planned to register for higher-rank quests, ready to test the fruits of their training.
But the road brought them something else.
As they approached a quiet valley, the smell of ash hit them first. The once-lively village at its base was now nothing more than scattered ruins—homes collapsed, crops burned, and the air thick with silent grief.
Arin dismounted slowly.
"…Let's pray."
The group knelt in front of the remnants of the village well, hands folded, heads bowed. The wind felt heavy, carrying the voices of the dead.
When they finally stood and prepared to leave, Shoruka stiffened.
"That presence…"
His eyes widened.
"…I know this aura."
Branches rustled. Footsteps approached calmly.