Leon and Yudris crossed the border into the Silver Kingdom, leaving the echoes of Claire's rage behind. His first act was one of quiet alchemy: he forged a hundred gold coins, a small fortune to secure a home and a life before he re-entered the world of men. He wanted a sanctuary, a place where he could exist without the weight of the Vinci name.
A week later, Leon stepped into the capital's Adventurers Guild to register. In the Silver Kingdom, native graduates received their ranks automatically, but outsiders were forced to undergo a rigorous evaluation. The machine was a cold, efficient arbiter; it measured raw stats but lacked the sophistication to detect the "Writer's Domain" or innate primordial skills.
Five other high-tier adventurers stood in line with him. One by one, they placed their hands on the scanner, their stats flashing in the high S-Rank range: 95,000... 98,000. Leon was the last to step forward. As his palm touched the cold surface, the display flickered and settled on 91,000.
He was the weakest of the S-Ranks.
The hall filled with the hushed venom of gossip. To the veterans, he was "barely" an S-Rank, a man just a hair's breadth above a high A-Rank. Leon accepted his badge with an emotionless face; he had manipulated his aura once again. Fame was a poison he had tasted before, and he wouldn't let it ruin this fresh start. His white apparel drew curious glances, but the whispers eventually died down. He was, to them, just an unremarkable newcomer.
The following morning, Leon approached the request board and pulled a high-risk mission: a White Dragon was rampaging through a village at the kingdom's edge. The reward was 100 gold coins.
Laughter erupted from the gathered adventurers. It was common knowledge that a dragon of that caliber required a high-tier S-Rank party. To them, Leon's "greed" was a death sentence.
"He won't make it past the first day," one bet.
"I'll give him a week if he survives at all," another joked.
Leon ignored them and stepped through the guild doors. While the journey was expected to take two days, Leon moved at a velocity that defied light. In less than five minutes, the outskirts of the village appeared in a blur of green and gray.
The scene was a massacre. Local A-Rank adventurers and warriors were locked in a desperate, losing struggle. Six lay dead, many more were bleeding out, and the dragon remained virtually unscathed. The village chief, desperate and trembling, stumbled toward Leon.
"Are you from the guild? Please! If you stop this beast, we will give you a thousand gold coins... just save our lives!"
Leon surveyed the anguish. With a snap of his fingers, a massive, shimmering dome manifested over a section of the village. "Gather the dead and injured inside," he commanded. "Nothing can pass through this barrier from the outside."
As the villagers scrambled to safety, Leon snapped his fingers again, encasing the remaining combatants in individual shields. He wanted no distractions. He wanted no witnesses to his true power.
Leon launched himself at the beast. The air itself shrieked as he moved. With a single, devastating punch, the White Dragon was obliterated. The force was so precise and overwhelming that the dragon's torso simply ceased to exist, leaving only the head, wings, and tail behind.
The survivors stood in terrified silence. Days of battle had been ended in a fraction of a second.
"Who is he?" the chief whispered in awe.
Leon descended, dissolving the domes. He walked toward the piles of bodies—the dead and the maimed. He stretched out his hand, and a wave of pure, restorative energy washed over the clearing. In an instant, the wounded were made whole. The dead drew breath again. Men who had lost limbs watched in disbelief as their flesh and bone re-knitted perfectly.
"This... this can only be the power of a God," the chief muttered, falling to his knees. "Who are you?"
"I'm just an ordinary S-Rank," Leon replied, his voice a calm ripple in the silence. "But you can call me... The White One."
The villagers fell to their feet to worship him, but before their foreheads could touch the earth, Leon was gone. He had vanished into the wind, carrying the dragon's remains as proof of his task, leaving a village of resurrected souls to wonder about the god who walked among them.
Leon slipped away from the village in haste, the sound of their prayers fading behind him. He had no desire for their worship, nor did he touch the thousand gold coins they offered; he left the wealth behind, intending for it to be used to rebuild the homes shattered by the dragon's rampage. With his white cloak pulled tight to shroud his features, he remained a ghost—nameless to their eyes, though the title "The White One" now burned in their memories.
When he stepped back into the Adventurers Guild minutes later, the air turned to ice. He dropped the dragon's head, wings, and tail onto the counter with a dull thud.
"He was only gone for minutes... how is this possible?" a veteran whispered, his drink frozen halfway to his lips.
"The journey alone takes three days to and fro," another added, shaking his head. "This has to be an illusion. It's not real."
But the guild's examiners confirmed the truth: the remains were authentic, still warm with the fading heat of a fresh kill. Leon took his hundred gold coins and walked out, leaving a vacuum of stunned silence in his wake. One thing was certain: the "weakest" S-Rank had just become the most talked-about man in the Silver Kingdom.
Two days later, the atmosphere in the capital shifted from curiosity to dread. An emergency summons went out, calling every S-Rank adventurer in the realm to the royal palace. Leon joined the assembly, standing among fifty-three of the kingdom's elite as King Athares took the podium.
"Thank you for coming," the King began, his face etched with worry. "As history dictates, every hundred years a Black Dragon King is born. Usually, we cull the nest before the birth, but this year the 'Dragon's Parade'—the frantic migration of lesser drakes—has started early. We fear the King has already emerged."
The King paused, a flicker of frustration crossing his eyes. "The Legendary Ranks have turned their backs on us; they claim this is beneath them unless we provide absolute proof. Your mission is to find that proof. Locate the birth site, but hear me well: Do not engage. A single Black Dragon can rival a Legend, and their King is a hundred times more terrifying. If you see it, run. Your lives are worth more than pride."
He gestured to a man standing in gleaming silver plate. "Captain Azreal, our highest-ranked S-Rank, will lead you. Follow his word as if it were mine."
The assembly moved to the palace fields, where Azreal turned to face his new subordinates. He radiated a stifling, aggressive aura, his eyes scanning the crowd with practiced condescension.
"I am your leader," Azreal barked. "Listen to my orders. Don't be cocky, don't try to impress me, and above all, do not piss me off. We leave at sunrise. If you're late, you're left behind."
His gaze eventually locked onto Leon. The rumors of the White Dragon's defeat had clearly reached his ears, and he looked at Leon's white cloak with visible disdain.
"And you... the one in white," Azreal said, his voice dripping with pride. "I've heard the stories. Don't let a White Dragon kill go to your head. A single Black Dragon is more powerful than fifty White Dragons combined. It won't be the cakewalk you think it is. Listen to me, and you might actually survive the week."
Leon stood perfectly still, his expression unreadable beneath his hood. He didn't need a stat-checker to see the truth. Azreal was powerful, yes, but he was blinded by his own rank—an incompetent leader who mistook volume for authority.