"the deepest lies are not told by strangers but rumors spread by loved ones"
"Yes! Mana and magic—having a substantial amount of it is absolutely essential for a person's growth and potential! With enough mana, one can conquer vast lands, topple kings, and subjugate the most ferocious of mythical beasts!"
The clergyman's hands gestured wildly, cutting through the air as if trying to physically grasp the invisible energy he worshiped. His eyes burned with a fervor that bordered on the fanatical, his face flushed with excitement.
Leornars merely tilted his head. A curtain of silk-like silver hair shifted over his shoulder, catching the dim light of the sanctuary.
"I see," Leornars murmured, his voice entirely devoid of the priest's enthusiasm. "And what exactly *is* mana?"
The question hit the room like a physical blow.
A nearby priestess gasped, quickly covering her mouth, while the clergyman's jaw dropped. For a solid three seconds, the man just stared, his mind struggling to process the absolute absurdity of the question. Finally, he gathered his wits, smoothing down his ornate vestments with trembling hands.
"U-Ummm..." he stuttered, clearing his throat loudly. "Mana is the fundamental source of all magic, boy! It is the root, the very essence of existence. Without it, magic cannot be projected into reality. Think of it as the fuel for the soul. We use it to enhance physical strength, to grant unmatched agility—and in the rarest, most blessed of lineages, it manifests as divine speed."
From behind a grand marble counter, a woman wearing thin spectacles adjusted her glasses. Her eyes remained fixed on a towering, glowing monolith positioned dead center in the chamber.
"Please place your hand on the evaluation crystal," she requested, her tone professional but laced with curiosity. "It will assess your total mana capacity and your elemental magical affinity."
Leornars gave her a cold, unreadable glance. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, his boots clicking sharply against the polished stone floor, the sound echoing ominously in the quiet room.
He raised his hand and pressed his palm flat against the cold surface of the artifact.
The light didn't just glow. *It screamed.*
The crystal flared violently. First, it plunged into a void-like **Black** so deep it seemed to actively suck the ambient light out of the room. A heartbeat later, it transitioned into a bruised, volatile **Purple**, crackling with raw pressure. Finally, it settled into a **Luminous Blue**—a radiance so blindingly brilliant that the stationed guards groaned and shielded their eyes.
The room fell into a silence so thick you could hear the dust motes settling.
The woman behind the counter began frantically scribbling on a slip of paper. Her hand shook so violently that the ink nearly blotted across the parchment. With a pale face, she handed the results to the clergyman.
"Incredible... simply incredible," the man muttered, the color completely draining from his skin. "You possess an extremely rare potential for elemental magic. This... this is higher than any record currently residing in the royal archives."
Swallowing hard, he quickly tucked the paper into his coat pocket and gestured for Leornars to follow him into a secluded, private study. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, the clergyman let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to age him a decade.
"I suppose the revolution has arrived," he whispered softly to the shadows clinging to the corner of the room. "We enter a new era... a new, terrifying light."
Left alone in the auxiliary library, Leornars let his mind race.
*Magic and mana seem to play a critical role in this realm,* he mused, tracing the spine of a leather-bound tome. *My aptitude is abnormally high. That implies I'm special... a variable.*
He looked down at his palms, still feeling the phantom, tingling warmth of the evaluation crystal.
*I wonder how that will affect my everyday life. Or better yet... how it will help me kill.*
He spent the next few hours devouring the ancient texts scattered across the desks. The knowledge was a desperate feast for his starving mind. He read of the world's hierarchy, flipping through beautifully illustrated pages depicting various sentient lifeforms.
*Humans, beastfolk, dwarves, elves, spirits, wraiths...* His finger stopped, lingering on a dark, heavily armored illustration. *And the Demon Empire.*
"I wonder how the King will react once he discovers you're not human?"
Leornars didn't flinch. He didn't even turn around as the clergyman approached from behind. Instead, he slowly rotated his head, meeting the man's gaze with his deathly, crimson-rimmed eyes.
The clergyman let out an awkward, forced chuckle, trying to brush his own comment off as a mere jest. But the attempt failed miserably. The tension in the air snapped like a tightly bowed string.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the far end of the grand hall creaked open with a harsh groan. A young maid, her face stark white with pure terror, dashed frantically toward the Pope's private chambers.
The clergyman's expression shifted instantly from jovial to grave.
Moving with a deceptive speed Leornars hadn't expected from an old man, the priest grabbed a durable leather traveling pouch hanging from a wall hook. He turned to the shelves, tearing out three specific books: *The Principles of Mana*, *The Arcane Arts*, and *A History of the Great Divide*.
He thrust the heavy bag directly into Leornars' chest.
"Listen to me closely," the clergyman hissed, his voice trembling with urgency. "In this kingdom—no, in this entire world—racism is the absolute law of the land. The King and the nobles see humanity as the supreme apex of creation. All other races are mere cattle to them. Enslaved, hunted, and slaughtered for sport. The Pope has likely just been informed of your true race."
The man grabbed Leornars by the shoulders, staring deeply into his crimson eyes.
"You are an **Avantalian**. You must run—right now. I'll buy you whatever time I can."
Leornars didn't offer a word of gratitude. He didn't say goodbye. He simply tightened his grip on the strap of the bag and bolted.
"HALT! In the name of the King!"
The thunderous roar of heavily armored knights echoed through the stone corridors. Leornars moved like a fleeting shadow, twisting through narrow servant passages and sprinting down spiraling staircases.
But he was running blind in a maze specifically designed by his enemies.
He threw himself around a final corner, only to skidding to a halt. A massive iron portcullis had slammed shut, blocking his path to the courtyard.
He pivoted, drawing his weight back to fight his way through the approaching guard, but he was a fraction of a second too late. The heavy iron hilt of a broadsword descended from the shadows, slamming violently into the back of his skull.
Darkness claimed him before his body even hit the cold stone floor.
When Leornars finally awoke, the first thing that hit him was the pungent stench of sea salt and damp mildew. He shifted, the harsh clink of heavy metal rattling against his wrists.
He was back in a cage.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, his voice dry and echoing off the dripping stone walls of the dungeon.
The synchronized, heavy tread of armored boots approached down the corridor. Moments later, the King—draped in extravagant gold silk and radiating unearned arrogance—entered the dungeon sector. Walking half a step behind him was the Pope, his robes trailing in the filth.
They stopped before the cell, peering through the iron bars at Leornars as if he were a rare insect trapped in a glass jar.
"He's an Avantalian... and a male one, no less," the King sneered, his upper lip curling in disgust.
"A rarity indeed, Your Majesty," the Pope added, his voice smooth and oily. "The bloodline is thought to be almost entirely extinct."
"If we erase his memory and manipulate his mind," the King proposed, his eyes gleaming with a sudden, localized greed, "we could turn him into the ultimate weapon for the kingdom. A god on a leash."
"I shall begin recruiting the High Mages for the brainwashing ritual immediately," the Pope said, bowing slightly before turning on his heel to leave.
The King stayed behind, stepping closer to the heavy iron bars. He leaned in, a sadistic smirk on his face, eager to deliver a final, crushing taunt to the captive boy.
He never got the chance.
In a terrifying blur of motion, Leornars lunged. His hand shot through the gap in the bars like a striking viper, wrapping his fingers tightly around the King's royal collar. With explosive force, he yanked the monarch forward, slamming his face directly into the stone wall. Without pausing, he whipped him backward, crashing the back of the King's skull violently against the iron bars.
The King staggered backward into the corridor, his golden crown slipping from his head and clattering into the dungeon filth. Blood leaked heavily from his shattered nose.
"You... you insolent fool!" the King screamed, his voice cracking with rage and pain as he clutched his face. "You dare lay your filthy hands on me?! I'll erase that arrogance from your very soul!"
Swearing vengeance, the monarch stormed off, his furious screams for the guards fading down the damp hallway.
Leornars didn't watch him go. He simply sat back down on the cold floor, crossing his legs calmly. He closed his eyes, focusing inward.
*As the books said... the foundation of magic lies in the core. If I can gather the ambient particles from the air...*
Deep within his abdomen, a spark ignited. A soft, rhythmic light began to pulse through his skin. First, it was a dull, angry red, but it rapidly intensified into a blinding, deep crimson. The very air in the cell began to hum. Dust motes drifted backward as a mini-cyclone of visible energy began to swirl violently around his seated form.
Suddenly, a cold, mechanical voice echoed directly inside his mind—monotone, feminine, and undeniably divine:
> **[System Status Initialized]**
> * **Name:** Leornars
> * **Age:** 17
> * **Level:** 1
> * **Active Skills:** [Swap - Lv.1], [Dark - Lv.1]
> * **Unique Skill:** [Touch of Decay] — **[LOCKED]**
>
Leornars blinked his eyes open. His left eye had completely changed, glowing with a faint, predatory, and thoroughly inhuman red light.
"...What was that?" he whispered.
The heavy iron-reinforced doors at the end of the block groaned open once more. The Pope had returned, but he was no longer alone. Flanking him were a dozen High Mages clad in deep, hooded robes, their hands already crackling with the sparks of heavy containment spells.
Leornars stood up slowly, the chains rattling against his boots. He didn't tremble. Instead, a wicked, jagged grin spread across his face.