Prologue

|Gary|

"Before we delve into your training, I believe it is necessary for you to meet someone," Vicht said, her smile holding a hint of anticipation.

From thin air, a robust figure materialized before us. He possessed a stature that surpassed that of dwarves, elves, and humans alike.

An Asura.

Recognition struck me as I recalled his mana signature, though his name escaped my memory.

"You," I exclaimed, realization dawning upon me, "You are the esteemed master blacksmith of the Whiteborn Dukedom."

A nod of affirmation accompanied his words, "Indeed, it has been a considerable time, Young Master. At Vicht's behest, I was the one who forged your sword."

"My name is Kailred, a member of the esteemed Grandrus Clan of the Titan Race," he introduced himself with a dignified air, his voice resonating with power. "When I initially forged your sword, I intentionally left it unfinished. However, if you desire, I can complete its creation."

Intrigued, I inquired, "What would happen if you were to complete it?"

A glimmer of excitement sparkled in his eyes as he replied, "I would bestow upon it the gift of sentience."

My astonishment was evident as I exclaimed, "You possess the ability to create a sentient weapon?"

Kailred's expression held a mix of pride and humility as he produced a small stone from his pocket. Retrieving a compact, black case from his coat, he unveiled a pyramid-shaped, opaque gem. "This is an acclorite, a seemingly inconspicuous mineral. However, with the employment of my refined techniques, which I guard closely, this unassuming stone possesses extraordinary potential."

He paused, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well, the refined techniques of my brother and I, to be precise."

"Your swordsmanship is truly unique, Gary. I have meticulously studied your battles, and I now possess the confidence to merge this acclorite with Dusk's Shadowfang. This will enhance its attunement to your body and grant it the ability to gain sentience. The sword has grown through its bond with you, but without the infusion of an acclorite, it cannot independently acquire sentience and become a worthy weapon for you."

Understanding dawned upon me, and I extended my hand, presenting him with my blade. He carefully unsheathed the dark, curved blade, inspecting it with a keen eye before letting out a low whistle.

"You have taken excellent care of this blade, Gary," he remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Very well," Vicht declared, her voice carrying authority, "I shall impart the knowledge of aether to you, while Alexis will serve as your sparring partner. However, these endeavors shall commence once you break through to the integration stage. As for your training battles, I shall grant you access to our treasury, where you may select a suitable blade that will serve you well for the time being."

I nodded, a newfound determination burning within me as I comprehended the path that lay before me.

'Our next encounter,' I vowed silently, my fist clenching, 'shall witness my unwavering strength. I shall not falter again.'

|Arthur|

Time drifted by in a state of formless void, leaving me adrift in a realm where the passage of time was an enigma. It was an existence suspended between moments, where the concept of time itself lost its significance.

Then, a prickling sensation jolted me from my stupor, a faint tingle on my arm, confirming my existence outside the confines of my consciousness. As the moments unfolded, the prickle escalated into sharp, piercing pains coursing through my body. But I welcomed the pain, for it was a tangible proof of my existence, an affirmation that I was more than a mere specter in this ethereal realm.

With each wave of searing agony, my vision brightened, the veil of nothingness gradually giving way to luminous hues of white. And amidst the torment, a flicker of recognition ignited within me, a faint recollection of a similar experience from a past life.

Dread clenched my heart as the realization dawned upon me.

No. Please, not another reincarnation.

Panic surged through my being, a tidal wave threatening to engulf me as the white haze enveloped my senses. I fought against it, desperately clinging to the remnants of my previous life. There was too much unfinished, too many bonds left unfulfilled—my family, my friends, my duty to protect them all.

Sylvie!

Struggling against the weight of my body, I strained to lift my head, the piercing pain still coursing through every fiber of my being. It felt alien to me, like donning armor crafted for a different, larger form. I mustered all my strength to utter a feeble sound, a strained attempt at vocalization.

"Ah... Ahhh."

The sound of my own voice echoed faintly, offering a semblance of reassurance in this disorienting moment.

Gritting my teeth, I swallowed, feeling a fiery sting course down my throat. Teeth. I had teeth. The realization brought relief, dispelling the fear of regressing into infancy once more.

Determined to rise from the ground, I grappled with the formidable challenge of lifting my arms. Each attempt was met with a surge of excruciating pain that engulfed my entire being, as if I were being massaged with a spiked mace set ablaze.

Undeterred, I persisted, enduring the agony that accompanied every failed attempt. I refused to succumb to the pain, for it was a testament to my physicality, a sign that my body was not entirely paralyzed.

Finally, I yielded, accepting the limitations of my present condition. Though the pain persisted, I found solace in the fact that I could feel, that I could perceive my surroundings once more.

My gaze wandered, taking in the limited expanse of the room. Smooth, curved walls encircled me, adorned with pristine white pillars that defied the ravages of time. A warm, ethereal light radiated from sconces nestled along the walls, casting a gentle glow upon enigmatic runes etched between them.

Yet, my attention was drawn to the ground—its surface marred by the telltale signs of dried blood. Dark, brown stains adorned the corners where the floor met the walls, an unsettling testament to the history of this place. It seemed to be a sanctuary for the injured, a haven for those seeking respite from wounds inflicted upon either people or creatures.

Unease crept over me as I pondered the possibility of a bloodthirsty mana beast lurking nearby, capitalizing on my vulnerable state. Yet, the fact that I still remained whole provided a glimmer of comfort. At least I had not become a meal, not yet.

Attempts to move my body proved fruitless, the shell-like confinement leaving me grappling with unfamiliarity. This body was not my own, and each attempt to assert control only reinforced this disconcerting truth.

As time stretched on, and my focus waned, unwelcome memories, long suppressed, resurfaced from the recesses of my mind, forcing their way into my consciousness.

Memories flooded my mind, their weight pressing upon me like a burden I could not escape. I recalled the moment I relinquished control of my body to Grey, a desperate act after Claire's tragic demise. But even as Grey triumphed over the Scepters, the toll of wielding the destructive power, coupled with the full force of Realmheart, claimed his life.

Yet, amidst these recollections, one memory relentlessly replayed, etching its painful image into the fabric of my being. Sylvie, disappearing before my very eyes, vanishing from existence. The bond we shared revealed the truth—she had employed a powerful aether art, sacrificing her own physical form to safeguard me.

A surge of resentment welled within me, directed at her selfless sacrifice. I despised her for putting herself in harm's way, taking her presence for granted, assuming she would always be by my side. But now, she was gone.

A profound ache gripped my stomach, constricting my chest, as I fought to stifle a sob. Squeezing my eyes shut, grinding my teeth together, I attempted to contain the overwhelming emotions coursing through me.

But containment eluded me. Sylvie, the one constant presence in a world fraught with uncertainty, the one who had remained steadfastly by my side, sacrificing herself to protect us all.

"Ghhh..." A guttural cry escaped my lips, reverberating through the confines of the room, its echoes mocking my anguish. "I'm... sorry. I-I'm so sorry... Sylv."

Time blurred, the boundaries of its passage rendered irrelevant as I surrendered to grief and self-pity. How long I remained immersed in this state, I could not discern. But abruptly, I was jolted from my despair, my senses assaulted by a sensation akin to countless pinpricks running rampant across my entire being. It was as if a legion of tiny creatures writhed beneath my skin, their movement sending waves of discomfort surging through me.

Stronger now, the waves crashed upon me, intensifying the pain. And in that final surge, it felt as though the multitude of tiny creatures erupted from within me, tearing free from their ephemeral prison.

|Rachel|

Beneath the serene facade of the sanctuaries, the dire state of Dicathen loomed. With the passing of Gary, the weighty responsibility of Commander fell upon Virion's shoulders, and under his guidance, we sought refuge within the Djinn sanctuaries that Gary had discovered prior to the outbreak of war.

Though we still maintained control over the surface cities, their inevitable demise seemed imminent. We lacked the strength to withstand the invading forces, and it was only a matter of time before they fell under enemy control.

The loss of three Paladins—Lancelot, Arthur, and Gary—struck a devastating blow, their absences leaving a void that could not be easily filled. The prospects of challenging Alacarya's forces appeared grim, and thus we made the difficult decision to abandon our surface cities, fortifying them to stall the enemy's advance while ensuring the successful evacuation of our citizens to the expansive network of sanctuaries, far surpassing the scope depicted in the novel.

This world, our reality, diverged significantly from the tale portrayed in the novel. The sanctuaries we now occupied proved to be superior, both in strength and number, hinting at the heightened power of the Djinns themselves. Lamenting the disparities between reality and fiction held no purpose when the origin of my knowledge remained a mystery.

Instead, I directed my focus inward, honing my own strength, striving to reach the coveted integration stage. Within me, a burgeoning core swelled with the potent energy I had absorbed from the Scepters felled by Arthur's hand. Months of dedicated cultivation had brought me ever closer to the threshold of integration. The true extent of power this stage would bestow upon me remained unknown, yet I clung to the hope that it would grant me the means to retaliate against the Asuras and exact vengeance for Lancelot.