It was midnight in Yulyas.
A boy sprinted out from a dark alley tucked deep behind the city. His clothes were soaked and clung to his trembling frame. Bruises darkened his face, and one of his eyes was swollen shut.
His hair was uneven—half of it torn or shaved off—and on the exposed patch of scalp, a thin trail of blood trickled down. It looked as if someone had tried to carve into his skull.
"Where's the boy?!" a panicked voice echoed from a nearby alley, bouncing off the damp stone walls.
"I don't fucking know! Shut up and find him!" another snarled, boots slamming against puddles as shadows moved fast.
The boy's breath hitched. Every inhale burned. He ducked behind a pile of broken crates, clutching his side. Blood dripped down his forehead, soaking into his already soggy shirt.
Gotta move...
He pushed off the wall, barefoot and silent, darting through the backstreets like a cornered animal. His vision blurred, but the fear kept him sharp.
Then—light.
A streetlamp flickered at the edge of the alley, casting an unsteady glow across the cobblestones.
Footsteps echoed.
Two figures emerged from the darkness, walking calmly. One had blonde hair and carried a longsword at his side—Arthur. The other, with deep crimson hair and rectangular glasses, was William.
Arthur's eyes narrowed as he spotted something ahead. A boy—wounded, shaking.
He stopped in his tracks, gaze locked on the figure.
"…You seein' this?" William asked, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.
Arthur didn't respond. He stepped forward.
The boy looked up—just for a moment.
Then he collapsed, crumpling into the wet stone like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Motherfucker, I didn't even do anything yet," Arthur muttered, a flicker of irritation in his voice.
"Yeah," William said, eyeing the collapsed boy. "But that kid's definitely fucked up."
Arthur started walking toward the boy, staring down at him with a cautious look. William trailed behind, hands in his pockets, glancing over Arthur's shoulder.
"Hey… your power. Is it, uh… weakened?" Arthur asked without looking back.
"Yeah. I'm back to my fifteen-year-old self," William said with a sigh.
"Then you can use healing magic, right?"
William raised an eyebrow. "Dude, you have regeneration."
Arthur shot him a glare. "That costs too much mana."
William rolled his eyes. "A little mana won't kill you, Arthur."
Arthur grumbled under his breath. "Says the guy who fainted casting a fireball when he was fifteen."
"I was twelve, thank you."
William sighed and knelt beside the unconscious boy. His hand hovered over the kid's chest, and soft light began to glow from his palm.
"I swear, if this burns more mana than it should…" he muttered.
A faint pulse of warmth passed through the boy's body. The bleeding slowed. Bruises faded. His breathing steadied.
William leaned back, wiping his forehead. "My mana core right now is at Level 1."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Damn. That bad, huh?"
For Arthur and William, mana core is like a level. Think of it like a cup: the bigger it is, the more mana you can hold.
The system had nine levels.
Level 1: Holds about 10 kg of mana. Decent for a rookie swordsman or a beginner mage.
Level 2: 100 kg.
Level 3: 120 kg.
Level 4: 200 kg.
Level 5: 500 kg.
Level 6: 570 kg.
Level 7: 1,000 kg.
Level 8: 1 ton.
Level 9: 100 tons.
But here's the kicker—most people can't go beyond Level 5. Every person's core has a natural limit. Reaching Level 8 is damn near impossible. Level 9? Practically myth.
Only one person ever got there. William Olstad.
Though he almost died doing it.
"All right, first things first—we need to get stronger if we're gonna take down Killiar," William said with a scoff. "If he's here too, there's a good chance he's fifteen like us… and probably got his memories back early. Bastard might already be grinding his way up."
Arthur gave a small nod, then let out a low chuckle.
William narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you laughing at?"
Arthur shrugged. "No reason."
William rolled his eyes. "Why'd you even save that kid, then?"
"No reason," Arthur repeated, expression unreadable.
"Son of a—"
Before William could finish, the alley lit up with a flicker of flame.
Three men stepped into view, torches gripped in their left hands. They wore cloth armor reinforced with chainmail, and on their heads were nasal helmets that glinted under the torchlight. Each had a belt strapped with a longsword hanging at their waist.
Their eyes locked on the boy.
And then on Arthur.
"Right. Of course," William muttered, adjusting his glasses. "No wonder this kid's covered in bruises."
Arthur unsheathed his longsword with a soft metallic whisper, stepping forward without hesitation.
Meanwhile, William reached down and picked up a crooked stick from the ground.
Arthur side-eyed him. "Ain't no way you're doing Harry Potter shit right now."
William smirked. "C'mon, Arthur. You know I need a weapon. This stick's the best I got."
His voice dripped with sarcasm, but his stance was steady—half-joking, half-ready for war.
"GET THE BOY!" one of the men barked, yanking his sword from his belt and slamming the torch against the wall holder.
"What about the others?" another asked.
"Just get them, idiot!"
All three charged toward Arthur and William.
Arthur moved first. With a smooth stance, he unsheathed his longsword in a blink—schling!—and cleaved through the first man's neck. The head hit the ground with a wet thud, blood spraying across Arthur's face.
William snorted. "Still doing the head cuts, huh? Yep… that's definitely you, Arthur."
He raised his stick, channeling mana from his core through his veins, concentrating it at the tip.
A crackle of lightning surged.
ZAP!
A bolt shot out, slamming into the second man's chest. The body convulsed, smoke rising from it, before dropping lifelessly.
"Oouf… way too much lightning," William muttered, rubbing his wrist.
The third man screamed in terror. "A-AHHHHH—!"
Before he could finish, Arthur stepped forward and drove his blade straight into the man's skull, then yanked it free with a sharp pull.
"Ah, shit," Arthur muttered, inspecting the blade. "This sword's gonna break."
Arthur tossed his cracked sword aside with a grunt and knelt by one of the fallen men, yanking the blade from his waist.
"Oh—lucky. A zweihander."
William raised an eyebrow, pushing his messy hair back. "Isn't that sword kinda trash for your combat style?"
Arthur stood, testing the weight with a couple of swings. "You know I've mastered multiple sword styles."
Back in the old days, Arthur had no choice—he had to learn the forms of every type of sword. On the battlefield, your weapon could break any second. If all that was left was a dead man's blade, you had to be ready.
"Still," William said with a smirk, "you always end up swinging a longsword or some massive odachi."
Arthur just shrugged. "I don't give a fuck."
"So what the fuck are we gonna do with this kid?" William asked.
Arthur shrugged, kneeling by one of the corpses and beginning to absorb its mana. "Just leave him. We need a place to sleep first."
"Oi—leave me some! I need mana too."
Arthur had already drained three of the bodies before William got to the last one. They shared it begrudgingly, like siblings splitting the last slice of pizza.
As they walked toward town, Arthur glanced at William. "So, are you finally gonna tell me what this city even is?"
"Yulyas," William said, pushing up his glasses. "Looks kinda fucked in the back, but the front's basically Erudia's trading hub."
Arthur squinted. "So basically, you're telling me the whole city's fucked no matter where we go?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"And why the hell did we use the back gate?"
40 minutes earlier…
"Alright, Yulyas is the closest city from here," William said, adjusting his glasses.
"I can see the front gate," Arthur replied, already walking.
"Yeah, we're not going in that way."
Arthur stopped. "Fuck why?"
"I'll tell you later," William said with a smug grin. "And don't talk on the way to the back gate."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. 'What the fuck is this guy hiding…'
Back in the present…
"Right," William said, finally explaining. "The front gate's basically a dead zone. If you're not a merchant, you've got a 70% chance of getting robbed or killed for mana."
Arthur stared at him. "You could've said that before we walked through the sewers, dumbass."
"Yeah, my bad I forgot."