Professor John stood with difficulty in front of the mirror as memories flooded him. Images and scenes flashed in his mind
Christopher Reed, a citizen of the Kingdom of Cloud on the continent of Novalim, living in Phoenix City. He was also a young child who had lived in the slums with his father, killed three days ago in the mountains outside the city by monsters.
Despite their poverty, his father had spared no expense in teaching him reading and arithmetic by hiring a tutor a significant cost for someone like him.
After grasping his situation, Professor John turned his gaze from the mirror to the bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process the predicament he found himself in.
"So… I'm now Christopher Reed?" he muttered to himself, recalling the memories of this body. His mind was a chaotic blend, fragmented scenes from Christopher's life clashing with his own consciousness as Professor John.
He tried to think rationally. "If this isn't just a hallucination or a long dream… then the magical ritual I performed must have caused this. But how? A soul transfer? Reincarnation? Or am I trapped in an ultra-realistic dream?"
He stood up, ignoring the growing headache, and began inspecting the small room. There wasn't much a wooden bed, a small table with old books, and a tiny closet. The room felt slightly cold, its stone walls cracked, indicating the building's age.
He walked to the window, pushed aside the faded curtain, and peered outside. The narrow streets were crowded, buildings made of stone and wood confirming this was not his modern city. Passersby wore simple clothes; some carried baskets of fruit or clay jars, others pulled wooden carts.
"Phoenix City, Kingdom of Cloud, continent of Novalim…" he muttered again, the names echoing in his head as if familiar, though they belonged to no part of his former world.
He returned to the bed and sat down, attempting to organize his thoughts. If he had become Christopher, his previous life was over… But could he return? And if not, how would he survive here?
As Christopher sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes closed, his thoughts churned like stormy waves. The reality of no longer being Professor John but Christopher Reed made everything feel like an endless nightmare.
But as he drowned in his thoughts, he sensed something strange an unfamiliar feeling, as if his consciousness was being dragged into a dark abyss. He couldn't resist. The more he tried to open his eyes, the deeper the sensation grew, until he suddenly found himself in an entirely different place.
The space around him was dark and empty. Something familiar floated in the air before him—the strange artifact, the disk that had caused all this. He stared at it in awe but didn't approach. He wandered the area but found nothing. His gaze returned to the disk.
He slowly stepped forward and reached out to touch the strange disk. The moment he did, he was pulled into a dark void, where a single star glowed softly, as if watching him.
Christopher no longer felt surprise. He calmly observed the shimmering star, then stepped closer and stretched his hand to touch it. The instant he made contact, his consciousness was violently yanked away, as if dragged through a dark tunnel.
---
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in the dark space. Instead, he observed a scene from a third-person perspective.
A dim, vast room lit by faint candles.
In the center stood a middle-aged man of imposing stature, dressed in a black coat embroidered with mysterious golden symbols and black pants. He held a black staff with a gold handle intricately carved. His face was handsome, but a long scar split one cheek, a reminder of a harsh life filled with conflict.
Before him sat a 10-year-old boy on a wooden chair, eyes gleaming with anticipation, eager to hear the man's words.
The man took a deep breath and spoke in a deep, resonant voice:
"Today, I will tell you of Novalim… a vast continent teeming with mysterious races, logic-defying creatures, and secrets that must never be uncovered. Since ancient times, this world has pulsed with magic, its skies filled with mythical beasts, its seas swarming with ancient beings."
The boy lowered his head, as if he'd heard this tale before, but dared not interrupt.
"But that glorious age… did not last."
The man looked at the boy with enigmatic eyes and said softly, yet with a trace of sorrow:
"The Catastrophe struck. No one knew its origin or how it began. But in an instant, the world's foundations crumbled."
"Mana itself was corrupted."
His words echoed like a cursed incantation. The boy froze as the man continued:
"Mages who absorbed the tainted mana found not power, but death. Some burned from within, others lost their minds entirely, and some… transformed into something else. Mindless monsters, distorted beings beyond human comprehension."
"And the spells we relied on for battle became curses to all who dared use them."
"In this unbalanced world, the Saints were the first to seize power. With their hypocritical faces and voices preaching peace, they raised the banner of war, declaring mages heretics who must be purged."
He gripped his staff tightly, brow furrowed:
"Thus began a great massacre. City streets became slaughterhouses, magical towers crumbled into ruins, and hunting mages became a sacred ritual."
"Mages could no longer use spells for offense or mana."
"Mages, once rulers of the world, became lambs led to slaughter."
The boy's eyes narrowed as he whispered, "But… surely someone resisted, right?"
The man's lips curled into a cold smile:
"Yes… some refused to accept their fate and fought fiercely. But in that dark age, there was one different man a peerless genius who refused to bow to the storm. History erased his name, but his legacy lives on in every corner of this world. That man realized the old era had ended, and the world needed something new."
He raised his staff, pointing to a book behind him:
"Instead of clinging to useless magic, he invented a new technique a way to purify tainted mana and reuse it without consuming the user's soul. But he didn't stop there…"
Lowering his voice as if sharing a dangerous secret, he said:
"He created the Hunter System."
At these words, the boy's eyes widened. The man continued sternly:
"That great man declared:
'If we can no longer rely on ancient spells, let us wield weapons. If mana no longer grants strength, let us subjugate it through new means.' Thus, mages replaced tomes with swords, staves with guns, and spells with techniques drawn from blood itself."
He stepped toward the boy and said firmly:
"And so… mages became Hunters merciless killers."
Lifting his head, he gazed at the flickering candles and added:
"Since then, we Hunters have become more than survivors. We are slayers of monsters, purifiers of corruption, lords of the bloody night. We hunt beasts, demons, strange races, enigmatic creatures… and even Saints themselves."
---
At that moment, the scene faded, and Christopher returned to the room, gasping as if awakening from a nightmare.
Christopher closed his eyes briefly, contemplating the dense void around him, as if searching for a thread of courage in the heart of darkness. He sighed deeply, then muttered in a heavy, low voice: "Mages? Hunters? Saints? Damnation… What kind of mess have I thrown myself into?" His words carried the weight of grief and confusion, as though rising from the depths of a heart burdened by unanswerable questions.