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Two centuries ago, the world trembled beneath the shadow of war. The Great Demonic War, as history would call it, consumed the lands, pitting the five races—the Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Beastkin, and the Demonic race—against one another. For ten harrowing years, the battle raged, leaving no corner of the world untouched by its devastation. The alliance of the four races fought valiantly against the Demonic race, whose power was unlike anything the world had ever seen. At the heart of their strength stood Gragatos, the Demon Lord—an immortal being hailed as the greatest demon to ever rise. His armies swept across the lands like a plague, their advance unstoppable until the unlikeliest of leaders emerged. Kaelion Van Arden, a mere human, rose from obscurity to lead the united races. His victories in battle earned him countless titles: "The Great Hero," "The Thunderlord of Arden," and "Bearer of the Stormblade," a weapon said to channel the storms themselves. Under his leadership, the alliance pushed back the tides of darkness. The cost of victory, however, was steep. Entire armies were wiped out, cities reduced to rubble, and countless lives lost. When the Demon Lord was finally defeated and the Demonic race scattered to a distant, uncharted continent, Kaelion stood as the beacon of hope amidst the ashes of war. The people begged him to take the throne of the united continent. But Kaelion, ever humble, refused. “A single king cannot rule all,” he declared. Instead, he divided the lands among his trusted subordinates, each chosen for their valor and sacrifice. The Elves reclaimed their forests, the Dwarves their mountains, the Beastkin their wildlands, and the Humans their plains. Peace was restored, and Kaelion vanished into history, his name immortalized in legend. Yet peace was fleeting. Though the Demon Lord was gone, his shadow still loomed over the world. Whispers spoke of his scattered descendants and the remnants of his power lying dormant, waiting for the moment to strike again. “What happened to the Arden family?” Ciel’s voice broke the silence, a sharp edge in her tone. Eight-year-old Ciel Arden sat at the small, weathered table in their modest cottage, her eyes wide with curiosity. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room as her mother, Ciella, spoke of days long past. The young girl listened intently, her mind already filled with tales of the great hero Kaelion Van Arden. Ciella paused, her hands faltering for just a moment. The question hung in the air, as if it had been waiting to be asked for years. Her gaze softened, heavy with unspoken truths. “The Arden family…” Ciella murmured, trailing off as if the words were an ancient memory. “Even though the Ardens never held the throne of the Human race, the name is known across the continent. It’s respected and feared because of the talent it produces. Even the kings bow in the presence of the Patriarch.” Ciel clenched her fists. “Then why are we living like this?” Her voice trembled with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Why is Father out there working as an adventurer, struggling just to make ends meet?” Ciella’s expression shifted, sorrow etched deeply into her features. She met Ciel’s gaze, her own eyes carrying the weight of years gone by. “Years passed, Ciel,” she said quietly. “The Arden name grew so vast that its branches spread across the continent. We are but one of those branches. So far removed from the main family that even your father—though he bears the name—commands no respect.” Ciel’s heart tightened in her chest. She had always known her family wasn’t like the others—the Ardens of noble courts, the ones whose wealth and power seemed boundless. But hearing it from her mother’s lips felt like a cold slap. “That’s so unfair,” Ciel spat, her voice cracking with raw emotion. “I have the blood of the Great Hero running through me! Why do others get to live in luxury while we’re here… struggling?” Her hands trembled at her sides, and she turned her gaze to the worn walls of their home. The shack they called a house, a far cry from the grand halls of the legends she had grown up hearing about. Her mother sighed, her eyes distant as she remembered a time long past. “It’s the curse of the Arden name, my daughter,” she said softly. “The legacy that should have brought us honor has only brought us burden. We are the forgotten ones, lost in the shadow of those who came before.” Ciel’s chest tightened, but her mind burned with a fierce determination. She couldn’t accept this. She wouldn’t accept this. “No,” Ciel whispered to herself, the words sharp and resolute. “I will prove that I am worthy of the Arden name.” Her mother’s eyes lingered on her, a mix of sadness and understanding in her gaze. “You can’t change fate, Ciel.” “I will make my own fate,” Ciel said, her voice a vow. And from that moment on, the path was set. The world had forgotten the branches of Arden. But Ciel would show them—the name of Arden was not to be ignored. She would prove to them all that she was more than just a distant heir. She was a force to be reckoned with. This is the world into which Ciel Arden was born, a world that still trembled beneath the weight of its past. And though the name “Arden” carried the weight of greatness, Ciel’s place in history was far from assured. Her story, however, was only beginning.
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Ciel POV: Since that day, I’ve trained relentlessly. Every moment I could spare was spent honing myself—body, mind, and spirit. The fire burning in my chest wouldn’t let me rest, not when I carried the weight of proving myself worthy of the Arden name. My father, despite his long hours as an adventurer, noticed my determination. One evening, he handed me a stack of worn books with a small smile. “These should help you start,” he said. They were manuals on cultivating both swordsmanship and magic, written in faded ink with diagrams that sparked my imagination. As I poured over the pages late into the night, the intricacies of this world unfolded before me. Mages wield mana, the very essence of life and magic that flows through all things. The key to harnessing it lies in mastering a breathing technique that allows one to gather and refine mana within the body. Through practice and discipline, a mage can form magic circles in their stomach. These circles are the foundation of their power. The first circle marks the beginning of a mage’s journey, a sign that they have taken their first step into the realm of magic. But as I read on, I learned how rare it was to go beyond that. Each new circle requires immense effort, discipline, and sometimes rare magical resources. The circles don’t just grow—they evolve. Each mage has an affinity—an elemental connection that determines the nature of their magic. Fire, water, wind, earth, light, and dark were the most common, but the texts hinted at rarer, more mysterious affinities. As a mage’s circles grow, they not only glow brighter but also change color to reflect the mage’s affinity. I stared at the description of the tenth magic circle, feeling both awe and disbelief. Only one person in history had reached such heights: Kaelion Van Arden. The books spoke of him in reverence, describing how his power dwarfed all others. “The Thunderlord of Arden,” they called him. His lightning affinity was said to burn brighter than the sun itself, his magic reshaping battlefields. But magic wasn’t the only path to power. I flipped to the section on swordsmen. Swordsmen draw upon aura, a force that strengthens their bodies and sharpens their blades. They cultivate this power through rigorous training and meditation, focusing their aura into their hearts. Instead of circles, swordsmen are ranked by stars that form within their hearts—a visible representation of their strength. A single star marks the beginning of a swordsman’s journey. Most people never rise beyond three or four stars, and those who reach six or seven are revered. But eight or nine stars? They are heroes, legends in their own right, commanding respect across the continent. And then there was the tenth star. Like the tenth magic circle, it was a level of power so extraordinary that only Kaelion had ever attained it. The books described his aura as a tempest, capable of leveling mountains and splitting the skies. I couldn’t stop thinking about how legendary and powerful the Great Hero Kaelion Van Arden was. Every page I read about him, every tale my mother shared, painted him as a figure larger than life. He wasn’t just a warrior—he was an icon, a force that changed the world. It wasn’t just his strength that made him remarkable. He was a human, and humans were said to be the most adaptable of all the races. We could wield both aura and mana, a dual affinity that set us apart from the others. This balance of physical and magical potential made the Human race renowned throughout the continent, respected as warriors, scholars, and leaders. But humans weren’t alone in their greatness. The Elves, with their ethereal beauty and unshakable grace, were unparalleled in their mastery of mana. For Elves, mana wasn’t something to be cultivated from scratch—it was a natural part of their being. It was said that even a young Elf, just beginning their training, would start with two magic circles already formed. Their affinity for magic was so immense that they rarely needed to rely on physical strength. And then there were their spirits—an ability unique only to the Elves. Through their deep connection to nature, they could call upon and form contracts with elemental spirits. Some contracts were with minor spirits, but the truly extraordinary Elves bonded with powerful, ancient beings. The most famous of them all was the Elven Queen who fought alongside Kaelion during the Great Demonic War. Stories spoke of how she had a contract with the Wind Spirit God, the highest form of wind spirit in existence. Even Kaelion, with all his might, couldn’t summon spirits. That ability belonged solely to the Elves. Then there were the Dwarves. Stout, industrious, and fiercely loyal, they were a race of builders and warriors. While they lacked the raw magical power of Elves or the balance of Humans, their ingenuity was unmatched. Dwarves rarely relied on spellcasting, but they excelled in runic magic—a unique craft that allowed them to embed magical properties into objects. Their enchanted weapons and armor were renowned across the continent, blending magic with engineering to create tools of unparalleled power. When it came to combat, Dwarves leaned heavily on their physical prowess and technological advancements. Their armies were equipped with enchanted hammers, shields that could absorb magic, and devices that blended mechanical innovation with arcane precision. The weapons they forged were treasures, coveted by kings and warriors alike. And finally, there were the Beastkin. Diverse and wild, they were a race deeply connected to nature and their animalistic origins. Their abilities varied greatly depending on their lineage. Feline Beastkin, for example, were known for their agility and sharp reflexes, while Avian Beastkin excelled in wind magic and the art of flight. Every Beastkin clan had a unique magic or combat skill tied to their physiology. Their innate magic was a gift, flowing naturally through them, but it came with its limitations. Beastkin rarely mastered more than a few magic circles, as their natural magic often made it difficult for them to cultivate additional circles. But their physical prowess and unique magical abilities more than made up for this limitation, allowing them to stand toe-to-toe with any of the other races. I let out a sigh as I set the book down, my thoughts swirling. Each race was extraordinary in its own way. Humans, Elves, Dwarves, and Beastkin—each contributed to the balance of the world and fought alongside Kaelion to bring peace. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Kaelion stood above them all, not just because of his strength, but because he had united these diverse races under one banner. He had led them to victory against the Demon Lord. I traced the illustrations of the techniques with my fingers, imagining what it would be like to reach those heights. But as I read on, I learned that achieving such levels wasn’t just about effort. Both magic and aura cultivation require more than talent—they demand sacrifices. To form a new magic circle or cultivate a new star often involves facing one’s fears, enduring immense pain, or seeking out rare, magical resources. I knew my path wouldn’t be easy. But I didn’t care. I gripped the hilt of the wooden practice sword my father had made for me, my knuckles white with determination. If Kaelion Van Arden could reach the pinnacle, then so could I. I didn’t just want to prove myself to my family—I wanted to make the Arden name ring out across the continent once more. I wanted to stand at the pinnacle of both magic and swordsmanship. And I would do whatever it took to get there.