Acrune was a destitute man born in prison. He had no surname, as his mother was a criminal who had been stripped of hers, and his father was unknown—his identity never recorded.
His mother had once been a noble, later disgraced and imprisoned. Even so, she was educated and possessed knowledge far beyond that of the mad and ignorant inmates around her. Because of this, Acrune inherited and was taught many things by her.
In addition, Acrune was a miner. He had been forced to work since the age of five simply to earn food.
"Your name?"
"Acrune of Milton. A retired miner, sir."
A soldier clad in polished ceremonial armor stood in his way. He was tall, with a face that could be considered handsome and distinctive platinum hair—someone who looked as though he had been born for the White City of Lebem.
"Alright. Do you have any form of permit? …No, judging by your appearance, I suppose that was pointless to ask. Then why are you here?"
"I came here looking for work."
Acrune spoke politely while trying to conceal his lower body beneath a dirty, thin cloak. Though this was a desert, the cold at night was brutal—yet he appeared to have reached this place entirely on foot, without any protection.
"…Do you have identification?"
"Ah, um, no, sir. I apologize, but—"
"Very well. I must warn you, however: this place is open to anyone who can state their identity. But anything you do here requires one. You should understand that before deciding your next step."
The guard muttered a few more things before escorting Acrune to the registration and information desk. The process was swift and unadorned, yet Acrune thought he could hear whispers about him from somewhere nearby.
When he stepped outside, he finally saw the city known as the White City of Lebem. He wandered about like a country bumpkin, half-naked beneath his cloak, and only after noticing the looks of disgust directed at him did he decide to find something proper to wear. But first, he needed money.
…
"Impossible! This is a jewelry shop, not a charity!"
"This establishment serves distinguished guests. I'm sorry, but we have no need for your labor."
Acrune sought work only to be driven away by demanding proprietors. He was ill-suited to gem trading and to janitorial work at the central temple.
The day was nearing its end. His stomach had been empty for many nights, and he did not have a single coin to his name. When one is reduced to such poverty, pride becomes worthless. And so, Acrune went to a weapons shop.
This was the sanctuary of the White City—a place that shunned weapons and combat. As such, the shop had few customers. Acrune had initially avoided it, fearing rejection. Yet now, he knelt before the young shop owner, who stared at him in surprise at his request for work.
…
In the VIP sector of the hotel where the imperial princess was staying, a sudden loud noise erupted.
In an instant, flames engulfed the rooftop. On the highest floor of the hotel, where the VIP area was located, a man walked calmly through the fire as roots sprouted from the walls, sealing off both sides of the corridor.
Lloyd stood before an open door. Inside the room lay countless dead rats, their mouths oozing a green liquid.
At the center of the large chamber, a battle was unfolding within a barrier that prevented escape.
The moment Lloyd stepped inside, two hands seized his head, followed by a classic Muay Thai knee strike smashing into his nose. The attack came from a naked woman whose body was covered in thick fur.
Lloyd was not surprised. He calmly placed his hand on her head and slammed her decisively into the floor.
Gripping her head tightly, he raised her body as a shield. Dozens of arrows immediately pierced through her.
"I came for the giant, but there's too much trash here," Lloyd said slowly, as dozens of figures emerged from all corners of the room.
A blue flame instantly enveloped Lloyd, then condensed into a pebble-sized stone.
"Combat magic… is done like this."
The entire floor of the hotel exploded. The shockwave shattered every window and door at once.
Lloyd rushed toward a dome-shaped barrier densely layered with Black Threads. He did not know why, but he could sense that Phelion was inside.
"Condense."
White mist gathered around Lloyd's hand. He raised it high and then swung downward, the mist compressing into a cloud that shot forward like a blade toward the dome.
Crack—
The barrier shattered. Countless threads flew outward, linking to individuals throughout the building and gradually spreading across the entire city.
At the center of the Black Threads was Rack, bound like a cocoon, protected by Emma—whose hand appeared crystalline—and Jax, who was hidden within the mist.
There were others as well, along with what appeared to be the terrorist leader, all struggling desperately.
Lloyd understood at once. Phelion was known as a two-thousand-year-old Heroic Giant. The only viable method was to bind him—exactly what the three from Blue Light and the layered realities themselves were doing.
Without a word, Lloyd grasped the situation in a single second. Veins bulged across his hands and arms as he muttered a few words, forming a spear of fire.
Gripping it firmly, the middle-aged man with an oversized frame hurled it past all eyes, straight into the darkness at the far end of the room.
Boom!
Not only the hotel, but nearby buildings were partially destroyed.
At the highest level of the hotel, a massive hole—at least two stories tall—was blasted open, releasing a raging storm of fire. In the sky, two figures could be seen hovering.
"Arrogance!"
Whoosh!
From the point where the spear had struck, small flames ignited and rapidly transformed into iron chains that bound the now-diminished Phelion.
That meant Phelion was restrained by at least three forces. Either he transformed into a giant—or he died without ever landing a single blow.
How could a frail body withstand three suppressive trump cards? But what if he transformed into a giant?
Thinking this, Lloyd suddenly smiled, recalling the story of Phelion—the one he had once told for Joe.