Rion pressed forward, each step feeling like a battle against his own mind urging him to turn back. He didn't have the courage to glance over his shoulder at his parents standing in the distance. Yet he could feel their eyes piercing into his back—if he looked back even once, he feared he would lose his resolve entirely.
In his mother's eyes had been deep, aching tenderness. In his father's, a shadow of old mistakes lingered—mistakes he never wished to see again. But beneath that shadow lay a silent hope: if Rion turned back now, perhaps everything could be forgotten, and life could return to the way it once was.
Suddenly, Rion's chest tightened. For a brief moment, his feet faltered. His breathing grew heavy. He steeled himself a mysterious smile in Rion's face and whispered under his breath, "There's no turning back from here."
In his mind, he saw his little brother's face. How far had he already gone ? And how much farther was Rion himself venturing? Clenching his teeth, he forced himself onward. He knew this road would not end easily. One difficult path after another lay waiting ahead. Still, one day—perhaps on some distant horizon—this journey would reach its end.
Some time later, he arrived at his training ground deep within the forest.
Dappled light and shadow danced beneath the thick canopy of trees. The air carried the fresh scent of damp earth and green leaves. The birds had fallen silent. The entire surroundings seemed submerged in a quiet, expectant hush. Dry leaves crunched beneath his feet with every step.
There, seated on an old stone, waited Oliver Darren. In his right hand, he held a long sword whose blade shimmered with a faint reddish glow, flickering like living flame. The air around it felt heavier, warmed by its strange heat.
Oliver lifted his head. A faint, satisfied smile touched his eyes.
"You're quite conscious of time. You've arrived exactly when you should."
Rion took a steadying breath and stepped closer. Oliver rose to his feet. An odd, suppressed power radiated from his body, making the very air around him tremble slightly.
"Challenging training spots are rare in this city," he said. "So we'll head to a small village near the border of Tyren—Meson. There, you'll be able to draw out your very best."
He paused for a moment, then looked directly into Rion's eyes. "But before that… tell me openly about your magic. I need to understand what kind of weapon would suit you best right now."
Rion remained silent for several seconds. Then, in a calm but firm voice, he replied, "I have no magic."
He laid everything bare—how he had grown up, how no trace of magic had ever appeared within him, and how everyone had looked down on him for his lack of it.
Oliver listened attentively. There was no surprise in his eyes, only a deep, knowing understanding.
"It's unusual, but not impossible," he said calmly. "Every person carries magic inside them. Perhaps you simply haven't awakened yours yet. And there are a few exceptional individuals whose magic doesn't awaken even by the age of sixteen."
He placed a hand on Rion's shoulder. It was heavy, yet warm.
"Don't worry. I'll help you. But looking at your current situation, I can offer a suggestion." A slight smile curved Oliver's lips. "If you want to become a sword master like me, there are two good reasons why it would suit you. First, since you currently have no magic, you'll need a weapon regardless. Second, the sword is what I know best, so teaching you will be far easier for me."
A spark of light flashed in Rion's eyes. Without hesitation, he nodded in agreement.
Oliver looked pleased. "Even without magic, you can channel and concentrate your power through the sword in special ways. It may not equal magic, but if learned properly, it can sometimes surpass it. However, to use every sword like an artifact, you must develop a deep understanding of it."
Surprise flickered across Rion's face. He leaned forward and asked, "You can turn an ordinary sword into an artifact? That sounds… impossible."
Oliver chuckled softly and shook his head. "To ordinary people, perhaps. But from today onward, it will become possible for you."
His expression grew serious. Gazing at the blade of his sword, he began to explain, "Normally, this requires awakening the power of your own soul—what we call 'Ava'"
"Ava?" Rion asked, eyes full of curiosity.
"Ava is the power of the soul that you manifest physically and channel into your weapon. You could call it an alternative to magic."
Oliver turned the sword slightly in his hand. The reddish glow on the blade flickered more intensely.
"Most people think swords are merely weapons for close combat. But in truth, they are divided into four grades. First are ordinary swords—the kind almost everyone uses. In the hands of a skilled wielder, they can stop ten or fifteen men, but they do not amplify magic or Ava ."
He paused briefly, then narrowed his eyes. "Second—Rare Grade, also known as Reaper. These are extremely rare. With one, a single wielder can take down a hundred ordinary warriors and several magic knights. They slightly enhance the user's power, with almost no side effects."
Rion's fists clenched tightly. Oliver's voice carried the weight of deep experience, and every word sank into him with full attention.
"The higher-grade swords are far more terrifying. But they are also incredibly expensive and rare and dengerous for It's user ." A shadow of caution fell across Oliver's eyes.
"Third—Terminator Grade. There are only one hundred and eight of them in the entire world. Each has its own unique name and skill. In the hands of a skilled wielder, such a blade can destroy an entire village or small town. It can effortlessly eliminate twenty to thirty magic knights. It amplifies the user's magic and Ava a hundredfold. However, it comes with a massive side effect."
Oliver Darren's eyes narrowed slightly.
"If you rely on it too much, you will gradually lose your humanity. You'll turn into nothing more than a killing machine, stripped of your own will. That's why these blades must be sealed. The moment the battle ends, they must be sealed again immediately."
He paused once more, then spoke in the gravest tone yet.
"Fourth—Demolisher. These are the most fearsome of all. There are only sixteen in the entire world. They amplify a wielder's power a thousandfold. From what I've heard, each Admin has been granted one. Four more are held by the generals of the four Emperors. No one knows the whereabouts of the remaining four."
A shadow of warning darkened Oliver Darren's voice.
"Such a blade can obliterate a small country. But its greatest danger is that it slowly drains your humanity, then consumes your own strength until it kills you—only to grow even more powerful by absorbing that power. That's why these too must be sealed."
Intense interest burned in Rion's eyes. He leaned forward slightly and asked,
"Then… what grade is your blade?"
Oliver Darren smiled faintly. He raised the sword high. The reddish, fiery glow on its blade flickered with even greater intensity.
"This is a Demolisher."
He paused for a moment, then spoke with a mixture of pride and caution.
"Its name is Ignis."