"The person whom you are so desperately seeking is not present here, for you are simply not worthy to meet 'Him', and thus 'He' has sent me in His stead to deal with the likes of you." The Storyteller's deep, resonant voice reverberated through the dense, unnatural fog, enveloping the entire city in a blanket of white obscurity that seemed to dampen even the bravest spirits. "Who are you? Reveal yourself immediately, or both you and this 'He' you speak of shall face death!" screamed one of the Diviners, his voice cracking with a mixture of rage and underlying terror as he slashed futilely at the mist. "Hahahaha," the Storyteller's maniacal laughter echoed from every direction at once, mocking their helplessness with a chilling, villainous tone. "Do you truly believe you possess the capacity to challenge the Master when you cannot even navigate my simple conjuration? First, try to defeat me, and perhaps then, if you manage to survive, I might consider asking the Master to grant you an audience. Hahahaha!" No matter how frantically the Diviners exerted their spiritual energy, they found themselves utterly unable to lift or dispel the Special Grade spell that held the city captive. In the established hierarchy of magic, spells are typically categorised into five distinct tiers, ranging from Grade 5 up to Grade 1; however, in truly exceptional circumstances, a Special Grade spell may be invoked, though such a phenomenon had not been witnessed for the last one thousand years until recently. These Special Grade spells are further subdivided into their own terrifying hierarchy from Special Grade 5 down to Special Grade 0. The Special Grade spell that had shocked the world two years prior was merely of the third degree, yet the enchantment currently suffocating Oktavira was a Special Grade 1 spell, a magnitude of power that defied comprehension. The existence of a level higher than Special Grade 1 remains a mystery known to none, and casters capable of such feats are infinitesimally rare, typically restricted to those of Order 3 or above, with the singular exception of three specific Order 4 individuals who can cast Special Grade spells. Because Oktavira had not witnessed a significant magical event in over six hundred years, the strongest individuals currently present in the city were merely an Order 6 Agent and an Order 7 Diviner. The standard Diviners could, at most, manipulate spells of Grade 3 or lower, while the elite Agents were limited to Grade 1 or, in rare bursts of potential, semi-Special Grade spells, depending entirely on their individual prowess and talent. Consequently, they were left paralysed by the question of who this mysterious man could possibly be, for his power was so immense that his rank was completely indiscernible. This current magic was significantly more potent than the incident two years ago, manifesting as a "full course spell" which operates under the absolute law that it can only be dispelled if the caster is killed or if a spell of equal or greater magnitude is counter-cast. Realising the futility of their struggle, a Diviner called out into the void, "Hey, Storyteller, we have no intention of fighting you; I merely wish to ask one question: what is your ultimate goal in doing all of this?" "The Master requested that I test the strength of the locals in this region," the voice replied with dripping disdain, "and judging by your pathetic inability to dissolve my spell, it is painfully obvious that you are incredibly weak." "Who exactly are you?" the Diviner demanded, trying to mask his trembling. "You are not worthy of hearing my name, but if you so desperately desire to know, I shall tell you: I am Mr Magic, an Order 0 existence, the Angel of Magic." Following this shocking introduction, the entire population of the city and the assembled Diviners were struck dumb with bewildered astonishment. Their confusion stemmed from the theological fact that angels are universally understood to be equivalent to saints, placing them firmly at Order 3, yet this entity had just claimed the title of angel while boasting a rank of Order 0. This introduction shattered their understanding of the cosmos, for what kind of deity could possibly exist that would require an Order 0 being—a rank usually reserved exclusively for God Kings—to serve merely as an Angel? "Impossible, Order 0 level existences can only be addressed as God Kings!" one Diviner shouted in denial. "You idiots, not only have you never witnessed a true god, but you have also been worshipping a mere human all this time? What a profound pity! Alright, I will give you some face, but in return, you humans must build a temple for my master!" "Only with the explicit order of the Divine Kings can I authorise such a thing; otherwise..." the Diviner stammered, caught between bureaucracy and survival. "Otherwise what? Do not be afraid, for I am here," Mr Magic declared with finality. Suddenly, the suffocating fog dissipated as if it had never existed, and the Storyteller vanished, leaving behind a detailed project plan and architectural blueprints for a magnificent temple right in front of the wooden stage. Later, in the solemn atmosphere of the Astral Hall, all the high-ranking Diviners gathered for an emergency council, their faces pale and grave. "Whoever this man is, he is powerful to a degree that we simply cannot contend with; therefore, everyone must retreat to their sanctuaries, pray to their respective gods, and beg for their divine assistance," the head diviner commanded, his voice heavy with dread. "We have been granted only one year; he gave us a strict ultimatum that the temple must be fully completed by the New Year's festival next year."
"Furthermore, you must immediately attempt to establish secure contact with the governing bodies of other major cities," the head Diviner instructed with a gravity that weighed heavily on the room, "and strive to solicit their assistance, for if this entity is truly of the Order Zero as he claims, our current deities will be utterly incapable of defeating him." Their clandestine conversation concluded with this grim realisation, and the gathered elites dispersed to their respective residences, their hearts burdened by the looming deadline. The entire city was subsequently mobilised for the monumental task of temple construction, while the monks, maids, and middle-ranking officials of the four great temples retreated into their sanctuaries to offer fervent prayers. Inside the Temple of Saint Merry Andro, a scene of bizarre desecration was about to unfold. Perched nonchalantly atop the sacred statue sat a strikingly handsome figure clad in dark blue and black vestments, holding a magical staff and donning a black hat, while his face was obscured by a blue mask. Below this unauthorised usurper, the monks were deep in prayer for Merry Andro, their primary objective being to solicit the divine aid they so desperately required in this time of crisis. "Ha, it seems that no matter how much one explains the reality of the situation to humans, it remains an exercise in futility," the figure mused aloud. Suddenly, the worshippers looked up with sorrowful eyes and finally noticed the stranger, a powerful, majestic, and dangerous figure who paradoxically radiated a soft, warm feeling. "Hahahaha," he laughed, and the piercing screams of terrified women instantly filled the vast, echoing chamber of the temple. "Let there be peace," he commanded, and his voice acted like a physical wave, instantly suppressing the panic with a Grade 2 spell that forced tranquillity upon them. "Who are you, you insolent moron?" shouted a woman from the front row, a high-ranking priestess clearly connected to the lineage of Adam Becker. "My master has sent a gift specifically for you all," the intruder announced with a mocking bow. "What kind of gift?" the priestess demanded. "My master owes a life from the past, so he has ordered me to destroy this statue and replace it with his own effigy, and this is the gift I present to you!" The entire temple shifted from a state of enforced quiet to one of bubbling hatred and denial. "Impossible," they murmured. "I did not ask for your permission," he retorted coldly, raising his staff. "Akatruni Maakihona sayidufime... Andrifilku." "That is another Special Grade level spell," a woman's voice trembled from the very back of the temple. Following these ancient words, the entire structure was subjected to an irresistible pressure, and the statue of Merry Andro shattered into dust, instantly replaced by a majestic sculpture. The new figure stood seven feet tall, with one hand resting on the brim of his hat and a mask concealing his face, yet his eyes were so sharp they seemed to pierce the soul. The statue looked so frighteningly alive that it emitted a pure, overwhelming aura, leading any powerful observer to conclude that this was not mere stone but an immortal object. "I have fulfilled my duty; the rest is now your concern," the figure declared before vanishing into thin air. The city, having witnessed yet another miracle, eventually returned to its deceptively peaceful and busy state.