100 years after The Great Cataclysm.
Unbalanced...
That was what the world had become. It was now unbalanced.
With spirits walking the same soil as man yet remaining invisible to the average human, death tolls had increased drastically—from incurable illnesses born of prolonged exposure to spirits, and mutilated deaths that defied common logic: spirit attacks.
In the heat of the chaos, Guilds and Hunter Factions were formed and tasked with the elimination of spirits.
And as many had feared, those who awakened were prioritized above everyone else—unless, of course, you were just stupidly rich.
So much for the world to become in so short a time.
…
…
Panther Gym
BANG!
Two fists collided, sending a light shockwave across the gym. One fist belonged to a dark-skinned man with a muscular build; the other, to someone with a calisthenic frame.
They both backed away from each other.
"Hah! Don't tell me that's the best you've got, Tyler! Hahahaha!" barked Scott—the muscular one. He had a buzz cut that sat well above his small stache, and his yellow irises gave him a predatory gaze.
Tyler, on the other hand, merely shook his head, unbothered by Scott's provocations. He had brown curtain hair and red irises.
"Life would be a whole lot easier if you talked less," Tyler said, stretching his arms before bending forward as he extended one leg backwards.
"Call me crazy, then!" Scott laughed, charging at Tyler.
A small, almost imperceptible smile crept onto Tyler's lips. "Baited as usual," he muttered to himself.
Flames burst from Tyler's feet, boosting his speed as he launched himself toward Scott.
Just as Scott cocked his arm back, Tyler dropped into a split, sweeping for Scott's legs. And as planned, he successfully brought the hulking young man crashing to the ground.
He didn't stop there. Planting his hands on the floor and lifting himself up, Tyler spun his legs—one of them igniting with flames. The burning foot shot toward Scott's face, but at the very last second, Scott rolled out of the way.
"Time's up!" a voice echoed from outside the ring.
Tyler let himself collapse to the ground beside Scott, panting. "Goodness, I almost won."
Scott laughed. "Almost. That makes it five in a row. I still haven't lost to you."
The man who had called time wore a black tracksuit. His long black hair fell to his neck, slightly veiling his half-lidded eyes, though a bright smile played beneath his roughly bearded mouth.
"Great job, both of you. You've improved since last time," the man praised.
This was Lucius Hale—better known as Grant's Reject.
Once hailed amongst the greatest second-generation Grant users, until… Grant became something he could no longer wield, they said. And so, he retired.
Despite looking to be in his early thirties, Lucius Hale was actually in his late fifties. Awakening Grant in the first place came with a measure of longevity.
Now, he was simply the master of his small gym, training a mere handful of Grant users.
He moved past Tyler and Scott, approaching the next sparring match—Cassandra and Mason, who were clashing with wooden swords.
"Fix your stance, Miss Lauren," Lucius said as he walked by.
"Yes, Master!" Sandra—as she was usually called—answered promptly.
Then he moved on to the last duo—Eryn and Yuri. Two best friends.
"Come on, dummy," Yuri said to Eryn calmly, her hands raised defensively.
Eryn, on the other hand, was panting heavily.
Yeah, he was indeed the weakest of all Lucius's students. His post-awakening evaluation had placed him at the lowest possible starting point in Grant level. As a result, he had obtained no Gift upon awakening, unlike the others.
Gifts were special, individual abilities that Grant bestowed upon its wielders—separate from the universal amplification of senses and physical capabilities, and the generally obtainable skills.
For Eryn, possessing such an extremely low Grant level meant he was barely above the average human in terms of physical prowess.
Eryn finally caught his breath and charged at Yuri. He threw a punch, but she sidestepped with ease.
Still, she hadn't expected anything more. Her eyes widened as she watched him use his momentum to his advantage, spinning to drive his other elbow toward her face.
Yuri barely dodged—the blow grazing her cheek—but she caught his arm, lifted him off the ground, and slammed him onto the mat on the other side.
"Argh!" Eryn groaned in pain, his back arching upward.
"Gosh! Sorry—it was instinctual," she apologized, stepping over to him and extending a hand.
Eryn let her help him up, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. "Yeah, it's fine. You don't have to hold back just because I'm not as strong as you. What good would that do me?"
Noticing Lucius nearby, they both bowed.
Lucius gave a curt nod. "You may be right, Eryn, but you needn't pressure yourself. Don't rush."
"I understand, Master. But… I've been here for almost two years, and I haven't improved a bit," Eryn said, looking down. "It's like I'm stuck. Like I've already reached my Peak Count."
A Peak Count—also referred to as one's Grant Peak—is the point at which a Grant user can no longer improve their skills or innate abilities; a hard limit. This, of course, has nothing to do with external amplifications.
"Don't say that, son," Lucius replied with a warm smile. "You can't have reached your Peak Count at such a level."
"Isn't me having one of the lowest Grant levels ever recorded enough of a miracle to make you believe it's highly possible? Tch." Eryn muttered the words under his breath, though loud enough for Lucius to hear as he dropped onto the rest bench.
Lucius studied Eryn quietly for a few seconds before turning to leave. "The lowest Grant ever recorded… belonged to the man who invented the Peak Count theory. He was trying to explain why he couldn't lose. You're not stuck, Eryn. You're just the first honest student I've had. Rest up—that's enough for today." And with that, he walked away.
Yuri dropped a towel over Eryn's head and sat beside him, handing him a bottle of water. "Did you understand what he meant at the end there?" she asked, taking another bottle for herself.
Eryn took the water. "Nah. Not a bit. You?"
"Me neither," she shrugged, gulping down her drink.
Lucius suddenly stopped walking. There was a sharp shift in the air—one even his students could feel.
Lucius smiled but didn't glance back. He didn't need to. "What brings you here?"
A tall, muscular man in a suit stood by the gym entrance, jacket in hand. A snake tattoo coiled around his neck and slithered down his left arm. His hair was neatly combed back, and a cold grin sat on his face. He exuded an aura that sent a chill through the students.
"That's no way to welcome an old friend. It's been a long time, Hale." The man's deep voice carried effortlessly across the gym.