CHAPTER 1: THE BEGINNING

The night was cold, colder than he remembered. He tightened his clothes as the freezing wind passed through his clothes and make him shivered, it make him mad as the loneliness inside consume him.

Every gust of freezing wind felt like the world reminding him how empty the road home had become.

The man walked like he carry a weights on his feet, dragging it slow and heavily while having a bottle of liquor in his right hand.

While he was walking through the street, he heard a loud cry of a baby that pulled him back to reality.

The man angrily searched for the source of the sound and found a basket, Inside the basket was a baby, wrapped and covered with a royal crest cloth. 

the man froze as only nobles and high ranking families possessed such things, he wanted to run but the thought of being abandoned like the baby stopped him.

He felt the baby's pain and, without thinking, the man unknowningly wrapped the baby using his clothes and threw away his liquor and hurriedly went back to his home.

The man hurriedly went back to his home and quickly placed the baby in the safest, softest spot he could find. He then shut and locked the door, closing and covering the windows as fast as he can.

Realizing the danger, he thought of hiding the baby. He wondered why the baby had been abandoned.

after a lot of questioning he finally decided to wait for any news of a missing child, whether from the royal family or another noble household, before deciding what to do next.

"Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years."

The helpless baby slowly learned to walk, to speak, and to laugh within the small home the man had built around him.

The man gave everything he had, even trading his own comfort for the baby's safety. Time moved quickly, and before he realized it, the baby had grown into a teenager.

The man, once strong, was now got weak with age, his hair graying and his back bent, yet his heart remained tied to the baby he had saved that night.

The man who was once strong now stood as an old shadow of himself. Too many nights had passed with him walking the same streets, searching for a family that was never there. Tonight, as the cold wind passed at his bones, the truth finally sank in.

"Maybe it's time for him to find them himself," he whispered, voice heavy with defeat. "For his own good."

The boy, no, the young man who had been his only companion through countless lonely nights. Seventeen years had passed since he first cradled that abandoned infant in his arms. Now that same boy's voice rang through the streets, sharp and urgent.

"Father! Let's go back home, it's dangerous out here! The mages are coming to the city!"

The old man turned, and for a fleeting moment, the youth's face blurred into the memory of a baby's smile. the first smile that had saved him from despair. His heart clenched.

But then a thought struck him, sudden and terrifying. The boy… he could be one of them.

The child he raised was no ordinary youth. he was gifted, the rare one who could wield both ki and mana, a talent whispered to appear only once in a million years. Perhaps even rarer.

The old man rushed to his side, gripping his shoulder with trembling hands.

"Come with me," he urged, eyes burning with both pride and fear. "Let's take a closer look at those mages. Maybe… just maybe, one of them will see your gift."

The boy froze. His heart pounded at the thought. If one of them recognized his power, he would be forced to leave.

leave the old man who had been his world.

The thought of his father spending lonely nights without him carved a deep ache inside his chest

"I do not want to go," the boy muttered, his voice low but firm. "I want to stay here with you. We have lived like this for years, and I do not need anyone else."

The old man did not answer. His eyes, weary from age and burden, held a light the boy had never seen before.

It was not the look of sorrow that had shadowed him for so long, nor the quiet resignation of a man who had lost too much.

For the first time, his father's face was filled with hope.

The boy's breath caught in his throat. That expression struck deeper than any words could.

He lowered his head, silent for a long moment, before finally speaking again.

"Alright," he whispered, almost reluctantly. "Let's take a look at those mages."

The old man's hand trembled as he rested it on the boy's shoulder, pride and relief softening the lines on his face. For seventeen years he had carried the boy through loneliness and despair, yet now it was the boy who carried his hope into the unknown.

Together, they turned toward the city where the mages gathered, the future waiting like a storm on the horizon.

By the time the old man and the boy reached the gates of the city's castle, a sea of people had already gathered.

Nobles stood tall in their jeweled robes, high-ranking families pushed their way to the front, and even the lowest of the underworld crept in with hungry eyes.

Everyone had come for the same reason.

The name of a mage was not something to be taken lightly. Even a one-star mage could burn a village to ashes in moments, and the power only grew depending on the tower they belonged to.

The heavy gates creaked open.

A figure stepped out, cloaked in deep purple, the cloth flowing like a shadow, grim and reaper-like. In an instant, the weight of his presence crashed over the crowd. The air thickened, pressing down on every chest, every bone, every soul.

Before they realized it, the people dropped to their knees. Not from choice, but from pure instinct, crushed by the overwhelming pressure.

Only those who carried mana within them could resist it.

The old man stood firm. In his younger years he had lived as a mercenary, hardened in battlefields where life and death were decided in seconds.

His body remembered how to endure.

Beside him, the boy remained standing as well. Years of training had carved his body and spirit into something unshakable. He did not bow, even as those around him trembled and fell.

Among the commoners, only they stood. The rest who held their ground were the nobles and high-ranking families, whose bloodlines were already blessed with mana. Murmurs spread quickly, eyes turning to the old man and the boy who refused to kneel.

Then, a sharp shout shattered the silence.

"Enough!"

The shout carried power, vibrating with ki, sweeping through the air like a blade.

The crushing pressure dissolved instantly.

The old man and the boy exchanged a glance. Both of them felt it, deep in their bones. That was not the voice of a mage.

"That man…" the old man muttered, his eyes narrowing. "He is from Murim."

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