The Aegis Group—a renowned mercenary company known across the world—was feared for its martial prowess and praised for its unyielding defense. Led by seasoned masters, the group's military strength rivaled that of mid-tier noble families. They were defenders of the vulnerable and guardians of knowledge, hired not just for war, but to protect those who dared to tread forgotten paths.
Their latest mission was supposed to be routine: escort and protect a team of researchers and journalists investigating newly uncovered ruins on a forbidden landmass. The job had been marked low-risk by the commissioner, so only a squad of rookies and a few veterans had been deployed for assurance.
It was supposed to be uneventful.
But then, the earth trembled.
Boom!
The ancient seal cracked open like a fractured bone, and smoke and debris spewed into the air. Alarms rang in the heads of every experienced soldier. The earth groaned as if awakening from a millennium of slumber.
And from within the depths, a voice echoed—
"Ah… sunlight!"
A man emerged, barefoot and dressed in tattered remnants of garments no one could identify, his eyes gleaming with a strange familiarity as he bathed in the golden hue of the sun. His presence was overwhelming—like a coiled serpent around the necks of all who looked upon him. Yet, oddly, there was no killing intent in his gaze.
Kim Minjun, squad leader and one of Aegis Group's veterans, stood frozen. His instincts screamed danger. This man radiated power—no, divinity. But something else lingered: sorrow, perhaps... or weariness.
"Hey," Minjun called out, snapping himself back to alertness.
The man blinked and turned his gaze toward him, curious but unthreatening.
"This site is restricted by international law. Only licensed personnel have access. Identify yourself—don't try to pull excuses."
Minjun dropped the useless husk of his dismantled firearm and drew a short sword from his back, steadying his stance.
The man said nothing at first. He looked around at the foreigners—their clothes, tools, and unfamiliar dialect. It quickly became evident: this was not his time. He could no longer sense his followers, nor the sacred weapons he once wielded. The land was the same, yet changed.
"Put that knife down before someone gets hurt," he said calmly.
Minjun didn't budge. "Team, fall back! Evacuate the researchers and journalists—now!"
The others obeyed without question, retreating from the crumbling ruin as the atmosphere grew dense with tension.
"I'm not your enemy," the stranger said, slowly raising his hands. "Lower your blade."
Minjun narrowed his eyes, but then saw it—an eerie glow seeping from the man's arm. A black crest, pulsing with crimson energy, now visible under his skin.
"That energy…!" Minjun shouted. "Crimson! Just like those villain bastards!"
The mercenary's body lit with a brilliant aura as he called forth a higher power.
> ["The Weeping Wolf" blesses its contractor with the Obsidian Fang, accepting ten tributes from the contractor's vault.]
His short sword twisted and grew into a menacing obsidian blade, humming with the energy of the moonlight itself.
"Die, you villain!"
Minjun charged, slashing with precision toward the stranger's neck—but the blade never landed. Instead, it met an invisible force. The moment contact was made, a sickening numbness washed over Minjun's body.
His arms seized. The sword corroded instantly, decaying into rust despite its divine blessing.
"What…?"
The stranger's expression remained calm, almost disappointed. "You poor child."
With a flick of his finger, the rusted remains of the blade scattered into the wind. Minjun fell to his knees as darkness swallowed his vision.
---
When he awoke, he was kneeling—bruised, battered, and bound by nothing but his own shame. Before him stood the man—no longer a stranger, but something ancient.
"After the era of chaos—what you call the Tower's Reign—records say powerful beings known as Apostles roamed the world. They had power to level continents, yet one day, they vanished," Maevos murmured, almost to himself. "Then came the constellations."
Minjun coughed, wiping blood from his mouth. "That's all we know… That's the truth."
"So much time has passed," Maevos said, stretching his arms. "It felt like a short slumber… but everything's changed."
"W-where are we?" Maevos asked.
Minjun hesitated. "Y-you're standing on Apostle's Reach… an island in the Ring of Fire. This site is sacred and heavily restricted by the World Authority."
Two thousand years. His name long erased. His disciples, gone. The land once scorched by his wars now glimmered with towers of steel and light.
A military jacket was draped across Maevos' shoulders. Minjun, unsure whether out of guilt or awe, had offered it to him during their march.
"Your aura… it doesn't match the energies of this era," Minjun whispered, trying to understand the being beside him. "You… can use different types of abilities at once. That shouldn't be possible."
"Stand," Maevos commanded.
"Y-yes, sir."
"Lead me to your home."
"Huh?"
Hours passed.
The pair now stood inside a modest apartment in Gangnam, South Korea—an apartment for mid-ranking veterans like Minjun. Technology buzzed around them. Maevos looked out the window, mesmerized by the lights of vehicles, streetlamps, and skyscrapers.
"Everything… is bright."
"You're seriously acting like you crawled out of the Stone Age or something," Minjun muttered, locking the door. "Don't tell me you're planning to stay here?"
Maevos ignored him, fixated on the glowing television screen. He sat on the couch and nearly melted into the cushions.
"So soft…" he mumbled, dazed by the unexpected comfort. "Heaven never had this…"
Minjun groaned, moving to the kitchen to cook some instant ramen. "What did I do to deserve this lunatic?"
"Tell me more about these 'constellations,'" Maevos called out.
"They're powerful entities—gods or spirits or whatever—that bless us with power. They guide us through gates and help us conquer the Grand Towers."
"Why don't they just destroy the towers themselves?"
A flurry of translucent messages blinked before Minjun's eyes.
> ["The Weeping Wolf" growls at the mortal's insolence.]
["The Weeping Wolf" clarifies: interference is forbidden due to metaphysical plausibility restrictions.]
["The Weeping Wolf" demands its contractor evict the blasphemer.]
Suddenly, the messages glitched and vanished. Minjun blinked in disbelief.
Maevos lowered his hand. "Sorry. I noticed a mana thread connecting to you… so I cut it."
"You… You can see system links?!"
Maevos turned to face him fully now, eyes glowing faintly.
"I'm not of your world," he said softly. "But it seems I've returned to it."
And somewhere in the skies above, hidden from mortal eyes, the constellations stirred.