I am Dante. Born to the gutters of the slums, raised by steel and filth. I had nothing but grit—and water magic.
The Academy didn't want me at first. Not some street rat. But I fought for a place, clawed my way in, proved I wasn't just a filthy caster with dirty hands. I wasn't the strongest—not like the Generals—but I held my own.
War came. I bled for this kingdom. Won some. Lost some. And when it was over, I laid my sword to rest.
Then came Lord Frings.
He saw use in me, gave me land, a title. Said I was like kin.
'Strange kind of family,' I thought.
But I stayed. He let me conquer a labyrinth—deep, ancient. And in its heart, I found it: the Trinket of Mana. With it, I became the strongest knight in this city.
But my Lord—he is no saint.
He trades in forbidden steel and cursed relics.
And his tastes... gods, his lust for young flesh. It sickens me.
But who am I to judge? I'm just another piece on his board.
Then came Celrys.
Soft eyes, kind hands. She saw the man under the armor. I loved her—truly. For once, I didn't care what my Lord thought.
I stayed in his service, but only when needed. My heart was hers.
We had a daughter. A small piece of peace.
But peace never lasts.
Enemies began to move—tracking hidden trades, intercepting Frings's dealings. At first, it seemed like chance. But it kept happening.
So we dug.
And we learned the truth.
Celrys... she was born of a lesser house. One that sold their daughters to gain favor, to pry secrets from noble tongues.
'Was I just a target? A mission?'
My heart refused to believe it. But the facts didn't lie.
After the confrontation, she broke.
Celrys fell to her knees, eyes wide with regret. And then the truth spilled like blood from a cut throat.
"Yes, I was born in that cursed village. A whore, as my mother was, and her mother before her," she wept.
"But I loved you, Dante. I did. I still do. I wanted to change—for our daughter. We could leave this city. Start again, somewhere far."
I stared at her, numb. Her voice rang in my ears, but my soul was deaf.
'I gave you my heart. My home. My name. Was it all a lie?'
I don't remember standing. Don't remember walking away. Just her on the floor—crying, broken, reaching for something already gone.
When my senses returned, my men had already entered the house.
They followed my silence like a command.
Celrys died on that floor. The child—my daughter—was taken to the orphanage. Our home turned to ash.
And her family... I razed them to the bone. Slaughtered the name from the face of the earth. No mercy. No survivors.
I returned to Lord Frings's mansion, blood still fresh on my cloak. I knelt before him like a son before a father, and I wept—not from weakness, but from the weight of a world I once tried to build.
"I've failed you," I said.
He looked down at me and raised my chin. "No," he said. "You've come home."
And he forgave me.
He cared for my daughter, gave her everything I could not. Clothes. Food. Safety.
Since then, I have stood by Lord Frings—not just as his knight, but as his kin.
He may have his sins. But to me, he is family.
Now my daughter... A child I both love and despise in the same breath. She bears her mother's face—the very face I once gave my soul to... and the same that stabbed it clean through. Every time I look at her, it's like watching a ghost that still knows how to bleed me.
I imagine that cursed village laughing behind my back. That I, Dante of Costamado, the The strongest Knight in this city, was played like a fool—loved a woman who sold herself like bread in the market.
And now... my daughter dares to ask me a favor. A simple one, honest even. But still—one I cannot give.
Not because I don't want to... but because I'm no longer a free man. I gave that part of me to Lord Frings long ago.
The day had come. The Avalorian and Starglade forces were marching in.
When we arrived, the so-called Chosen One had already seized the bandits Lord Frings sent to delay them.
The plan was to buy time—Frings still wasn't done hiding some of his contraband. The girl had already been moved to one of his more... discreet properties, one not even this city knows exists.
Not fast enough, it seems.
That Rethrus kid—he's too damn sharp. Young, but his mana? It's monstrous. Terrifyingly strong for his age.
'If he'd met me in my teenage years... I'd have still gotten my ass handed to me.'
The transaction went smoothly.
Of course, the people weren't thrilled about Avalorians setting foot on our soil—but even they couldn't hide their awe at Rethrus. And really, who could blame them? Even I'm impressed with what the boy's pulled off.
But… is this truly the right thing?
This could be my one chance to repay my daughter, to give her something she can believe in. But betrayal? Of Lord Frings? He's the reason I am who I am. The power, the name, the land—it all came from him.
And truth be told, I don't care about the Avalorian girl. Saving her won't save the others. Won't fix this broken world. Won't cleanse the rot in men's hearts.
'So what's the point of risking everything for just one?'
That morning, the estate was in chaos. Servants scrambling, guards shouting—panic clung to every corner.
Lord Frings's voice thundered through the halls, sharp and furious.
I entered his chamber and dropped to one knee. The air was thick with his rage.
"She's gone!" he roared. "The girl—she escaped!"
For a moment, my thoughts scattered. She escaped? I told myself I didn't care.
But why... why did I feel a flicker of relief? Damn it. I should be angry—should share in my lord's fury.
"What are you standing there for?" Lord Frings barked.
I snapped out of it. "Yes, milord," I said, bowing before storming out.
Why am I happy? This should be a disaster. Tch.
I should drag her back, hand her over without a second thought.
But maybe… maybe this is how I repay my daughter.
Whatever this feeling is—guilt, defiance, hope—I don't know yet.
What I do know is this:
I need to find the girl first.