It was a quiet afternoon in the grand library of Legostream. At a corner table, a young adventurer named Maxwell Palatine sat hunched over, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Before him lay a large, leather-bound book embossed with the title The History of Our World. Though Maxwell typically preferred novels brimming with heroic exploits or grimoires filled with arcane secrets, the allure of re-reading and uncovering the truth about his world's past was too tempting to ignore.
With a reverent touch, he opened the book and began to read.
Long ago, the realm came into existence—a vibrant world teeming with life. Humans, elves, dwarves, dragons, and countless other beings called it home. This was a world bound together by mana, the essence of magic and life itself.
Yet creation was not without its shadows. Alongside the birth of the realm came a great and terrible evil: the demon clan. Unlike mortals, demons were timeless beings, immune to the decay of age. They thrived, powerful and eternal, under the command of ten fearsome demon lords and their king—a force that loomed over the world like an unending storm.
For millennia, the demons enslaved the mortals, crushing entire civilizations under their heel. Desperate for salvation, mortals turned to the heavens, praying to unseen gods and higher beings. But their cries went unanswered. No deity descended to vanquish the darkness. The mortals' hopes turned to despair as the demon clan's grip tightened.
Faced with a grim reality, the mortals abandoned their faith in divine intervention. They formed the Great Council, vowing to forge their own destiny. From this unity arose the adventurers: individuals of extraordinary mana, trained to stand against the demon clan. Though brave and powerful, even the mightiest adventurers fell short of defeating the demon lords, let alone the Demon King himself.
Half the world was enslaved, and for a time, the demon armies halted their conquest, as if content with their dominion. But after another millennia of uneasy silence, they struck again, advancing relentlessly, one city at a time. The world's survival hung by a thread, and now more than ever, the Great Council needed adventurers capable of achieving the impossible—defeating the Demon King and his lords.
Maxwell's voice rose unconsciously as he read, his passion spilling into the quiet room.
"Shhh!" came the sharp hiss of the librarian, her piercing gaze darting toward him from across the hall.
"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Zion," Maxwell said, clapping his hands together in a frantic plea. The elderly librarian raised an unimpressed eyebrow but said nothing further, allowing him to retreat under her watchful glare.
Before he could fully regain his composure, a faint hum buzzed through the magical stone tucked into his belt—a small, enchanted device that allowed party members to communicate across distances. Maxwell pressed it to his ear, and the voice of Fay, his best friend, rang through.
"Maxwell! You're late! We're all waiting for you at the guild hall!"
Maxwell's eyes widened. "Oh no!" He grabbed his staff, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and dashed out of the library with no time to waste.
Legostream was alive with energy, its cobblestone streets bustling with adventurers and merchants alike. Towering spires and intricately carved stone buildings stretched toward the sky, their banners fluttering in the breeze. The city wasn't just a haven for adventurers; it was their stronghold, housing nearly 70% of all adventurers in the world. It was also home to the Great Council, the governing body that coordinated the fight against the demon clan.
Maxwell darted through the crowded streets, his grey robe billowing behind him. His long brunette hair, tied neatly into a ponytail, swung as he weaved through clusters of adventurers, traders, and onlookers. His glasses threatened to slip down his nose, but he pushed them back into place without slowing his pace.
Though the world had abandoned the belief in gods and a supreme being long ago, Maxwell was different. Deep down, he clung to the idea that an omnipotent creator had forged the realm and everything in it. It wasn't just a hope—it was his truth, even if it set him apart.
But for all his faith, Maxwell's life as an adventurer was far from glorious.
At twenty years old, Maxwell was still stuck at power level 1, a rank so low it was practically an insult among adventurers. No matter how hard he trained or how many missions he completed, his abilities refused to grow.
It wasn't for lack of knowledge. Maxwell had devoured every grimoire in the city, memorizing countless spells, including forbidden magics most adventurers feared to even glance at. Yet, his tiny mana pool limited him to casting only the simplest of spells. A basic fireball was the extent of his magical arsenal, and even that drained him if he overused it.
Memories of his struggles flashed in his mind as he ran. His parents' farm, constantly under threat from bandits, had become a battlefield where Maxwell's resolve was tested time and again. He'd face the intruders with all his courage, only to be beaten down, bruised, and humiliated. And yet, every time, he'd drag himself back to his feet, ready to try again.
But his spirit alone wasn't enough. The reality was always the same: defeat after defeat, with no sign of improvement.
These failures and his love of novels had etched a bitter belief into Maxwell's heart. He saw himself as a side character—a supporting role destined to help the true hero rise. It was a role he loathed, wishing he could defeat the demon king himself.
Arriving at the grand guild hall, Maxwell pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the chatter and clatter of adventurers filling the air. Inside, the towering space was alive with energy—guild members exchanging tales of their exploits, brokers assigning missions, and the aroma of hearty meals wafting from the adjoining tavern.
Maxwell weaved through the crowded guild hall, his shoulders brushing against the throng of adventurers. The din of laughter and clinking tankards filled the air, making it hard to focus. Distracted, he stumbled into a wall of muscle—a towering adventurer with a presence that immediately silenced Maxwell's thoughts.
The impact sent Maxwell sprawling to the floor. He glanced up, his breath hitching as the adventurer loomed over him, his face a mask of irritation and disdain.
"Well, what do we have here?" The man's voice was deep, laced with mockery. His eyes glinted with amusement as he looked Maxwell over. "If it isn't the level 1 adventurer."
Laughter erupted from the adventurer's party behind him, their jeers amplifying Maxwell's humiliation.
"You just bumped into me," the adventurer continued, bending closer until his shadow enveloped Maxwell. "Are you trying to stain me with your weakness?"
Maxwell scrambled to his feet, his lips moving to form an apology, but the words never fully escaped.
"Save it," the adventurer snapped, his tone dripping with contempt. "You're far from your little party, aren't you? No one around to save you." He straightened, cracking his knuckles. "It'd only take one punch to end a weakling like you."
The room seemed to close in as Maxwell froze, the weight of the adventurer's words pressing down on him.
The man tilted his head, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "You know what? I think I will end your misery today."
With one finger, he pushed Maxwell back to the ground as if he were nothing more than a bothersome insect.
"We don't need your kind in this guild. Not you, not your pathetic party," he sneered, his voice carrying over the now-watchful crowd.
Maxwell didn't resist. He didn't fight back. What would be the point? He wasn't the hero of this story, and he knew it. He was just a footnote in someone else's tale, an expendable side character.
Fear filled his eyes as he watched the adventurer clench his fist, raising it with deliberate intent. In that moment, Maxwell wasn't sure if he would see another day.