Long before empires carved their names into stone, the warriors of the Ishgar Continent learned to wield Essence for survival.
At first, it was simple.
Breathing strengthened the body.
Crude movements hardened fists and bones.
Essence flowed only to protect against beasts, hunger, and war.
But time twisted necessity into ambition.
Martial and magical arts evolved—not to endure, but to kill more efficiently.
Simple forms became chains of lethal movements.
Breath became circulation.
Circulation became domination.
Those who mastered Essence surpassed ordinary humans.
They leapt across treetops like the wind, shattered stone with bare hands, and felled ancient trees with a single sword swing.
And as power grew, so did desire.
Warriors gathered.
Clans were formed.
Families rose.
Some preached justice and honor.
Others embraced cruelty without restraint.
And some sought neither—only strength, stripped of all morality.
Scattered at first, they eventually united.
The Ishgar Continent fell into relentless competition between humans and the other races.
And in the center, amid endless conquest, an Empire was born.
An Empire that swallowed land, blood, and history alike.
Deep within a forest far from the capital of Central Dominion, far from the Emperor's gaze, a boy ran for his life.
"—Hgh!"
His breath tore from his lungs in ragged gasps.
Branches clawed at his skin.
His clothes were shredded, soaked with blood and dirt. His face was swollen with bruises—evidence of a beating meant not to teach, but to break.
"Damn it…"
His legs trembled as he stumbled into a clearing.
Five figures were already waiting.
Masked Still, Relaxed.
The boy's heart sank.
He had run for more than half an hour, burning every drop of Essence his body could muster. And yet… they had arrived before him.
"F*ck…"
He forced himself upright, glaring at them through blurred vision. Though their faces were hidden, their amusement was unmistakable.
"You ran well," one of them said calmly.
"yes like a dog"Another chuckled.
"I almost fell asleep waiting."
The boy's jaw tightened. If they had been waiting here, then escape had never been an option.
Steel slid free from sheaths.
The air filled with naked killing intent.
What should I do…?
They weren't here to capture him.
They wanted him dead.
He had exhausted his Essence. His body screamed for rest. Yet even as death loomed, fear did not fill his eyes.
Only rage.
"…Why?" he demanded hoarsely.
"I already gave up the Academy. I renounced everything. Why do you still want me dead?"
"Prince," the leader replied, voice cold.
"You know none of that matters."
The words struck deeper than any blade.
"As long as you possess the right to the throne," another added,
"this is your fate."
"Surrender," one said casually.
"We'll make it quick."
"Even with peasant blood, we won't disgrace the Emperor's lineage."another sneered,
That was enough.
The boy's blood boiled.
Don't you dare speak of my mother.
He drew a dagger.
He had never been taught martial or magical arts. The promise forced upon his mother had seen to that. All he had was what he had stolen with his eyes—watching his guard, Ighoras, train from afar.
"A dagger?" one assassin laughed.
"Did you secretly learn something from Ighoras?"
He hadn't.
If he had, maybe this would have ended differently.
"Crude," the leader said, observing calmly.
"But fitting. Your blood doesn't tremble before death."
They seemed pleased.
"Killing someone like you is better than killing a beggar," one said.
"Kill him."
They attacked at once.
The boy barely lasted a heartbeat.
Steel struck his wrist. The dagger flew from his hand. Pain exploded as fingers crushed his throat.
"Ghk—!"
"Is it over already?"
His face turned crimson. His vision darkened. Yet his eyes still burned.
Then—
"Watch out!"
"What—?"
The second dagger flashed.
The blade pierced upward into the man's chin.
The assassin collapsed instantly.
Silence fell.
The leader stared.
…A boy with no training?
Interest flickered in his eyes.
"Damn brat!"
"Get him!"
A kick slammed into the boy's ribs. A sword followed, tearing into his abdomen.
"AAAAAAAA—!"
Agony unlike anything he had ever known consumed him. Blood flooded his mouth as he collapsed.
So it doesn't work twice…
Still, he smiled faintly.
At least one of them would never return.
A boot crushed down onto his wound.
"Slowly," the assassin hissed.
"I'll give you a slow death."
The forest watched.
It did not care.
Then—
Light,White Absolute.
A thunderous crack split the air.
Blood erupted like a fountain.
The man's upper body vanished.
"What—?!"
Another flash.
Another body dissolved.
"It's him!" the leader screamed, pointing into the darkness.
A figure stood there—cloaked light, presence distorted, unreal.
And then he was gone.
Not through speed.
Not through technique.
He simply ceased to exist.
Light struck again.
Another scream was cut short.
The leader turned to retreat.
He never took a step.
Silence returned.
The boy lay in a pool of blood, smiling weakly.
"…Farewell… bastards."
The strange figure reappeared before him.
"You will not die, boy."
The voice was calm. Regretful.
"I should have arrived sooner."
A hand pressed against the boy's chest.
Essence flooded into him—cold, overwhelming, alien.
"I'm sorry," the man whispered.
"This gift is cruel… but necessary."
Something pierced his heart.
Pain vanished.
Darkness crept in.
Strange sounds echoed in his mind.
The words echoed in his mind, but not as a voice: more like the murmurs of an ancient Essence, cold and piercing.
"Life… faltering…"
"Wound… deep… survive… endure…"
"Essence… flow… awaken…"
A white light slipped across his skin, permeating every fiber and organ, weaving and mending, rewriting the very fabric of his flesh and blood.".