In a reality ruled by gods and impossible phenomena, magic was everything.
Gods did not merely watch over the world —they lived within it. Sometimes, they lived within men, turning them into beings known as VESSELS.
From the very moment life formed—right down to the shaping of DNA—every living creature was granted magic. Some were weak. Some were diverstating. And among all types, one stood above the rest in mystery and rarity.
SILVER.
So rare that in a population of one hundred, only one percent would ever be born with it. And fewer would learn how to use it.
The air was dry, heavy with dust. Jagged mountains loomed like silent giants, blocking the scorching sun overhead. The wind howled through the rocky land, tearing leaves from trees and dragging them across the broken earth.
At the center of this wasteland stood two fighters.
Both were broken.
Both were exhausted.
Neither had surrendered.
Ozaki stood hunched, fighting for breath. His red cloak hung in shredded, burnt pieces from his shoulders. Cuts and bruises covered his body, blood streaking down his arms and legs. His long brown hair clung to his face, darkened with sweat and dust.
A SILVER user—rare even among legends—yet now barely standing.
Across from him, Kaku continued to walk forward.
Each step was uneven. His dark brown uniform was torn and soaked with blood and dirt. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, shattered beyond use. His body looked ready to collapse at any moment.
But still… he moved.
Earlier, Ozaki's blade had torn through him cleanly—an attack meant to end the fight.
Kaku hadn't dodged.
He had taken it head-on.
Ozaki stared at him, disbelief flashing through his exhaustion. Kaku should have been down.
Dead.
Needing time—just a breath, just a moment—Ozaki spoke.
His voice was low, tired, but steady.
"Power…" he said, forcing air into his lungs. "It's not something you're simply born with. You gain it by enduring. By will."
Kaku coughed, blood spilling from his mouth, yet his eyes burned with conviction.
"I wasn't born with power," he replied, his voice rough but unbroken. "My magic was worthless. Useless against everything."
He took another step.
"So I trained. And trained. And trained. But nothing changed—until I met him."
Ozaki felt his own magic slowly knitting his wounds, painfully slow now.
"A savior," Kaku continued. "He gave me strength. I owe him everything. My life belongs to him."
"That doesn't mean you have to die for him," Ozaki said.
"I do!" Kaku shouted.
His eyes widened, fierce.
"He taught me something."
In an instant, Kaku exploded forward.
His broken body screamed in protest as he forced every last drop of energy into motion. Wind tore through the land behind him, dust rising violently as a glowing blade formed around his right arm—brilliant, lethal.
"Power is something you earn!!" Kaku roared.
Ozaki did not move.
He lowered his stance slightly, pressed his palms together, and closed his eyes.
Kaku's blade pierced Ozaki's chest—just beneath the heart.
Blood spilled.
Kaku laughed through the agony, leaning close enough to whisper.
"He told me… you were worthy."
Ozaki inhaled. Calm. Focused.
"Kowichi's Sealing Art," he said quietly.
"Weapon Seal."
Kaku froze.
His eyes widened as he tried to pull back—his arm wouldn't move.
"What?" he muttered. "My arm… it's still inside you—"
Behind Ozaki, space rippled.
A massive glowing octagon formed, radiant and absolute.
From it erupted a storm.
Swords.
Spears.
Axes.
Countless weapons burst forth, screaming through the air—phasing straight through Ozaki's body as if he weren't there, all converging on Kaku at once.
There was no time to defend.
The impact was catastrophic.
The earth shattered. Stone exploded. Trees were torn apart. The land itself was carved open by the violent storm of weapons.
When the dust settled—
Only Ozaki stood.
Kaku lay torn apart, his body scattered across the ruined ground. Still alive. Barely.
"These weapons are shaped from my power," Ozaki said weakly. "They drain me… but they carry my will."
Kaku coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. Even now, he smiled.
"I'll…" he gasped. "Break out of your seal…"
His eyes darkened.
"I just need to… share it."
Suddenly, the scattered pieces of his shattered body rose into the air.
They drifted apart—splintering, dispersing—carried by unseen force toward different corners of the continent.
Ozaki collapsed.
His strength was gone.
Using SILVER to destroy and seal Kaku had drained him completely. Even his healing magic slowed, fading as though it might stop altogether.
Lying among the ruins, Ozaki spotted one of his summoned swords nearby. Broken. Dull. Barely intact.
But it still held a trace of his power.
He grabbed it and pressed it against the deep wound in his chest.
The blade glowed faintly—sealing the injury just enough to stop the bleeding.
A heavy sound followed.
Thud.
Ozaki's body went limp, consciousness slipping away.
Far away, in a quiet town, a young boy named Yamato stood at the outskirts, fists raised.
He slammed his knuckles into massive boulders again and again. His light-brown skin was marked with dirt and bruises. His dark hair clung to his face, and his clothes were torn from constant training.
"I don't see any improvement," he muttered.
His final punch obliterated the rock, sending fragments flying—yet the recoil tore through his hand.
He winced.
"It's pointless," Yamato said quietly. "I can't get any stronger."
He grabbed his gear and turned toward home.
"How do I get stronger?" he wondered.
As he walked back toward the dorms near his school, his thoughts spiraled.
"Why was I born poor?"
"Every day is a struggle… helping mom… surviving."
His jaw tightened.
"I go on missions just to make money. I skip school just to get by."
Then a name crossed his mind.
"Why couldn't I be born rich… like Lumei?"
His expression softened—just a little.
"Maybe we're not really poor," he thought. "Maybe mom's trying to teach me something."
Then doubt crept back in.
"No… it's been eighteen years. There's no way she could hide something that long."
He frowned.
"Unless… there's something she never told me."
His steps slowed.
"I ask for help," he whispered to himself. "I always get rejected. I don't even know why."
His grip tightened.
"The only person who's never looked down on me… is mom."
His foot struck a stone near the turn to his house, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Night had fallen. A crescent moon lit the path home.
He considered visiting Lumei at the nearby dorm.
"Not today," he said softly. "It's been a rough day."
Yamato entered his small dorm room. A warm, delicious smell filled the space, easing his chest.
He smiled faintly and sat down.
"That's better."
He pulled off his ruined clothes, sighing as he tossed them aside.
"I really liked those…"
He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Cold water slammed against his bruised hand.
Pain flared.
He stared at it gloomily.
"Still not healed," he murmured. "Guess I'll deal with it tonight."
The water poured down as the world moved quietly toward something far greater.
Back at the ruins, Master Ozaki's body jerked violently—then his eyes snapped open.
His clothes were still torn and scorched, but his energy had fully returned. He pushed himself to his feet, rolled his shoulders, swung his arms loose, and cracked his neck. Dust fell from his sleeves as he brushed his clothes clean.
"Ooh," he said with a wide grin, stretching. "I'm back!"
The cheer vanished in an instant.
Kaku's words surfaced in his mind like a blade. Ozaki's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the future pressed down on him.
"I need to contact Cloak High," he muttered. "We'll need the best students for a rematch. Kaku won't come back weaker… he'll come back stronger."
The night wind drifted through the ruins as Ozaki steadied his breathing. Slowly, he raised his hands, moving them through the air with practiced precision, like a magician conducting an invisible orchestra.
Metal shimmered into existence.
A thin, silvery sheet formed between his fingers—flexible like paper, yet razor-sharp along the edges. With a small knife, Ozaki carved carefully into its surface, each word glowing faintly as it was etched:
"Select the best of the best, based on the entrance exams of the Grade 5 students."
He paused, then smiled again, that familiar lightness returning to his face.
"If possible," he added, carving a final line, "we'll hold a match between them… and choose again."
Rolling the metal sheet into a tight scroll, Ozaki flicked his wrist.
The message shot into the sky.
Under the bright moonlight, the thin sheet blurred past rooftops and towers, slicing cleanly through the night as it raced northwest—far faster than any normal eye could follow—its destination set.
Yamato stepped out of the shower, water still dripping from his hair. He grabbed a towel and dried himself quickly, exhaustion weighing down every movement.
He pulled on his shorts and a sleeveless shirt, then collapsed onto his bed without hesitation. Staring at the ceiling, he let out a quiet sigh.
"Tomorrow… it continues."
His eyes were just beginning to close when a familiar energy swooshed across the sky above his dorm, sending a subtle pressure through the air.
Yamato felt it instantly.
His eyes opened—but he didn't move.
Too comfortable. Too tired.
The presence faded, and with it, his awareness slipped back toward sleep.
Elsewhere.
In a dark, cluttered office overflowing with papers, old cloths, and ancient artifacts, a window stood open to the night.
A thin metal scroll flew in—and landed cleanly on a desk.
Master Regns of Darkness, the Tamer of Dragons, looked up. Calmly, he reached out and caught it.
Unrolling the sheet, his eyes scanned the carved words.
A slow frown formed.
"Ozaki asks for too much," Regns muttered to himself. "This is stress."
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling.
"It'll take a long time to go through records from six years ago…"
The moonlight spilled across his office floor as the weight of what was coming settled in.