Luke Orden

Luke's life was one of comfort and privilege, with little expected of him. He was the second son of Marquis Orden, one of the top nobles in the Slatemark Empire and an Immortal-rank swordsman. The Slatemark Empire boasted the highest number of Immortal-rankers of any superpower, yet it wasn't as unified as other forces.

Despite his family's high standing, Luke's upbringing was surprisingly loving. His father, despite his stature, was a kind and supportive figure. Most of the pressure, however, fell on Luke's older brother, Michael. Unfortunately, Michael struggled under the weight of those expectations. He wasn't without talent, but compared to Luke, his abilities seemed lackluster. Michael barely reached Yellow-rank by the time he turned fifteen, and despite the Marquis's best efforts, he failed to gain admission to Mythos Academy.

Luke was a different story. Born two years after Michael, his talent far exceeded his brother's, sparking whispers among the noble circles. Some even speculated that the Marchioness, Luke's mother, had an affair, as they found it hard to believe that an Immortal-rank noble could have produced a son like Michael, whose talent seemed destined to peak at Integration-rank despite consuming countless high-level resources.

Unlike the rumors, Luke harbored no resentment toward his brother. In fact, he loved Michael deeply and never sought to take the position of heir from him. The duel between them, which ended in Luke gaining admission to Mythos Academy, was never something Luke desired.

But Michael had been blinded by his inferiority complex. The constant praise for Luke—whether from the servants, their teachers, or even their own parents—gnawed away at him. Eventually, it became too much, and Michael, driven by frustration and jealousy, challenged his younger brother to a duel.

During the fight, Luke held back. He didn't want to defeat Michael, didn't want to humiliate him any further. But Michael, sensing Luke's restraint, grew furious, making his attacks increasingly dangerous. Just as their instructor prepared to step in, Luke was forced to show his true strength. With a swift, decisive move, he disarmed Michael in an instant.

The duel, meant to resolve tensions, only deepened the unspoken rift between them.

And so, Luke earned his place in Class 1-B of Mythos Academy as Rank 9, securing a spot in the greatest academy in the world. But his life changed in ways he hadn't expected.

At first, his focus was simple: surpass Arthur, who held Rank 8 in Class 1-A, seemingly the weakest of the elite. Luke had expected it to be a challenge, but not an impossible one. That belief was shattered when Arthur crushed him in the mid-terms, leaving Luke with a stark realization of what true talent looked like.

From that moment, Luke watched as Arthur's rise became nothing short of meteoric. Arthur grew stronger at a speed that left even the most talented students in awe.

Yet, despite their initial rivalry, Luke grew to like Arthur. He was a great person to be around—a good friend to hang out with and talk to, despite the rough start they'd had. Arthur was humble, approachable, and didn't carry the arrogance most in his position would. Luke admired that about him.

But lately, envy gnawed at Luke's insides.

He had never felt this way before, even when surrounded by those who outclassed him, whether in talent, power, or status. Princes like Ian, Jin, Ren and Lucifer—heirs to kingdoms and clans—seemed almost untouchable. Then there were Rachel, Seraphina, and Cecilia, princesses of the world's strongest superpowers, all blessed with exceptional gifts. And yet, even in the presence of these brilliant individuals, Luke had never been jealous.

Even when Arthur nearly defeated Lucifer in the finals of the Sovereign's Tournament, Luke had felt nothing but respect and awe.

But now, that respect had twisted into something darker.

It wasn't their background or their status that sparked this envy. It wasn't even the overwhelming talent Arthur displayed during their battles.

And now, all Luke could feel was envy.

He hated himself for it.

It was an ugly, corrosive emotion that gnawed at his insides, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't shake it off. His eyes kept drifting toward her—Rachel Creighton.

The princess of the North, the most talented light mage of their generation. She had a Gift unmatched in its affinity with light magic, an element hailed as the king of all elements. In any other generation, Rachel would have been the brightest star, but this era was different. Too many miracle-like talents were born, and her brilliance, though dazzling, was now one of many.

Status-wise, Luke was beneath Rachel, but not by a significant margin. In the modern world, such gaps didn't matter as much, especially since Rachel's father adored her too much to use her as a mere pawn in political games. She was free in ways that others of her station weren't.

Luke had admired her from the moment he met her.

At first, it was her beauty that caught his eye—her striking blonde hair and radiant blue eyes. But then it was her warmth, her kindness, the genuine care she extended to everyone around her. She wasn't just a princess, a prodigy. She was so much more, and Luke found himself drawn to everything about her.

But now, she was holding hands with Arthur.

It felt like a knife stabbing into his chest, and with every second that passed, it twisted deeper. The sight of them together—Rachel's gentle smile, Arthur's steady presence—it tore at him in ways he never thought possible.

Luke despised the feeling. He despised that he was jealous of his own friend. He despised how this ugly emotion bubbled up inside him every time he saw Rachel with Arthur. And he especially despised how he had acted at Rachel's birthday, making that snide remark during the dance, unable to control his jealousy.

He had let the worst of himself show. All because of this stupid, painful envy.

Luke clenched his fists, feeling the tension in his body. He hated that he wanted something he couldn't have. And he hated that it made him feel so small compared to Arthur—a friend he respected but now found himself resenting.

Thus, Luke continued to swing his sword in the swordsmanship club, pouring his frustrations and emotions into each strike. The sharp sound of his blade slicing through the air was the only thing that grounded him, the repetitive motion dulling the storm of envy swirling inside him. He needed to climb higher. He needed to be better—not for anyone else, but for himself.

As the sweat dripped down his brow, Luke heard footsteps approaching from behind. He ignored them at first, assuming it was one of his fellow club members. But then a voice called out.

"Luke Orden."

Luke paused mid-swing, his heart skipping a beat. He turned around to see someone unfamiliar standing at the entrance of the training room—a tall, imposing figure with dark, sharp eyes that seemed to pierce through him. It was clear this person wasn't part of the lower-year students, and Luke furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Who… are you?" Luke asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. "The club's segregated between lower and upper years. You're not supposed to be here."

The older student smirked, his arms crossed as he casually leaned against the doorframe. "I'm Drake Namgung. Fourth-year student, if you're wondering. I'm here to… inspect the club."

Luke's confusion deepened. He'd heard of Drake Namgung—Rank 1 of Class 4-A known for his exceptional swordsmanship as well as being a son of the powerful Namgung family of the East. But inspections? That wasn't a thing. At least, not that Luke was aware of.

"Inspect?" Luke repeated, narrowing his eyes. "Why would a fourth-year need to inspect the lower-year swordsmanship club?"

Drake chuckled, pushing off the wall and strolling toward Luke with an almost predatory grace. "It's not an official inspection. I'm just here to see how the future generation is shaping up. And from what I've heard… you're quite the talent."

Luke felt his heart race, a mixture of flattery and unease flooding through him. "I'm… not sure what you've heard, but I'm not anything special."

Drake tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as if assessing every inch of Luke's resolve. "Is that what you think? Or is that just what you've been telling yourself? Because from where I stand, you've got the potential to surpass everyone in this academy… if you stop holding yourself back."

Luke clenched his fists at his sides, unsure of how to respond. There was something unsettling about the way Drake spoke, as if he was seeing straight through Luke's facade and tapping into the insecurities buried deep within him.

"And I can help you," Drake continued, stepping closer. "If you're serious about climbing higher, about surpassing the limits you've set for yourself… I can offer you a way."

Luke's breath hitched. There was something dark, something dangerous in Drake's words, but he couldn't deny the allure. The promise of power, of rising above the feelings that tormented him—it was tempting. Too tempting.

He looked up into Drake's eyes, feeling the weight of his gaze bearing down on him. "What… are you offering?"

Drake's smirk widened, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial whisper. "Power, Luke. The kind of power that will make you untouchable. The kind of power that will make even Arthur Nightingale seem small."

Luke's heart pounded in his chest as Drake leaned in closer, his next words dripping with a sinister promise.

"But it comes at a cost."