Leonantus

That night, Rockville stood as a silent witness to the cruelty of a secret organization long thought to be nothing more than myth: Nox Crow.

A name whispered in ancient rhymes from the Third Age, once dismissed as bedtime tales used to scare children into sleep. But now, that name had returned—real, and drenched in blood.

Rockville, once known as a quiet village of peace, had become nothing more than charred ruins. The scent of smoke and blood still clung to the air. Despair hung like a veil over the starless night sky. Hundreds were dead. Dozens more were gravely wounded.

And yet, when dawn came—when the first light from the east touched the rubble—a fragile hope emerged. The sun still rose. And for the survivors, that alone was enough to live through one more day.

Jerome Welcott remained trapped in a spiral of guilt.

His hollow eyes stared blankly at the orphanage wall. His lips could no longer form words. The children… his friends… all gone in an instant, erased by the blast of Richard Theodore's dark element magic. Even though Sister Nellie told him over and over again that it wasn't his fault—that there was nothing he could have done—the guilt carved too deep.

But one person felt the burden even more.

Adrian Nightwork.

To Adrian, the destruction of the village… the deaths of its people… even the children at the orphanage… felt like shadows cast by a fate he carried from the moment he arrived in this world.

Even if he had obeyed Franz's orders and fled that night, he knew—the village still would've burned. The people still would've died.

Now, he sat alone beneath an old tree in a meadow far from the ruins of Rockville. This had once been his and Jerome's favorite place to play. But this time, Jerome didn't come. He had locked himself in his room at the orphanage, refusing to speak to anyone. Thankfully, the orphanage stood on the far edge of the village and had been spared from destruction.

Adrian stared out across the distance. Rockville was slowly being rebuilt. Half-finished homes stood where ashes once lay. Public buildings were taking shape again. All thanks to the swift aid sent by Count Rothsbard.

And yet… Adrian couldn't shake a strange feeling.

"The help came fast," he thought. "Too fast."

He clenched the grass beneath his fingers.

"Count Rothsbard… Is he really as noble as people believe? Or just another wolf in a charitable disguise?"

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Politicians here and on Earth… not so different after all." He muttered the thought to himself, bitterly.

Adrian leaned against a log and wanted to close his eyes. Then—

"So... are you the boy?" said the old man, his voice deep and heavy, like the distant crashing of waves at night. "The one who made Franz Erlbaum believe this world hasn't completely fallen apart?"

Adrian jolted, snapping his head to the side on instinct.

An elderly man stood a short distance away. A long black cloak draped over his figure, the hood pulled low to conceal most of his face. But from beneath that shadow, Adrian could see a pair of strange eyes—white with a faint reddish hue. They glowed softly, and yet the magical pressure behind them made the hair on his neck stand on end.

The man's voice was raspy, but not frail. Quite the opposite. It carried the weight of ages—of someone who had seen too much life… and death.

"Who… are you, sir?" Adrian asked, trying to sound calm, though the nervous tension in his voice betrayed him.

'His aura… it's crushing. Like the sky itself is pressing down. Who is this man?'

The old man chuckled softly. "Me? Just an old man too in love with the world of magic… and perhaps a little obsessed with it."

He tilted his head slightly upward, revealing the strong lines of his jaw and wrinkled, weathered skin that somehow still looked resolute.

"Let me ask once more… are you Adrian Nightwork?"

Adrian swallowed hard. "Y-yes. I'm Adrian Nightwork."

A faint smile crept beneath the man's hood. Warm… yet unreadable.

"Good. Then you must've heard of Glesonia Academy, right?"

Adrian nodded slowly. "Yes… of course. It's the most renowned magical academy and the most prestigious magic school across the continent of Arias. Perhaps even all of Aterra."

'It's basically this world's Hogwarts. But… why is he bringing it up?'

"Excellent. That makes this much easier," the old man said with conviction. "In short—you're going to enter that academy. To learn. To grow. And… to survive."

Adrian's eyes widened. This offer… it was too big. Too important.

'Glesonia? That's the kind of offer no one could refuse. But who is this man? Is he an envoy from the academy? Or… something else?'

But that question didn't matter right now. If he was going to survive as the protagonist of this world—then Glesonia was the first step.

"I accept… gladly," Adrian replied, doing his best to sound resolute.

The old man's smile grew.

"Good. But remember this—from now on, and for as long as you breathe, I will be watching. Judging whether Franz Erlbaum was right… that you are one of them."

"Them?" Adrian whispered, barely audible.

"Leonantus," the man answered calmly, as though the name itself carried the weight of millennia.

"We'll see… if that blood truly flows in your veins."

'Leonantus again… Why does that name keep appearing? What is it, really? A bloodline? A destiny? Why is everyone so obsessed with it…?'

Adrian still had countless questions swirling in his mind. But one in particular was too heavy to hold back any longer—the identity of the mysterious old man before him. He took a deep breath, then gathered his courage.

"Can I know your name, sir?" he asked cautiously.

The old man let out a low chuckle. His smile was calm, as if he'd been expecting the question all along.

With a graceful, deliberate motion, he reached up and lowered the hood of his black cloak lined with pale blue patterns. Long white hair spilled out, followed by a thick beard that flowed down to his chest. The wrinkles on his face didn't hide the power in his eyes—if anything, they only added to his aura of strength and timeless charisma.

The energy radiating from him was overwhelming. Noble. As if this man had stood at the peak of the magical world for generations.

With quiet pride, he spoke:

"My name is Alaric Nightwork. Third Archmage, and Headmaster of Glesonia Academy.

In short… I'm your grandfather, Adrian."

Adrian froze.

His eyes widened, jaw dropping almost involuntarily. For a moment, the world around him seemed to stop turning.

'What—!? Alaric Nightwork!? The Third Archmage who co-founded the Aterra Magic Association at the end of the Third Age!? The very founder of Glesonia Academy… is my grandfather!?'

He stood in stunned silence, his body locked by the sheer weight of the revelation.

'Adrian Nightwork… you really are the main character, aren't you!?'

***

The Primordial War

A cataclysmic war that erupted during the Second Age—also known as The Age of Gods. During this era, a powerful Transcendent known as the Dark Lord Kholeus rose and shook the foundations of Aterra. He crushed countless nations and civilizations, leading the dark faction known as the Underworld Faction, which tore the balance of the world apart with brutal force.

But the other Transcendents did not remain idle.

The Seven Gods, with their Elysium World Faction, descended directly upon Aterra. They led their celestial armies from Spirit World against the overwhelming might of Kholeus and his devoted followers.

The war raged for decades, leaving untold destruction in its wake. In the end, the forces of Elysium World emerged victorious. Through their combined strength—and enormous sacrifice—they managed to seal Kholeus within the Void, a realm of emptiness untouched by any known dimension. To maintain the seal, they used the Eight Lesser Keys, sacred artifacts scattered across the world after the war's conclusion.

Thus, the Second Age came to an end, giving way to a new era: the Third Age, later known as The Dark Age.

During this time, an ancient prophecy began to spread, whispered across generations:

"Rivers will run dry, mountains will turn to drifting feathers, and the sky will shatter like glass. The true Dark Lord shall rise again from his prison.

But a man bearing the blood of Leonantus shall defeat him and restore true peace and balance to Aterra."

At first, the prophecy was dismissed as mere legend—until the closing years of the Fourth Age, also known as The Age of Hope, when a boy was born into the House of Leonantus: Berhart Leonantus.

He was hailed as a prodigy—his magical talent and combat prowess were unrivaled. More importantly, Berhart was the first to rediscover one of the Eight Lesser Keys: Pendragon.

After graduating from Glesonia Academy, he joined the Knights of Light, an elite order of warriors drawn from the greatest kingdoms and nations. Berhart represented the Asland Kingdom.

He eventually married Hermine Nightwork, daughter of his former headmaster, Alaric Nightwork—the Third Archmage and one of the founding members of the Aterra Magic Association. The two had a son: Adrian Leonantus.

Berhart's name gradually became a beacon of hope. Many believed he was destined to fulfill the prophecy—to defeat Kholeus should the Dark Lord ever rise again.

But not everyone welcomed that future.

The Nox Crow, a secretive cult devoted to Kholeus, saw the House of Leonantus as a threat to their resurrection plans. They initiated a massacre. On a night now known as The Night of Fallen Blue, one of the Seven Crow Council members—Richard Theodore, the Crow of Wrath—was sent to lead the bloodshed.

The Leonantus Mansion was consumed by destruction and death.

In a final act of desperation, Berhart entrusted Pendragon, now transformed into a small black dagger, to his loyal servant, Franz Erlbaum. He ordered Franz to flee with Hermine and their young son, Adrian, to a place far from danger.

After ensuring their escape, Berhart faced Richard Theodore in a final duel—and fell in battle.

Franz took Hermine and Adrian to a remote village on the southern edge of the Asland Kingdom: Rockville. To protect Adrian's identity, Franz permanently sealed his Mana Core, making him appear to be an ordinary child with no magical potential. The name Adrian Leonantus was erased from history and replaced with a new identity: Adrian Nightwork.

A boy… who just might be the man spoken of in the prophecy.

***

The soft glow of a small lantern flickered atop an old wooden table, casting a gentle warmth in the chill of the night. The three of them—Adrian, Alaric, and Franz—sat in the modest yet cozy living room. Compared to the half-reconstructed homes scattered across Rockville, this house stood nearly complete—a small luxury afforded by Franz's role as the village chief.

Franz had just finished recounting the long, heavy tale. His voice was firm, weighed down by years of burden. "Do you understand now? The full story?" he asked, his eyes locked on Adrian's.

Adrian hugged his knees, his face unreadable—caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. "Y-yeah… I think I get the gist of it. I just… didn't expect to be that person in the prophecy."

'Alaric Nightwork… Berhart Leonantus… the Seven Gods… and me? I'm just some regular teenager—or more accurately, a damned transmigrator from another world who hasn't even survived a week here!'

'Your fate is too grand, Adrian Nightwork. No wonder you're the main character in this story. But why—why did you let me, a stranger, take over your body and inherit all this weight?'

'You didn't even give me a choice. Do you not have a heart?!'

Adrian turned his gaze away from the two older men before him, trying to hide the storm raging behind his eyes.

"Well, since everything has been revealed and there's nothing left to hide," Franz began in a serious tone, "I've asked Sir Nightwork to admit you into Glesonia Academy. It's best for your abilities to be honed from the ground up. The prophecy... may be closer to fulfillment than we think."

"Before I allow you into Glesonia Academy," Alaric added, sipping the tea that had been served, "I need to make sure you truly have the potential your father once had. That's why I'll be staying here for a few days—to observe you directly and conduct a series of tests. Consider it a form of entrance exam."

Adrian slowly raised his hand. Franz noticed and asked, "What is it, Adrian? Is there something you'd like to ask?"

"There's something that's been bothering me for a while now," Adrian said with a confused expression. "How did the prophecy even come to be? Isn't it just a vague prediction at best? What if it's wrong?"

Adrian still didn't fully understand why prophecies were so trusted and revered in this world. He understood that this era resembled Earth's medieval period, but even here, logic and reason seemed fairly advanced.

Alaric's expression grew more serious, though he maintained his calm. "Tarot, prophecies, fortune-telling… they don't just appear out of thin air like guessing the wind's direction. Have you heard of Divination?"

"Yes, I have," Adrian nodded slowly. "It's a branch of magic that allows someone to make predictions about the future, right? But... aren't the results always vague?"

Alaric gave a slight smile, then explained in a calm tone. "Divination is indeed like that. It works by entering the Spirit World through Astral Projection. But the Spirit World doesn't flow in the same direction as our world—past, present, and future all clash and intertwine there. That's why Divination usually produces hazy, uncertain outcomes… just like you said. However, if someone can trace the thread of time clearly from its beginning to a key moment, the prophecy becomes more complete."

He looked directly into Adrian's eyes. "And only an Archmage is capable of doing that."

Adrian narrowed his gaze. "Then… who was the Archmage who foretold this prophecy?"

Alaric didn't respond right away. His pale red eyes stared deeply into Adrian's, and then he spoke in a heavy tone, "I was."

"Y-You?" Adrian's voice trembled, echoing through the room bathed in moonlight from the window and the soft glow of the lantern on the table.

Alaric nodded gently, then took another sip of his tea before setting the cup down on a small dish on the wooden table. "I've been alive since the Second Age. Because of that, I possess knowledge and power that shouldn't be taken lightly. I've devoted my life to the study of magic. Eventually, I succeeded in halting the aging process—and became immortal."

"That's why I've held the title of the Third Archmage for so long. The First and Second Archmages have changed twice already, but I… I've remained in the same seat."

He let out a quiet sigh. "That's because I specialize in one field alone: Divination. I've entered the Spirit World countless times. I understand its flow better than anyone else. That prophecy… it came to me in a dream. In that dream, I saw the Dark Lord Kholeus rise again and plunge Aterra into darkness. And as you may already know… dreams can be more than just illusions. They can be revelations."

"So… you performed Divination just because of a dream?" Adrian asked, clearly intrigued.

"Since the Physical World and Spirit World overlap, revelations like that are entirely possible," Alaric replied. "That's why I chose to look deeper. And do you know something? The House of Leonantus was once just an ordinary noble family."

He chuckled lightly as he said it, attempting to lighten the mood. But the smiles from Franz and Adrian were stiff—barely easing the tension in the air.

"So," Alaric's voice deepened, "are you ready to carry this burden, Adrian Leonantus?"

Adrian fell silent. He thought for a moment. On one hand, he was grateful to have escaped Earth and found a new life in this strange world. But on the other… the destiny he had inherited was no ordinary fate. He was the central figure of a novel book, hunted by enemies of terrifying power.

'I know this is the best path forward. I probably won't sleep peacefully anymore in this world… but you only live once.'

"I accept the burden of the prophecy… but not as Adrian Leonantus."

'I already know—I might die walking this path.'

"But as Adrian Nightwork."