Prologue

Home was home. Home was peaceful. Home meant a place for warriors to kick back and relax.

"No. Way."

"Yes way!"

For Leo, home belonged with his daughter.

The blond-haired swordsman known as Leo sat cross-legged on the floor, his sword resting against the wall behind him, long forgotten for the moment. In front of him, his eight-year-old daughter, Elira, was a bundle of giggles and an expert chess player.

"You've trapped my knight again!" Leo exclaimed, mock-surprise in his deep voice. He was a handsome good man with eyes that were a shade too blue. 

"You should have moved him back earlier!" Elira declared. "You can't just charge forward all the time, Daddy."

"Hm, words of wisdom from my little strategist. Maybe you should start teaching me tactics, huh?"

Elira grinned, but before she could respond, Leo sighed. His keen ears caught a faint sound—something that shouldn't have been there. A shift in the magical wards outside their home, a distortion.

Trouble.

"Elira," Leo said softly, reaching across the board. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder. "Go to your room."

Her young face fell. "But—"

"Now," the swordsman said firmly, though his tone was still gentle. He forced a small smile to ease her worry. "And lock the door, okay? Don't come out until I call you. Oh, and be sure to take the board with you."

Elira hesitated. "But dad...!"

"But nothing. Go."

Sighing, the girl picked up the chess board and scurried off to her room. The moment her door clicked shut, a gust of wind howled and the window that should not be able to open burst, slamming the lamps of the living room across the floor. 

Leo didn't flinch. His hand was already on the hilt of his sword, the sheath already filled with the runes of a Marking Spell. The intruder was perched on the window, a lean figure clad in dark leather armor and a hood obscuring his face. A spear of swirling wind materialized in his opponent's left hand. He looked ready to throw it.

But he didn't. He held back. He let the spear settle on his shoulder. Did the intruder wish to speak? Was he arrogant? Or was it honour?

Not that it mattered.

"Infiltrating the Dark Tower isn't easy," Leo commented. He slid his sword free, the runes along the blade flickering to life with a white pulsing glow. "You must be skilled."

The mercenary tilted his head slightly, but said nothing. Wind blasted from the soles of his feet and he blasted forward, his spear thrusting quick and sharp as though trained and grinded to reach the peak of human technique. 

Leo lifted his sword and casually parried. It was a long length of black metal that the wind could not do anything against. White markings—a Marking Spell—were etched along his blade. He did not need to react with his full focus because his blade did so automatically. It has grown in weight to meet the force of the attack.

Leo saw an opening and countered, his blade slicing upward in an arc. The mercenary back-flipped and bounced off the wall to dart right at him. His movements were unnaturally fast—

Clang!

Yet predictable because of the amount of mana needed for them. This mercenary required better control if they wanted to outspeed him.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

His form was excellent, spear moving faster and faster. Leo only needed to follow and track. To use his instincts and keep up. When it came to power, his sword's weight fluctuated—light enough for quick movement, heavy enough to deflect crushing blows.

"Not bad." Clang, clang, clang! He stepped into the mercenary's guard, his blade surging with greater as—

Clang!

He fully and intentionally struck. The black sword slammed against the spear and the mercenary skidded across the floor. Leo pressed the advantage, his sword literally lighter than air. This switch between heaviness and swiftness, only Leo of the Old Guard could do it. 

Surprisingly—clang! Feet spread wide and his spear set horizontal, he blocked his heavy blade. Leo grunted, pushing down hard and harder and just…couldn't. His spear spun and the black sword suddenly hit the floor.

"...!"

The spear cut his cheek and then his waist. Leo's eyes did not close nor did he flinch. He broke down what his opponent did, analyzed and deconstructed, and proceeded to deflect Leo's attacks with a speed that was inhuman. He worked faster. Better. The Marking Spell groaned under the strain of their clashes.

Then, the mercenary disappeared.

All Leo felt were whips of wind.

"Hrn."

Whips of wind—to his left, right, no, above?

Leo's eyes narrowed as he adjusted his stance. He was speeding up. He already pegged him as a speedy type.

"...!"

A slash on his shoulder. Fast!

This mercenary moved like a phantom, striking at speeds he could barely perceive. Leo closed his eyes. The countless battles he'd fought honed his body into a weapon of its own. 

Sensing mana in battle was not easy unless one was a Cultivator. So what?

Clang!

The swordsman deflected one strike, then another. The whips of wind, they were the key…!

…huh?

They were gone?

Leo's breath hitched. He pivoted, blade raised, trusting his instincts to guide him. The faintest sound—a whisper of displaced air—came from behind.

Then he heard it. The voice, quiet but deadly clear: "Heavenly Spell #37: Stribog and the Eight Directions."

'Behind…!?'

The butt of the mercenary's spear slammed into the ground. A multi-layered magic circle flared to life beneath Leo's feet, Greek symbols flickering in green light. The symbols were but a premonition of pain and blood.

His vision went red.

His left eye was gone.

Wind surged around him, striking and cutting from all sides and angles. Blades of air tore at Leo, cutting deep into his organs and pinning him in place. He gritted his teeth, the pain searing but not unbearable.

Leo's grip on his sword tightened. The Marking Spells disappeared. In its place came something new—a Circle Spell. A floating magic circle appeared at the tip of his blade and soothed him and the metal into a bright white tint. The white power brighter as he poured his mana into breaking the spell. 

Leo of the Old Guard manipulated his own weight and density. That was his magic. His trait and his spells reflected that.

The density of his flesh shifted to its maximum, and with a roar, he swung upward, the raging motion cracking the magic circle beneath him.

Except he did not end up spilling out. He couldn't. 

The Heavenly Spell ended abruptly, the winds dying as suddenly as they had come. In the split second of disorientation, the mercenary was there. The spear of wind flashed in a clean, efficient arc, its blade slicing across Leo's throat.

Leo staggered, his sword clattering to the floor as he clutched his neck. Blood poured between his fingers, hot and slick. He dropped to his knees, gasping for air that wouldn't come. The room blurred, the edges of his red vision darkening.

The mercenary stood over him, his face still hidden beneath the hood. The tip of the spear pointed at Leo's head, almost contemplative. "Leo," the mercenary hummed. "What are the odds? It feels strange, killing someone with the same name as mine."

Leo did not hear him. His ear drums had already been punctured from the Heavenly Spell.

"I have a daughter, too," the mercenary said, almost regretful. "I wish life wasn't like this."

The spear thrust forward and pierced Leo's chest. The blond swordsman's body went still, his lifeless eyes staring past his killer.

The mercenary pulled the spear free. He looked down at the fallen man for a moment longer, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. With something of a sigh, he turned and vanished into the night, the window slamming shut behind him with a gust of wind.

*****

Arcadia Academy was among the oldest schools in the Great Afterlife. Sunrise crept over the horizon, bathing the towering spires and castle of Arcadia Academy in soft gold and orange. It was a blue majestic medieval castle of old Europe—or so they say.

The morning bell had not run yet.

Most students were still tucked away in their beds, the dormitories quiet and still.

Leo did not climb through the window of his dorm room. Already open, he swooped in the form of the wind before materializing into his physical form, his boots landing softly on the wooden floor. He straightened, brushing off his jacket as he took a quick glance around the small room. The single bed, the cluttered desk stacked with books and papers, and the faint glow of the enchanted lamp above gave it a cozy, if modest, feel.

Everything was quiet. Leo drew in a breath.

But then a soft voice broke the silence.

"Daddy!"

Jumping from the bed was his five year old daughter. She flung herself into his arms, her big, black eyes shining with joy. Her pigtails bounced as she hugged and kissed him, her small hands clutching his jacket. 

He laughed and let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. In his arms, holding her, he felt…right. Calm. Untainted from the blood he spilled. He beamed at her, his mismatched eyes—one brown, the other a strange yellow-blue—softening. "Well, well, well, lookie here. Still awake?"

"You were gone a long time, sooo I waited for you."

"Sorry, Phoebe. I had to do some extra training."

Phoebe pouted. "You always say that when you go out. I know you're doing secret agent stuff!"

He didn't argue. She wasn't wrong. Instead, he carried her over to the bed and set her down gently, smoothing the blanket over her lap. "Did you sleep okay?"

She nodded eagerly. "I dreamed about flying on the blip again! You said you'd take me one day. Remember?"

"I remember," the mercenary known as Leo said, sitting beside her. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her smile. "Buuuut…?"

"Money!"

"We need money."

The scourge of this world. Money. He suppressed a sigh to just smile.

"But before money, we need sleep," he said, smiling. "Alright, let's—"

"Daadddy! Did you forget about your homework?"

He froze. Crap, she was right. He ended up faking laughter and pointed at her. "I knew that, I was just testing you."

"I always remember! I have the best memory ever!"

"Must have inherited that from me, haha. Hahahaha..."

Leo Truman was a nineteen year old mercenary, second year student, and a full-time single father.

This was his life. His story.