The Grimoire Receiving Ceremony

The Ringless Mage Is Actually the Strongest Chapter 1: The Grimoire Receiving Ceremony

In the country of Eldonia, magic was the foundation of life—it flowed through the land, the skies and the very hearts of its people. At the age of fifteen, every child with an aptitude for magic attended the Grimoire Receiving Ceremony, a sacred rite where they received their own Grimoire—a book that would determine their fate.

The Grimoire, a book of spells, bound to its owner, bore rings on its cover— A single ring marked the weakest of mages, while seven—the highest ever recorded—was the mark of legends. In Eldonia, a person's worth was often measured not by merit but by the number of rings they had on their grimoire.

In a small border town on the edge of the kingdom, a boy named Orin, who had just turned fifteen, together with his childhood friend Rod, arrived at the towering church-like building—white with gold-plated seams weaving a beautiful tapestry coupled with a massive brown door the size which even trolls could fit in.

Today, they would receive their grimoires. Rod, with a grin, smacked Orin on the back. "Relax, Orin! What are you worried about? We'll become legendary battle mages, just you wait!"Orin, who grew up a little shy and timid due to the nature of his magic, clenched his fists, and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing mind. Memories stirred—he was suddenly a child again.

Seven Years ago…

The wind was warm beneath the shade of an old oak tree, where young Orin often sat alone. His small palms faced the sky as flickers of light danced on them, taking the form of tiny golden butterflies. Soon, shimmering birds flitted around him, chirping melodically. They weren't real—just illusions, simple tricks he had been able to do since he was young. This was his Magic.

"Look at the little faker, playing with his fake magic again."

The voice cut through the peaceful afternoon like a blade. Orin barely had time to react before a rough hand shoved him against the tree.

Three boys a little older loomed over him, sneering.

"You think that's real magic?" one of them scoffed, kicking dirt over Orin.

Haha! "Looks like he can use earth magic," they laughed.

Orin gritted his teeth but he wasn't strong enough to fight back, no matter how much he wanted to, his illusions couldn't harm anyone. They weren't real.

The leader of the group raised his fist, ready to strike—

BAM!

A blur of red crashed into the bully, knocking him aside. A boy with wild crimson hair and an even wilder grin stood before Orin, arms spread out like a shield.

"Three against one? Hah! Have you no pride?" the boy shouted.

Orin blinked. Who—?

Before he could react, the fight had already begun. The red-haired boy lunged forward, throwing a punch at one of the bullies, "Fire Magic Punch!" He managed to land a hit, but the three boys were much bigger and stronger, within seconds, he was on the ground beside Orin, blood trickling from his nose and a tooth missing from his grin.

The bullies laughed. "Not so tough now are you?", they said, kicking him one last time before turning and walking away, leaving the two boys lying in the dirt.

Orin pushed himself up, back resting on the tree and his arms trembling, "Are you okay?"

The red-haired boy wiped the blood off his nose and grinned, "Hah! That was nothing!" He pointed his thumb at himself proudly. "You need to be strong like me!"

Orin frowned. "But… you got beat up too."

The boy huffed. "That's only 'cause you didn't back me up!"

For a second, Orin was speechless, laughter bubbled up from his throat, mixing with the red haired boy's chuckles. Despite the bruises, it felt… warm, almost like he wasn't alone for the first time in a long time.

The red haired boy stretched out his hand. "The name's Rod! Roderick Lianhart! Youngest son of the Border Lord! and the Future strongest fire mage!"

Orin took his hand hesitantly. "I'm Orin."

Rod's grin widened. "Nice to meet ya, Orin! So what's your magic?"

Orin hesitated. He had never been asked that before, people usually just mocked his magic.

Slowly, he raised his hand, a soft, golden glow shimmered to life, and the air was filled with tiny, luminous butterflies, followed by birds loudly chirping. They fluttered around the boys, leaving glowing trails in the air like a dream.

Rod's eyes lit up with excitement. "Whoa! That's amazing!"

Orin blinked. "You… think so?"

"Of course! It's like—like fireworks, but prettier! And you did it without a grimoire! That's awesome!"

Orin felt something strange inside—something unfamiliar. Maybe… happiness?

Rod stood up, clenching his fists. "When I get my grimoire, I'll show those losers who's boss! Just you wait—I'm gonna be the strongest fire mage ever!"

To prove his point, he held out his hand and concentrated with all his might. A tiny flicker of flame appeared—only for a second—before it vanished with a puff of smoke.

Rod groaned, plopping back onto the grass. "It's not much now, but once I get my grimoire, my magic's gonna explode!"

Orin nodded, smiling softly. "Yeah…."

Now, at the age of fifteen, Orin and Rod stood at the threshold of their futures—the Grimoire Receiving Ceremony.

The ceremony was held within Eldonia's Archive, a grand magic library that, despite its location in a small border town, held countless ancient tomes and scrolls brimming with new and forgotten knowledge alike. Towering bookshelves lined the stone walls, and the room was illuminated by chanderliers and scones with glowing crystals acting as the light bulb, giving the space an almost ethereal glow. 

The young aspiring mages coupled with some onlookers, stood in a semicircle before the Head Mage—an elder draped in deep violet robes, wielding his silver etched staff, topped with a crystal still crackling with residual magic. Finally it was the moment they had all been waiting for.

The Head Mage started with a thundering voice. "A Grimoire is more than a book—it is the physical manifestation of a mage's soul, a sacred contract with the divine, and a direct link to the flow of magic itself. Today each of you will receive your personal Grimoire, bound to you for life."

The rings, inscribed upon the book's cover, determined a mage's potential strength and destiny, or atleast that is what they believed to be true.

As the ceremony began, names were called one by one, some received one or two rings, a rare few reaching three, each time the crowed murmured in approval or disappointment but when Rod stepped forward, the room fell silent. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the magic orb presented by the head mage. The moment his fingers touched the orb, a shimmering light momentarily blinded him and when it faded, his grimore lay in his hands."4-rings, Fire Magic Grimoire."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"Incredible! Four rings!" someone whispered.

"That's higher than most battle mages!"

Rod clenched his fists, failing to hide his proud smile, he had always dreamt of this moment. 

The strongest known mages in the world held four or five rings, and only in ancient myths did the heroes ever reach six rings much less, seven. To most, three rings were already a blessing but a four ring mage was considered a National Treasure.

More names were called, many received their Grimoires, while others were not so lucky.

Finally, it was Orin's turn.

"Orin."

He stepped forward. His breath was unsteady, his mind racing. What kind of mage would he be? How many rings would appear?

"He's the one with the fake magic, right?

"I bet he wont even get a Grimoire."

"He awakened his magic early, he'll get one, but most likely weak"

Orin ignored the whispers behind him and placed his palm on the orb, a soft hum resonated in the air, the glowing light temporarily blinded him—for a brief second he was hopeful knowing he was sure to receive his Grimoire, then the light dulled, and there it was his very own Grimoire.

Silence fell.

The Head Mage's face contorted—was it confusion? was it fear?

"Blank?"

With a slow, deliberate voice, he spoke.

"No Rings: Sto… Story? Magic."