Klean_writer

They called him trash.
Born without a magic rank in a world where rank defines your worth, Coker was beaten, laughed at, and thrown away. Even the weak had power. But him? He had nothing. No spells. No blessings. No future. Just scars... and silence.

Yet behind that silence, something waited.

A cursed power forgotten by time, sealed by gods, and burning inside him like a scream with no voice. And when the world pushed him too far, that scream became a roar.

They thought he’d die nameless.

Now they’ll kneel before the name they tried to erase.

From broken bones and shattered pride, he’ll rise not to be accepted, but to be feared. He’s not fighting for glory. Not for rank.
He’s fighting because no one else ever fought for him.
This is the story of the boy they called worthless.
And how he became the god they’ll never forget.

FROM TRASH TO GOD

From Trash to God: The Mage With No Rank

Not from flames—but from rumors.

"They say he used forbidden magic."

"No one can survive a Reflection Demon and walk out whole."

"I heard he bears the name of an ancient god… one who destroyed a kingdom."

And in the center of it all, walking quietly through the palace gates… was Coker.

Their footsteps echoed in the marble hall, empty of guards.

Only the nobles watched from behind crystal-glass windows, whispering behind silk fans and enchanted curtains.

He wasn't here to convince anyone.

He was here to stand before the Council.

At the heart of the Royal Sanctum, behind twelve golden thrones, the High Council waited—cloaked in magic, hidden behind veils of mist and memory.

When Coker stopped at the center platform, an old voice rang out.

"Coker of the Outskirts. You were summoned to retrieve the Ember Shard. What did you bring us instead?"

Coker reached into his satchel and tossed the blackened shard onto the ground.

It hissed—emitting smoke and fragments of light.

Naia stepped forward, "The mission was compromised by demonic interference. We—"

"Silence. We did not summon your excuses."

"We summoned your loyalty."

"They sent a Reflection Demon. It wasn't just an interference. It was a warning."

"You speak of warnings? To us?"

"You returned alive when no Rankless ever has."

"You act as though the rules do not bind you."

One of the Council members leaned forward, pulling back her hood.

A sharp face, lips stained purple.

"Protector?" she said. "You protect what exactly? Your reputation? Or the secrets that cling to your cursed blood?"

She flicked her hand—and a scroll unfurled in front of her.

"We have received testimony."

"That you bear the Mark of Vael, an outlawed Name last spoken by a murderer who burned three kingdoms."

"It's not false either," the woman said.

"Then answer, Coker Vale," the eldest voice said.

"Do you or do you not carry the name of a fallen god?"

He took one step forward, then another—until his voice echoed across the entire chamber.

"I was born Rankless. I was mocked. Beaten. Left for dead."

"And the only reason I'm standing here is because I stopped waiting for your permission."

"I carry Vael—not as a weapon—but as a reminder."

"That even your laws can't crush the will of someone who refuses to bow."

Then the purple-lipped woman snarled:

"Coker Vale, you are hereby stripped of all titles and marked an Enemy of the Realm."

"You are banished from the Kingdom of Astra."

"And should you set foot here again… you will be executed."

"Guess I'll have to protect the realm from outside, then."

He turned his back on the Council.

Walked out with Lira and Naia at his side.

The palace behind them glowed with ancient magic.

Outside, as they stepped onto the stone bridge, Naia whispered:

"We make the people who laughed at Rankless…

beg us for help."

They Called Him Traitor