Chapter 1 - The boy who lives at the outskirts
Somewhere within the vast lands of the **Northern Empire**, far from the reach of grand cities and noble territories, stood a small outskirt village.
A place where only a few hundred people lived.
Quiet.
Unremarkable.
Easily forgotten.
No caravans stopped here unless they were lost. No adventurers passed through unless they had nowhere else to go. Even the Empire’s influence felt distant—reduced to the occasional patrol and fading banners nailed to old wooden posts.
It was the kind of place where nothing ever happened.
And yet—
At the far edge of the settlement, near a worn-down training field bordered by uneven fencing, a small boy struggled with a wooden sword.
He was only seven.
The blade in his hands—if it could even be called that—was meant for training.
But it was far too large for him.
The dull wooden edge extended past his shoulder, the weight uneven, dragging against his small arms every time he tried to lift it. His stance wavered. His grip wasn’t stable.
And yet—
“One… two…”
Swing.
The motion was clumsy.
Slow.
Unrefined.
“One… two…”
Swing.
But consistent.
Determined.
“Yeah, yeah… just like that.”
A town guard leaned lazily against a nearby fence, watching the boy with mild amusement.
His spear rested loosely over his shoulder, armor slightly worn, posture relaxed in a way only someone used to boredom could manage.
This was not a battlefield.
This was routine.
This was—
Leon’s training.
“No need to rush it,” the guard had said earlier. “For adults, this wouldn’t even count as a warm-up.”
He scratched his cheek, glancing at the boy.
“For you…”
“…this is already enough.”
Leon didn’t complain.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t stop.
“One… two…”
Swing.
Sweat clung to his forehead. His arms trembled slightly from the weight, but he forced the motion anyway, teeth clenched in quiet determination.
“Oh, nice,” the guard added casually.
“That one looked better.”
“Try it again.”
“One… two…”
Swing.
This time—
A faint sound cut through the air.
A soft whiff.
Like a thin branch slicing through wind.
The guard’s eyebrow lifted slightly.
“…Yeah.”
“That’s it.”
“You’ve got some sense for this, kid.”
He shifted his stance, tilting his head as if remembering something.
“What was your name again?”
Leon stopped mid-motion.
Slowly lowered the wooden sword.
“I told you already.”
A brief pause.
“It’s Leon.”
He straightened slightly, chin lifting with pride.
“Leon… the future Adventurer King.”
For a moment, the field was silent.
Then—
The guard chuckled.
“Yeah, yeah…”
He waved a hand dismissively.
“Every kid says that.”
“But even kings—”
He tapped the wooden blade lightly with his finger.
“—need to learn how to swing a sword first.”
Leon frowned slightly.
But didn’t argue.
Instead, he tightened his grip again.
“One… two…”
Swing.
---
Time passed quietly.
The rhythm of training continued until the sun began to dip slightly lower in the sky, casting longer shadows across the field.
Eventually—
“That’s enough.”
The guard pushed himself off the fence.
“Finish your twenty swings and head home.”
He stretched his arms lazily, rolling his shoulders.
“Let’s meet again tomorrow.”
A pause.
“Well…”
“…if I’m free.”
Leon’s face lit up instantly.
“Yeah! Thank you, Uncle Lambert!”
Lambert froze mid-step.
Slowly—
Very slowly—
He turned his head.
“…Who’s the uncle, you brat?!”
Leon grinned.
Lambert clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he walked away, spear resting over his shoulder once more.
---
And just like that—
The training field fell silent.
Leon stood alone at the edge of the village.
The laughter faded.
The wind returned.
Gentle.
Quiet.
He lowered the wooden sword slightly, his breathing finally slowing.
“…Magic…”
He whispered the word softly, almost reverently.
As if it carried weight.
As if it meant something more than just a word.
Then—
“Huaaahh!!”
He suddenly raised the wooden sword high above his head, stance exaggerated, energy bursting out of nowhere.
“…Hmmmm…”
“…Maybe like this…”
He adjusted his footing awkwardly, copying what he _thought_ looked cool.
“One… two…”
Swing.
He stopped.
Then extended one arm forward dramatically—fingers pointed, eyes narrowed with intense (and very forced) focus.
“Imberr!!!!”
Silence.
Nothing happened.
No flames.
No sparks.
Not even smoke.
Leon gasped anyway.
“Woaaahh!!”
His eyes widened in pure amazement.
“So cool!!!”
He swung the sword again, fully immersed in his imagination, grin stretching across his face.
To him—
It was real.
---
On the way to the Adventurer’s Guild, Lambert walked leisurely through the village.
His spear rested across the back of his shoulders, balanced behind his neck, both hands loosely hooked over the shaft.
No urgency.
No destination in mind beyond habit.
He whistled as he walked.
A slow, careless tune that drifted lazily through the quiet street.
“Oi, Lambert! Bring this with you.”
Lambert turned at the call.
The owner of the local bakery stepped out, wiping flour from her hands as she approached. She held out a loaf of rye bread.
Still warm.
Steam faintly rising from its surface.
“Oh, thank you, Linda. You didn’t have to.”
Linda waved him off immediately.
“No, take it, take it.”
“It’s leftover bread anyway.”
Lambert raised a brow.
“…Leftover?”
He gave the loaf a light squeeze.
Warm.
Soft.
Fresh.
“…This thing’s hotter than my future wife.”
Linda froze.
“…Excuse me?”
Lambert blinked.
Realization hit.
“No—wait, that’s not what I meant.”
Linda slowly narrowed her eyes.
“Oh?”
“So now the bread is hotter than me?”
Lambert straightened instantly.
“That is definitely NOT what I meant.”
A pause.
Then—
Linda clicked her tongue and waved him off again.
“Just go already.”
Lambert grinned.
“Alright, alright. I’ll be back later.”
A moment later, he continued down the street—
Now with the loaf of rye bread clenched between his teeth, biting into it like a dog carrying its prized catch.
---
A few minutes passed.
The steady rhythm of hammer striking metal echoed ahead.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
Lambert slowed as he passed the local blacksmith.
The forge burned steadily, heat spilling out into the street. Weapons were displayed outside—simple iron blades, tools, and equipment arranged neatly on racks.
Lambert’s gaze drifted across them.
“…Ah…”
“…What was that kid’s name again…”
“…Leon?”
His eyes settled on a modest iron sword.
“Sword, huh…”
“It’s been a while since I drew mine.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
“…Might need to oil it later…”
He walked past—
Then slowed.
Stopped.
“…Oh…”
“…This might fit the brat.”
His gaze shifted downward.
Near the display racks sat a wooden barrel.
Inside—
Training weapons.
Small wooden swords.
Short practice spears.
Blunt-edged blades worn smooth from use.
Not toys.
Tools.
Lambert crouched slightly, inspecting them.
“…No…”
“…Too early.”
“Oi, Lambert.”
The blacksmith stepped out from the forge, wiping soot from his hands.
“If you’re going to buy something, at least look at the proper weapons.”
“Not those disposable pieces.”
Lambert chuckled, straightening up.
“Relax, Don.”
“I’m just browsing.”
A brief pause.
Then—
“Well…”
“I might take two of these.”
He reached into the barrel and pulled out a small wooden sword and a short practice pole.
Don raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
Lambert shrugged.
“There’s this kid I ran into earlier.”
“He’s got… something.”
A pause.
“…Maybe.”
Don snorted.
“Those?”
“They’ve been sitting there collecting dust.”
“Just take them.”
Lambert blinked.
“…Seriously?”
Don leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.
“It’s not like the old days anymore.”
“Kids don’t start training this early.”
“Parents send them to school first.”
He glanced at the wooden weapons.
Then back at Lambert.
“If you found one who’s actually interested…”
“…why not teach him?”
A small smirk formed.
“Not like you’re busy.”
Lambert sighed.
“Don’t rub salt in the wound.”
Don laughed.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Lambert tucked the wooden sword and pole under his arm.
“I’ll bring him here if he turns out decent.”
“And if you’ve got more ‘free’ stuff…”
Don smirked.
“Well…”
“If he’s worth it…”
“…maybe.”
Lambert chuckled.
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“It’s just some random brat swinging a sword.”
Don crossed his arms.
“Still.”
“Let me know.”
Lambert nodded.
“Yeah, yeah.”
---
Lambert moved on.
Rye bread still clenched between his teeth.
Spear resting comfortably across his shoulders.
Same lazy posture—
But now with wooden training weapons hooked loosely around his elbow, swaying with each unhurried step.
Before long—
He reached the Adventurer’s Guild.
Or rather—
What passed for one.
Calling it a “guild” was generous.
The building resembled a tavern more than anything official.
Wooden tables filled the main hall.
Mugs clattered.
Laughter echoed loudly against the walls.
A handful of adventurers sat scattered across the room—
Drinking.
Talking.
Arguing over nothing.
Men and women who had seen enough danger to stop taking peace seriously.
“…Same as ever…”
Lambert muttered under his breath.
“Guild Master! Lambert’s here!”
A young woman near the counter waved energetically.
Lambert turned, a faint grin forming.
“Oh?”
“Lisa, right?”
“It’s been a while.”
Lisa placed her hands on her hips.
“You disappeared again.”
Lambert shrugged.
“I prefer the term ‘strategic absence.’”
Lisa rolled her eyes.
“Still annoying, I see.”
Lambert chuckled.
“So?”
“Anything good lately?”
Lisa shook her head.
“Nothing special.”
“Mostly small jobs.”
“Delivery escorts. Field pests. Fence repairs.”
She tilted her head toward the back hallway.
“The Guild Master’s waiting.”
Lambert sighed.
“…Of course he is.”
“I’ll head there.”
He walked deeper into the guild—
Still the same as always.
Bread between his teeth.
Spear across his shoulders.
Wooden weapons dangling from his arm.
Lisa watched him go, blinking once.
“…Why does he never move like a normal person…”
---
══════════════════════════════
SPELL
══════════════════════════════
Name: Ember
Tier: I
Type: Fire Magic
Classification: Elemental Manifestation
Description:
A basic fire spell that creates a small concentrated flame at the caster’s command. While weak compared to higher-tier fire spells, Ember is reliable, quick to cast, and commonly used as a foundation for more advanced fire techniques.
Effects:
• Produces a small burst of flame
• Can ignite flammable materials
• Causes localized burn damage
Limitations:
• Limited range
• Low destructive power
• Flame dissipates quickly without sustained mana
Combat Applications:
Ignition Strike
The caster manifests a small flame on a weapon’s edge, allowing strikes to burn targets on contact.
Flash Burn
A quick burst of flame directed toward an enemy’s face or exposed area to disrupt vision or create an opening.
Spark Throw
The caster releases a short burst of fire toward a target, useful for harassment or igniting surfaces.
Common Uses:
• Starting fires
• Minor combat damage
• Igniting weapons or tools
• Signaling