Eleven years ago, in one of the illegal cities of the world, Sahwaa, it was night. Sahwaa was a desert city, and deep in its underground lay a Colosseum with iron bars surrounding the arena. Many dirty, scarred, and masked people stood behind the bars, staring and cheering at the arena. Far at the top, in a booth, sat a large muscular man with basil-colored hair and multiple scars on his face. He sat next to many women, and stacks of money were piled up behind him. Most noticeably, a large microphone was in front of him.
"Hello, Sahwaa Night Fight Club! I'm your host Shabaku Deso'par, and tonight is going to be a special fight. Allow me to introduce our fighters," Shabaku announced, his voice booming through the arena.
Gates on both sides of the arena opened.
"On the left, we have a pathetic traitor who tried to sell us out to the government for money. Everyone, boo this fighter... Maolie Qiong!" Shabaku's voice was filled with contempt.
A large bald man with a purple soul patch walked into the arena. He was immediately booed, with tomatoes and junk being thrown at him.
"Waste all of your shit on me! Tomatoes are delicious, you pussies!!!" Maolie shouted defiantly.
"And on the right, undefeated with over 100 wins under his belt, he's the prodigy fighter, and my son, Kung-Fu Setchi!!!" Shabaku declared with pride.
A much younger, four-year-old Setchi, shirtless and only wearing shorts, walked into the arena. The crowd roared for him, clapping and cheering wildly.
"This is supposed to be the kid who executes me? You guys are jokes!" Maolie taunted, glaring at the young Setchi.
Earlier that day, young Setchi had been running around the alleyways of Sahwaa. As he dashed through the narrow paths, he overheard a conversation from around the corner. Three men were talking in hushed, yet fervent tones.
"I hate what this city has become. We're now just a bunch of communists," one of the men said, his voice filled with frustration.
"Yeah, we even have a dictator in the form of that damn Shabaku! If it wasn't for him, 99% of the population wouldn't even be here!" another man replied angrily.
"That's for sure! This city is one of the few places people can just be themselves, but when the entire city is forced to watch his mediocre cage matches, because if we don't, he'd just use his government might to sell us all out to the authorities, THAT PISSES ME THE HELL OFF!!!" the third man added, his voice rising in indignation.
"I know, right? He even forces us to cheer and praise his freakishly strong kid. The guy is sad and power-hungry, but at least it's tolerable. But that kid has no one praying for him, not even his own father!" the first man continued, shaking his head.
Now, back in the present, Setchi was circling Maolie, his eyes focused and unyielding.
"Look at you now! What are you gonna do, bite me?!" Maolie mocked, trying to provoke the young fighter.
Shabaku's voice echoed through the arena once more, "Remember everybody, whatever happens in the arena, stays in the arena! Here we go!" His tone was both a warning and a promise, ensuring the crowd's fervent attention.
"Maolie, I hope you get a heart attack, fat ass!" a random watcher shouted from the crowd, the hostility in his voice palpable.
"I don't give a fuck!" Maolie retorted, glaring at the crowd member who had insulted him.
"If this kid doesn't do it, I'll kill you myself, ya son of a bitch!" another watcher yelled, his voice filled with venom.
"I don't give a fuck!" Maolie repeated, turning his fierce gaze to the second heckler.
"Kill yourself, bitch!" a different watcher screamed, the crowd's hatred intensifying.
"I don't give a fuck!" Maolie shouted back defiantly, his voice unwavering.
Memories of things Shabaku had told Setchi flooded Setchi's mind, echoing in his head. "Setchi, you have to be willing to die for this," his father's stern voice reminded him.
A week ago, Setchi and his father Shabaku had been in a bar after another victory by Setchi in the Colosseum. As they walked in, an angry old man with a Bible and a knife stared angrily at Setchi.
"You little bastard! I went broke off of your ass!!!" the old man screamed.
He dropped the Bible and stabbed himself in the eye. Then, screaming "Waste of sperm!" he ran up to Setchi, but was immediately shot down by bodyguards. Shabaku crouched down to Setchi's level, looking him in the eye.
"Sometimes you might even need to take a life while you're doing this career," Shabaku told him, his voice cold and serious.
Back in the present, Setchi took up a fighting stance, his young body taut with readiness.
"Now you're just cute. Quit fooling around, little boy. You're scaring nobody!" Maolie taunted, his voice dripping with contempt.
Another memory flooded Setchi's mind. A month ago, he had been brutally stomped by five men in front of his father and mother, who both laughed at his suffering.
One of the men kicked him with each word he spat out. "You—fucking—lost—me—a—MILLION!!!"
Another man joined in, his stomps hard and ruthless. "Fucking RAT!!!"
A different man, his face twisted with anger, added, "I don't care that you're a child. I hope this puts you in the hospital!"
Shabaku's laughter echoed in Setchi's ears. "Shaahahaa, Setchi, you have to learn. I won't ever save you. You're alone in this world. We're all born and brought alone into this world, and we will all leave this world the same way we came—alone! Shaahahah!!!"
Back in the present, Setchi focused, his young mind steeling against the trauma. Suddenly, he vanished from Maolie's sight.
"Ugh, what the hell? Is this some of that magic shit? Are you invisible? I should have really watched some of your fights, but too bad your fights are straight ass!!!" Maolie ranted, spinning around in confusion and frustration.
Setchi whispered, "I'm on your head."
He stood perfectly straight on Maolie's head, his balance impeccable.
"Oh, what the—" Maolie began, bewildered.
"Let me tell you something," Setchi interrupted, his voice calm.
Maolie tried to grab Setchi off his head, but Setchi leaped out of his reach, landing gracefully in front of him.
"I'm willing to die for this," Setchi declared.
Maolie swung a punch at Setchi, but Setchi dodged effortlessly.
"And I'm going to take your life for this," Setchi continued, his voice unwavering.
Setchi lunged towards Maolie. "My father bet all his money on me, so if I fail, we go broke, and he's not going back to selling drugs."
He pulled back his arm, his eyes locked on Maolie's.
"So that's why your broke ass better know—"
Setchi majestically jumped over a punch from Maolie, his movements fluid and precise. He landed a powerful kick on top of Maolie's head with the heel of his foot, then spun around and delivered a devastating punch to Maolie's face, his reeled-back arm adding force to the blow.
Maolie was knocked onto his back but slowly stood up again, his nose bloody and his face bruised.
"You're all bark and no bite, and it's making me sick. You're a bitch," Setchi taunted, his young voice cutting through the noise of the arena.
"You have a smart mouth for a four-year-old. Let me shut it up for you!" Maolie snarled.
He lunged in for a punch, but Setchi dodged it effortlessly. This time, Setchi twirled around quickly multiple times, then kneed Maolie in the balls. Maolie doubled over, holding himself in pain as he fell to the ground.
"Hey kid... If you let me surrender here—I have seven figures on me. I could pay you and your family out big time!" Maolie pleaded, desperation in his voice.
"I hate people who lie like that. You're just asking for your skull to be crushed," Setchi responded coldly.
He lifted his foot over Maolie's head.
"Wait, no!" Maolie cried out, panic in his eyes.
Setchi stomped his foot down, crushing Maolie's head. Blood, eyes, and teeth gushed out, accompanied by a loud, sickening crunch. The crowd erupted in cheers, roaring their approval for Setchi.
Meanwhile, the morning after the fight, Shabaku sat in a room on a couch, his wife Machi in his arms. The remnants of last night's revelry lay scattered around them, the faint sounds of the Colosseum still echoing in their minds.
"I think after a few more nights, we can use our money to move to Naofapoda. There we can become monarchs and live the good life for a couple more years," Shabaku said, a glint of ambition in his eyes.
Machi looked up at him, a sly smile playing on her lips. "And what about the brat?"
"Machi, he's my son, he's your son. We'll pass down the leadership of Sahwaa to him. Meaning he definitely would die! Nobody likes him, after all, and the only reason we're still in power is because of my government influence. Setchi has none of that. The moment we leave him, he'd be assassinated. Less trouble for us, of course. We don't have to worry about leaving a legacy, putting him in school, or even paying for his stuff," Shabaku explained, his tone cold and dismissive.
"Sorry, Shabaku, he was a mistake on my part. I really want that brat gone. I should have gotten an abortion," Machi said, her voice laced with bitterness.
Shabaku chuckled darkly. "That's a wild thing to say, Machi. That's why I married you." He leaned in, kissing her forehead, both of them sharing a moment of twisted satisfaction at their callous plans.
Elsewhere, Setchi walked through the busy streets of Sahwaa, where the air reeked of drugs, alcohol, and smoke. The chaotic atmosphere was almost tangible, with people moving about in a haze of vice. Suddenly, a group of shirtless men wearing ski masks and long baggy pants surrounded him.
"You embarrassed our gang, kid, a couple of months ago," the lead ski mask man growled, his eyes glaring through the holes of his mask.
Setchi cocked his head slightly. "Don't you mean 'A couple of months ago, you embarrassed our gang, kid'?"
"What?" the ski mask man barked, momentarily thrown off by the correction.
"You gang members really are some of the funniest mentally ill people to mentally fuck with," Setchi said with a smirk.
"For a kid..." the man snarled, pulling a switchblade from his pocket, "you have a smart ass mouth, bitch boy!"
The man lunged at Setchi, attempting to cut him. Setchi ducked under the slash and kicked the man in the stomach. The force of the kick made the man practically vomit all of his blood as he fell to the ground, skinny and dried up. The other four gang members drew their pistols and immediately fired at Setchi.
Setchi effortlessly dodged the bullets, moving with inhuman speed. He spun around fully, his leg sticking out, sending a sharp gust of wind that cleanly bisected all of the goons around him. Their bodies fell in two, the scene grotesque and surreal. Yet, in the busy streets of Sahwaa, nobody paid any attention to what had just happened, except for two hooded figures in the distance—one extremely tall and holding a scepter with a blue orb on the tip of it, the other extremely short.
Setchi walked away as if nothing had happened, his expression calm and detached, while the two hooded beings watched him intently from the shadows.
A couple of hours passed, and Setchi found himself sitting up against a palm tree not far from the city. In the shade of the tree, he stared up at the sky, his young mind heavy with thoughts.
People are so mean... I can't take it anymore... Setchi thought, his heart aching with the weight of his experiences.
Memories of the people he had killed flashed through his mind. One memory, in particular, stuck with him.
A couple of months ago, Shabaku had a talk with Setchi. They sat in a dimly lit room, Shabaku's expression serious as he spoke to his son.
"Setchi, daddy will never go broke because of you. Too many people go broke betting against you; you are a goldmine. I can't defend you, I can't fight for you," Shabaku said, his voice firm.
"B-But I'm scared... people are so mean to me," Setchi's eyes watered up, his voice trembling.
"And that's why you have your brain. I'm glad you weren't born retarded, because I wouldn't be able to give you some words of advice or at least my words would process in your head. Never show your true emotions, Setchi. It can make you seem weak, and no matter the situation, never cry. It makes you seem weak. Act tough, be tough. If someone is mean to you, be mean back. Use the words daddy uses," Shabaku instructed, his tone harsh but steady.
"W-What i-if they hurt me?" Setchi asked, his fear palpable.
"You are physically gifted, Setchi. You're a prodigy! In any situation, you should feel like a god. You are a god!" Shabaku declared, his eyes filled with a twisted pride.
Back in the present, Setchi continued to stare at the sky, his thoughts drifting.
Where do people go after they die? he wondered, the question lingering in his young mind, as vast and unreachable as the sky above him.
Setchi noticed the two hooded figures from before walking past him. Suddenly, out of the sand of the desert and in front of the two hooded people, emerged a monster. It had the neck and head of a snake and the body of a humanoid crab, complete with claws. This creature, known as a Sand Crawler, swam through sand and struck its prey with its poisonous fangs. The Sand Crawler lunged at the larger hooded person, but Setchi stepped in and blocked the bite with his leg, causing the monster to sink its fangs into him instead. Setchi tried to pull away, but the creature's grip was too strong.
"This... hurts..." Setchi groaned, the pain shooting through his leg.
Suddenly, the smaller hooded person punched the Sand Crawler in the stomach, making it lose its grip on Setchi's leg and knocking it back. The creature hissed at the smaller hooded person, but they vanished from sight.
He's fast, just like me! Setchi thought, amazed.
The smaller hooded person reappeared behind the Sand Crawler and touched its back.
"Thorn Magic: Thorns," he intoned.
Large thorns sprouted from the creature's body, killing it instantly. Setchi stood still, processing what had just happened.
"Thank you..." he said quietly.
"Art thee tis fine?" the bigger hooded person asked, their archaic speech catching Setchi off guard.
"I can't move," Setchi replied, the pain still throbbing in his leg.
The smaller hooded person removed their hood, revealing a much younger James McYoner, who was only seven years old.
"James, bringeth that gent to me," the bigger hooded person commanded.
"Yes, father," James replied obediently. He picked up Setchi and placed him in front of the larger hooded figure.
"Bef're I doth aught else, I bethink I shouldst introduceth myself. Mine own nameth is Duro Naniyori, and with me is mine own son James Naniyori," the larger hooded person said.
Setchi looked at them, puzzled. "You speak funny..."
James interjected, "My father has just introduced himself as Duro Naniyori, I am James Naniyori."
"Nice to meet you, James," Setchi responded politely.
Duro asked, "What's thy nameth?"
"My name is Setchi Deso'par. My dad kinda owns the city and stuff..." Setchi explained, his voice trailing off.
"Yond's int'resting. Sayeth, doth thee mind if 't be true I taketh thy sh'rts off?" Duro inquired.
"What?" Setchi asked, confused.
James clarified, "He asked if he could take your shorts off, so he could heal your wound."
"Oh. Yes, please!" Setchi agreed, eager for relief from the pain.
Duro ripped off Setchi's shorts, revealing an imprinted number on Setchi's thigh—the number 1.
Duro gazed intently at Setchi, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "Oh? What's this on thy thigh?"
Setchi's eyes dropped to the tag on his leg, his voice filled with a mix of resignation and bitterness. "Ever since I was born, my dad put this tag on me to sell me. I'm the only kid in the city, and he wants to sell me for about two million gold."
Duro's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered Setchi's words. "Art thee still up f'r selleth?"
In one swift motion, Duro pulled back his hood, revealing his true form. His blue skin glowed softly, his dark blue eyes emanated an eerie light, and his light blue hair flowed like an ethereal aura around his head.
Setchi's eyes widened in shock and fear. "Yes, I am... Also... WHAT ARE YOU?!"
Duro's lips curled into a small, enigmatic smile. "Aft'r I buyeth thee, I'll bid thee."
Setchi blinked, confused. "Huh?"
From behind Duro, James stepped forward, his tone matter-of-fact. "My father says, after he buys you, he'll tell you."
Realization dawned on Setchi's face. "Ooooh."
Duro's eyes fell on the bite wound on Setchi's leg, blood dripping slowly from the injury. Without hesitation, he placed his hand over the wound, and in an instant, it was healed.
"Thou art all valorous anon, Setchi," Duro declared.
Setchi's eyes widened in awe, a smile spreading across his face. "Uh... YES!!!"
Setchi stood back up, feeling a newfound strength and energy coursing through him.
Fifty minutes later, the three of them—Duro, James, and a now nearly unclothed Setchi—stood before Shabaku. The air was thick with tension and anticipation.
Shabaku's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Duro. "So you want to buy my son?"
Duro nodded solemnly. "Aye, I shall."
James cleared his throat and shot his father a meaningful look. "Father."
Duro turned to look at James, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You're right, son. I will like to buy your son."
Setchi muttered under his breath, incredulous. "So you can speak normally..."
Shabaku's expression remained skeptical. "What drew you to him? Does he look cute to you?"
Duro's gaze hardened as he looked at Shabaku, his voice laced with disdain. "It is very apparent to me that you're not fit to be a parent."
Shabaku's face twisted in anger. "Excuse me? How am I not fit to be a parent?"
Duro's eyes didn't waver. "Your kid is dirty, stinky, barely wearing any clothes, and you're planning on selling him even though you could have just put him up for adoption."
Shabaku's fury intensified. "I can do whatever the hell I want with my kid, SO UNLESS YOU HAVE TWO MILLION GOLD, GET. THE. FUCK. OU—"
Before Shabaku could finish, James tossed a large sack at him, the weight of it making Shabaku instinctively catch it. He opened the sack, his eyes widening as he saw it was filled with gold.
Shabaku's demeanor changed instantly, his voice calm and dismissive. "Oh. Setchi has nothing he can bring with you, good day."
With that, Shabaku sat down and waved them off, his interest in the conversation entirely lost.
Five minutes later, Duro, Setchi, and James emerged from a clothing store. Setchi was now clad in a hooded robe, his previous state of dishevelment a distant memory.
Duro looked down at Setchi, his tone curious. "Setchi, tell me. What have you been doing here?"
Setchi's eyes sparkled with excitement as he replied, "Well, during the day, I would explore and play outside, but at night, I'd be underground fighting crooks in an arena! It's pretty fun."
Duro's expression grew serious. "No, that isn't very fun."
Setchi frowned, puzzled. "Why? I thought it was fun. People would cheer for me, and my father sounded very proud of me."
Duro sighed, choosing his words carefully. "Well—you know, I'll let you come to that conclusion when you're older. But you're part of our family now. You are now a Naniyori."
Setchi looked up, curiosity evident in his eyes. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing in particular," Duro replied, a soft smile playing on his lips. "But just know that you're loved."
Setchi beamed. "Ok! So, where are we going now?"
James, standing nearby, couldn't help but reflect on the situation. This is both weird and sad at the same time. He just got taken away from his parents, and acts like nothing just happened. Was his relationship with his parents really that bad?
James shook his head slightly, then announced, "We're going to a five-star restaurant."
Duro glared at James and slapped him on the back of the head. "No, boy! We're going back home."
Setchi's eyes widened. "And where is that?"
Duro smiled, pointing ahead. "Well, if we keep walking straight from here, in about a month, we should be able to make it home."
Setchi's brow furrowed in confusion. "One month? Isn't that 7 days?"
James turned to Setchi, curiosity piqued. "Setchi, how old are you?"
Setchi replied innocently, "Four... How old are you?"
James thought to himself, Explains a lot, but for a four-year-old he is kind of... self-aware...ish... but who am I to judge? For a seven-year-old, I am very gifted.
James answered with a mischievous grin, "I'm 40 years old."
Duro immediately slapped James on the back of the head again. "No, he isn't, Setchi. He's seven."
Setchi looked relieved. "I was about to say! He doesn't look 40 years old!"
Duro chuckled. "Your brother is a weird liar. Not quite pathological, he just lies about the weirdest of things."
Setchi's head tilted in confusion. "Brother? What is that?"
James's eyes welled up with tears, touched by Setchi's innocence. He's so adorable...
James tried to explain, "It's when you have a peach who is related to you."
Duro couldn't help but laugh softly as he lightly chopped the top of James's head. "No. A brother is someone extremely close to you, be it genetics or relationships, that also happens to be male."
Setchi looked up at Duro, curiosity in his wide eyes. "So if he's my brother... What does that make you?"
Duro smiled warmly. "Well, I'm your father now."
Setchi tilted his head, processing the information. "Uhm... ok! Can we go now?"
James watched the exchange, his thoughts racing. This kid really doesn't care, or is he really that oblivious?
With a smirk, James teased, "No, we are leaving in twenty years."
Duro swiftly covered James's mouth and hoisted him onto his shoulder. "We can leave now!"
And so, the three embarked on their journey to return home. Their path took them through various landscapes, each presenting its own challenges.
First, they traversed a scorching desert. The relentless sunburnt Setchi's sensitive skin, causing him to cry in pain. Duro, ever prepared, handed him a cookie, which instantly brightened Setchi's mood.
Next, they braved a frigid, snowy region. The biting cold threatened Setchi with frostbite, and once again, he began to cry. Duro, with his usual calm, gave him another cookie, restoring Setchi's cheerfulness.
As they ventured through a dense forest, a bear suddenly attacked them. Before Duro or James could react, Setchi swiftly defeated the bear, leaving it crying in defeat. Duro, unfazed, handed cookies to both Setchi and the bear, turning the bears tears into a smile.
After a long and arduous journey, the three finally reached their destination: a large village set upon a vast expanse of grassland.
James looked at Setchi with excitement in his eyes. "Setchi, this is our village! Wanna see something cool?"
Setchi's eyes lit up. "Sure, James!"
The two boys took off running down the dirt path of the village, their laughter filling the air. Behind them, Duro followed at a leisurely pace. As he walked, a shirtless man approached him. The man had two long black ponytails that reached his knees, wore purple baggy pants, and bore a large scar running from his forehead to below his lip.
The man with the ponytails nodded in greeting. "Ah, so you came back with a kid?"
Duro nodded. "Yes, Schicht. It was an odd situation, to say the least. His name is Setchi, and he came from the criminal city of Sahwaa. His dad was selling him for two million gold."
Schicht shook his head in disbelief. "Of course, a city of criminals would have parents selling children. Those kinds of people don't know how to raise other humans! But are you sure you can handle another kid? And why this kid specifically?"
Duro glanced in the direction Setchi and James had run. "He has a lot of physical potential. It's better if we have him on the good side of the law than having him grow up to be a threat to the world."
Schicht's expression turned thoughtful. "Now that I think of it, I don't sense any mana off of him. Is he... like... him?"
Duro shook his head. "No, not at all. He's suppressing his mana, actually. But that's what makes him so strong. He just has this subconscious understanding of mana and magic without knowing it. He already uses mana to reinforce his body, and he doesn't even realize it."
Schicht raised an eyebrow. "What kind of destiny magic does he have?"
Duro smiled. "From his father, he inherited construction magic."
Schicht's eyes widened in appreciation. "Lucky kid. Construction magic is one of the coolest magics to have. You can literally do anything with that magic!"
Duro nodded. "That's why I'm going to train him and raise him well, so he'll become a force of nature."
Meanwhile, Setchi and James had come across a large tower that soared so high the top was lost in the clouds. The door of the tower was massive and seemingly made of metal. It had six pebble-sized slots, each with a different symbol above it: a sword, a hammer, a dagger, a scepter, a book, and a guitar.
Setchi stared in awe. "Woah, what's this?"
James grinned. "This is a dungeon!"
Setchi tilted his head in confusion. "What's that?"
James explained, "Dungeons are large buildings full of monsters, loot, and stuff. Don't try breaking through that door because, by the absolute concept of destruction, unless you have a sure way to get into it, that door cannot be opened or destroyed."
Setchi's curiosity was piqued. "How do you enter then? Is there a secret passcode?"
Duro's voice interrupted from behind them. "You use a magic ID, of course!"
Setchi screeched in surprise and flipped onto his back.
Duro chuckled and extended a hand to help him up. "Oh, sorry, son."
Setchi grasped Duro's hand and looked up, eyes wide with curiosity. "Whatsa magic ID?"
Duro pulled out a card, handing it to Setchi. The card displayed Duro's first and last name, his race labeled as "unidentified," his age also marked as "unidentified," his height at 23'10 feet, his destiny magic listed as Reality Magic, his mana type classified, his class as wizard, his mana level at 75,000, and his skill level marked as masterclass.
Setchi's eyes grew even wider. "Woah, what's that?"
James, peering over Setchi's shoulder, asked, "Why is it kind of glowing?"
Duro explained, "Dungeons are government-owned phenomena that they turned into a sport. To get into a dungeon, you need at least one of two requirements. If you ever go to Menyeberang, five miles away from the base of law is the national magic station, a place where you can get a magic ID. It's a good idea to get a magic ID because it makes you a registered magic user."
James, curious, pressed further, "Wait, Father, tell me again, what exactly is a registered magic user? What makes them different from normal magic users?"
Duro's tone grew serious. "Using magic is illegal!"
Setchi's shock was palpable. "WHAT!? YOU'RE INSANE! THAT CAN'T BE TRUE, RIGHT?!"
Duro nodded solemnly. "Well, unless you're part of a region not owned by the government but also deeply trusted and allied with the government, you can't just go around using magic without an ID. That would make you a potential threat to the government because they don't have you on record."
Setchi looked puzzled. "But my dad used magic all the time!"
Duro sighed. "Well, he was illegally using magic."
James's curiosity was still piqued. "What places can you use magic without an ID?"
Duro listed, "Places like the Negative Point, Politie Empire, and Javarahoo are completely out of the government's control, so you don't need an ID to use magic there."
James nodded, understanding more. "And how do you get an ID?"
Duro replied, "You have to take multiple tests to determine your type of mana, your mana level, and your class."
Setchi's brow furrowed. "Class, like a school class?"
Duro chuckled. "No, depending on your fighting style and magic mastery, you are assigned a class. The classes are artificer, barbarian, bard, cleric, druid, fighter, monk, ranger, rogue, sorcerer, wizard, paladin, and priest."
Setchi's excitement grew. "Sounds cool! One day I wanna be a bard!"
Duro shook his head, amused. "Nooooo, you do not."
James interjected, teasingly, "Yeah, Setchi, the government is lame. That's why I'mma stay here the rest of my life and illegally use magic."
Duro laughed softly. "Good luck with that, son. I'll visit you in prison."
James grinned defiantly. "That's assuming that I'll get caught!"
Setchi, still curious about the dungeon, asked, "So can you enter the dungeon or what?"
Duro nodded. "Yes, but you can only enter dungeons alone if you have a mana level above 10,000. Otherwise, you need a full party with a combined mana level of at least 100."
Setchi's innocence showed as he asked, "Like a dance party?"
James, ever the mischief-maker, joked, "No, a sex party."
Duro sat on James, nearly squishing him. "Hey, get off! I can't breathe!"
Ignoring James, Duro explained further, "No, Setchi. A party is a group of legal magic users with different classes. They usually hang around taverns, explore the world for treasure, and take up dungeons, quests, and bounties. I was once part of a party... a couple million years ago."
Setchi's eyes widened in surprise. "How was it—MILLION YEARS AGO? YOU'RE AN OLD GEEZER!!!"
Duro chuckled. "There are a lot of those in this world. Death scares many, so many become immortal to discard their mental being and avoid the truth of the afterlife. I am sadly not one of those people. I was born this way..."
Setchi's curiosity peaked. "WAIT, WHAT EVEN ARE YOU?! WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT?!!!"
James, noting the timing, thought to himself, Now he realizes?
Duro smiled mysteriously. "That's a tale for another day. But my party consisted of many fierce warriors: the monk Stoca, the paladin Tus Poob, the ranger Dues Molho, and the fighter Jusawi Apeum. We wiped out all the monsters in this dungeon but could never find the big treasure inside."
Setchi's eyes gleamed with ambition. "Do you think I'll be able to find it one day?"
Duro's gaze softened. "If you choose to. But remember, Setchi, tomorrow is never promised. Anything could happen. Just make sure you're prepared because if something big happens, you may never be able to follow your dreams."
James's voice, muffled under Duro, pleaded, "Father! Can you get off of me now?"
Duro stood up, allowing James to scramble to his feet and run beside Setchi.
Duro then instructed, "James, you should show Setchi home. I'll be back soon to make my famous stew. I just need to do some work."
James's eyes lit up. "Stew? I'm on it!"
He grabbed Setchi's wrist and started to run away.
Setchi protested, "Hey!"
James laughed. "Let's get back home! Father's stew is the best!"
Their laughter echoed as they ran off, eager to share more adventures together.