As usual, the old beggar leaned against the thick wall. A thin blanket was folded and placed under him as a cushion. It was the only piece of cloth he had other than his tattered clothing.
His gaze fell toward the dark sky. His expression was blank. The moon was nowhere to be seen. The dark clouds that appeared now and then and the absence of the moonlight made the night turn even more pitch black.
The weather was windy, and there was a premonition of a tremendous storm brewing. The streets were empty, and the houses were shut tight. No sign of life could be seen. Here, he was all alone. It has already been six months since he came here, and nothing has changed since then.
The majority of those who accompanied him perished. Others fled and spread throughout the kingdom. Some became beggars like him, and others were doing odd jobs to survive. The physically strong were respected, and the educated found their way into society. In the end, everyone found their way of living, whether it was good or bad.
The old beggar did nothing but sit at this place the entire time. He walked through the streets now and then and came settling down here by the nighttime. This has continued for the past six months. It was a life without purpose, but it was also a life that had value.
The only thing that didn't change was the wall that he was leaning against. It was sturdy, made of rock, and didn't have any ridges that could poke his back. It was his support, and it was his home. This was his own way of life in this new kingdom.
Icemere is one of the kingdoms, with an abundance of mages and swordsmen alike. But even it didn't have humans that were omnipotent. Humans are born with limitations, even with powers that transcend reality. This was a fact that this old beggar knew better than anyone.
He believed that there was an almighty being that was not constrained by limitations. A being that doesn't need to bow before others but makes others bow before them.
And what would happen to someone who followed that being with their utmost sincerity? Wouldn't they become the next most powerful ones to him? Wouldn't they be respected like the lord they follow? That was just an assumption, but a plausible one at that.
"Clank!" This was the sound he remembered the most. It was a sound made when the money touched the empty steel bowl in front of him. The bowl wouldn't fill every day, so the sound didn't change. It remained constant.
Two copper coins—that's all he got, but it was enough to buy two full pieces of bread. For people like him, that would be enough to survive for two whole days, though barely.
The beggars of the streets don't do any work except sit in one corner every day and look at the people passing by to give them a piece of change. It would be enough to buy the only thing that kept them alive: bread.
That would provide them with enough energy to breathe. What more does a human need other than breathing to survive? Are other bodily functions that important when they don't even use them? With this mentality, the people in the slums strive to survive. It's a simple, straightforward way of living.
On a normal day, even if they suddenly stopped breathing and died, it wouldn't matter to anyone. Not them nor the people that are going through their everyday activities.
Even the soldiers that were acting as guards near the town's entrance wouldn't blink an eye at that. They are the people that need to maintain order throughout the town, but it is one less burden for them when the leeches of this society die. It is actually a kind of blessing for them.
So this begs another question. Who assigns a value to human life? Does a human need to contribute to society for his life to be meaningful in the eyes of others? And do others decide whether our lives are meaningful based on our actions? Why does this control of our destiny lie in others' decisions? Aren't we merely puppets of society that are just going along with the flow, then? If so, why do the personnel choices even matter?
If this discussion continues, it will become an endless web of questions that can never be answered. In this de facto world, we are merely puppets at play for others' benefits. To escape this intertwined web, one needs to find the change in society and the change in himself, followed by the repercussions that brought about those changes.
The type of change that differed from the common norm was made possible by this thick, long tower that almost touched the sky.
The old beggar got up on his feet and stood in front of the tower. It could fit an entire city inside it, but from the outside, it just looked like a tall wall extending to the sky with no end to it. It was a wall where the old beggar rested every day. This wall was his home for the months since he first came here. The tower looked like a wall when seen up close.
This tower was something that was built with the exception of social values, isolated from the common people themselves. It didn't concern itself with the norms as it followed the exceptions created by itself.
Its outside may look simple and bland, with pieces of huge rocks stacked together, but its interior was another matter. It hosted a separate city, with groups of people of the greatest skills and like mindsets.
Finding the entrance of the tower was already a miracle of its own, but trying to find the exit was next to impossible. Because it was specially built by the most skilled people in the entire kingdom. Even the palace, where the king rests, paled in comparison.
Then, how would people normally enter or exit the tower daily? They don't. No one may enter here. Even the king has to request permission to enter. Why? Because it is where the most powerful people in the kingdom live.
The most respected of the jobs one could ever dream of becoming. A job of many specialties. It was not based on their physical strength or mentality but on their power to rewrite reality. It was the job of a mage. These are the people who are well-versed in the art of war, the truth of the world, and the twisted hearts of humans.
And the place that gathered them all is "The Tower of Mages," more commonly known as "The White Magic Tower."
All the people present here are mages. They involve themselves in the politics of the kingdom, research, and development of new magic formulas, artifacts, potions, and whatnot. They have pride like no other. They should be. That's how precious their skills are to society.
This is the main reason mages are respected more than swordsmen: because of their versatility and their use to the world. They can come up with new solutions to the problems plaguing society through their seemingly miraculous methods.
When the old beggar placed his hand on the wall that he always leaned against, a small gap of space opened. It was exactly the right size—enough to fit him. No more, no less than that.
It was the entrance of the tower, or one could say it was the gap that allowed one to enter the tower.
The thin blanket he always carried was left behind outside as he, along with his staff, entered the opened space. With how windy it was outside, the thin blanket flew with nothing to hold it in place. The old beggar will never see that blanket again, and there was no need to.
As he entered, his eyes were greeted with miraculous things that seemed otherworldly. The sight was pleasing to the eyes.
Everything that can be seen is made of magic. The entire functions of the tower were run by it. For the person who witnesses this scene for the first time, they will surely gape their mouths in awe.
But the old beggar didn't even look at the so-called miraculous things before he searched for something specific. And his darting eyes locked onto it. It was a long staircase that extended to the top of the tower.
He walked slowly, using his wooden staff as a support. His old, dirty figure that didn't even have proper clothes to wear didn't match the atmosphere around, but none even noticed this. Everyone was busy with their own things. That's how mages truly are—mostly the ones who work on research.
They wore thin cloaks, carrying things here and there that were related to their specific kind of work. They looked dignified, with a hint of mana covering them. No normal person can see it, but the old beggar could tell it was a protection spell that was cast on their clothes with a single glance.
The old beggar took every step slowly before reaching the top of the tower. With the ascension of each floor as he walked, there were fresh sights to bewilder about.