"The ancient seals weaken, and the chains that bind time begin to give way. The steel tempered in forgotten flames shall awaken, and with each strike, judgment will resonate in the hearts of both mortals and immortals alike. But will judgment bring redemption... or be the first step toward damnation?"
—Excerpt from Volume 1 of the Reborn Hero.
Aurora Vortex's Perspective
In the maritime lands of the Kingdom of Eldoria, on a remote island under its protection, an arcane circle began to manifest. At first, it was nothing more than an incandescent point, flickering in the dimness, until it expanded in an instant to span several meters in circumference. Runes, seals, and ancient scripts danced upon its surface in a chaos that, paradoxically, formed a harmonious resonance—an achievement that only the culmination of an experienced mage could attain.
It was a teleportation circle in all its glory, reaching its climax in a silent burst of energy. From its luminous matrix, twenty-five exceptional figures emerged, each carrying their own weight and hard-earned renown. Some were already prepared for the imminent confrontation, while others readied themselves with the swiftness of those who had walked the edge of the abyss.
Aurora, in particular, was pleasantly surprised—the teleportation was so perfect that she was spared the unsettling sensation of swallowing butterflies. That was without even mentioning the scale of the feat—more than impressive. The entire process had lasted mere seconds, but she had observed the arcane structure in its entirety. Though her keen mind had discerned much of its mechanisms, she knew she had only skimmed the surface of such a singular display of magic.
With a sigh, she let her body adjust to the environment. There was no time for distraction. Her eyes, imbued with purified mana, immediately locked onto the anomaly looming before them: a colossal cube of absolute blackness, a geometric abyss that devoured light and fractured reality itself with its blasphemous existence. It was a rift between worlds, a scar upon the fabric of creation, pulsing with a presence that felt primeval.
The energy emanating from that construct was an insidious whisper in the depths of perception, a murmur that crawled into the marrow of one's bones. Space itself distorted around it, twisting in a dance of impossible forms. A single reckless step within its area of influence would mean instant annihilation for anyone below the rank of eight stars—a milestone not all reached in their lifetimes.
And there it was, floating with idle indifference, spinning with the sluggishness of a dead star. Its mere presence drained the vitality from everything nearby: the land turned barren, trees withered into dust, the very air decomposed into a funerary silence. Aurora swallowed hard—her instincts screamed warnings. Whatever lurked beyond that prism of darkness was something extremely dangerous, overwhelmingly powerful, and seemingly invincible.
Her brow furrowed—the power radiating from this thing was already comparable to one of her strongest spells, with the exception that this dark cube was a union between worlds, while her technique was channeled purely for destruction. Without a doubt, the threat level of this situation had escalated several notches. For that reason alone, she needed to prepare—otherwise, she would meet a sudden death.
The others seemed to share her unease, though their expressions betrayed little of their true thoughts. She stepped aside, her movements observed by two prominent figures among the Adamantite-class adventurers: a spear-wielding warrior clad in armor and a battle mage with pink hair. The latter looked at her with a mix of admiration and barely concealed fervor—an interest Aurora chose to ignore for now.
The scent of salty sea air filled the atmosphere, blending with the rawness of the surrounding nature. It was an appreciable scene. Wasting no more time, she began her preparations.
The clothes she wore were not suited for what was coming. Without hesitation, she shed her white robe with purple trimmings, revealing a dark, form-fitting shirt, which also vanished in the next instant. Her skin was left exposed beneath the strange sensation emanating from the dimensional rift.
Aurora wouldn't claim to be the image of idealized feminine beauty; her torso and arms, though small in appearance, were built with compact muscle—even her abdomen was more defined than she would have liked, a testament to relentless training. Ancient scars—maps of past battles—etched her skin as silent reminders of the brutality she had faced in her short life. Tight bandages concealed her nearly nonexistent chest from the world. Without a doubt, this was a body built for combat—one trained to break its limits and continue growing stronger.
With meticulous precision, she stripped off the white knee-length skirt, revealing a pair of tight, dark leggings. The brown boots protecting her feet vanished with a simple gesture, and the leggings followed the same fate shortly after. The entire process took no more than four seconds.
Modesty? What the hell was that? In any case, the important parts were still covered by bandages and underwear that reached the upper part of her thighs. Her legs, sculpted by the crucible of battle, displayed compacted muscles and ancient marks—vestiges of wars fought against horrors most would rather forget.
[Whistle]
"Well, so this is the difference between a Sorceress and a Battle Mage." A man's voice rang out, a mix of appreciation and playful mischief.
Aurora narrowed her eyes. Why the hell was this bastard approaching her while she was changing? The spear-wielding, armored adventurer strode forward with a confident smile, moving with the ease of someone who had seen much and feared little. At his side, the pink-haired woman followed with an expression of restrained nervousness.
"By the way, I'm Hax Ironblade. A pleasure to meet you, Harlequin of a Hundred Faces," the lancer introduced himself, giving his companion a couple of firm pats on the back, subtly nudging her forward. "Come on, weren't you the one who wanted to meet her? Why so nervous?"
The pink-haired woman, dressed in the typical attire of a battle mage, bowed deeply. "I-I'm Lyria Pyrelis. It's an ho-honor to meet you."
Aurora looked at her with a mix of confusion and mild discomfort. She wasn't used to such fervor directed at her. And above all else—why the hell were they approaching her while she was changing? She had deliberately moved away to avoid situations like this. It had been a silent pact among those present, and now these two were breaking it as if the unspoken rules of decency were mere suggestions.
She sighed, shaking off the annoying tension in her shoulders. At the very least, she should return basic courtesy. "Aurora Vortex. It's a pleasure to meet you as well," she replied with a slight nod before resuming her task.
From her refined leather pouch, imbued with spatial magic, she mentally summoned what she needed. Instantly, a pair of uniquely crafted pants appeared in her hands. She slipped them on with practiced, efficient movements. However, a sharp, stifled gasp shattered the surrounding silence.
"That's Shadowmoon, isn't it?!" Lyria Pyrelis barely managed to contain her exclamation, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of awe and intellectual greed. Aurora raised an eyebrow. She wasn't wrong, but the speed at which she had identified the material was impressive in itself.
Now more at ease with her current situation, the Harlequin relaxed her stance—she could let go of the imaginary daggers she had poised against these two.
"A material born in the depths of unique caverns, where moonlight condenses into crystals over millennia. These crystals, subjected to magical smelting and extraordinary forging techniques, result in incredible and unpredictable properties." The pink-haired woman couldn't contain her excitement, her whispered words not really whispers at all, her gaze filled with pure astonishment at such a unique piece of equipment—classified as Mythic-tier, Divine-class.
Aurora glanced at her from the corner of her eye. "You seem well-informed."
Lyria nodded eagerly. "I've read about Shadowmoon. They say it's as tough as Adamantite but as flexible and light as a second skin. Even if we combined the entire reward for this mission, we couldn't afford such a large piece of that material."
Aurora nodded in silent agreement. She herself was well aware of the absurd value of Shadowmoon—even with all her savings, she could never have bought it. Simply put, during her days of adventuring across the world, she had been lucky enough to find an untouched cavern where the material thrived. Taking it wasn't easy, and finding someone capable of working with it had been even harder.
That old adventure had led her into a long conversation with the Dwarven King—the only master smith currently capable of forging Shadowmoon. And, as expected, the cost of crafting it had been astronomical. If she hadn't extracted all the material from the cavern herself, not even her luck would have been enough to pay for the commission.
Of course, the story of how she obtained it was one she'd take to the grave. Had she already mentioned her unpleasant experience with those blood-sucking beasts known as vampires? Well, that whole adventure had ended with her facing a Vampire Lord and his disgusting blood magic. That was how such a precious material ended up in her hands.
Without further ado, she pulled out a pair of boots made from the same material, their soles reinforced with Adamantite. More gasps escaped Lyria's lips as Aurora put them on with the unhurried grace of someone who had repeated the same ritual thousands of times.
"Wow, you must be ridiculously rich. Let's go out sometime," Hax finally spoke, just as surprised as his companion despite not recognizing the material. What he had heard was enough to give him an idea.
Aurora didn't even bother to respond. Instead, she resorted to a foolproof technique—pretending she hadn't heard him.
"Looks like things are getting lively over here," a new female voice chimed in, carrying an amused lilt as she approached. "And, leader, don't think I didn't hear that. Maybe I should share this little piece of information with the vice-leader?"
At that, the armored lancer jolted and paled instantly, his expression twisting into an anxious grimace. "Wait, wait, Sorya, there's no need to go that far! I was just joking to break the ice," Hax muttered, waving his hands with almost childlike nervousness. "We've known each other for so long, let's just forget this little slip-up, okay?"
The newcomer was unmistakably a Folkmmurd of the feline race. Her vertical pupils and mischievous, cat-like grin made that clear.
"By the way, I'm Sorya Duskwraith. A pleasure to meet the person Lyria hasn't stopped talking about since you saved her sister and her village from that unidentified, out-of-control dungeon."
The mentioned woman turned as red as a tomato. "Sorya, you didn't have to say that!" She wanted to keep scolding her, but the Folkmmurd caught her in a sudden headlock, pulling her close. "Come on, dear Lyria, we both know you'd never have the guts to say it yourself."
For a fraction of a second, Aurora's violet eyes widened slightly. So that old adventure of hers was the reason for this woman's admiration—quite the revelation.
"I was just doing my job. Right place, right time," she responded with measured coldness, giving the feline woman a slight nod in acknowledgment. Sorya simply lifted a hand in a friendly gesture. "Nice gear you've got there," she replied cheerfully.
The Folkmmurd let her gaze dance between Aurora and Lyria with a calculating expression. Suddenly, a playful slap echoed in the air as she smacked her friend on the rear.
"Hey, Lyria, why don't you look as strong as her? You should work out more."
A vein of irritation pulsed on the pink-haired woman's forehead as she instinctively reached for the sore spot. "Damn it, Sorya!"
The sound of feline laughter mixed with the sea breeze, teasing and carefree.
"Huh? Why aren't you answering?" They had started shaking the pink-haired woman, a scene that strongly reminded Aurora of her Master's childish antics.
Her amethyst eyes shifted ever so slightly to an empty space on her right—where her senses detected something else.
The moment she did, a dark-skinned woman of the same height as Aurora materialized from thin air. A wyvern or dragon skull covered her head, while her green cloak melded seamlessly with the surrounding nature, complementing her emerald eyes that gleamed like polished gemstones.
"You're strong," the newcomer murmured. "You sensed me before I got close."
Aurora frowned slightly. The woman's skin was covered in barely perceptible scales—an indication of her lineage. A Folkmmurd, but from the reptilian race.
With her arrival, the other adventurers remained silent, already accustomed to their companion's eccentricities. They failed to grasp the sheer magnitude of Aurora's feat—she was the first in years to detect their companion so effortlessly.
"Veydras Verdant. A pleasure to meet you, Harlequin of a Hundred Faces," the newcomer introduced herself with a small bow. A surprising sight for the gathered adventurers, considering their leader himself never received such respect from Veydras.
Power recognizes power, or so they said.
Aurora responded with a brief nod. And once again—why the hell were these people clinging to her like bees to pollen? Whatever. She didn't want to dwell on it.
The gentle sea breeze brushed against her skin, reaching her still-exposed torso, wrapped only in tight bandages over her modest chest. She had wanted to go unnoticed until she finished preparing, but it seemed that wouldn't happen.
She sighed, bracing herself for the inevitable stares she would receive for what she was about to do.
Unfortunately, that thought was shattered in an instant.
A dark shadow streaked through the air at a mind-boggling speed.
She barely had time to raise her arms to block the impact.
The blow hit her like a cannonball, launching her through the air with impossible force.
A tense silence seized the adventurers.
As the dust settled, a figure emerged. An anthropomorphic rabbit with long ears and jet-black fur grinned with the satisfaction of a playful predator. His attire was a fusion between a samurai's garb and that of a battle-hardened gangster. Two katanas hung at his waist, ready to tear through anything in their path.
The newcomer straightened leisurely, his smile widening beneath his hood. "If you want to take part in this battle, you must prove your worth."
Rach glanced sideways at the adventurers, still paralyzed by surprise. He clicked his tongue in disdain. "Tsk, these guys don't interest me." With that thought voiced, he vanished in an explosion of speed, his mere movement leaving a crater in the ground.
Not far away, Pach, clad in his immaculate white armor adorned with magical engravings, covered his face with his hand, his ears drooping in embarrassment at his brother's behavior. Beside him, Vaelora Firebane, the current monarch of the Draconids, smiled faintly.
"It seems his rivalry with that disrespectful Carmele has crossed borders," she remarked, a note of amusement in her tone.
[Laughter.]
A booming laugh interrupted the conversation. Ordyr Blackthorne roared with laughter, his chest vibrating like a raging storm. "The younger generations sure have energy to spare. Perhaps I should join in the fray?" he mused, a dangerous gleam in his battle-hungry eyes.
However, before his titanic body could even hint at movement, a sword-staff pressed against his massive torso, exerting a subtle yet immovable force.
"And don't even think about moving, you blockhead," came Vaelora's sharp warning, her gaze flashing with steely resolve.
Ordyr, still chuckling, waved his hands dismissively. "Come on, Vaelora, nothing like a little warm-up to get the blood pumping."
The Draconid monarch shook her head. "A 'warm-up' from you would likely cause tsunamis of catastrophic magnitude."
"Just a little," the colossus insisted, his eyes glinting playfully.
"No means no. End of discussion," she stated, her tone brooking no argument.
Off to the side, Azareth Wynsdread resisted the urge to touch the helm she wore. As she had said before—and would keep saying—gathering so many exceptional individuals in one place always led to trouble. Particularly because the strongest were often the most eccentric.
"Should we stop them?" asked Darius Radiant, her right-hand man and personal guard. His voice carried weariness but remained steadfast.
Arthur Pendragon, who had remained silent until then, let out a quiet huff, stroking his beard thoughtfully. A faint smile graced his face.
"We have time. The preparations aren't finished yet, so let's allow them a bit of fun," he murmured.
Despite his low tone, his words reached everyone present with eerie clarity.
"For all those sharp remarks, he's merely testing his combat compatibility," commented Zyren Emberfang, whose smile mirrored Arthur's.
"This always happened whenever Rach and Lady Carmele crossed paths. Now I see it will be the same with young Aurora," muttered Pach, the more composed of the twin brothers. His slumped shoulders and long sigh betrayed his resignation.
The other gathered figures—two Inquisitors, the Three Shields of Eldoria, Titania Crustmerd, Freya Linspell, and Kael'therion Noctharnis—paid little attention. Their minds were occupied with their own preparations for the impending battle, uninterested in these power plays.
Meanwhile, Aurora soared through the sky like an uncontrollable comet.
Kilometers vanished in her involuntary flight until her trajectory sent her crashing onto a deserted beach. Her legs sank into the sand up to her knees, softening the impact. Her expression was the very picture of acrimony.
That damn rude rabbit again. She had no time for further thoughts. A drawn katana was already streaking toward her neck. Instinctively, she leaned her torso back, feeling the razor wind slice through the air just millimeters from her skin.
In her palm, a sphere of wind formed without hesitation. With a deafening blast, she detonated it, creating a barrier of distance between herself and her attacker.
Sand exploded in all directions, and where solid ground once stood, a crater rapidly filled with seawater. Aurora landed atop the ocean's surface, her mana flowing into the soles of her boots, allowing her to stand atop the waves.
Around her, the sea stretched out in an overwhelming display of majesty.
Rach shot toward the trees, quickly gaining momentum as the trunk exploded under the pressure he exerted. Without wasting a second, he dashed across the water at overwhelming speed. In the blink of an eye, he was already at her side. His fist descended like a hammer, but she deflected it with her forearm, redirecting the force of the impact toward her flank. She countered with a precise strike to his jaw, but Rach's hand caught her fist with inhuman reflexes.
However, there was a reason she was called the Harlequin of a Hundred Faces.
Her body bent with the grace of an acrobat, her leg arcing upward in a flawless trajectory. Her foot aimed straight for the face of the ill-mannered rabbit. "Typhoon," her lips whispered.
The air twisted, and a vortex of devastation was born in its wake. As if a forgotten god had exhaled from the abyss, the compressed storm came to life—a cyclone of destruction in its purest form. The ocean roared under the weight of unseen forces, and the horizon seemed to tremble in anticipation of the inevitable collision.
The magical attack was unleashed, catching a surprised Rach and sending him flying. The air alone was not enough to contain the spell's might, for in the next instant, it began drawing the sea into its gravitational pull, escalating its level of danger. From her front-row seat, Aurora watched as saltwater was lifted hundreds of meters above sea level, towering waves rising in all directions.
Truly, a vortex that devoured everything in its path.
Roaring waves surged toward her, threatening her balance, but she had faced worse and quickly adapted. Dressed in only boots and pants, her torso wrapped in tight bandages over her chest, she was splashed by stray droplets of seawater—though such trivialities barely concerned her. Her arm lifted toward the heavens, fingers splayed, muscles taut.
"From the dawn of judgment, the golden steps rise," her chant began, her unrefined prana channeling rapidly. Her free hand moved swiftly through seals and sigils. "The fallen kings tremble, the false gods retreat, the unworthy fade." "Only those with divine right shall ascend."
"The laws of the heavens are not up for debate..." [Royal Staircase: Absolute Ascension.]
The incantation and all its ritualistic steps were completed, and if a spell cast in silence could only reach 70% of its full potential, then one executed in full could exceed 140% of its power.
The heavens roared with ancient fury. A golden pillar of light descended with absurd magnitude, as vast as the island. When Typhoon was torn into a thousand pieces by the katana of an unscathed Rach, the blinding divine sentence fell mercilessly upon him. The proximity was so intense that his skin felt the searing caress of its radiance. At the epicenter of the cataclysmic discharge, the ill-mannered rabbit took the attack head-on.
The spell, meant to disintegrate impure beings, would only cause Rach immense damage—she didn't intend to kill him, which was why she hadn't purified her mana before casting it. The golden column tore through everything in its path, evaporating the water in an instant and reaching the depths of the ocean.
When the spell ended, Rach was nowhere to be seen. As the massive chasm carved into the sea began rapidly filling with rushing saltwater, she finally sensed him—buried thousands of meters below, crushed beneath the weight of the ocean floor.
For a second, Aurora considered summoning her trusted staff, left aside while she had been changing clothes—after all, she hadn't expected this ill-mannered rabbit to attack so suddenly.
A shame that a slash, born from the very depths of the sea, tore her from her thoughts. Her body shifted to the side, letting the attack pass—a perfect cut that split the very air in two, leaving a gap several meters wide in the water. At the end of that void, a grinning Rach stood, and if one paid close attention, faint wisps of steam could be seen rising from his body.
More of those slashes assaulted her senses, forcing her to move and execute several backflips using both hands and feet. Several more of those rifts appeared, slicing through the water as if it didn't exist. The patterns of the cuts were too precise, too perfect.
Aurora frowned when the attacks ceased and the sea returned to normal. However, she didn't have to wait long. A katana emerged from just below her, aimed directly at her chin—ready to pierce through her skull if not for her quick reaction, leaning back and letting the weapon pass just millimeters from her face.
She stepped away, and Rach rose from the water, nearly unscathed save for the faint traces of burns on his clothing. His grin was enormous, and his blood boiled with excitement for a good fight.
"I suppose you're not that bad, Sorceress," he said, preparing to continue.
Aurora's violet eyes gleamed with mana. In their brief clash, she had sensed that Rach was a formidable 15-star warrior, which made it natural that he was still in such good condition after receiving a fully realized spell of that magnitude.
If she used that power classification, she would be around 12 stars—a clear difference. However, knowing that the new hierarchy employed in these times was based purely on the base physical statistics of those subjected to it, then it wasn't crazy to say that Aurora, if she truly put her all into it, could match Rach in sheer brute strength.
Purified prana coursed through every inch of her body, and in mere moments, Mana Reinforcement had taken hold. An essential technique for anyone aspiring to become a Sorcerer—the first one they were forced to learn and the most useful in every battle fought. Without it at one's disposal, one could never be considered a true Sorcerer.
It was an invaluable tool when dealing with the Resem. A manifestation of one's will and strength.
A faint layer of violet light enveloped her body, and Rach took notice. His katana was now imbued with Aura, a technique only the finest warriors could master. The blade of his weapon darkened into an abyssal black, a dangerous void that seemed to devour light itself.
"Let's continue, ill-mannered rabbit," Aurora declared.
True to her chosen path, she did not retreat despite being at a clear disadvantage here, because this was the way of sorcery—to fight your enemies until your last breath, sacrificing everything if necessary.
Not to lose. To win, no matter the cost.
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