---
For five years, he had balanced his life between being the elusive captain of the Soul Knights, A squad he established to provide cover for his activities and a father to a boy who was rapidly becoming his entire world.
Each time he returned from a mission,
he felt a peace here that his double life as a captain couldn't give him—a warmth that reminded him why he had created the squad to begin with, why he kept the Noble's eyes averted, and why he came home to this small, hidden place every chance he got.
In those early years, Asta was nothing more than a wide-eyed infant in his mother's arms, reaching out with tiny fingers that wrapped around Nero's thumb.
But as the months passed, the boy began to grow, his curiosity spilling into every corner of their lives.
"Dada!!" Asta called, his voice full of glee as he took his first shaky steps from the table toward Nero's outstretched hands.
Nero knelt, his heart hammering as he encouraged the boy. "That's it, Asta. Keep going. I'm right here."
Asta wobbled, his legs uncertain, but with a determined grin he kept going, one unsteady step after another until he collapsed into Nero's arms with a giggle.
Richita, watching from the corner of the room, beamed at them, her eyes shining with joy. "He's a fast learner, isn't he?" she said softly, coming over to wrap her arms around both of them.
"Just like his mother," Nero replied, glancing at her with a cheecky smile.
Causing her to blush.
For these moments, he could forget the weight of the life he'd left behind every time he came here, the kingdom that knew him as something else entirely.
---
Some months later
Asta looked up at Nero with bright, wide eyes, eyes that held a spark of mischief and adventure.
"Dad, when will you teach me to be strong like you?"
Nero chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. "One day, when you're old enough."
Asta nodded , a look of determination on his young face that made Nero's chest tighten with pride.
But he felt something else too—a pang of fear.
He wanted to keep Asta safe, to shield him from the dangerous world of magic given the lack of it in him.
Still, the years passed with a rare kind of happiness that Nero had never known before.
He spent his time at home teaching Asta little things.
Asta's laughter filled their small home, and in those moments, Nero felt whole.
As he grew, Asta's questions grew too.
"Dad, why do you go away sometimes?" Asta asked one night as Nero tucked him into bed.
Nero hesitated, brushing a hand over Asta's hair. "Sometimes, there are things I need to take care of. Important things. But I always come back, don't I?"
Asta nodded, yawning as he curled up under the blankets. "Yeah… you always come back."
---
One sunny afternoon, Richita was out in the small garden she and Nero had planted together, her hands carefully plucking ripe fruits from the branches.
She smiled, imagining Asta's delight when he saw what she'd brought home for him.
But as she moved further into the trees, a sudden sound caught her attention—a child's desperate cries, mixed with the angry shouts of villagers.
Peeking through the leaves, she saw a young boy with strange horns on his head, his skin marked by an unusual colour.
He was running, stumbling over roots and rocks, pursued by a group of angry villagers holding sticks and stones, their faces twisted in fear and disgust.
Richita's heart clenched with uncertainty.
She wanted to help, but she wasn't sure of it.
She looked down at her wrist, at the bracelet Nero had given her—a gift he had created himself, enchanted with a portion of his blood.
The bracelet pulsed faintly, with abkie vein pattern as if sensing her fear.
She gripped it, feeling its cool surface against her skin, and took a steadying breath.
"Nero made this for a reason," she thought, "and he trusted me with it."
Summoning her courage, she twisted the knob on the bracelet.
In an instant, a blue light ignited around her hand, as blue veins spread on her hand shimmering with an otherworldly glow.
As she focused on the light, a surge of warmth filled her, her fingers tingling.
"Stop!" she shouted, stepping forward.
The villagers turned, their eyes widening as a blue light beam shot from her hand, exploding in a brilliant arc above their heads.
The flames crackled harmlessly but with a force that sent them stumbling back, their anger quickly turning to fear.
One by one, they dropped their weapons, casting wary glances at her as they backed away, muttering curses under their breath.
The boy stood frozen, staring at her with wide, uncertain eyes.
Richita approached him gently, extending a hand. "It's alright. You're safe now."
The boy looked down, his body tense, but he didn't jave the moment to think as he collapsed from sheer exhaustion the moment he got respite.
She could feel him trembling, exhausted from the ordeal.
As she walked back toward the house holding the boy in her arms, Richita glanced down at the bracelet, a sense of awe filling her.
She didn't fully understand how it worked, but she knew that it allowed her to tap into Nero's magic—magic he called Light Creation.
Nero himself seemed at times bewildered by it, as though the grimoire had given him a magic so rare it couldn't even be named by the user.
Light Creation Magic, was simply what Nero called it to simplify it, it had countless applications.
It wasn't just about conjuring light ; it allowed him to create enchantments, intricate mechanisms, and, most notably, it could drain mana from the environment to fuel its own power.
Even though Nero himself couldn't explain its full extent, he had given her this bracelet and a pendant, knowing they could protect her in moments like this.
Richita looked down at the boy in her arms.
His eyes had closed as he slipped into unconsciousness, exhaustion and relief finally taking over.
She held him carefully, his small, fragile form leaning against her shoulder as she made her way home.
As they neared the small house, Richita could see Asta at the door, his wide eyes lighting up at the sight of his mother—and the unusual boy in her arms.
---
Nero sat in his study, fingers pressed against his temples as he drifted through the memories of his happy life—a life that had felt complete for those fleeting years.
But a soft beeping on his wrist jolted him back to the present.
He let out a heavy sigh, the warmth of his memories replaced by the coldness of reality.
Pulling himself from his seat, he made his way toward the basement.
As he reached the heavy door, an enchantment flickered to life, casting a faint glow that recognized his presence.
The door creaked open, closing automatically behind him as he descended into the depths of the hidden room.
The basement stretched out before him, dimly lit by flickering lights from countless machines and glowing runes carved into the stone walls.
Glass tubes lined the walls, each one containing half-formed bodies and failed remnants of experiments—desperate attempts in his relentless pursuit of knowledge.
The air was thick with the smell of old books, magic, and the faint, metallic tang of chemicals and rotting corpses.
Stacks of ancient tomes lay scattered across the room, their pages worn and stained, filled with arcane knowledge of necromancy, soul magic, blood manipulation, and many others.
He walked silently past each experiment, his eyes steady and cold as he reached the center of the room.
There, surrounded by a web of wires, tubes, and intricate magical seals, lay a massive crystal of blue light, pulsing with a quiet, sorrowful glow.
Inside the crystal was the still figure of the woman he had once loved with all his heart, her form preserved in an unnatural slumber.
Her body, though preserved, was visibly damaged—a large section of her abdomen missing, along with the warmth that had once filled her gaze.
For three long years, Nero had thrown himself into study and experimentation, seeking answers where none seemed to exist.
He'd ventured into realms of knowledge others dared not touch, his mind absorbing forbidden arts as he tried to piece together what had been taken from him.
Necromancy, blood magic, soul manipulation—he delved into them all, hoping to discover the one piece that would allow him to bring her back.
But even as he stood here, staring at the faint light flickering within the crystal, he knew he was getting closer day by day.
The hope he clung to felt like a distant star, unreachable yet always within sight, driving him forward.
He placed a hand on the crystal, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm never giving up," he murmured, a fierce resolve burning in his eyes.
"I'll bring you back. No matter what it takes."
For a moment, the light within the crystal seemed to flicker, almost as if responding to his voice.
But the moment passed, leaving him once again in the silent, heavy stillness of the room.
Nero sighed, his hand dropping to his side as he resumed his silent vigil, surrounded by the remnants of his relentless, desperate journey for a miracle.
Nero turned away from the crystal as a quiet beep echoed again from his wrist—his signal that the electrolysis process was complete.
He made his way to a workbench in the corner of the basement, where a small apparatus hummed faintly, signaling the end of his latest experiment.
On the table lay a slab of Magisteel, a new metal alloy he'd been painstakingly developing.
Through his experiments with magical electrolysis, he'd managed to transform this alloy into something entirely unique, charged with magical properties that he hoped would help him in his goal of Revenge.
Running his fingers over its cool, metallic surface, Nero could feel the subtle pulse of mana that seemed to flow within it.
The Magisteel alloy held magical capacity far beyond any metal in this world.
He had once been a researcher in industrial chemistry—a scientist working to make chemical processes practical on a large scale—Nero's knowledge had now evolved, adapted to the world of magic and its limitless potential.
He made quick notes in his journal, documenting the stability and unusual properties of the Magisteel.
Its ability to absorb and channel magic made it an invaluable resource.
---
Back at the Magic knight Exam.
The selection of candidates had already begun.
The selection process continued, candidates were called forward one by one, each stepping into the open space as their number echoed through the grounds.
"Candidate 108!" the announcer called, and a young girl with nervous eyes walked forward, gripping her staff tightly.
The captains watched her with a mix of curiosity and indifference.
After a moment of silence, Captain Fuegoleon of the Crimson Lions raised his hand, showing interest in the candidate.
A murmur spread through the crowd, the girl's eyes widening as she realized she had a captain's offer.
A single raised hand was a mark of approval and a significant honor for many hopefuls here.
She nodded quickly, her excitement clear as she stepped back, grateful for the opportunity.
The selection continued, the names being called one after another.
For some candidates, no hands were raised.
Others managed to catch the interest of a single captain, while a single rare one drew two hands, leaving the crowd murmuring in surprise when it happened.
Two captains raising their hands was a signal of extraordinary potential and hardly ever seen.
The anticipation continued to build until the announcer finally called, "Candidate 163!"
Yuno stepped forward with steady confidence, his gaze unwavering as he stood in the center of the field.
The silence seemed to grow heavier as each captain assessed him with piercing eyes.
And then, in unison, every captain raised their hand—an unprecedented display of approval.
The crowd erupted in whispers of shock and admiration.
"All nine of them… every captain present raised their hand!" one person gasped.
"Is he really that strong?" another voice asked in wonder, the awe spreading among the spectators.
But amidst the awe and murmurs, one figure stood apart.
The vice-captain of the Soul Knights, stationed beside an empty chair, remained silent and unmoving.
Unlike the other captains, she did not raise her hand despite being the defacto representative .
Her arms were crossed, her gaze calm but unreadable, giving no indication of interest.
Yami, grinning as always, leaned forward, his amusement clear. "What's the matter, Soul Knights?" he called, laughing. "Did the captain send you out here just to stand around?"
The vice-captain cast a brief, blank glance at Yami, saying nothing, her stance unchanging.
Nozel huffed, his tone dripping with disapproval. "That man has skipped choosing anyone for three years now. I can't say I'm surprised."
Dorothy, barely awake but visibly annoyed, muttered, "I stayed up just to see all the cadidates here… and he doesn't even show up.. no fair."
The captains' voices fell silent as they awaited Yuno's response, each one hoping he'd choose their squad.
"I choose Golden Dawn"
After the excitement died down the next number was called.
"Candidate number 164!"
Asta stepped forward with a confident grin plastered on his face, his eyes meeting Yuno's for a brief but meaningful moment.
The two of them exchanged a silent nod, a gesture that spoke volumes. Despite their rivalry, the bond they shared was undeniable.
They had been through so much together over the years, both growing stronger in pursuit of their dreams
Asta and Yuno had been inseparable ever since they were young.
Asta, lived in a bungalow provided by Nero, who had generously funded the church Yuno grew up in.
The two of them spent their days playing, training, and pushing each other to be better.
Their rivalry started out of mutual respect—Yuno's natural talent for magic and Asta's determination to catch up.
Over the years, they became not only rivals but the best of friends.
Nero, Asta's father, had always supported them.
His wealth allowed both Asta and Yuno to pursue their goals without worrying about anything else, and they grew closer, their bond growing as they aimed for the same dream: to become the Wizard King.
But now, as the Magic Knight selection exam came to an end and the captains made their choices, no one raised their hands for Asta.
Yami was about to speak when a voice suddenly rang out from the back of the colosseum.
"I wish to recruit him."
Everyone turned towards the entrance. Standing there, in a royal suit, was Nero.
His appearance was disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes, and he wasn't wearing his squad cloak. His presence was striking, and the room fell into stunned silence.
The candidates, already on edge from the tense selection process, looked around in confusion.
Asta, however, looked at Nero with a deadpan expression, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"I Refuse ," Asta said flatly, his voice unwavering.
=========================
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