Two millennia ago, Earth underwent a cataclysmic mutation. Magic bloomed in the newly born, gifting them with cores of power. But the gift came with a curse—monsters began to rise from beneath the Earth's surface, reshaping the world forever.
Today, only one percent of humanity wields a magical core, marking them as Ascenders. These cores grant extraordinary powers—fire manipulation, super speed, or undiscovered abilities. Every Ascender starts at level 1, embarking on a journey through 18 ranks: from the basic levels of 1 to 10 to the transcendent titles of Awakened, Giant, King, Saint, Emperor, Holy, Prince, and finally, Absolute.
Today, there are only four princes and one absolute. Every prince controls a continent. The absolute lives on an island and is only called for when a world-ending disaster emerges.
But I was different—an anomaly in the system. Born with a dormant core, I started at level 0, powerless and unseen.
Over the past seven years, I've trained relentlessly under my father's watchful eye. He was once a Giant among Ascenders, a legend in his prime. From him, I've learned the sword's sharp discipline, the cunning of battle tactics, and the fatal weaknesses of monsters.
During today's sparring session, I aimed a horizontal slash at my father's head. The clash of our blades rang out—but then, something else. A high-pitched hum drilled into my ears, and the world spun as I collapsed. My father caught me before I hit the dirt. "Are you okay? What happened?" he asked, his voice edged with worry. Dizzy but grinning, I looked at him and said, "I did it, Father. I've reached level 1."
The core in the back of my head began vibrating slightly, only to stop a few seconds later. In front of me was a screen that appeared. My father said it would be the science of having a core, but for me, it was the science of reaching level 1.
system
Name: Kent Lark
Title: god of weapons
Core: level 1
Abilities: weapon teleportation[rank 1]
My breath caught as I read the words. God of Weapons? I blinked, half-expecting the screen to change. Titles were supposed to be mundane—like Blazing Sword or Swift Steps. But this... this was something else entirely.
"Father, do you think we can spar one more time so I can show you the ability I was gifted?" "Why not, I suppose. Why don't you tell me what you were gifted? Or is it something inconsistent with the norm because of your dormant state?". "I'd rather show you".
When I entered my battle stance, I threw my sword at my father, feinting with the weapon to mask my true intent. While he parried with ease, the blade vanished mid-air. Before he could react, it was back in my hands, driving toward his side.
With all my power, I thrust into my father's side; a wall of Earth rose from beneath the ground and encased my sword, halting my strike.
Tapping my shoulder from behind, my father signaled the end of the spar. Sitting beside the campfire, he began speaking, "Kid, that power of yours is extraordinary. I have never seen something like it! Did you receive a title?
"Yes, it says [God of Weapons]. What do titles do?"
His face paled as he stood, the weight of the title hanging in the air. "How... how is this possible? God titles are relics of the past. There shouldn't be anymore." He turned away, muttering under his breath as if piecing together a puzzle only he could see. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. "This could change everything... and not necessarily for the better."
It's been a few days since my transition to level 1. My father said I should attend the academy, even though most begin training at thirteen. At fifteen, I would be two years older than the first years. Yet, he insisted I was strong enough to start as a third-year.
The academy wasn't just a place to learn—it was a proving ground for future giants, kings, and saints. Every student carried the weight of their potential, and I would be walking in as the outlier, the anomaly.
"You'll need real-world experience," he said. "The academy will push you in ways I can't." I wasn't sure how I felt about leaving the mountain—leaving him—but deep down, I knew he was right.
As I packed my things for the journey, I couldn't help but glance at the sword resting by the campfire. This mountain had been my entire world for seven years. Every cut, bruise, and callus on my hands was a mark of my father's lessons. Leaving felt like closing a chapter I wasn't ready to end.