UNDER THE PALE glow of the moon, two figures stood in the deserted and barren alley. One was a young man who was gravely wounded; his body sprawled across the cold, dirt-covered ground. Blood trickled from deep gashes on his skin, bruises darkened his frame, and burns marred his once-proud form. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, while endless tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face.
The other was an old man who stood a few paces away. He was watching his victim with cold indifference. His arms were crossed, and impatience laced his stance as he tapped his fingers against his forearm. He was waiting for the young man to pass out.
The young man was Quinn Vanguard, heir to the Vanguard Family. He trembled as he looked up at his attacker with eyes filled with pain and questions.
"Why?!" His voice was hoarse and barely more than a whisper. "Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?"
Confusion gripped him. He had always been careful, always kind, never stepping on the wrong toes. So why would a powerful mage suddenly attack him? Why had he been hunted down and cornered like a wounded animal? He had no idea why.
The old man scoffed as a smirk twisting his lips. "Aren't you a talker, eh?" he drawled. "Just pass out already so that I can offer you as a sacrifice."
Quinn's breath hitched. Sacrifice?
The old man raised his hand as mana swirled in the air. Wind particles began to gather at his fingertips, and in less than a minute, they quickly condensed into five razor-sharp bullets. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the bullets began to spin violently, amplifying their force. The moment he waved his hand, the deadly projectiles shot toward Quinn with terrifying speed.
Quinn's eyes widened. "Chantless?" he thought, horror seizing his chest.
He had seen this old man chant earlier when he cast high-order devastating lightning and fire magic that had left him battered and near death. But now, without a single uttered word, the man was casting high-order wind magic, Wind Assault, with ease. It was a testament to the old man's terrifying mastery of wind magic. The realization hit Quinn like a blow: this entire time, his opponent had been toying with him.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
"Water Barrier!" Quinn gasped, mustering the last reserves of his strength.
A shimmering wall of water surged before Quinn, desperate to shield him from the attack. But using a low-order magic to block a high-order magic? It was laughable. The moment the first bullet made contact with the barrier, it trembled and shattered in an instant.
Before Quinn could react, all the wind bullets found their mark. Pain exploded in his chest, arms, and abdomen as the bullets tore through flesh and bone. The force sent him hurtling meters backward, and he crashed against the alley wall with a sickening thud. A mouthful of blood spurted from his lips.
The old man yawned, unimpressed. "Just be grateful, boy. You're going to protect the Kingdom of Zephirion."
Quinn's body convulsed. He could barely keep his eyes open now. The agony was unbearable, but worse was the helplessness.
"Fuck you," he thought bitterly, but he couldn't even muster the strength to say it out loud. His vision blurred as his body began to shut down. "If only... I were stronger..."
Quinn felt himself slipping away. He knew he had a minute or so before his life would come to an end. Death was inevitable. The thought made fresh tears spill from his eyes. What had he done to deserve this death? He had no clue. And yet, here he was, left to die in a forgotten alley. "I guess this is the end for me... Mother, father… I'm sorry..."
As the moon bathed his broken body in pale light, a pitiful smile curled his lips. Then, the young master of the Vanguard Family breathed his last.
"Oh, shit!" The old man's face twisted in panic. He rushed to Quinn's side and pressed two fingers against the young man's neck. No pulse. No life. Quinn was indeed dead.
"Damn it! I went overboard!" he cursed, gritting his teeth. "I have to offer him as a sacrifice before an hour passes, or his magic essence will cease to exist."
With urgency, the old man slung Quinn's corpse over his shoulder. Wind particles started to gather at his back as he started casting the middle-order magic, Wings of Wind. It didn't take long for translucent wings made of wind to sprout from his back. With a powerful gust, he ascended into the sky and soared above the city rooftops. He needed to be somewhere as fast as possible. If he delayed, his superiors would not be pleased.
The higher and higher the old man flew, the more his mana was being drained rapidly due to the altitude. But he didn't care, as he couldn't risk flying too low, else Zephirion's Might, the kingdom's elite mage force, would detect him, and that would spell trouble.
Then, something strange happened.
A soft lime-green glow emerged from Quinn's body. At first, it was the size of a mere dot, flickering harmlessly. But within moments, more dots appeared and spread rapidly across the corpse, consuming it in a luminous spectacle.
"What the hell...?" The old man frowned. He couldn't feel any magic coming from the lime light, so he brushed it off as an effect of an aesthetic magical item.
The old man decided to descend to destroy the magical item that was covering Quinn's body in light. Any more of this lime light, and he could be detected by Zephirion's Might. But despite lowering the altitude, his mana was still being drained at an alarming rate.
"What?!" Panic set in. The old man thought it was the altitude or Wings of Wind's effect, but now, even as he tried to lower his flight, the drain intensified. His heart pounded as realization dawned. Something was stealing his mana.
He had to land—fast.
The old man dove and spiraled toward a nearby forest. Wings of Wind dissipated as he crashed to the ground. Yet, the mana drain did not stop. If anything, it worsened. His body trembled as his mana core started to get damaged, a sign that his mana was exhausted from the draining that was happening.
His gaze darted back to Quinn's body.
What he saw made his blood run cold. The green light now enveloped Quinn completely, its radiance pulsing like a heartbeat. It was then that he realized it was absorbing mana—his mana, the surrounding mana, everything.
"No, no, no—!" The old man clutched his chest as his mana core splintered further. Agony was visible on his face. He coughed violently, and blood spilled from his lips. Seconds later, his vision started blurring. The last thing he saw was the lime light swallowing Quinn whole before his own body collapsed, lifeless.
A sharp gasp shattered the silence.
Quinn suddenly opened his eyes. His lungs heaved as he sucked in a desperate breath. He was alive.
What a sight it would have been for anyone to witness... the young master of the Vanguard Family, miraculously returned from the dead. But the truth was far more astonishing. Quinn Vanguard was no more, because the one occupying his body now was Caelum, the transcendent genius of the Support Force from four centuries ago.
His last memory as Caelum resurfaced in his mind. He had been with Zara, the commander of the Support Force, the woman he trusted the most and considered his mother. She had given him a pill and assured him it was for his cultivation, only for Caelum to realize, too late, that it was a potent poison. But before the poison could take effect, he had acted swiftly, successfully casting the Fourth Conceptual of Life Magic, Transmigrate. That had allowed him to cheat death and transfer his soul into the body of Quinn Vanguard.
Now, he was here.
As Caelum took over Quinn's body, a sharp, unbearable pain surged through his skull, as though molten steel were being poured directly into his brain. His body—no, Quinn's body—was gravely wounded, torn, and weak. The pain was unlike anything he had ever endured, and for a fleeting moment, darkness threatened to claim him once more.
"So this is the price you have to pay for using the Fourth Conceptual, huh," Caelum thought grimly, clenching his teeth.
He pushed through the agony as he attempted to tap into his mana reserves. If he had even a fraction of his former strength, he could heal himself using high-order healing magic or low-order life magic. But as he probed his core, his expression darkened.
"This mana core… is this for real? It's barely functional!"
The realization left him stunned. Disappointed was an understatement for what Caelum was currently feeling. His new body's mana core was the size of a clenched fist, far smaller than what he had been accustomed to. Worse, it had been previously shattered and only barely repaired by the Fourth Conceptual of Life Magic that had saved him. Any remnants of Quinn's mana had been completely drained.
"Did I just transmigrate into the body of a talentless man? I really am a lucky man, huh."
Caelum exhaled slowly and forced himself to remain calm. He estimated it would take at least an hour before his mana core replenished enough energy to cast a low-order healing magic, Stitches of Recuperation. Until then, he had no choice but to endure.
But his injuries were the least of his concerns. His thoughts drifted back to Zara. Why had his master poisoned him? The woman who had raised him, trained him, and treated him like family had poisoned him in his final moments. Yet, something didn't add up.
The image of Zara's face flashed before his eyes. Her tear-streaked cheeks, her trembling arms as she held him in her embrace. That was not the expression of a traitor. If she had truly meant to kill him, there were countless ways she could have done so—ways that would not have given him the chance to react. And yet, she had chosen poison. Poison that had given him just enough time to cast Transmigrate.
"Was she… forcing me to use the Fourth Conceptual?" The thought lingered, unanswered. A tear escaped from his eye.
His fingers curled into fists. He wasn't angry—no, that emotion didn't even surface. He only wanted answers. And for now, those answers were beyond his reach.
Caelum closed his eyes and took a slow, steadying breath. There were more immediate matters to handle. He needed to understand the world he had awakened in. With effort, he delved into Quinn's memories. A flood of images, emotions, and experiences washed over him, like pages of a book flipping too fast to read. Bit by bit, he pieced together the life of the young man whose body he now inhabited.
Quinn Vanguard. Sixteen years old. The only child of the Vanguard Family, a militia household in the Kingdom of Zephirion. His father was a mage serving in Zephirion's Might, which had elevated their family's status from commoners to a militia family. Despite coming from a respected background, Quinn himself was nothing special. He was an average student at Skyhaven Academy, one of the kingdom's prominent mage academies. Despite his family's limited means, his parents had invested heavily in his education, hoping he would become a recognized mage and secure a better future.
But Quinn had been no genius. And yet, despite his mediocrity, his parents had believed in him.
Caelum exhaled, staring up at the night sky. "Quinn Vanguard… I suppose that's me now."
He repeated the name in his head, embedding it into his identity. Whether he liked it or not, this was his new life.
Caelum continued his dive into Quinn's memories, but this time he searched for knowledge of the world itself. The Arc Continent still existed, and the war between mages and the undead was ongoing. However, something was amiss. There was no trace of the Eternal Kingdom, the great empire from which he had come. Instead, the continent was now divided into four powerful forces: the Kingdom of Zephirion, the Kingdom of Wind, the Obsidian Dominion, and Veylan's Hold.
But the most disturbing of all, there was no mention of the Support Force or the other forces of the Eternal Kingdom: the Intellect Force, Funnel Force, Carry Force, or Tank Force. It was as if they had never existed.
"How is that possible?" Caelum muttered. "Did the Eternal Kingdom fall? Or was it erased from history?"
Too many questions, and no immediate answers. But after some thought, Caelum came to a conclusion—Quinn might have been dumb and might not have studied history.
For now, Caelum's newfound goal was to seek out information once his body was fully healed. He planned to visit Kingdom of Zephirion's Libraries, archive, anything that could confirm whether the world he once knew still existed in some form.
Until then, all he could do was wait, heal, and prepare for what was to come.
With a determined glint in his eyes, Caelum lay back and stared at the vast sky above. His new life had only just begun.