Gallant Empire, White Magic Tower
"This... is it him?"
Just moments ago, the vast hall had been filled with the sound of magical hymns, but now it was eerily quiet. The silence was broken by the hoarse, throaty voice of an elderly man dressed in a white robe.
The old man appeared almost unaware that he was speaking. Yet, the words he uttered unconsciously stirred a range of emotions among everyone in the hall. Shocked expressions, curious looks, and anxious whispers spread throughout the room.
Startled by the sound of his own voice, the elderly man began to scan his surroundings. His eyes roamed over the circular hall, constructed of grand white marble. Three sides of the hall were lined with tiers of stands, one above the other. At the top of the stairs leading to these stands stood a door so enormous and splendid that even a giant could pass through it. In the centre of the flat area among the stairs, there was a marble podium.
The hall resembled an amphitheatre. The eye was naturally drawn to the central chamber, enclosed by glass walls. The floor of that room was covered by an ancient magical circle, filled with intricate runes that, following a recent ritual, glowed with both amethyst and golden light.
Normally, the magical circle would blend with the floor's colour, but at that moment it shone with a purple radiance and exuded a palpable pressure. Most of this force was held in check by the runes etched into the glass walls, though not completely suppressed.
The robed figures in the stands were the wizards gathered to recite that age-old magical hymn. Hundreds of them were not only enduring the intense mana pressure from the circle but also keeping a careful watch on the person in the centre of the glass room.
Most of the wizards had simply recited the hymn as they were taught, and frankly, they did not expect it to work, as no one had successfully performed this spell for centuries.
Although the spell had last been cast centuries ago, the ancient magic behind it was far older—dating back thousands of years. It was a rare sight for anyone to witness such magic, so the robed wizards were filled with both excitement and curiosity.
Beyond this, behind the glowing amethyst and rune-inscribed glass walls, there was another ancient magical circle. This one was filled with enormous, intricate figures and runes so detailed that most wizards could barely understand them—a circle large enough to comfortably hold about ten people.
Still radiating a mix of golden and amethyst mana from the ritual, the circle was gradually fading in an uncertain way. And at its very centre sat a blond child, emitting a strong, oppressive golden mana that was powerful enough to disturb the sealing runes on the glass wall.
Every eye in the stands was fixed on the blond child, who, sitting with his knees drawn up in shock, was staring at his hands.
Each wizard was caught up in a storm of emotions—the thrill of witnessing the spell, pride, and anxiety, mixed with fear for those who might collapse once the spell's energy faded, and for those who felt the tremendous pressure radiating from the child. They were all overwhelmed by this mix of feelings.
Unsure of how to react to such uncertainty, they could only start voicing their thoughts. Once the spell ended, the vast hall—now cloaked in silence—began to echo with the anxious voices of the elders.
"Did... we succeed?"
"He's just a child, isn't he?"
"Shouldn't he be a child, anyway?"
"I-m... out..."
Amid the heated debates of the other wizards, one elderly wizard, his voice faltering, clutched his staff and collapsed to the floor.
"Did the spell fail, or what?" he asked, still gripping his staff tightly as he turned his head toward the podium at the centre of the entrance stairs.
On that podium stood another elderly wizard, stroking his beard as he looked towards the child in the sealed room. Although his robe was as white as the others, his collar and sleeves were adorned with various bright, colourful stones. After the wizard who hinted at failure spoke, most of the wizards' eyes shifted towards the man on the podium. This man was the Master of the White Magic Tower, an 8th-Circle Wizard.
"Since the Tower Master hasn't said a word, I guess we've succeeded!" remarked another wizard, glancing at the Tower Master.
"The mana density is far too high. I reckon something's not right!" stated a middle-aged female wizard, sharing her thoughts. Despite her youth, being invited to participate in this spell was a great honour, and she was undoubtedly talented.
"Idiot, the summoning spell was last performed 200 years ago; no one is entirely certain about what is right or wrong." another elderly wizard snapped, his gaze full of disdain as he looked at the female wizard.
The female wizard, however, ignored him and continued scrutinising the sealed room.
As the wizards exchanged their uneasy remarks, no clear answers emerged.
Amid all the commotion, the blond child—so shocked he barely noticed the tension or the murmuring crowd around him—sat with wide eyes as if he had just lost something precious, while his trembling hands continued to examine his body.
After a while, he began to stare at a mark in the shape of ᛝ on his other hand—a mark made of his own blood that steadily oozed. The mark looked as if it had just been freshly stamped with a hot iron, and it made his hand burn. Yet, perhaps due to the shock, he didn't seem to feel the pain…
"W-What... w-what is happening?" The child struggled to speak. His throat was dry, his lips cracked, and his eyes were fixed on the tingling mark on his hand."E-e-my hand... th-this..." he could barely finish his sentence. Though the shock nearly overwhelmed him, the stinging sensation of the mark brought him back to himself, if only slightly.
Meanwhile, the Tower Master—standing on the podium in his white robe adorned with various elemental crystals and stroking his long grey beard—watched the blond boy collapsed in the center of the magical circle. He observed the disoriented child intently, his mind swirling with both excitement and troubling, perplexing thoughts.
Lost in thought, the old man only noticed his young apprentice calling a little while later."-Master?""Tower Master?"Realizing his apprentice was calling, the Tower Master snapped out of his reverie."U-um... Yes, Rona, I'm listening," he said, turning his full attention to the young apprentice without betraying his inner thoughts.
Rona, relieved that his master had finally acknowledged him, felt fortunate to be one of the few apprentices to witness the ancient summoning spell—a rare spectacle that few ever experienced twice in their lifetime. It was being performed for the first time in 200 years, and aside from the records, no one knew if there would be any side effects or adverse consequences. Naturally, Rona worried that his master—the one in charge of the spell—might suffer some backlash or negative reaction. Now that his master was alert, the young apprentice expressed his concern.
"M-Master! Are you alright? For a moment, you seemed almost hypnotized—you didn't hear me calling… I was getting worried. Should I summon the healers?" he asked anxiously, looking up at his master.
The Tower Master smiled lightly and placed a hand on the apprentice's head before continuing,"Thank you for your concern, little apprentice, but I'm fine. Don't worry." He then turned his gaze back towards the sealed room.
At that moment, a woman in full armour accompanied by several knights entered the hall and stopped at the top of the stairs. Her eyes swept over the entire room. First, she glanced at the sealed chamber, then shifted her gaze to the podium at the center of the stairs where the Tower Master was speaking with a young woman in a white robe. "Stay here," she instructed the knights by her side as she descended the steps toward the podium. Approaching the Tower Master, she immediately interjected.
"Ogmios, what is happening?" the armoured woman asked, turning her eyes towards the child in the glass room. "Is this child... truly the summoned Hero?" she queried.
Tower Master Ogmios withdrew his hand from his apprentice's head and turned to face the woman addressing him. He had noticed them even before entering the hall—the clanging of their armour had echoed throughout, drawing all attention to them. Before answering, Ogmios studied her carefully.
Her long, red-plaited hair stood out beneath armour decorated with blue and gold patterns. Her flawless, luminous white skin and beautifully chiseled face contrasted strikingly with her armour, accentuating her small, yet captivating features. Despite her petite face, her large sapphire-blue eyes shone brilliantly, making her all the more attractive.
This woman had not changed in the last 30 years; she must now be in her late fifties. She was Morgana le Fay, the Empire's head knight, one of its most formidable pillars, the captain of the Imperial Knights, and also Ogmios's longtime friend—and at times, a thorn in his side—for 40 years.
"Oh, you're here, Ana. How are you? You look stunning as always today," Ogmios said, his eyes lighting up as he addressed Morgana.
Morgana, however, was less than pleased with her old friend's effusive compliments and made no effort to hide her annoyance. Ogmios had a habit of flattering and even flirting at inopportune moments, and Morgana, with far more pressing matters at hand, paid him little heed.
"Ogmios, I need to know whether that child over there is truly the summoned Hero. Did the spell succeed? The light and tremors from the Tower were seen throughout the capital! You know we haven't got much time—pull yourself together, or…!" Morgana began, and before she could finish, she clenched her fist and directed it at Tower Master Ogmios. Ogmios stared at her small, elegantly gloved hand—its delicate armour a perfect match for memories he would rather forget.
"Hmph. You'll never shake your virginity with this anger, my little Ana." With that, Ogmios grunted and descended about ten steps down the stairs toward a table by the sealed glass walls, where he scanned several ancient inscriptions and records. After a while, he cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Mm, yes. Frankly, judging by these records and the living proof that rests atop the circle, it's clear that the spell succeeded. In fact, I'd even say it's likely far more successful than we expected." As Ogmios spoke, he unconsciously began to stroke his beard. His eyes met the child in the sealed room once again.
While speaking, Ogmios showed Morgana several ancient spell records and the reports he had prepared."During the spell, everything proceeded according to what the records stated. However, the spell's reactions and mana density did not resolve as the records predicted. Therefore, to improve the success rate and prevent undesirable side effects, we reduced the amount of mana channeled into the circle. Yet, just before the spell ended—at the moment of summoning—the mana density, despite our reduction, surged by at least 2–3 tier." Ogmios studied the ancient records thoughtfully. Then he turned back to Morgana and continued:
"To boost the spell's success, we had reduced the mana density to the 5th level, meaning that upon success, someone with that mana level—essentially a 5th-tier hero—was supposed to be summoned. However, due to unknown factors, the mana density rose from the 5th to the 8th tier. I don't know what caused this, but while the summoning was a great success, it also magnified a problem we now must address." Once Ogmios finished speaking, Morgana, who had been silently observing him, began to examine his expression.
As she listened, Morgana also scrutinized the records Ogmios presented. These ancient records detailed a very important summoning spell that humans had once acquired from the Elves. The purpose of this summoning spell was to call forth an entity from another dimension—one that defied the natural laws of this world.
In essence, the summoning spell was simple. Calling an entity from another dimension was a basic mid-level spell that any master wizard could perform. The real challenge was ensuring that the summoned entity could adapt to and survive in this world. They came from a dimension that did not conform to our laws and thus were naturally eradicated by the world, which absorbed any entity that didn't obey its laws.
However, the Elves, with the blessing and aid of their Goddess Direa, created a new kind of spell—a kind of pact. Under this spell, an entity summoned from another dimension was compelled to obey the rules inscribed in the magical circle. As long as it adhered to those rules, it was considered a being subject to the laws of the world.
Yet, this spell required an enormous amount of time and mana. It was a vast-scale spell that no single wizard could perform alone. Dozens of high-level master wizards had to channel their mana into the circle and recite a short hymn written in ancient Elven language to open the dimensional gate.
Subsequently, at least an 8th-level wizard would concentrate the mana within the circle to perform the actual summoning. This process took at least a week, during which the spell could not be interrupted. Moreover, some wizards tasked with channeling mana into the circle fainted from overconsumption or even died from severe mana depletion. It was a risky, prolonged spell that did not always yield success. Often, even after months of effort, the summoning spell would fail to call any entity, or it would summon an entity devoid of life—such events are documented in the records.
After scanning the details in the records, a perplexed Morgana looked at Ogmios and simply said, "So?" Morgana was a straightforward thinker; she preferred concise explanations over lengthy ones.
Ogmios smiled gently as he gazed into Morgana's thoughtful blue eyes and sighed. He reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, his warm smile undiminished, and began to explain:
"In short, my beautiful, little Ana, the summoning spell was successfully executed. However, the summoned hero emerged with a much higher mana level than expected—beyond what the records indicated—due to unknown or inexplicable factors that defied the spell's limitations. I don't believe this was the result of any external interference; only the Gods or someone of their caliber could do such a thing. We don't know exactly how powerful that maniac was who nearly burned the Empire to the ground, but we are certain he wasn't a God or divine being. There's no chance that the Gods would meddle in our affairs. So, aside from these possibilities, I believe we are dealing with a supernatural case. Based on our spell, we were expecting a summoned entity at the 5th tier of mana. The mana channeled into the circle was at the 5th tier. Yet, due to this unknown supernatural effect, a hero of the 8th tier was summoned." After finishing his explanation, Ogmios exchanged a long look with Morgana. Then, with a hint of exasperation, he added:
"In other words, to put it in terms even a stubborn knight like you can understand, that hero is far more powerful than we wanted—or can handle."
No sooner had Ogmios finished speaking than he slowly slid his hand from Morgana's shoulder down to her waist. His target was essentially her hips, but the last time he touched her hip, his hand had remained bandaged for two weeks despite a healing spell. This time, he was determined to take it slowly. In Ogmios' vocabulary, giving up or backing down was not an option—he was the type who always got what he wanted.
As Morgana pondered Ogmios' words, she felt his hand grip her waist and twist her arm, causing her to buckle in pain.
Already, Morgana was thinking about the potential consequences and searching for a solution. Her options were limited, and time was even more so. Even if she had time, she wasn't sure what she could possibly do about a hero at the 8th level in the end. Finally, before being overwhelmed by her negative thoughts, she lifted her head and stared at the blond child trapped in the center of the mana circle in the middle of the hall.
Her eyes were filled not with the innocence of a child but with the deep, anxious dread of someone staring down an uncontrollable, high-level beast—someone terrified of failing in their duty.
Yet, the truth remained that they desperately needed that beast's power. The burden on their shoulders was immense, and at that moment, it seemed as though they were about to be crushed under it. If they were any stronger, they wouldn't have to struggle with this at all… But they couldn't give up; they had to fulfill their responsibilities. The fate of the entire Empire depended on it.
Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, Morgana fixed her gaze on Ogmios with resolute determination and said firmly,"I will personally explain this situation to the Emperor. You, too, must soon deal with the hero, explain the situation to him, and then go with him to report to the Emperor… And also, Ogmios, if you ever dare to call me 'little Ana' again or dare to lay a hand on me, you'll relive the tragedy you half-experienced seven years ago."
At the mention of those events from seven years prior, Ogmios gulped. He then sighed and, in a calm manner, looked into the eyes of his childhood love and said indifferently,"Very well, my dear head knight. You'll remain a virgin until you die..."...