The morning sun cast a silver hue over the city, blending the old world charm of gothic arches and stone towers with the hum of flying transports and glowing mana-routed rails.
Kael stood in front of a mirror.
His snow-white hair shimmered in the light. With practiced fingers, he tied it into a neat ponytail, letting a few strands fall loosely around his face. It sharpened his already ethereal look dangerously beautiful, unnervingly calm.
He looked at the sword resting in its velvet-lined case beside him.
A parting gift from his sister.
A glimmering A-rank blade, sleek and slightly curved, with a midnight black hilt and intricate silver etchings. It almost felt... alive.
He sheathed it with care, then strapped it to his side.
Time to get started.
The streets of the city bustled with energy carriages driven by automatons gliding beside sleek hover-cars, towering spires humming with mana-tech, old cobbled roads repaved with glowing circuits.
It was chaotic. It was breathtaking.
But to Kael?
It was familiar.
His memories guided him effortlessly as he weaved through the crowd, heading toward a small, unassuming district where old shops were tucked between modern megabuildings like forgotten relics.
And there it was.
Sword Arts & Mana Scrolls.
The sign was faded, the wood cracked, and the mana crystals barely lit.
He walked in, and a soft chime rang.
The store was silent dusty tomes stacked high, old relics and scrolls scattered in chaotic order. Kael's eyes scanned the shelves until...
There.
A thin, worn book with a dull brown cover.
"Sword Arts of the Strong."
The title was vague, almost laughable exactly why most ignored it.
But Kael remembered.
In the original story, one of the main villains, feared across continents, had found this very book. And through it, had reached unmatched mastery.
No one else even looked at it.
Not this time.
He picked it up and walked to the counter, where an old man sat sipping tea.
The shopkeeper looked up, blinked and blinked again.
"…Miss?" he asked hesitantly. "Do you need help?"
Kael let out a soft sigh.
"It's sir, actually. And yes this book."
The shopkeeper turned red, flustered. "Ah! My apologies your, uh features threw me off. That book? Hm…"
He scratched his head, clearly unfamiliar with it.
"That one's been here for years. Dusty thing. No one ever asked about it. You want it?"
Kael nodded.
"Then it's yours. Consider it a gift, young man."
Kael gave a respectful bow and walked out, tucking the book into his jacket.
He paused at the edge of the street, looking down at it once more.
"The Sword Arts of the Strong…"
A forgotten relic.
A worthless book to most.
But he knew better.
This book once belonged to the strongest War God the world had ever seen.
And now it belonged to him.