The ripple hit Miguel's senses like a drop of ice down his spine.
He jolted awake and shook Nick violently."Nick. Up. Someone touched the barrier."
Nick snapped upright instantly—flames dancing to life in his palms before he even fully registered consciousness.
They exchanged a look. No words needed.
Silently, the two crawled onto the half-built roof, positioning themselves in the shadows of the crude wooden beams. Moonlight spilled over the clearing like silver paint… revealing a lone silhouette standing just at the edge of the water barrier.
A man. Tall. Motionless. Watching.
Miguel's heart thudded. Nick's flame dimmed down to a whisper.
They nodded to each other.
Miguel extended both hands. Water twisted into existence—first droplets, then streams, then a massive orb hovering above his head like a miniature moon. With a thrust of his arms, the orb shot forward, hissing through the air.
The stranger moved.
Not panicked. Not surprised. A simple, effortless sidestep—and the water crashed harmlessly into the dirt, exploding into mist.
Miguel froze.
Then the man looked up—straight at him.
For a moment, Miguel forgot to breathe.
Nick didn't waste time. He leapt silently from the roof, circling behind the stranger, flames coiling around his right fist.
Fire Fist—Ignition Step.
He swung at the stranger's head.
A hand caught his wrist. Effortlessly.
Nick's eyes widened.
the man said " wait "
Nick tried to yank his arm free. "Shut up! We know you're with those slave merchants! You followed us here!"
His left arm lit up and he slammed his elbow toward the stranger's skull.
"Fire Axe!"
The blast cracked the air—sparks showering everywhere.
When the smoke cleared…
The stranger stood unharmed. Not even singed.
Nick took a step back, stunned. "What…?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "Slave merchants? I came here because I felt powerful mana. That's all. I sense nothing from you two—yet you perform magic with ease. Interesting."
Miguel shouted from the roof. "Nick! Don't trust him! He might kidnap you!"
Nick snapped out of shock, tearing his arm free and creating distance.
Up close, he finally saw the man clearly. A senior adult, maybe late fifties or early sixties. Skin barely wrinkled, frame lean but taut with coiled muscle. Long black hair fell past his ears, covering most of them.
Nick raised a flaming hand defensively. "Move forward and I'll roast you."
The man didn't move. Simply smiled.
"I assure you, child. This old man means no harm."
Nick slowly backed toward Miguel. Whispered, "He doesn't feel like a bad guy."
Miguel exhaled, tension easing. "…If you say so."
Nick raised his voice. "State your name, old man. And explain how my fire axe did nothing."
The stranger sighed lightly. "Slow down, breathe. My name is Krogas. I don't use mana because I'm not a mage. I am a swordsman."
Miguel narrowed his eyes. "Then where's your sword?"
Krogas snapped his fingers.
A shimmer cut through the night—metal glinting as a blade descended from above. It landed perfectly in his hand without sound.
Nick's jaw dropped. "Okay… that was awesome."
He leaned toward Miguel, whispering. "The guys we fought before were weaklings. But him? He's on another level. I doubt we could beat him."
Miguel nodded slowly. "Yeah. This guy's different."
Nick stepped forward. "So what do you want?"
Krogas answered without pause. "I want you both to follow me to the Glarian Kingdom."
Miguel muttered under his breath, "What an awkward name…"
Nick ignored him. "And what's in this kingdom?"
"A nation of elves. South of the Valtheria continent."
Miguel muttered again. "Another awkward name."
Nick turned back slowly. Suspicion sharpened his tone. "So are you…? Don't tell me you're—"
Krogas gently lifted his hair, revealing elegantly pointed ears—longer than human, angled gracefully.
"Yes. I am of the Elf race."
Nick's eyes gleamed. "But… elves are famous for magic. How come you don't have any mana?"
Krogas smiled bitterly. "I was born without talent for mana. A defect, some would say. But magic is not everything. I pursued the sword instead."
Miguel crossed his arms. "Okay. Still doesn't explain why us."
Krogas's expression turned serious.
"Because even elves require incantations to shape magic. Yet both of you… cast spells by pure will. Rare—no, unique only 12 person in this continent can cast magic without incantations"
His gaze sharpened.
"If untrained, power becomes chaos. But if guided…"
Nick frowned. "…You want to teach us ?"
Krogas nodded. "Yes. And more. I want you under protection. There are factions who will kill for what you possess."
Goosebumps prickled down Miguel's arms.
Nick swallowed. "How far is this… Glarian Kingdom?"
Krogas raised three fingers casually.
"About three thousand kilometers."
Silence.
Then both Miguel and Nick collapsed to their knees dramatically.
"THREE. THOUSAND. KILOMETERS?!"