Two hours ago, at the military base in Cleorh —
"We are grateful to have you here, Atya-sama," a military officer said, bowing as he welcomed the Lord.
"Guide me to the Asylia," Atya ordered.
"Unfortunately, Asuola-sama is currently attending a meeting and cannot receive any guests until tomorrow," the officer replied carefully.
At that moment, Lord Atya slowly moved his hand toward his sword. The guards froze, tension thick in the air before his hand could reach the sword, a thin voice cut through the silence.
"Wait, wait, wait! Are you planning to destroy the whole building? Do you have any idea how long it takes to repair it?"
"No need to worry about it, it's my building."
"And that gives you the right to destroy it?"
"I wouldn`t destroy it, I would just make a good reason for you to come over"
"What if I would not be here?"
"It's not like any person in this world is able to give a strong aura, even from afar"
"I see. So? How long do you expect me to wait here?" Atya asked, clearly irritated by the other's attitude.
"You haven't changed one bit — still as impatient as ever. Let's change the place."
With just a blink, the scene shifted into a blinding white — a harsh blizzard raging all around them.
"What's going on, Asylia? Why are we in Decadeeyum?"
"Do you really need an answer to that question?"
As they began to move forward, a structure slowly emerged on the distant horizon — a building so tall, its spire pierced the clouds above.
When they arrived at its entrance, a voice rang out:
"Ha ha ha ha ha! How many years has it been, Asylia?" — the voice of the first guard.
"Years? Are you delusional? It's been decades," said the third guard.
"It doesn't matter — the Stars will arrive in no time," added the second.
"State your rank, and you may attend the meeting," the last guard ordered.
"Fourth, General," Atya answered.
"Third, Asuola," Asylia replied.
In the meeting hall, there were 42 standard seats arranged in rows, and in front of them stood 10 larger, elevated seats, each engraved with a number from 1 to 10. These ten seats faced the rest, allowing their occupants to overlook the assembly. The arrangement of the ten followed a clear hierarchy:
The first row held seats numbered 10 to 6 (four in total),
The second row held seats 5 and 4,
The third row had seats 3 and 4,
And the fourth and highest row featured the top two seats—number 2 and number 1.
Every seat in the hall was occupied, except for the ten numbered seats at the front.
Whispers filled the hall and in a brief moment — silence was heard.
"It's been 264 years since our last meeting. All of you are selected people to govern and protect each city, capital, and nation — and two of you are meant to protect your Sentinel. We called only the first four ranks in Saint order to inform you, once again and for the last time."
The words came from the highest and most secluded point of the meeting hall — spoken by one of the world's most revered figures: Pheminus, the Wrath Holder.
In the next second, the six exit doors were silently sealed, each one guarded at all four corners.
Confusion and unanswered questions quickly filled the room, heavy in the air like a gathering storm.
"I must admit your courage to attend this meeting, Kyrtas and Alesy. Both of you hold the highest two ranks under the direct command of a Saint. Can you remind me of the role you are meant to play?" Pheminus asked, his voice laced with command and a hint of bloodlust.
As those words echoed from such a formidable figure, Kyrtas froze. His spine locked, breath caught mid-chest, while the overwhelming presence pressed down like a storm. His eyes flicked around, searching for an escape that didn't exist. A dry swallow scraped down his throat, harsh in the charged silence.
"Hhh–hoo... How am I supposed to protect someone hundreds, maybe thousands of times stronger than me?" he stammered, panic spilling into his voice like a crack spreading through glass.
"Iii-itt… It's like asking an ant to guard an elephant. "W-W-What… What could we have done in that situation? I couldn't even move an inch in front of that presence." His voice loosened slightly, as if recalling the moment offered some relief—however faint.
"Ha?" Pheminus's voice crackled with rising annoyance.
"Are you suggesting that the Saint of Cyrus made a mistake? That your title—your rank of Aura—was granted by mistake?"
The atmosphere in the hall shifted. What began as a meeting was now turning into a trial—not one to uncover truth, but to find justification to erase those under suspicion.
"It-It's not like that, Your Highness," came a trembling voice—clearly a girl's. It was Alesy, her usual calm now shaken.
"We're not trying to make excuses. It's just… even when we used our powers, we couldn't keep up with their speed. What we were supposed to do your highness?"
"Tch. Oi, oi—are you telling me you couldn't even cast a barrier to protect the Saint and create an opening to escape? Even with the boy next to you, who can use teleportation magic? Are you mocking me?"
Without hesitation, Kyrtas tried to cast his magic.
"Even though the place is afar, make a door to link me toward it, in the name of—"
The enchantment broke. A system-like voice echoed through his mind:
Unable to complete enchantment! The area is sealed from the real world!
"Wh-Why?!" Panic flickered across the boy's face as his confidence crumbled.
Then, a single word cut through the hall like a blade.
"Enough."
All motion stopped. Every attender froze in place. In the blink of an eye, the ten high chairs—until now empty—suddenly filled with imposing figures, each cloaked in presence and mystery.
All but one. The second seat remained empty.
Pheminus rose from his seat and began moving toward the two in question. To the audience below, it appeared as though he walked through the air—each step leaving behind a faint trail of mist, as if the very air bent to his will. While moving toward them, he began to speak.
"First of all, how dare you call me 'Highness' when you're not even under my command?
And you expect me to believe that fear conquered you so easily? So be it.
Now, I want to hear you say it—that you ran away because you feared death."
As he finished, his hand moved beneath his neck, and from nowhere, an icy sword materialized, humming with frozen energy.
"In the name of Yukine—the Saint of Rejection—I, Pheminus, Saint of Wrath, declare your sentence: execution, right now!"
The two of them tried to speak—desperate to defend themselves—but no sound escaped their lips.
"Wait!" —the cry came, not from the condemned, but from Atya.
"Are you sane?! Stop this!" Asylia shouted, trying to pull him back.
Pheminus turned his gaze, venom in his tone.
"You dare speak to me like that, you insolent insect?"
Atya swallowed hard but didn't step back.
"I'm not under your command—so I don't have to be polite. Didn't you just say that to them?" His voice trembled, fear clinging to every word.
Pheminus narrowed his eyes, his tone quiet but cutting.
"I see... So, you believe my words gave you the right to speak out?"
Atya nodded, barely.
"I must say… if you kill the two of them, our nation will suffer a tremendous loss."
"Ha? You think my judgment is wrong? No.
The fact that I feel no restraint in killing them proves my judgment is right.
But let me teach you how things work among us."
Pheminus stepped forward, mist curling around his feet.
Once again, silence draped the meeting hall — heavy, absolute.
But it was soon pierced by a deep voice, cutting clean through the stillness.
"Your Highness, forgive the interruption," came the voice of one of Pheminus's subordinates, "but I must report what we witnessed in the domain of the Saint of Rejection."
At once, Pheminus's fury seemed to wane. His voice lowered, and the bloodlust that had stained the air withdrew. He turned his back to the assembly, returning to his seat with quiet, deliberate steps.
Only then did he speak.
"So, what have you seen?"
"We scoured all of Ruseforth… every path, every stone, every trace of her dwelling.
But not a single particle of her Area remained in the air.
Only the signatures of her guards lingered — as if there had never been a struggle.
Only one thing is certain:
Yukine, the Saint of Rejection... is nowhere to be found."
Questioning expressions spread among the attendees, all unaware of what the man was referring to. Whispers rippled through the hall as they murmured among themselves — wondering who had gone missing, and why the numbered-seat members had suddenly fallen into a heavy silence.
As for Pheminus, the statement struck him like a bolt of lightning.
His expression twisted — not with anger, but with desperation.
It was as if he had lost someone irreplaceable.
And in truth, he had.
She was his half.
His counterpart.
In less than a second, the meeting hall grew brighter. The first ten seats were empty once again —
as if a storm had vanished, leaving light the space to return. Before leaving, Pheminus's subordinate spoke:
"Since the Saint of Rejection, Yukine, is currently unable to fulfill her role, I hereby declare — in the name of Pheminus — that Lord Atya shall act as the ruler over the Cyrus Nation until the Saint returns. Please proceed with the Ceremony to appoint new Saint Guards."
With that, the man vanished without a trace.
Murmurs of discontent rippled through the room. The attenders were visibly angered — the title of acting Saint had been granted to a mere Rank 4, rather than the first-ranked member of her order. Yet no one could contest the decision, not after the failures of the top two ranks.
The purpose of this meeting was to discuss the state of each nation, the conduct expected from the Saint Order in the coming years —
but above all, a war.
A war known only to the Saints.
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Knock, knock.
A quiet sound echoed through my room, gradually growing louder. I stirred before getting up from the bed and heading toward the door.
"Will, are you awake?"
I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the sleep — I must have dozed off for a few minutes.
"I'm coming," I replied.
Before opening the door, I quickly changed into my ceremonial clothes.
"Yes?" I said, half-opening the door.
It was my brother, Abril.
"Sorry for waking you, but Father just arrived at the inn. He's asking all of us to come to his chamber."
"Oh, it's fine, Abril — I only dozed off for a few minutes."
In no time, we arrived on the ground floor, where our father had his bureau.
Knock, knock, knock.
"You may enter."
Inside the room were our father and Abiguel. I didn't dwell too much on why Abiguel hadn't come with Abril. In front of the desk were three chairs — and surprisingly, this time, one of them was for me.
"Take a seat, both of you."
Our father looked exhausted, worry lining his face. It seemed that fatigue had taken a firm hold of him.
"The ceremony will take place in two days, and we will have to depart in three hours to reach Kyrtas borders, were Asuola will help us to arrive in time for ceremony"
"Father, is there a reason to rush the ceremony? It was supposed to be in two weeks." Confused, Abril asked.
It was a good question, letting aside the fact that the ceremony was rushed — It was truly strange that Abiguel was in the meeting room before us, usually all of us would go together. So, the fact that our little brother was before us can have only two meanings
First,
'The military started to prepare for gathering special individuals to fill their classified teams' — this due to Abiguel's white magic, because a magic user can weigh hundreds of platoons.
And the second reason… a 'War'.
In this world, there are different sources of power. The most common are "Area" and "Sins." Each person can master only one type of power — whether it's swordsmanship or magic. But in rare cases, exceptional individuals break through these limits. These are the ones whose invisible chains shattered — no longer bound by Fate.
They are often called "Gifted" or "Outcasts," not just because of their strength, but because their powers are so overwhelming that even rulers cannot command them. To control such power, former leaders established a ranking system — a hierarchy designed to organize the strongest.
Yet not everyone accepts this order. Some reject the system entirely, using their power recklessly to prove their uniqueness. To confront such threats, the world relies on beings of absolute authority — the Saints, whose presence alone cannot be ignored.
But power always comes with a price. In this world, the gods left behind one final law to govern all things:
Equality.