**Years ago**
A young boy was born into a proud noble family known to produce some of the strongest S rank mages in all the Valley. They resided in the Desert just before it became an official Sub-Kingdom of the Valley jurisdiction.
Their prestigious family line was renowned for years until, one day, rival houses in the Desert Kingdom orchestrated a political scandal. They stripped the noble family of their titles and wealth as the father of the young boy was executed for false treason, and the mother died in exile. The only thing that remained of the family name was buried in whispers and shame.
Lance was only eight years old when all of this was predestined into his early life.
From that moment on, he burned with two motives, woven in a singular desire: to reclaim the honor of his house and rise above the false claims of his family's degradation.
When he was fifteen, with nothing but a stained name and a weak magical affinity, Lance had been overlooked by every Guild during the Kingdom's Guild Draft and was not among the selected.
When he went back to his abandoned household in the Desert, he looked around the dusted furniture and cobweb-filled corners, finding himself in the center of the place, only to find a floor to curl up on and weep at his own weakness.
After what seemed like hours, he lay there on the floor with dried tears on his face. "If only you were still here… Mama… Papa…" he said.
Right then, a gold pentagram formed from where he was, shining through his silhouette.
What emerged from it was an old grimoire with his family crest on the cover. When he opened it, there were spells he did not yet know and notes, all for his type of magic ability.
Armor magic, or rather, after learning the secrets of his family bloodline, was actually Bastion magic. It was the ability to awaken the defensive properties of anything the user touches—turning it into armor. And when mastered, can even create fortresses at the users will.
This whole time, without Lance's knowledge, he had been stunting his own magical prowess.
When he read the secrets of the book, he realized that this was the reason his father was executed and his mother exiled. They lied about not possessing Bastion magic—or as the nobles called it—Fortress magic. The most powerful form of Armor type magic.
As Lance read, some compartments opened to other pages where his father had left notes. Some were about the little intricacies of certain spells, while others weren't notes that had to do with spells at all; rather, they were notes… about him.
My dear son, if you ever find this grimoire, it is because your mother and I are no longer around… I am sorry for what you've had to endure up until now. But if you are spared from all the conspiracy around our family name, that is all I, as a father, could ask for…
He kept reading.
The other houses wanted to use whoever was born among us with Bastion magic as their warhead. A weapon, for lack of a better word.
Your mother and I were not born with the ability, so that part was not a lie… but what I did lie about was that you were not born with it either.
They did not believe me, and for this, they fabricated a crime with me at its center in hopes that I come out with the truth to save my skin. But I stayed my stance. My Trial is tomorrow at noon… and for your mother, they have other plans…
A tear dropped on the pages, staining them as he continued reading.
In return, they have spared your life. But I am sure that when we are both gone, they will come back after you and try to force the Bastion magic out of you.
I am afraid of what they may do to you, so I have hidden away this grimoire with all the spells and evolutions of your magic. When time passes, they will eventually overlook you, and you can live on in peace. I'm sorry we lied to you about your magic ability and told you it was simply 'Armor' magic.
It was no wonder to him that when he tried to use certain spells, he had struggled greatly. Like someone who had a weak affinity to magic—like a mere commoner, and especially one of a noble house… it was almost disgraceful to be that way. But after reading the notes of his father, he realized his parent's true intentions as to why they did such a thing, and why he had to endure that shame at such a young age…
If this book appeared before you, it is because of a spell… a spell that only activates when you are alone in this home and can no longer find the courage to move on.
This grimoire is for you, to let you know that you are not alone. That you are more than you think. And that mama and papa still, and always will, love you. When life gets tough, always keep this book close to you and read from our notes. Your mama has left notes of her own in here as well. Stories of you, stories of the good times we had together.
Please do not give up my son. Live on and do not worry about restoring our name. Make a name for yourself and become a mage that when you look in the mirror, you can say you are proud of who looks back.
We love you, always – Mama and Papa.
Lance could not hold back his tears. He wept even more as he read those last words, hugging the grimoire tightly, and chest in pain over the memory of his loving parents. Who, even after death, had reminded him he was and is loved.
From that day forward, he carried the grimoire in an inconspicuous satchel and the note close to him at all times. Folding it small enough to fit in a vial that he wears around his neck.
He began training in secret, learning the true nature of his magic ability and all the spells that make it so powerful. He expected to struggle, but found it shockingly easy to master with the help of his father and mother's notes. It was his true magic ability after all.
Blood, sweat, and tears. He trained. He was not satisfied with the ease of learning. He even became grateful for all those times he had been operating on handicap this whole time. It taught him patience, and it allowed him to grow and expand upon his magic to even higher grounds than just a glorified Armor ability. And in only a few years, he had mastered his ability to the point of awakening.
When he was eighteen, he had effectively and singlehandedly wiped out the other houses that put his parents on their deathbeds. Afterward, he amalgamated the houses and became the leading head of them in all the Desert Kingdom after eight years. Since then, he grew ever stronger, and no one could stand against his power. So much so that he was recognized as one of the Valley's top ten knights.
He wanted nothing more than to stand next to the strong in order to enforce the world he desperately wanted to see. One where the weak are protected and power within families was not predestined to rot from corruptness.
And that's when she appeared.
Since becoming the head of his reclaimed family crest, he no longer had a desire to join a Guild. That is… until the newest of the eight Valley Guilds was formed. When they had risen through the ranks in less than a year, even he took notice. And to his surprise, their captain had taken notice of him as well.
The Golden Rose Knights Captain, Belle, had personally come to recruit him as her right hand.
"Will you help me be a light?" she asked. The words she had chosen were interesting to him. He was ready for a spiel or some honorary method to recruit. Either way, it wouldn't have taken much to convince him just by looking at her.
She was beautiful to say the least. He had never marveled at someone so pure yet so strong at the same time. When he was in her presence, he felt the mana aura that exuded from her—like a dam that had been eradicated open and the water surged through; there in that very room they conversed. And all she did was stand there with her hands behind her petite frame, back facing him while looking out a large, open window where the light of the afternoon Desert shone directly on her, with her shadow cast upon him.
"Help me become a beacon for the Valley." Not a question. "So that even in the corners of darkness, those who are left there can see. Feel. That they are not alone. That there is hope. That there is light for those who are lost."
The light shone so brightly that he wasn't sure if it was the sun's rays or hers. And to Lance, she was already that shining beacon that she had hoped to become.
She did not need him. And that was why he was more compelled to respond to the call.
Everything she preached had not only lined up with my morals—my values… Everything she was, was a symbol of hope. And she did not even have to try. All the pain, the struggle, hardships I've had to endure was for this very moment. So that I could witness true light and not be naïve enough to miss it. Belle was her name. No, I don't even have the right to say it so casually like that… I'm not even part of the Golden Roses yet, and yet… she was already my captain. And she was my light.
Before he even uttered the words to accept to her request, in his mind, he had already said, "yes" from the moment he saw her.
So, this… this is what a true Valley Knight looks like. He thought as she looked back to him at last and smiled serenely.
He followed her. Helped her and the Guild become that beacon she wished for. And six months later—completing the year—the Golden Rose Knights were the number one Guild in all the Valley.
But along with being loyal and being her hammer, another feeling had brewed from the depths of his heart…
Captain Belle, he thought as she faced away from him, looking only forward to a goal he could not see. I… even his thoughts stuttered. I love…
But he could not complete the simple phrase. It wasn't because he doubted, nor that he lacked the courage to. Rather, it was the feeling that he was unworthy. Even as strong as a mage he was, he felt she had something more that he was far yet to attain.
So, the words became silent until he felt ready—quiet, reverent, and deeply rooted.
He never confessed because he believed that simply being by her side would eventually be enough. Everything he did, every battle won, every scar he bore—was to stand with her as her equal. And then maybe… just maybe he could then feel worthy to say the words.
He told himself that one day, when the time was right, she would see him—not just as her second in command, but as her chosen.
And then… he appeared.
A nobody from a bottom-tier Guild. No noble heritage. No acclaim. No visibly outstanding power to speak of. A commoner in his eyes with an unimpressive track record and absolutely zero prestige. And yet Belle looked at him with eyes he had never seen from her before. She smiled differently. Followed him. Lingered to be near him. Defended him…
Who are you? And why do you get to have it? His anger brewed as he held his glare at him, Why do you get to have her smile? What did you do? What achievements have you made? What is it that you are that I'm not already—tenfold!?
His anger brewed inside him the more he saw him. Even little things like how casually he addressed her. That smug smile. That repulsive swagger.
And then he started getting suspicions of Captain Belle's absence. Always away and delegating her duties; becoming different than the light he had come to know, like it had dimmed since the first time he had laid eyes on her.
Tell me, Lance… What makes a mage—a knight—number one? He remembered her saying.
And he hated the answer he gave her, because she humbled him then.
You know what truly makes a knight number one, Lance? she asked, Integrity. That is all. No more, no less.
But it was the words that followed that had shocked him.
Just say I agree to the Tournament, and you three enter. I don't care for any of it. Whoever of you gets the furthest… Gets the Golden Rose Knights. All of it.
He almost couldn't believe his ears when she had said such a thing.
What happened to that light? That beacon you wanted to be? What happened to your dream? And when he saw that Keeperforsaken jacket on her bed—the dark one with the black fur on the hood, and that symbol of a wolf in the back… he thought, It's all your fault.
Since then, he watched as everything he had become and everything he had worked so hard for had been rendered invisible. Not by a better or more powerful mage, but by someone he considered beneath notice.
And then that dreadful day happened when she declared her love for him out in the open for all the Valley to see. He witnessed the gleam in her eyes firsthand. Those were the eyes he had looked at her with. Admiration. Love.
Given to a stray dog…
I just wanted you to look at me like how you looked at him, Belle…
***
**Present. The Valley Tournament**
Greed:
It was odd. Like I had accidentally peered through his memories. His thoughts. Entering my brain with each strike and thrash that he bestowed upon me.
"This is who Belle has fallen head over heels for? An absolute nobody who leads a bottom-feeder Guild. Look at you now… look how utterly pathetic you've become."
He went on, but I was too focused on recalling what I had just seen from his mind that it was hard to concentrate on his words. I barely caught the end of it when I had finally processed it all.
"This is what you deserve." he said lastly, "Not peace. Not a reward. Not Belle…"
When I witnessed the straightforward attack, it was like a meteor and the sun all at once. But behind it I witnessed something more…
Behind it, I felt pain. I saw tears. And they were his—behind that mask he wore of the Golden Roses 1st Vice Captain.
This battle had nothing to do with our difference in status or power. No. It had everything to do with Belle.
When his Raging Sun Meteor drew near, even before it struck me, it blew apart the ground around us. This was a powerful spell. If I did not use my Tantra here, it just might kill me.
And then, just when it was seconds away, I used it at last.
The massive impact caused dust and smoke across the garden ruins, swallowing us both in swirling gray.
Finally escaping the gold-weighted armor that shackled me, my arms were coated in black as I had deflected Lance's powerful strike.
Then, all around me, the smoke had turned into randomly shifting armor as they layered endlessly like plates and gears into place. And from below me, the ground had also turned into armor—this one resembling that of an armored mask of some kind.
It opened its mouth, and the armored clouds around us began charging a blast from within while I stood amidst the now glowing ground.
I knew what was coming, but before I could dodge, the mouth beneath me had sprouted armored roots and vines that restricted me in place.
What the hell!? I thought as I became bound. Flowers even bloomed as the vines constricted me, but they looked off. At closer inspection, it was as if it was some kind of elaborate, organic machine.
Then from all around, the armored clouds formed canons and shot down powerful blasts of fire all at once.
The sound of eardrums bursting was all I could recall as I let all of it surge, testing the boundaries of my Tantra. Though… I had already known the outcome.
The garden ruins were burned in a raging fire. The grass and vines around it became fuel to the scorching pre-hell we were in.
Then, from the flames themselves, Lance had swaggered out. Taking the fire around him and turning it into armor that layered on top of his own—burning again with that same machine-like organicity. What was once gold-plated was now mixed with rose red, flamed off him as if armor could have a fluid form.
He had turned everything into armor. The smoke. The ground. And now the flames as he wore it, becoming—not the Knight of the Desert—but now the Knight of the Sun.
When the smoke had cleared away, I remained. My jacket was in tatters, left only in a white tank, my black pants, and boots over this blaze of a battlefield that was once a peaceful haven.
"No wonder she chose you to be her 1st Vice Captain," I said, a poor excuse for a compliment.
"So easy for you to understand me," he replied as his armor burned and he looked more like a deity now than anything else, "but I find it hard to understand you… How is it that you could not block or evade my punches, yet you evade and even endure some of my most devastating spells? Is it your skill of hiding and running away? Like how you did during the Blue Phoenix incident!?"
He knew better. I could tell by the way his eyes twitched that he couldn't even fathom how I had survived. Though he asked questions, he did not let me answer. He didn't care for them. All he cared about now was putting me down with all his might.
We exchanged glowers as we stood upon a burning garden under a crumbling stone roof. If a burning cage was what he meant for me, he had succeeded in the layout. But now that I understood where his emotions, his anger, his loyalty, his love came from—there was only one thing I needed to make sure he understood…