Chapter 2: Era of *Magic
Centuries Later*
98... 99... 100.
Sabre's arms trembled as he finished his last push-up. His palms were rough from labor, his breath uneven as he collapsed onto the cracked concrete floor of his small apartment. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, soaking the faded mat beneath him.
He lay there for a moment, staring up at the old ceiling fan that no longer worked. Dust clung to its blades like cobwebs, frozen in time since the day electricity became obsolete. With a groan, he pushed himself to sit upright, resting his back against the cold wall.
Living in the slums of Iron Citadel was brutal from birth to death. Survival wasn't promised — it was earned daily through grit, luck, and strength. For Sabre, being parentless made everything worse. He had lived in solitude for as long as he could remember, surviving on scraps and low-paying labor just to keep a roof over his head.
The slums were a place forgotten by most of the city. Rusted steel towers blocked the sky, their shadows swallowing entire districts. The air always smelled faintly of oil and smoke, and the hum of mana reactors echoed in the distance. People here didn't dream — they endured.
Sabre, barely thirteen, had already grown used to the harsh rhythm of survival. The only inheritance he had was a small room and a katana that looked like it had been forged centuries ago, its blade dull but well-kept. The sword had no special power or hidden history — yet it was his only link to something that felt meaningful.
"Man… doing a hundred push-ups every day is so, so wearisome," Sabre muttered, rubbing his sore arms. He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes half-closed. The room was silent except for the distant rumble of machinery and the occasional shout from the street below.
Despite his age, Sabre's body was already lean and well-toned. Every muscle carried the proof of constant work and training. His strength didn't come from cultivation or magic — it came from hardship. He'd built his endurance mixing cement, hauling steel, and fighting off street rogues who preyed on the weak.
He had learned early that kindness had no value here. Strength was the only language people understood.
He stood, stretching his arms before glancing toward the small window. Outside, the morning sun bled through the smog like a pale ember. Iron Citadel was awake — a city of rust and ambition, where mana-fueled machines roared through narrow streets and glass towers gleamed faintly in the upper districts. But for the slums, it was another day of struggle.
Sabre tightened the straps on his worn boots and muttered, "My plan this morning is time-attack mining… then I'll check my elemental affinity and cultivation potential."
The words felt strange even as he said them. He had little hope for cultivation. In a world divided by talent, being born a Class Low-Tier was practically a death sentence for dreams. The best anyone from his class had ever achieved was an E-grade affinity — and that person was the mayor's daughter, born with every advantage he lacked.
Still, curiosity burned faintly in him. He wanted to know where he stood, even if fate mocked him for it.
He grabbed a small pack, slung his katana across his back, and stepped outside.
---
The World Today...
Centuries had passed since the event known as the Red Pulse — a catastrophic surge of mana that reshaped the Earth and humanity forever. What began as chaos eventually birthed a new civilization built on the foundation of mana itself.
The world had been forced to rebuild from ruins. With traditional technology destroyed and natural resources drained, humanity turned to its last surviving miracle — the flow of mana that now saturated the planet. Scientists, mages, and engineers had joined forces to merge might and science, giving rise to an era where magic and machinery coexisted.
Electricity became obsolete in many regions as mana cores replaced conventional power sources. These crystallized energy nodes could store and channel vast amounts of mana, making them ideal for powering cities, machines, and even households. The glow of blue cores now lit the nights where street lamps once stood.
In the Iron Citadel, the skyline shimmered with enormous mana conduits stretching between towers. Mana trams glided through suspended tracks, leaving trails of light behind them. Even the poorest districts bore remnants of this new age — discarded mana crystals, broken conduits, and fragments of beast gear that once belonged to soldiers and mercenaries.
Communication had evolved as well. Gone were the days of radios and satellites. Humanity now used Soul Frequencies, ethereal signals transmitted through spiritual resonance, allowing instantaneous contact across continents. Every individual carried a soul imprint, making messages and calls more personal — and nearly impossible to intercept.
Weapons and armor also underwent a revolution. Firearms no longer used bullets but condensed mana bolts, capable of tearing through steel or igniting flames with a single shot. Beast gear, forged from the remains of magical beasts, became the standard for both soldiers and mercenaries. Each piece of armor contained traces of the creature's power, making warriors stronger, faster, and more resilient.
The education system had shifted completely toward cultivation and applied mana theory. Every academy now sought to produce both scholars and warriors. Children learned not only arithmetic and history but also meditation, elemental control, and mana shaping. Exams weren't taken with pens — they were fought in controlled duels.
This was the world Sabre was born into — a world where power dictated status, and mana was as vital as air.
---
Sabre made his way through the slums, weaving between rows of metallic shanties. Vendors called out, selling synthetic food and low-grade potions. In the distance, a holographic banner flickered:
"Awakening Day — Test Your Elemental Affinity and Potential! Sponsored by the Iron Citadel Guild."
Every young citizen waited years for this moment. It was their only chance to awaken an elemental affinity, the first step toward cultivation. The results determined a person's path for life — their job, their income, their worth.
Sabre paused, watching the flickering hologram. His eyes narrowed. He had planned to go mining for mana shards today, but the temptation of the test tugged at him. Maybe… maybe there was a chance, however small, that he wasn't doomed to be ordinary.
He looked up at the distant spire where the testing center stood, glowing faintly with runic patterns. For a moment, the noise of the slums faded away, replaced by a quiet determination that stirred in his chest.
He clenched his fists. "Let's see what fate has in store for me."
And with that, he began to walk — not just toward the testing center, but toward the unknown world that awaited him beyond.