Prolog
They say the world was born of light. But before light, there was emptiness.
The void doesn't create. It stores.
Destiny doesn't choose. It only writes.
War does not take sides. It simply comes.
At the end of a dying star, someone looks up at the sky and asks,
"Am I part of this story or just an ink splatter from the pen of a drunken destiny?"
There was no answer. Only silence.
And from that silence, this story began.
Chapter 1 - Arena of Champions
Part 1 - The Initial Battle
In a place untethered by time or space—known as the Eternal Arena—the atmosphere was already boiling.
Thousands of spectators from across the galaxy watch either through astral screens or directly via mental vision. This is not just a tournament, but the Solar System Trial, an eternal contest organized by the primordial entity: the Guardian of War.
"One against a hundred... and only one may stand at the end."
Alviel stood among thousands of participants, wearing light combat attire that did not hinder his movements. At his waist hung a ancestral sword—a legacy from his father, a great warrior of the human-elf clan.
"This tournament... will be the beginning of everything," he thought.
The Guardian of War's loud shout echoed directly into the soul of every participant, as if the entire arena was shaking:
"BEGIN!"
Magic explosions, destructive auras, and waves of power erupted simultaneously.
The arena's sky turned into a sea of energy, the ground rumbled, and the clanging of metal echoed with the shouts.
Alviel quickly jumped back and surveyed the battlefield. Hundreds of fighters battled each other in different styles—some fought like wild beasts, some used long-range magic techniques, and some, like Alviel, were fast, precise, and focused.
He knew—not all opponents needed to be faced. Only those blocking the path to the end.
Some participants approached, seeing Alviel as an easy target because of his slender build. But they were wrong. His sword danced—fast and clean. Not a single attack was wasted.
One slash, two fell.
Three spells were directed at him—he blocked two and jumped to avoid one, then spun in the air and counterattacked.
"I must survive. I must win. For my father. For everyone who believes in me."
Meanwhile, the Guardian of War watches from atop the massive floating stone altar. He smiles as he sees Alviel fight with discipline and determination. Behind him, the silhouettes of two other entities stand silently: the Guardian of Destiny and the Guardian of Void, observing in silence, as if measuring something.
The battle was not over—this was only the beginning.
Part 2 - The Cursed Victory
The battle intensified.
Of the hundreds of warriors who began the tournament, only five remained. Their bodies were covered in wounds, their battle armor charred, and their breaths came in irregular gasps. Blood, sweat, and dust filled the eternal arena.
Alviel stood, his eyes scanning the remaining opponents. But one of them made his body tense—a fighter with a bloodthirsty aura that choked the air. His gaze was like that of a wild beast, knowing no mercy.
"He'll attack," Alviel thought, and sure enough.
The fighter darted like lightning, twin swords spinning and slashing from all directions. Alviel had barely time to think—he parried one, leaped away from another, and blocked the next with an emergency magic shield. Each impact felt like a hammer striking his bones.
Alviel's body began to tire, but his resolve burned bright.
"If I give up now, then I am unworthy of inheriting my father's name."
Seeing an opportunity, Alviel dropped to the ground and cast a spell. Dense gravity began to converge at the center of the arena. The four remaining enemies—including the bloodthirsty killer—were pulled toward a single point.
"Now!"
With a loud shout, Alviel leaped high into the air and unleashed hundreds of lightning strikes in an instant. Blades of light sliced through the air, creating a shower of sword energy that rained down on his enemies.
The atmosphere fell silent.
Smoke rose, and the four fighters lay unconscious.
Alviel stood alone.
At the floating stone altar, the Guardian of War stood and raised his hand.
"THE WINNER: ALVIEL, THE HUMAN-ELF HYBRID!"
Shouts of disbelief echoed from the crowd. This was history—a being not of the high races, not of nobility, not even of the sacred bloodline, had conquered the battlefield created by the Primordial.
Alviel had made history.
As a reward, the Guardian of War bestowed a legendary sword:
The "Astral Fang" sword, forged from the core of a dead star and coated in ancient stardust. Its energy absorption capability could draw in natural power and transform it into brutal force.
A grand victory feast was planned for the next two days—heavenly food, music from the planets, even a performance by GOW's personal army.
However... even a champion can be careless.
On the night before the feast, while practicing new moves, Alviel accidentally lost the Astral Fang sword. Whether swallowed by dimensions, fallen into a reality void, or stolen by an unknown entity—the sword vanished without a trace.
The news spread quickly.
On the day of the feast, as everyone waited for the champion to raise his sword—Alviel arrived empty-handed.
The Guardian of War rose from his throne, his face no longer brimming with pride.
Now he was furious. His voice boomed:
"You have defiled the honor of this holy battle!"
The audience jeered. Their cheers of victory turned to insults.
"Irresponsible!"
"Fake champion!"
"Disgraceful!"
GOW raised his hand, and an ancient curse came out of his palm:
"You, Alviel, child of two worlds... from this day forward, you shall not be able to wield weapons in battle. Swords, spears, bows, or even knives—all shall reject you!"
A black symbol spreads across Alviel's right hand—the mark of an irreversible curse.
The festive atmosphere shatters.
Alviel stands motionless, his eyes fixed on the ground.
That night, the sky did not shine.
Chapter 2 – The Curse of the Champion
Alviel stood motionless in the grand corridor of the Guardian of War's palace. Tall pillars soared, the palace ceiling adorned with carvings of tales of past champions. But none of those tales depicted the shame he felt now.
In his hand was the sword he had used in the tournament. His hand trembled. He tried to grip it tightly—but there was no response. The sword... he couldn't use it.
"Why... can't I...?"
He wasn't just cursed physically—but also mentally. A curse that made him unable to use any weapon during battle.
"What use is my sword skill now? What good is my physical strength if I can't even hold a sword?"
His head hung low. But amidst the gloomy fog of his thoughts, his father's voice echoed in his mind:
"If you want to be like your father, then be prepared to fail. Because failure comes to those who try. And success comes to those who rise from that failure..."
Those words left a deep impression. Alviel took a deep breath. He couldn't keep wallowing in despair. If the sword was no longer his path, then he would forge a new one.
Alviel made one important decision:
He would learn magic and martial arts.
Though his sword skills were the best, he wouldn't let a single curse ruin his future.
Planet Keyler — Home
With new resolve, Alviel returned to his home on Planet Keyler—a planet renowned for its stable ecosystem and renewable technology. The sky was a light blue with silver clouds, and dense forests covered the highlands.
Upon arriving, the people of Planet Keyler welcomed him with cheers and joy. Alviel had become a champion, though no one knew he had lost his ability to fight with weapons.
Amidst all the applause and praise, Alviel only smiled slightly.
The smile of a champion... who knew that his victory was the beginning of a much harder journey.
Part 2 - A Certain Purpose
Planet Keyler—Alviel's home planet—welcomed him with a warm atmosphere and beautiful scenery. This planet was home to environmentally friendly technology and a peaceful society that valued balance.
However, the small house that once echoed with laughter was now silent. There was not a single sound. His parents, Willmest and Sera Khaeltorn, had long since fallen in battle. They were heroes, but for Alviel… they were an irreplaceable loss.
He entered the house, tidying up the few belongings. There wasn't much to bring. There wasn't much to leave behind. An elderly neighbor approached and asked innocently:
"Where are you going, Alviel?"
Alviel turned, smiled slightly, then answered softly:
"To a higher place."
He left without further farewells. No send-off party. No tears. Only steady footsteps toward a new destiny.
Since he didn't have his own ship, Alviel hitched a ride on an interplanetary cargo ship. He sat among piles of boxes and industrial components, staring blankly at the void of space through the iron door's crack. His destination: planets with public libraries, where he could learn one thing that might become his hope: magic.
Though cursed and unable to use weapons, Alviel's physical strength remained intact. His body was still strong. His reflexes were still sharp. But that alone was not enough to face a world far more complex than mere sword duels.
On one of the stopover planets, Alviel found a large library managed by the local magic academy. He stayed there for several weeks, sleeping in the corner of a bookshelf or on a bench in the reading room. He read day and night, studying basic magic and the concept of ether energy.
Once, he could only use three types of magic—fire, lightning, and gravity—and even those were limited and not as powerful as the magic of pure-blooded wizards. But now, he was determined to master them all. If he couldn't fight with a weapon, then he would become the weapon himself.
"I will master magic… until I can stand again."
End-of-chapter note:
With his physical strength intact and his spirit unshaken, Alviel began a new chapter—not as a warrior... but as a wizard born from destruction.