The morning sun shone brightly over the grand plaza of Crowcrest. Thousands of people gathered around the massive marble stage.Streamers hung from high towers, and music echoed through the crowded streets. Today was the Awakening Ceremony. Every young man and woman who reached eighteen years of age stood in line, waiting to touch the ancient Realm Crystal. Eldon stood near the front of the noble section. His heart beat fast inside his chest.He wore a fine white suit embroidered with golden thread, the proud colors of the Riftwarden house. His fingers twitched against his thighs. For ten long years, while other noble children played in gardens, Eldon had spent every single day practicing basic sword craft. He had swung wooden blades until his palms bled. He had run up steep mountains until his lungs burned. All of that sweat was for this single moment. Eldon wanted to unlock a rare Knight class to make his parents proud. Behind him stood his parents, Lord Theron and Lady Vesper

He strapped the rusted sword to his waist, picked up his wet bundle, and turned away from the mansion. He walked for hours, leaving the bright, clean streets of the upper district behind. He crossed the stone archways that separated the rich nobles from the lower city, descending deeper into the slums of Crowcrest. Here, the buildings were made of rotting wood and cracked brick. The streetlamps were dark because the city refused to waste mana crystals on commoners. Smells of damp sewage and cheap liquor filled the heavy, wet air. Eldon’s legs felt like lead. Hypothermia was setting in; his lips were blue, and his entire body shivered uncontrollably. He needed shelter from the storm, but he didn't have a single copper coin to rent a room at a cheap tavern. Finally, he found a crumbling stone bridge spanning a dirty drainage canal. Eldon collapsed underneath the damp archway, sinking onto the cold stone floor to escape the driving rain. He pulled his knees to his chest a

Three years passed in the shadows of Crowcrest. While the noble elite lived in high towers powered by glowing mana crystals, Eldon lived in a windowless basement room in the lower slums. The damp stone walls smelled of rust and mold, and his rent cost four copper pieces a week. To earn his daily bread, Eldon worked as a low-paid equipment cleaner at Sol-Caelum Academy. Every morning before dawn, he swept the dust off the arena floors, wiped dried monster blood off training targets, and polished the steel weapons of arrogant noble students. They called him "the statusless broom boy." Students threw dirty rags at his face, and teachers ignored him entirely. But Eldon didn't care about their insults. The academy was a treasure trove of information. Every afternoon, while holding his broom in the shadow of the spectator bleachers, Eldon watched hundreds of student duels. He didn't just watch—he studied them with surgical precision. He memorized every single System skill animation

Before the razor-sharp steel blade could reach Eldon’s throat, a heavy wooden staff slammed down with a resounding CRACK! directly onto the flat side of Valen’s weapon. The sheer force of the blow shattered the steel blade into three jagged pieces. The metallic shards clattered harmlessly across the damp arena floor. Valen stumbled backward, clutching his stinging wrist. He looked up in fury, ready to scream at whoever had interrupted him, but the words froze in his throat. Standing in the archway of the arena was Instructor Black. He was a veteran battle mage with silver-streaked hair, dark robes, and a stern, weathered face. A glowing blue emblem of Sol-Caelum Academy rested on his chest, marking his authority. "That is enough!" Instructor Black’s deep voice echoed through the high-ceilinged room. He lowered his heavy oak staff, his sharp eyes darting between the soaked, mud-covered noble student and the calm cleaner holding a broom. "Drawing a lethal steel weapon agai

A hush swept across the grand courtyard of Sol-Caelum Academy, heavy and suffocating. Thousands of eyes turned from the elevated marble stage to the far edge of the plaza, where the sea of dressed-up nobles and high-ranking guild scouts began to part. Eldon stepped forward. His worn boot leather clicked against the polished white stone with steady, unhurried precision. He carried his broom resting casually against his shoulder, his stained grey tunic looking laughably out of place amid the shimmering silks, tailored robes, and silver plate armor surrounding him. Snickers and muffled laughter rippled through the rows of noble students. "Look at him," a Level 11 Pyromancer sneered, fanning herself with a silk card. "He doesn't even have a status window. Not a single floating interface above his head." "Is he really going to walk up there in those filthy clothes?" another student laughed. "A Level 0 servant walking toward the Flame Sovereign. How pathetic." Eldon ignored the