Prologue

Almark began his studies at the Norkh Institute for Magic two years later than his classmates.

While the boys and girls who would become his classmates were taking their first steps into the institute in the South, Almark was on a desolate battlefield in the North, cutting down foes with his sword and bathing in their blood.

After all, Almark was the son of a Northern mercenary.

A hundred years had passed since the fires of war in the South had gone out. The wars in the northern region, on the other hand, showed no signs of subsiding. Over the course of forty-five years, numerous countries rose and fell as many lives were lost in vain, and yet the Northerners failed to form a strong, permanent nation.

Across the continent, bloodied warriors dreaming of success and riches naturally began gathering in the North. They ran from one battlefield to another without any greater moral cause, and sensible, prudent people grew to fear and avoid these warriors they called the Northern mercenaries.

Almark’s father, Reiz, was the vice-captain of one of the strongest Northern mercenary groups, the Black Wolf Riders.

Almark was only five years old when he first met Eurog, the headmaster of the Norkh Institute for Magic.

Mercenary groups rarely stayed in one place for long. They were constantly moving wherever new employers and battlefields called. The Black Wolf Riders’ main unit had been marching through a buffer zone between the Filan and Gil-ba kingdoms, which had been locked in skirmishes for many years.

A march was never a safe endeavor in the North. Noticing a cloud of dust on the road ahead, Reiz scouted the spot with ten of his finest cavaliers.

“Follow me, and don’t break from the group,” Reiz ordered his men before taking off to the front of the line.

They soon found out who they were up against—a gang of bandits-turned-mercenaries who had made their den close by. This pack of drifters normally raided nearby villages and passing caravans for supplies, but whenever there was war in the area, they made themselves out as mercenaries to profit off the conflict. They numbered roughly thirty or so.

The bandits appeared to be chasing down a traveling old man. Reiz cursed under his breath. Damn eyesores. Reports had come in that the Gil-ba Kingdom’s military was deployed up ahead, so he decided to quickly rout the bandits and make a little headway forward. Reiz turned to his subordinates.

“Let’s go,” he called.

At the time, Reiz thought nothing of the old man being pursued. His focus was strictly on the bandits; the old man in question was inconsequential.

Reiz and his cavaliers launched a surprise attack into the bandits’ flanks. Faced with the intensity of the Black Wolves’ offensive, the bandits were torn asunder despite having a three-to-one advantage. By the time Reiz cut down his seventh bandit, the battle was all but over.

“The rest got away, huh?” Reiz muttered, looking around.

The remainder of the bandits had fled, leaving the corpses of their comrades behind. It was then that Reiz turned his attention to the old man, who was catching his breath. Through labored gasps, he thanked the Black Wolves for saving him in his time of need.

“Looks like you had a bad day, old-timer,” said Reiz. “This area’s going to become a full-blown battlefield soon. I don’t recommend traveling alone.”

He turned to his subordinates, who were sifting through the bandits’ corpses for valuables, and hollered at them to cut it out.

Reiz then took a headcount. “Venna got himself killed,” he muttered. “Let’s keep going a little further. Need to get a good look at the Gil-ba army.”

Just as his subordinates mounted their steeds, he remembered the old man was still there and turned to face him.

“Wait here for a while and our main unit should catch up to you. If you’ve come to your senses and changed your mind about traveling alone, tell ’em Reiz sent you, and they’ll let you on the carriage. Heh—don’t worry. We’re a traveling mercenary band. We’ve got women and cubs with us. We can take you all the way to the border.” Reiz paused and called out to his men. “All right, let’s go, boys.”

He didn’t even wait for the old man’s response. Under Reiz’s command, the ten Black Wolf Riders galloped off.

By the time he returned to his main unit’s camp, Reiz had all but forgotten about the old man.

He was hoping to catch a glimpse of the Gil-ba army, but they were nowhere to be found. Apparently, they had changed course and moved east for strategic reasons. Having lost sight of their immediate enemies, the Black Wolf Riders decided to march forward and resume their mission of securing a logistic route for the Filan Kingdom.

Reiz gave his report and, dead tired, was just leaving the captain’s tent when he was approached by one of the women in charge of the unit’s cooking. She told him they had picked up a strange old man who claimed to be an acquaintance of his. This finally reminded Reiz of the man he’d rescued.

“Hey, old-timer,” he said.

The old man was sitting at the corner of the carriage. When Reiz called out to him, the man hurried to his feet and bowed his head respectfully, introducing himself as Eurog.

“I’m Reiz, the vice-captain here.”

Eurog told Reiz he wanted to thank him for his kindness. Reiz simply smiled, as if to ask what the old man could possibly do for him, expecting the answer to be that he could at most help with the cooking.

Eurog explained he was the headmaster of a magic institute from the Garai Kingdom, a large nation to the south. He was traveling in search of talented children to enroll in his school. Reiz had a hard time taking him seriously and laughed him off.

“I lost my staff during my travels, so this is as much as I can muster…,” Eurog explained.

He picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it overhead, where it turned into a bird and fluttered away.

“Guess he wasn’t lying,” Reiz muttered to himself, and then looked up at Eurog. “I’ve heard of the Norkh Institute. They say it’s where kids with a talent for magic get the same opportunity as anyone else, nationality or station be damned. They also say graduates are in high demand just about everywhere. So you’re telling me you’re the headmaster?”

Eurog nodded and added to Reiz’s vague understanding of the place.

The institute was located on Norkh Island, in the Garai Kingdom. Children became eligible for enrollment at the age of 9, and the students were divided into an elementary and intermediate division, spending three years in each. Upon completion of the boarding school’s six-year curriculum, graduates were officially recognized as mages. Those who wanted to master a specific field of magic could move up to the advanced division and study for an extra three years.

“Hmmm…,” Reiz muttered before going quiet for a moment.

Eurog watched him wordlessly, waiting to see what he would say. Eventually, Reiz scratched his left side—the gesture he made whenever he was about to bring up something he felt too awkward to mention.

“…You said this institute of yours takes in kids with talent, yeah?”

“I did.”

Reiz groaned and scratched his left side again before cutting to the chase. “I have a favor to ask,” he said. “It’s about my son.”

“Your son?”

“Yeah. Name’s Almark. He’s five years old.” Reiz kept scratching his side. “His mother passed soon after he was born, and I had to raise him alone. He doesn’t have a lot of pluck—the kid’s real timid. And being a mercenary is dangerous work. Forget about enemies—you can’t even trust your allies. Only ones you can count are a handful of true friends. I can tell you this for sure: If my boy becomes a mercenary, he won’t live to see fifteen.”

Eurog silently listened to Reiz’s explanation.

“I mean, I get it. He probably doesn’t have any talent for magic. But even so, as long as he finds his footing in the South where there’s no war, he won’t have to fight. He’ll be able to survive. So please, let him into your school.”

Reiz bowed his head.

Eurog watched him silently for a moment, but then laughed. “It’s strange, isn’t it? You saved my life, and yet here you are, bowing your head to me. Let me see your son.”

Reiz agreed, and the two got to their feet.

It was already getting dark, and dinner was being prepared. Reiz pointed at one of the campfires where several women were busily getting the food ready. One boy was idly sitting beside them, a red glow on his face from the crackling flames.

“Almark.”

The boy looked up at his father’s call. His face was unexpectedly intelligent, but his timid eyes spoke to his gentle nature.

Spotting his father, the boy hurried over to him happily, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the unfamiliar old man next to him.

“Don’t worry, Almark. Gramps here is a nice man,” Reiz said.

Almark, however, hid behind him.

“He’s being shy.” Reiz sighed. “Come on, don’t embarrass yourself.”

“I’d say he has quite the sagacious face. Being cautious is a sign of wisdom,” Eurog said as he approached Almark and bent down to look at the boy at eye level.

Almark clung to Reiz’s leg, refusing to budge, but Reiz dragged him forward. When Eurog reached out to gently pat Almark’s head, the boy trembled and looked like he was about to burst into tears.

“Quit your cowering, Almark!” Reiz shouted.

The moment Eurog’s hand rested on Almark’s head, a crackle ran through the two like electricity. Eurog’s expression turned to shock as he retracted his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Reiz asked.

Eurog gazed wide eyed at Almark. “Well, now… Color me surprised.” Rubbing his hand, Eurog informed Reiz that his son had astounding magical potential. “I have seen many a talented child in my years…but one with this much potential is a first.”

“Really?” Reiz asked, sincerely pleased.

He had no idea what magic talent entailed, but it was clear the old man acknowledged his son.

“I’m sure his gift for the sword will bloom before long. He would make a fine mercenary as well,” said Eurog.

“A gift for the sword doesn’t mean much,” Reiz replied instantly. “What a mercenary needs is a heart that’s tough enough to keep ’em going on their own. Strong or weak, that’s all secondary.” He mussed Almark’s hair. “And I don’t think my boy has a heart like that in him.”

“…Well, in that case.” Eurog nodded and gave Reiz a detailed explanation of how to get to the institute.

It was located on Norkh Island, in the seas south of the Garai Kingdom. For those living in the North, this was a terribly remote land, practically on the other side of the world.

Reiz flashed a dauntless smile, however. “He just needs to go there, aye? And that’s how he’ll become a mage.”

“Yes.” Eurog looked down at Almark, who was still clinging to his father’s leg. “Bring him to the institute when he turns nine years old. I promise I’ll make a fine mage out of your boy.”

“All right. I’ll make sure to take him there. Lucky you, Almark.”