There's a world where magic and swordsmanship rule, where nobles train in grand academies, and the poor fight tooth and nail in the wilderness. A world where monsters roam free and kingdoms thrive behind tall walls. Where heroes rise and fall.
And in this world, there was a boy named Jace.
He came from the far north, deep within the frozen forest. Raised by his grandfather, a man whose name once shook battlefields, Jace learned the basics of magic not from a polished academy, but from blood-stained books, ice-bitten scrolls, and raw experience from his grandpa. After his grandfather passed away, Jace spent two more years alone, surrounded by snow and silence. And then he left.
He didn't leave to become a hero. He didn't even know what the word meant.
He left to learn magic.
With nothing but a recommendation letter and clothes more suitable for hunting wolves than meeting nobles, he set out for the capital of the Lipines Kingdom. But a boy with no money doesn't ride into the city like a prince. He sneaked inside a flour wagon, coughing through the dust and hugging his letter like it was his life.
The capital, Lipines City, was massive, chaotic, and nothing like the north. Noise. Smells. Crowds. Jace stumbled through it like a newborn fawn, bumping into people left and right.
He reached the magic academy. And then he crashed into her.
A girl in blue silk robes, with an aura colder than ice. Her long silver hair flowed like liquid moonlight. A royal crest rested on her chest.
The youngest daughter of the king. A prodigy of water magic. Her name is Talia Lipines.
Jace fell face-first into her, staining her dress with flour, dirt, and something that smelled like dried herbs. She stared at him, her lips twitching in disbelief, then anger.
"You filthy rat," she hissed.
Water gathered in her hand. In a blink, a blast of pressured magic sent Jace flying across the courtyard and smashing through a pair of ornate doors.
Straight into the office of the principal of the magic academy.
The man inside raised an eyebrow as a boy in rags skidded across his carpet. A flurry of flour followed like smoke after an explosion. Then, a sealed envelope gently landed on his lap.
He opened it.
His eyes widened.
This handwriting.
This seal.
It belonged to him, one of the Five Great Heroes. The strongest healer of the war. The man who turned the tide by healing soldiers until his mana ran dry, day after day, for two years straight. The one who turned wounded warriors into near-undead machines who kept fighting through pain, poison, and fear.
And the letter claimed… this beggar was his grandson?
The boy stood up, bruised but proud. "That letter is from my grandfather," he said.
The principal didn't reply.
Another boy stepped into the room. Well-groomed, well-dressed, and holding himself like he owned the academy.
"My apologies, Headmaster. That letter is actually from my family," he said. "That letter is mine, Headmaster," he added. Neither of them knew they were cousins.
The principal's gaze shifted. He knew this boy. The son of a powerful duke. Another grandson of a war hero.
He nodded slowly.
"I understand. Guards, remove this boy from my office," the principal said.
When Jace got dragged outside the principal's office, he was scolded and threatened to be banned from the Lipines Kingdom by Talia, the youngest child and daughter of the king of the Lipines Kingdom.
Jace didn't resist. He had already learned enough.
This world worships titles.
Out on the streets, kicked and beaten, Jace wandered until he met a man leaning against a tavern wall. A long cloak, mismatched armor, and a lazy smirk. One of those seasoned types you meet once and never forget.
"Got kicked by nobles?" the man asked, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Welcome to the club."
Jace said nothing.
"You're from the north, yeah? What's your name?"
"Jace."
"Alright, Jace. Come with us. You look pathetic, but maybe you've got something."
Behind him stood nine more adventurers. Warriors, archers, mages, and one deadly-looking assassin.
That assassin? His name was Korr. No last name. No clan. Just a reputation that silenced rooms.
They traveled for three days through woods and rivers, eating what they hunted and sleeping where the stars were kind. On the third night, they camped near a riverbank, just past the Lipines border.
Ten people.
Three warriors who wielded sword and shield like extensions of their own arms.
Two archers, quiet as ghosts.
Three mages, one of them a flame-obsessed maniac.
Korr, the assassin who had never failed a bounty.
And Jace.
A healer with long cooldowns. Weak spells. And no place to belong.
At dawn, they reached the capital of Amiha Kingdom, the City of Wind. Towering walls and spinning spires met them as they walked through the gates.
The adventurers guild stood tall in the city center. A place where your name meant nothing unless you earned it.
Korr glanced at Jace. "You're registering, right?"
Jace nodded.
"Good. Let's see what you're really worth."
Jace followed Korr into the guild hall. The doors were tall enough to fit giants, and inside, the noise hit him like a wave. Voices overlapped, armor clanked, and adventurers of every size, shape, and rank filled the building like bees in a hive. The smell of steel, sweat, and parchment mixed into something oddly familiar. It reminded Jace of campfire stories from his grandfather—tales of brotherhood, battle, and bitter ale.
The guild receptionist was a sharp-eyed woman with tied-back copper hair and a crisp uniform. Her gaze flicked to Jace's worn cloak, then to Korr.
"He's with you?" she asked.
"For now," Korr replied.
The woman didn't ask further. She slid a form across the counter.
"Name?"
"Jace," he said. "Jace Faelan."
She nodded. "Age?"
"Thirteen."
She raised an eyebrow. "And you want to register?"
He nodded.
"Fine. Step through the doors to your left. You'll undergo a basic evaluation—physical and magical attributes. Then a practical test. We'll see where you stand."
The room Jace entered next was quiet and clean, with two guild officials waiting inside. One carried a clipboard, the other stood beside a large crystal orb, faintly glowing.
"Place your hand here," one of them said, motioning to a stone platform embedded with runes.
Jace did as told.
A soft hum filled the room. Light shimmered across his fingers, then flowed upward into the orb. The glow intensified—then cracked with sparks.
The crystal blinked red and then went completely dark.
The examiner blinked. "That's… strange. Let's do it again."
The second time, the crystal refused to even light.
"Physical attributes: C-rank," the official muttered, writing it down. "Standard for a beginner."
"And magic?" the other asked, eyes on the dead orb.
The first examiner shook his head. "Can't measure. Either he's empty—or beyond our equipment."
Jace stared. "What does that mean?"
The man gave him a look. "It means the guild's testing crystal isn't attuned to your type of magic—or your mana is… unusual. Might be too dense or refined to register. It's rare, but it happens."
"Is that bad?"
"Not necessarily. But without data, we can't rank your magic. For now, you'll need to rely on your physical performance."
Jace was guided to a small combat arena behind the guild. Waiting for him was a sparring instructor and a rank C adventurer armed with a blunt training sword.
"Don't die," Korr said from the viewing stands. "Or do. It'll be fun either way."
Jace didn't even get a chance to reply before the match began.
The C-rank adventurer moved fast. Too fast.
Jace barely dodged the first strike, stumbling backward. His instincts told him to cast a shield, but the spell fizzled. His mana was still stabilizing. He cast a basic healing aura instead, trying to stay alive as the adventurer pressed in. The strikes came in sharp and punishing, like a reminder that real combat was nothing like theory.
He survived for two minutes.
Barely.
The match was called when Jace collapsed, panting, with a split lip and bruises up and down his arms.
The instructor noted something on the clipboard.
"D-rank."
Later, at the front desk, the receptionist handed him his guild ID: plain bronze, etched with his name and current rank.
"You're officially a rank D adventurer," she said. "Based on your performance, your magic's unknown factor, and survivability. You lack experience—but you have potential."
Jace nodded weakly.
She handed him a parchment list. "You'll need to complete three to five missions per week. The harder you work, the faster you'll rise. Higher ranks mean better pay and access to better quests. G is the lowest, followed by F, E, D, C, then B, A. Beyond that are the elite tiers: S, SS, and SSS."
She tapped her fingers on the desk.
"SSS-ranked adventurers are national-level threats. Heroes of war. They move armies alone. SS is reserved for commanders or powerful high nobles. And S-rank means you're either a Sword God, Grand Mage, or terrifying monster in human skin. You're far from any of those."
Jace swallowed.
"Most new adventurers start at rank F or G," she continued. "Town errands, deliveries, herb gathering, things like that. E-rank involves basic monster hunting—ants, slimes, maybe horned rabbits. D-rank is where things start getting dangerous. Goblins, kobolds, wild wolves. You took quite a leap."
He looked down at his bruises. "I noticed."
"You can stay in the guild lodge for the night. We'll deduct the cost from your first completed mission."
The room he was given was small, but warm. A single bed, a small desk, and a window overlooking the street. It was the first roof he had slept under in weeks. That night, he ate a bowl of stew from the guild's kitchen, soaked his bruises in cold water, and slept like a corpse.
The next morning, the guild hall was chaos.
Like a swarm of hungry birds fighting over scraps, adventurers crowded the mission board. Papers were snatched the moment they were pinned. Voices overlapped—parties forming, arguing, laughing, or shouting.
Jace slipped through the noise, scanning the board.
Most high-paying quests were already gone. The only ones left were gathering jobs or dangerous solo requests. His eyes landed on a D-rank mission still pinned to the edge.
Eliminate a group of goblins spotted in the western forest. Reward: 30 credit. Risk: moderate.
He took the paper.
The receptionist nodded. "Solo mission?"
"Yes."
"You sure you can handle it?"
"No," Jace admitted. "But I'll try."
She gave a small smile. "That's the spirit. Be careful. Goblins aren't just dumb beasts. They're vicious in groups. Ambush hunters. Underestimate them, and you'll be dinner."
With his staff slung over his back and a worn satchel of basic potions and dried bread, Jace left the guild and headed west.
The wind was crisp. The forest loomed ahead, thick and dark, but familiar in its silence.
He wasn't sure what he would find there.
Only that whatever it was, he had to face it.
Not as a student.
Not as a noble.
But as a healer who had something to prove.