Rick was in the northernmost reaches of the kingdom, in a small, unnamed village buried beneath endless snow. He sat in a dim room, flame flickering weakly beside him, staring at the sword lying across his lap—the sword Richard had given him years ago on the day of his departure.
Its once-glorious edge was now chipped, faded, and trembling on the verge of breaking.
"Can I fix it…?" Rick whispered, running his thumb across the cracked blade.
He had repaired it countless times, but this time… it looked hopeless.
With a soft exhale, he set the sword beside him and walked to the window. Cold wind slipped through the cracks as he gazed at the snow-covered world outside.
A village that only knows winter…
How strange that a place like this existed.
He closed the window and began packing his belongings. From a worn pouch, he counted the coins he'd earned.
"Seventy-four gold coins… Will that be enough for the Academy?"
He tightened the pouch. "No point overthinking."
Lying down on the old wooden bed, he muttered,
"Let's sleep. Tomorrow, I head out."
And slowly, he drifted into sleep.
Next Morning — At the Village Gate
Snow crunched under Rick's boots as he stood at the gate. The village chief and several villagers gathered before him, faces warm with gratitude.
"Thank you so much," the chief said, holding Rick's hands firmly. "Because of you, we can survive this winter."
Rick shook his head. "I just completed the quest. That's all."
"No," the chief said sharply. "You did far more. You could've left after finishing the extermination, but you stayed. You helped us fix the fence. You repaired tools.Even though monsters roam these mountains… you stayed."
The villagers bowed, one after another.
"Our village is in a place no caravan reaches. Snow buries our paths. Most adventurers avoid quests here—they see it as a waste of time. But you… you walked a whole day to reach us, and you treated us like we mattered."
The chief's voice trembled.
"To us, you're not just a guest. You're our savior. A hero."
"Thank you," the chief said again, squeezing Rick's hand.
Hearing the chief's words, Rick froze—shock tightening his chest.
"A hero…? No," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I'm not a hero. I'm not even that strong. There are many stronger people than me."
The chief chuckled softly.
"Strength? That's not what makes a hero."
Rick looked up.
"A hero," the chief continued, "is not the strongest person… but the kindest. The one who chooses to help even when no one expects them to."
Rick's eyes widened.
Those same words…
He had heard them once before—his mother's voice echoing faintly in his memory:
Rick, A hero is not someone who is powerful, but someone who is kind.
Warmth spread through his chest as the old memory resurfaced.
The chief smiled.
"You reminded me of that kindness. So yes… you are a hero."
Rick lowered his head, overwhelmed.
"…Thank you."
"Come visit us again someday." Chief replied.
With that, Rick left the village—its people waving with bright, grateful smiles despite the harsh winter around them.
Walking Through the Snow
As he trudged through knee-deep snow toward the nearest town, Allea, the chief's words echoed in his mind.
What is a hero? Someone strong, Someone kind? or Both? What is it that makes you a hero?
He didn't know.
All he could do was keep walking—and keep searching for his answer.
Snowflakes stung his face as the wind grew harsher.
But he didn't stop.
After a full day of traveling through the storm, Rick finally saw the faint lights of Allea—a small, isolated town belonging to the dukedom of Klein.
By the time he reached the gate, his cloak was frozen stiff and his legs were numb.
He checked into a small inn and collapsed onto the bed. Sleep swallowed him instantly.
The Next Morning
Rick woke early, washed the frost from his face, and ate a quick breakfast downstairs. His destination was clear:
The train station.
Fortunately, Allea—despite being remote—had a single railway line .
He bought a ticket, tightened the strap of his worn backpack, and boarded the train just as the whistle blew.
Through the window he watched the snowy wilderness blur into distance.
He was finally heading toward Leon City, home of the Royal National Magic Academy—the place where his true journey would begin.
Leon—known throughout the kingdom as the City of Research—stood unlike any other place in Asther.
A city that belonged to no noble, no duke, no kingdom branch.
It stood alone, independent and untamed.
A place where scholars, magic researchers, alchemists, artificers, and curious minds from every corner of the kingdom gathered.
A city ruled not by aristocrats but by the Royal National Magic Academy itself.
Because of this, even nobles dared not flaunt authority here—the city allowed no influence but knowledge.
Royal National Magic Academy
Founded by the first king of Asther, the Academy's purpose was simple yet monumental:
To nurture talent strong enough to protect the kingdom's future.
Anyone could enter—noble or commoner—as long as they passed the brutal entrance exam.
The Academy's location in Leon was deliberate. The founding king feared that noble families would corrupt the Academy's values, so he placed it in a city beyond the grasp of wealth and power.
Thus, the Academy and the city grew together—brilliant, stubborn, and independent.
Rick closing the book titled " City of research and it's history. "
Rick stepped off the train with stiff legs and a pounding heart. After hours of travel from Allea, he finally stood in the heart of the legendary city.
"So… this is Leon," he whispered, drawing a long breath. "I'm here."
But before the Academy, he had something more urgent to deal with.
His sword.
The blade—Richard's last gift—was dangerously close to shattering. Rick couldn't risk losing it. Not now. Not ever.
"I should find a blacksmith first."
With help from townspeople, Rick navigated the bustling streets and finally stood before a large, soot-streaked smithy. Heat radiated from inside, and the rhythmic pounding of metal echoed through the air.
"This should be the place," Rick muttered, stepping inside.
The moment he entered, a muscular man with burn-scarred arms looked up from his work.
"What is it, kid? You need something?" the man grunted.
"Excuse me," Rick said, approaching with a nervous but determined expression. "I'm… looking for someone who can fix this."
He lifted his sword.
The blacksmith's eyes widened.
"…What the—? This sword is on the verge of breaking." He tapped the cracked edge with a thick finger. "Instead of fixing it, I'd recommend tossing it."
Rick's heart dropped.
"That's not possible. This sword is… important to me. A gift. I can't throw it away."
The blacksmith let out a long sigh.
"Even if you say that, kid, I'm telling you the truth—this sword is already on the verge of breaking down. Even if I manage to fix it, you won't be able to use it in a real fight."
Rick met his eyes firmly.
"That's fine. I don't want to use it for fighting. I just… don't want to lose it."
The blacksmith stared at him for a moment, then chuckled under his breath.
"You really are stubborn," he murmured with a faint smile. "Alright then. Since you're not planning to swing it in a battle, I can work with that. Come back tomorrow."
Relief washed over Rick's face.
"Thank you… thank you so much." He bowed deeply. "By the way, can you tell me where the Magic Academy is?"
The shop owner raised an eyebrow.
"You're here for the Academy? Well, do you see that mountain at the edge of the city?" He pointed.
Rick nodded.
"The Academy's built up there. But if you're planning to enroll… you're a week early."
"A week early…?" Rick repeated, stunned.
"That means the entrance exam is next week."
"That's right," the blacksmith said. " The Academy gates open only one day before the exam."
Rick froze.
"…I got here a week early? How did I miscalculate that badly?"
He rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed.
"Well, I guess this means I have free time… Might as well get to know the city and its people."
After handing over his sword, Rick wandered through Leon for the rest of the day.
The city was massive—far bigger than any town he'd visited. Mages, researchers, adventurers, craftsmen, and merchants from every corner of the kingdom crowded the streets.
He visited shops, food stalls, libraries, and even watched street magicians perform spells he had only read about in books.
Yet even while walking, his hand occasionally reached toward his hip—instinctively searching for the sword that wasn't there.
When night fell, Rick rented a room at an inn and collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion wrapped around him. His thoughts drifted between Richard's face, the blacksmith's words, and the Academy waiting on the mountain.
After breakfast, Rick tightened his cloak and headed back toward the smithy to retrieve the sword he had entrusted for repair.
He entered the smithy, the familiar heat of the forge washing over him as the shop owner glanced up from his workbench.
"Ah, you're back. Your sword's fixed," the man said casually, nodding toward a shelf.
Rick walked over in silence and picked it up. The blade had been repaired, but the metal was scarred—thin and brittle, like a sheet of paper that could shatter with the slightest clash. Even so, Rick's grip tightened with warmth. It was a gift, and no flaw could lessen its worth.
"How much?" Rick asked.
"Two bronze coins," the smith muttered, already occupied with repairing another weapon.
Rick didn't bother him further. He set the coins on the table, bowed slightly, and stepped out of the shop with the sword cradled carefully in his hand.
For the next week, Rick wandered through the city—its winding alleys, crowded bazaars, and sunlit plazas. He talked with merchants, greeted guards, and listened to travelers' stories. Day after day, he repeated the routine, until he could navigate the city without thought.
He learned its rhythm.
Its shortcuts.
Its people.
And in doing so, the city began to feel almost like home.
Now, with sunrise breaking over the rooftops, Rick tightened the cloth around his sword and headed toward the Royal National Magic Academy—the place where he would finally face the entrance exam that could change his life.