"They who wield magic shall guard the balance of the world—guiding the weak and correcting the misguided. And they who wield no magic shall tend the livestock and sow the seeds—feeding those who hunger."
That quotation is a line from one of the ancient verses of the Book of Sanctus, a sacred scripture that from the very beginning became the foundation of the world order of Eatherlion—a world where two factions live side by side, at least on paper.
Magical and Unmagic.
The Magical faction consists of six races: Angel, Demon, Elf, Dwarf, Beastskin, and Human.
Meanwhile, the Unmagic faction consists of only a single race—Human.
A simple question arises: why is there a race that belongs to two factions? And why only that race?
The answer is only one:
"to show that those who wield magic and those who do not can live side by side despite the differences between them."
Although the physical characteristics of Human (Magical) and Human (Unmagic) are similar, that does not mean there is no difference.
What truly separates them is the Core.
The Core in question is the Magic Core—the mana nucleus possessed by all races.
Human (Magical) possess this Magic Core.
However, Human (Unmagic) possess no core at all.
Without magical protection, their bodies rely entirely on natural biological systems—or on the church's healing magic—which, of course, comes at a price.
And from that difference, Human Magical began to call themselves by a new name:
Magician.
—<[(-----------------------------------------------------------)]>—
At first, the world moved within a fragile peace.
Each faction lived its own life—writing its own history.
Time continued to flow until it reached the dawn of magical development.
An Archmage discovered a new method—faster, more efficient, and far more effective in terms of food production—a method that required no physical labor, only spells and mana.
And naturally, this caused the roles of the Unmagic—roles that had already been assigned to them—to shift as the method spread.
At first, their protests were heard—but that did not mean they would be heard forever.
Because the time and the cost of paying Unmagic laborers was considerable, one by one, the Magical kings began adopting the newly discovered method.
The Unmagic protested again—more fiercely than the first time.
But the response they received was not what they had hoped for.
It was humiliation.
They were no longer given work.
They were turned into the work itself.
Farmers became slaves.
Producers became property.
They were forced to serve without rest and submit to their masters' will.
Resistance was met with the lash.
Defiance was answered with slave collars—artifacts that stripped away free will and turned the wearer into an obedient puppet.
Years turned into centuries.
Centuries turned into habit.
Men were worked until their bodies broke.
Women were abused without resistance.
Children were sold.
The elderly were discarded like scrap.
And this was not done by Magicians alone—those who felt disgusted by sharing a race with them.
Other races followed as well—with hollow eyes and hearts turned to stone.
Those who helped the Unmagic were imprisoned.
Those who protected them were executed.
There was no city without oppression.
There was no day without screams.
Even the church—those who claimed holiness—chose to close their eyes.
Rumors spread that they were gathering Unmagic as material for secret experiments.
All of this proved that there was not a single day when the Unmagic knew peace, safety, or freedom.
Only the daily lash, which had become as routine as food.
—<[(-----------------------------------------------------------)]>—
Then, some time later.
A sailor accidentally broke through a vast, mist-covered sea and discovered an unfamiliar land.
He felt as though he had crossed into another world.
There was no flow of magic.
No resonance of mana.
He explored part of the region and recorded what he found in his journal.
He titled the book "Nothing Land"—because the region he explored possessed no mana at all—just as stated in an ancient note found in the ruins of a forgotten temple.
In his book, he wrote that the living beings there were different.
There were no Magical Beasts roaming the land.
There were no mana crystals for mana recovery.
Only life—without magic.
When the book spread, people of various races grew curious and came in droves.
After a large-scale expedition, they reached a single conclusion:
The land was useless.
The creatures there were nothing more than empty shells—incapable of increasing mana levels. They could not even sense the flow of mana within the minerals found in caves and mountain slopes.
Because of those empty results, they named the land Inanis Land—which means the land of emptiness.
And from that name, an idea formed in their minds.
What if the Unmagic—those deemed filthy and troublesome—were sent to this land?
All races agreed, though not all individuals did—some wished to keep certain Unmagic for experimentation.
A decision was ultimately made—the ones sent away would be those already deemed useless, and those kept behind would be the ones still considered valuable.
From that decision, a historic event was recorded under the name The Great Exile.
Thousands of Unmagic were cruelly torn from their families—herded and crammed into the narrow holds of ships.
Many died from lack of air.
Many died of hunger.
Every second felt like hell—for both body and soul.
Meanwhile, the Magical who stood upon the deck enjoyed boundless luxury.
—<[(-----------------------------------------------------------)]>—
Several months later.
They finally arrived in Inanis Land, the Unmagic being unloaded at random locations.
Without food.
Without tools.
Without hope.
This led the Magical to believe one thing with certainty:
They would go extinct on their own.
However, fate said otherwise—they forgot one thing about the Unmagic—ambition, one of the defining traits of the Human race.
And that trait ensured the Unmagic did not stop, keeping the embers burning in their eyes.
From despair, hope was born.
From barren land, civilization arose.
From seeds, knowledge grew.
From time, experience accumulated.
The verse of Sanctus once ignored by the Magical now came to pass:
"Though they wield no magic, their embers yet remain. Though they sink into despair, they will swim upward—grasping the rope of their own hope."
If Angels claim to be the ones closest to the gods—then the Unmagic have reached the very place where those gods reside.
If Demons call themselves the guardians of the underworld—then the Unmagic have broken through its depths to the world's very core.
If Elves claim unity with the world—then the Unmagic have studied that world itself.
If Dwarves boast of their forging—then the Unmagic have forged artificial beings and towers that pierce the sky.
If Beastskin proclaim themselves the most perfect—then the Unmagic can create the most perfect bodies without gifts from birth.
If Magicians declare themselves supreme—then the Unmagic can shatter that supremacy with their ambition.
And when the world questions who deserves to rule—the Unmagic have already surpassed that right.
Thousands of years.
Thousands of histories.
Thousands of discoveries.
Now, the magicless people rise.
Not as a lesser race—but as a shadow that will cover the world.