Chapter 3: The Turning Gears of Fate
Half a century ago, in 1862 SC, the world faced an unprecedented crisis. The banished beings—monsters long sealed away—suddenly surged in both number and strength, reaching their highest recorded levels since the Great Demonic War of the 11th Century SC.
In the years that followed, demons reappeared, and tragedies unfolded across the Saint Roland Empire and beyond. To combat this rising threat, nations took swift action. Mechanized steel units, including the legendary Slinger Unit, were deployed alongside knight orders, mage orders, divine parties, and inquisition units—all revived or newly established to stem the tide of destruction.
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Among the quiet villages untouched by war, one man stood out.
Mr. Thomas—or Tom, as he was commonly known—was a highly respected figure. And for good reason. He was a retired member of the Root Division, an elite group of warriors who, despite their inability to wield Aura, could take on Tier 5 monsters and demons.
Their secret? The Mechanized Steel Exoskeleton, a marvel of engineering known for its ability to root its wearer to a spot, allowing them to withstand even a landslide unharmed.
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That day, on his weekly visit to the village temple, Tom stumbled upon a scene that piqued his interest.
A fight.
Two boys clashed fiercely in the orphanage yard. Tom, sticking to his old principle of "only interfere when necessary," observed from a distance.
One boy was big, his strikes heavy but unrefined. The other—smaller, stockier—fought back with surprising tenacity. His techniques were rough, clumsy, but his sheer grit made Tom pause.
Not bad, he thought.
But then—
His breath hitched.
In the time it took him to blink, something impossible happened.
A blue-haired girl, smaller than both boys, blurred into motion. She intercepted the larger boy’s attack with effortless precision, her body twisting at the perfect angle. In a single, fluid movement, she disarmed him and sent him staggering back.
Tom’s heartbeat quickened.
That speed. That technique.
Her strikes weren’t wild or instinctive—they were sharp, calculated, deadly. Rough, yes. Unpolished. But the foundation was there.
And yet, there were no swordsmen in this village. No passing warriors, no mentors who could have taught a child like her. No one but him.
That left only one conclusion.
"This child is a gem."
Tom exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the straps of his pack.
He didn’t know what he was about to do. Didn’t know why his feet had already started moving.
He only knew one thing.
That this moment—this single, unremarkable moment in a quiet village—might be the first turn of the gears of fate.
And without realizing it, he had just set them in motion.