April 26, 3104 – 3:16 p.m.

The door to my hospital room opened, and in stepped a familiar figure: Mr. Urif, accompanied by the same woman who had informed me of my mother’s death. His face was blank, showing none of the empathy I had hoped for.

“Hello,” he greeted, almost mechanically.

I managed a flat reply. He could at least pretend to care, I thought. Mr. Urif had three children, all close to my age, but we were never friends. He and I had always been rivals, both marked by rare abilities—mine in Etheric Arteries, his in Magma Body Constitution. Now, though, those rivalries were relics of another life.

“Kail,” he began, “I have news. Your father, Renar, disappeared in a clash with the Therianthropes. Whether he survived is uncertain. This… incident has also brought some additional matters to light. Your father had accumulated substantial debts, and they were not fully settled before his disappearance.”

“Dad always had trouble managing debts. And disappearances during duty aren’t exactly unheard of for him, are they?”

“True. But considering these circumstances, the Elder Council has made a decision: they no longer see any reason to support you. You have two options. First, you can stay within the clan, receiving support for your rehabilitation and basic expenses until your father’s return—however long that may be. Second, you can voluntarily leave the family. Kail Cindercrest’s name would be removed from all records.”

I felt a surge of rage. “You’re seriously suggesting I just… leave? Like I’m some useless tool you can discard?”

“Kail,” Urif said, a note of command entering his voice as a surge of energy briefly pressed against me, reminding me of the immense power he controlled. “Renar’s return could take months, even years. Do you really think you can withstand that kind of wait in your current state?”

I looked down, feeling a swell of despair. “No… not really.”

“Then,” he continued, “I am offering you a chance. If you voluntarily sever ties with the Cindercrest family, I’ll provide three things: a Therianthrope-based serum to regenerate your limbs—without Etheric Arteries, unfortunately. A custom-made 3-star Mana Armor. And a 4-star weapon from the clan. This won’t replace what you’ve lost, but it’s a chance.”

I was silent, struggling to process the enormity of it. What Urif offered was substantial. I knew the Cindercrest elders well—they were strict, calculating, and willing to cast aside even their own if it served the clan. I had become, in their eyes, a blemish in an otherwise spotless lineage.

“Thank you,” I managed, my voice choked. My tear glands, seemingly dried from overuse, remained silent this time.

“This is the least I can offer,” Urif replied. “If you succeed in passing the Altgrad Academy’s entrance exams, I will also fund your studies.”

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The Altgrad Academy—an institution where only the best trained, molding future Masters and Grandmasters. Tuition there was either exorbitant or obtainable only through one of twelve major clan recommendations. Before the accident, I’d dreamed of securing a recommendation for Altgrad. Now, I had a second chance.

“Thank you, truly. This… it means everything.”

“However, you must understand: this will be nearly impossible with your current state. If you renounce the clan, you will also forfeit access to any Cindercrest martial arts.”

“My journey with them was over the moment I lost my Etheric Arteries,” I replied quietly.

As a member of one of the twelve major clans, I’d trained in the Volcanic Ascendant Arts 5☆, a unique style suited to my Etheric talents:

Volcanic Core 4☆ breathing technique: reshaped the body into a powerful “Ignis” constitution, increasing fire tolerance and energy.

Magma Traces 4☆ move technique

Great Eruption 5☆ sword technique: quick, explosive movements, like the eruption of a volcano.

This art requires a properly balanced body with considerable strength and endurance. The moment I lost my right leg, my balanced body committed suicide momentarily.

“If you want, I could offer you alternative training methods,” Urif offered.

“No need. You’ve done more than enough. I’m sure the 4-star weapon is already more than the clan would want to give me,” I replied, half-joking. Not that I’m ungrateful—I’ll remember this generosity, Urif.

“Rebecca will bring the necessary documents soon. The regeneration of your limbs will take about six months, during which you’re not allowed to practice any breathing techniques to ensure full recovery. If you need anything, tell her.”

“Thank you… for giving me hope, at least.”

As he left, I saw a flicker of something on his face—a trace of a smile, a sad one.

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April 27, 10:28 a.m.

Rebecca entered, holding a stack of papers. “Good morning, Kail. How are you feeling?”

“Normal. And you?”

“It could be better,” she replied flatly. A bit insensitive, but whatever.

“Since you’re a minor, Mr. Urif has already signed the documents as your legal guardian. Here are two important items. First, a bank card with €15,000 on it.”

I took the card, without any reaction. Having grown up in a major clan, I was used to even larger sums.

“Second, the clan’s token. You may have seen one on your father. It’s essentially a key to the resources the clan owes you. When you’re ready, bring it to Mr. Urif, and he’ll arrange for your custom armor and weapon. As long as you hold it, no one in the clan is allowed to interfere with you.”

I took the token, studying it: a heavy coin stamped with the clan crest—a red-armored knight with a gold-embellished volcano behind him.

“Thank you, Rebecca. Also, could you provide me with a list of independent or retired ManaArmis professionals, preferably those with Ignis, Terra, or Ventus constitutions?”

“Of course, I’ll send that to you,” she said. Then her voice softened. “There’s one more thing: the clan has decided that Elyndra will be cremated.”

A chill ran down my spine. My hand clenched into a tight fist. “The elders decided my mother doesn’t deserve a place among the clan’s ancestors?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Rebecca nodded. “She didn’t practice ManaArmis…”

Unbelievable. The same person who single-handedly lifted the clan’s wealth with her inventions, her research. The one who allowed them to dominate the market with her biological and chemical preparations. And they deny her even the honor of being buried in the clan crypt. Heartless animals.

“Well,” Rebecca continued, her voice hesitant, “we could still arrange for some of her ashes to be set in a pendant for you.”

“Thank you,” I replied, voice thick.

I will never forget this. Not a thing.

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