Three minutes ago.
Ralth walked out of the observation cabin, his mind still thinking about the nobles' conversation. The hallway stretched before him, wooden panels gleaming under the soft magical lights that dotted the ceiling every few paces. The air smelled of polished wood and the faint scent of roast meat from the dining cabin several doors down where the magus' stayed.
As he turned the corner, the scene that greeted him made his blood run cold. The leader of the Snake Gang was knocking on the door of room 225—his and Charlotte's room. The sound echoed through the hallway like thunder, each blow shaking the fragile door on its hinges.
The leader's name was Rayleigh. Before he was chosen as a preparatory apprentice, he was the nineteen years old son of a gangster boss in the Teraskil Territory of the Relves Kingdom. The Teraskil Territory was known for its beautiful flowers and brutal crime families that ruled the streets with iron fists. Money flowed freely there, but so did blood.
Rayleigh stood a head taller than most men on the airship. His shoulders were broad as a bull's, and muscles rippled beneath his thin shirt whenever he moved. A jagged scar ran from his right eyebrow down to his cheek, giving his face a permanently angry expression. Stories said he got it in a knife fight when he was just thirteen, and that the man who gave it to him was found floating in the river the next day.
Rayleigh was born with strong muscles and bones since he was a child, which gave him unique physical advantages. While other boys struggled to lift wooden swords, Rayleigh swung real steel as if it weighed nothing. Therefore, he became a knight's squire at the age of twelve and became a knight at the age of fifteen. The youngest in his region, perhaps in the entire kingdom.
If he continued to train like this, within five years, Rayleigh would be able to become a full-fledged knight. His sword skills were already exceptional, and his body seemed built for combat. If he trained for another ten years, he would most likely become a senior knight in his thirties. Senior knights commanded respect, led men into battle, and caught the eyes of noble ladies at court dances.
A senior knight of that age could be considered a genius even in the Relves Kingdom. Few had ever reached such heights so young, and those who did often had their names written in the kingdom's history books.
At that time, the king would grant him a title, and nobles who want to form an alliance with Rayliegh's family. Land, wealth, power—all would flow to him like water downhill. His father would be elevated from crime boss to respected noble through his son's achievements.
But, Rayleigh was chosen.
One day, a magus visiting the capital watched the knights train and pointed a long, thin finger at Rayleigh. No explanation was given, no questions were allowed. The magus simply said, "This one," and Rayleigh's destiny changed forever.
The will of a magus cannot be disobeyed. Not to mention that Rayleigh is the son of a gang boss, even if he was a prince of the kingdom, he still had to become a magus apprentice. Kings bowed to magi, and princes considered it an honor to fetch their tea. No one could refuse when the call came.
Rayleigh's father felt sorry for him, watching his son's promising future as a knight dissolve like morning mist. He threw a grand feast the night before Rayleigh's departure, filling their home with music and laughter to hide his disappointment.
But he himself did not feel that way.
When he saw the king and a group of nobles bowing their heads to the magus during the testing ceremony, a fire rose in his heart. The king—the same man who could order his father's execution with a single word—bent low before the robed figure of the magus. Nobles with bloodlines stretching back centuries waited patiently for the magus to acknowledge them.
A flame called ambition ignited within him.
He wanted to become a magus and master the extraordinary power. What was a knight's sword compared to a magus's spell? What was a noble title compared to the respect a magus commanded? The path would be harder, but the heights were so much greater.
After getting on the airship, Rayleigh, as the son of a gang leader, quickly discovered that the magus didn't really care what he did, but only cared whether the apprentices could survive to the exam. The magi watched them with distant interest, like farmers checking crops before harvest—concerned only with results, not methods.
After confirming this, he quickly recruited a group of youths and began his brutal rule. He found other apprentices with backgrounds like his—street toughs, the children of merchants with shady connections, anyone willing to follow his lead in exchange for protection. They called themselves the Snake Gang, striking quickly and without mercy.
Whatever he likes comes into his hands. Food, trinkets, money—all were his for the taking. The weak hid in their rooms when they heard his heavy footsteps in the hallway.
Many nobles were disgusted by his behavior, but no one came out to stop it. They watched from doorways and whispered behind cupped hands, but none dared to challenge him directly.
In addition to the fact that Rayleigh did not provoke the nobles, the most important reason was that Rayleigh was a knight's squire. His arms could bend iron bars, and his training with weapons made him dangerous even without a sword in hand.
No noble would come into conflict with a knight's squire over a lowly person. The risk was too great, the reward too small. Better to look away and pretend not to notice the bruises on the faces of Rayleigh's victims.
…
Bang! Bang!
Rayleigh banged on the door with a grim smile. The wood splintered slightly with each blow, tiny cracks spreading like spider webs from the point of impact. His followers stood behind him, grinning and nudging each other as they waited for the show to begin.
"Looks like we found a shy one, boss," said one, a thin man with a patchy beard. "They always fight harder."
"I like it when they fight back to keep their wealth," Rayleigh replied, not taking his eyes off the door. "Makes it more interesting."
He had never seen the woman in the room before, so she probably still had money left.
He felt his blood boiling at the thought of taking the cash. His pulse quickened, and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air of the hallway.
But as he was bumping into things, a figure suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision. Rayleigh paused mid-swing, his fist hovering in the air as he turned to look.
The man looked a little thin and short, with a handsome but somewhat weak face under his black hair. He couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen, with arms like twigs and the soft hands of someone who'd never done a day's hard labor.
Gurgle!
Rayleigh suddenly stopped the ramming.
Another victim to rob! He thought.
"Come and surround him, all of you." He turned and ordered a few minions. They looked confused for a moment, then stepped forward, forming a loose semicircle around the newcomer.
Ralth felt an inexplicable chill in his heart when he saw Rayleigh suddenly stop. The way the man looked at him made his skin crawl, like insects were marching beneath the surface.
"My friend, are you the last one to come up, would you kindly empty the pockets of thine pantaloons?"
Rayleigh looked at Ralth with salty eyes and licked his lips subconsciously with his scarlet tongue.
In the rough gang world where Rayleigh grew up, power meant taking what you wanted, regardless of age and sex. Money was money.
And Ralth was just what he loved to rob. Weak, soft and alone. Easy prey in the predator's eyes.
Ralth looked back, but there was no one there. The hallway behind him was empty, the other apprentices having wisely decided to stay in the observation cabin or their rooms.
It seems that it was indeed him that Rayleigh was addressing.
Then there's nothing much to say. The situation was clear, the threat obvious. Ralth had lived long enough to know what happened to those who showed weakness to a beast like Rayliegh. A beast that had no mercy.
Ralth turned his head woodenly, his face gloomy. His eyes, normally warm brown, had turned hard and cold as stones.
A feeling of anger mixed with nausea surged into his heart. The filth of this world seemed to be everywhere. Freezing and starving in his cabin, beatings from his old man, the magus' with their casual cruelty and now this man with his greedy eyes.
"Die!"
Ralth raised his hand indifferently, and the Mana in his body gathered at his fingertips, turning into a faint blue light that flew out and hit Rayleigh's chest like a meteor. The spell formed almost instinctively, flowing from some deep place within his soul.
Zero-Ring spell: Magic Missile.
The simplest offensive spell. In the hands of a master, it could pierce stone. In Ralth's untrained hands, it was a blunt instrument, but no less effective.
In an instant, Rayleigh felt as if he was hit in the chest by a regular knight's hammer. He flew backwards instantly with a painful and hideous expression. His back slammed against the opposite wall, knocking the breath from his lungs in a whoosh that echoed down the hallway.