"Such a robe… even in this world, it's ancient," Arthur murmured, narrowing his eyes.
He stepped closer, a flicker of realization passing through his gaze.
Two details immediately drew his attention.
One side of the robe shimmered a deep, burning red, etched with ancient runes that pulsed like black flames. It bore the insignia of a noble bloodline—glowing faintly, ominously. The other side contrasted it sharply: a robe of misty sky-blue, inscribed with equally old symbols, but these glowed cold and white, like frozen starlight. An ice-crystal emblem glittered on the neckline.
The Ember Family and the Frost-Heart Family. Two legendary names—each proud, each ancient. Their symbols represented the glory of lineages passed down for over a thousand years.
It was the Dark Age. A time before the founding of the great Magic Schools and Wizard Towers. Before structure. Before order.
Arthur exhaled quietly, his thoughts weighed down.
This age… Chaotic, brutal, and raw. Far more dangerous than the era of magical order that would come later.
In the age of order, power lay in structured institutions—the Wizard Academies and the great Magic Towers. But in the Dark Age, power came from old wizarding families, many of whom had been at war for centuries. Endless blood feuds. Ancient grudges. Magic without limits—or consequences.
Arthur stood silently, watching the battle unfold before him.
Sparks of spells and the clash of swords danced in a deadly rhythm. Knights and wizards fought with fierce determination, unleashing a storm of elemental fury.
Though fascinating, the scene was also horrifying. Blood flew like mist in the air. A wizard from the Frost-Heart Family had nearly turned himself entirely to ice in a desperate attempt to crush his opponent.
Arthur's brow furrowed.
Even for someone who'd seen countless battles, witnessing such raw violence up close was unsettling.
After ten grueling minutes, the conflict finally subsided. The Frost-Heart Family retreated, their forces wounded but intact. The Ember Family didn't chase. They too had taken losses, and caution overruled pride—for now.
Silence returned.
Only blood, lingering magic residue, and the scorched ground bore witness to the brutal skirmish.
Arthur stood alone.
Instead of following either family, he turned upstream, heading toward the river that cut across the battlefield like a silent observer.
"To choose a disciple…" Arthur mused aloud, "...I must consider talent."
A weak disciple, no matter how much effort was invested, would only reach a limited height. And Arthur had a feeling—more than a feeling, almost a certainty—that his first disciple would be crucial to shaping his future.
"Judging from what I've seen, I'm close to the territories of both the Ember and Frost-Heart families."
He continued walking along the riverbank, deep in thought.
The Ember and Frost-Heart families had long histories of powerful magic. Any child from their bloodlines would be a promising candidate. Arthur's instincts told him his future might lie with one of them.
Time passed. The sky darkened, and he encountered no one else.
But hunger, thirst, and fatigue no longer plagued him—his soul body had no such needs. The discomfort of becoming a spirit had slowly faded with time.
After several hours of walking, Arthur came to a sudden halt.
Two young figures sat by the riverside ahead, talking quietly.
They appeared no older than twelve or thirteen. Ordinary children at first glance—but Arthur's gaze sharpened.
One boy wore a soft blue robe, his presence calm and gentle. His features were plain, but there was a clarity in his eyes that suggested depth.
The other stood out immediately—vibrant red hair that flared like flame, a spark of pride in his eyes. His expression was confident, his posture relaxed, and his looks far more striking.
Arthur's breath caught.
"Can it be…?"
He stared, realization crashing down like thunder.
Adam Frost-Heart and Wilson Ember.
Founders of the Eternal Magic Academe. Two legends who, together, would one day reshape the wizarding world. At their peak, each could dominate an era alone. Together, they built a haven for young wizards in a ruthless world.
Arthur hadn't expected this.
To see them as children—before fame, before power—was beyond coincidence. Fate had brought him here.
And if he could take one of them as his disciple… or even both…
The possibilities were staggering.
His earlier frustration at failing to find a worthy candidate melted away.
Suppressing the excitement rising in his chest, Arthur silently asked, "System, are there any restrictions on choosing disciples?"
"As long as the individual has sufficient growth potential, there are no limitations,"came the calm reply from the system.
Arthur's eyes glinted.
Growth potential. Not raw talent—but the ability to rise. To evolve. To shape destiny.
And the two boys before him were destined to become giants.
A small smile formed on his lips.
This… was going to be interesting.