The glow still tinted the sky purple and red when Marcelo broke through the last barrier of trees, his chest burning from running so hard. Instead of the twilight he expected, he found a grassy plateau crowned by the ruins of an ancient watchtower.
There stood a solitary camp: a low campfire, sparking gold; an iron tripod supporting a kettle; and, in the shadow of the tower, a lone traveler, seated on a dark blanket.
Half his face was hidden by a white porcelain mask, marked by crimson veins resembling dry branches; the other half revealed pale skin and an amber eye that glinted in the firelight. An anthracite wool coat, sleeves slightly long, relaxed posture—the same youth who had hovered over the forest hours before.
Marcelo nearly slipped on the damp grass, panting, ready to run again. A ball of black fur landed on his shoulder, scaly wings shimmering.
The masked figure raised an empty hand in a pacifying gesture.
"Breathe, traveler," he said, his tone soft, almost velvety, yet firm. A delicate smile seemed to show even behind the mask. "I saw the collapse too. Whatever destroyed the mountain is long gone. If it wanted you or me dead, we wouldn't be here talking."
The logic was simple, and gasping, Marcelo couldn't deny it.
"I'm Simon," he continued, indicating the fire with a slight nod of his head. "Sit, have something to drink. I have water, tea, and roasted potatoes. Given your state, a rest will do you good, whatever destination awaits you."
"So, young man, what's your name?" asked Simon. "And is this lovely dragon hatchling your summoned monster?"
Marcelo gave his name and introduced Lýdia, who preened proudly.
Exhausted, Marcelo couldn't find the strength to refuse. Lýdia chirped her approval. He settled onto a makeshift log by the fire; the heat relaxed his trembling muscles.
In the firelight, Marcelo could examine his host better. The mask, austere and delicate, might hint at a bandit—but what bandit invites his victim for stew? More likely, it hid scars.
Silky black hair framed a face too serene for such a chaotic night. No weapons were visible: just a bag of scrolls and a worn book on the blanket. A chronicler, perhaps; someone who collected stories, not corpses—at least, that's what Marcelo wanted to believe.
Simon handed him a steaming bowl of potato stew.
"Drink it slowly. Afterwards, if you wish, tell me your name and what you saw. I pay for knowledge with hot food."
Marcelo straightened up, still wary but grateful for the comfort.
"Marcelo," he said finally. "And… thank you."
Simon smiled with his eyes, brought his own bowl to his lips and sipped; then exclaimed:
"Ah, delicious! Try it. I'm a decent cook, believe me."
The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the stones of the ruined tower. Lýdia settled beside the boy with another steaming bowl offered by Simon—and for the first time since the mountain's collapse, Marcelo allowed himself to relax.
The hot steam from the stew rose, perfuming the air with garlic, wild herbs, and the butter crackling in the firewood. Marcelo's stomach growled loudly; he blushed, but Simon laughed softly:
"No need for ceremony, eat as much as you like."
They savored the first spoonfuls in silence. The damp night breeze cooled the plateau, while above the ruined tower, the last crimson sparks from the mountain reflected in the high clouds like giant, slumbering embers.
When hunger and fear no longer burned within Marcelo, Simon set his empty bowl on the blanket and broke the silence:
"So, Marcelo, what did you see happen back there?"
The youth hesitated. Lýdia, still licking her own bowl, pricked up her pointed ears.
"First, a huge sphere of light appeared; then, the mountain vanished, dragging much of the forest with it," Marcelo replied, choosing his words carefully.
Simon twirled the spoon between his fingers, attentive.
"Blue light, by any chance? Was anyone nearby? A monster, a summoner?" he asked, like someone tossing a stone to gauge the lake's depth.
"I only saw the silhouette of an enormous creature. I was still far away; if I'd been closer, I'd have been swallowed too."
Simon merely murmured an "I see" and, with the tip of the utensil, drew a small circle in the dirt.
"Perhaps it was a duel between immortal monsters… or powerful summoners. What do you think?" he inquired, fixing Marcelo with his gaze.
The flames crackled loudly. In the gleam of the amber eye, Marcelo thought he saw reflections of runic symbols; a shiver ran down his spine. The mask seemed to smile, even motionless.
"Honestly, I don't know," he replied, almost to himself. "When gods fight, mortals suffer. I prefer to stay away."
He apologized for not being able to help more. Lýdia placed a little wing on his hand, bringing him back to the present.
"You were watching the area before the collapse. Are you seeking stories?" Marcelo turned the tables.
Simon nodded.
"Exactly. Strange rumors were circulating here. I came to investigate and stumbled upon a mystery bigger than I expected."
"Rumors? Wasn't this a low-risk area?" Marcelo frowned. "Ideal for novices, they said."
Simon's surprise was visible.
"You hadn't heard about the disappearances? Fewer and fewer summoners return from gathering missions." He paused. "There's talk of a demonic cult."
Marcelo grew uneasy. This place, seemingly harmless, was revealing itself as a hornet's nest.
"And how can you stay so calm? You even came here willingly!"
"I have my methods," he said simply, adjusting his anthracite coat.
After a moment of silence, Simon asked cordially:
"Where are you from? What were you doing on the mountain? Forgive my curiosity."
Marcelo saw no harm in answering. He explained it was his first mission: gathering herbs for the guild.
Simon concluded, almost in a whisper: "Just a distracted novice…"
For a moment, he considered silencing him right there and burning the body in the fire. But Marcelo's next words made him hesitate:
"When you're a novice, every corner seems to hide a monster ready to devour you. I need to get stronger. Maybe one day I'll have the power to topple mountains…" Marcelo laughed at the idea.
Something in those words touched Simon: a distant echo of his own youth. The murderous intent dissolved.
"You're right, Marcelo. Everyone wants strength to not fear what hides in the dark, and especially to be masters of their own destiny," he said, pouring more tea. "It's made from spirit herbs; they're almost becoming sentient."
Marcelo blew on the drink, took a short sip, and felt the fatigue subside.
"So refreshing… and delicious."
"High-quality tea," Simon replied with a restrained smile.
Lýdia looked at the kettle, eager. Simon filled a small cup and handed it to her. The little creature emptied it in one gulp and flapped her wings, satisfied.
Simon stared at the fire's reflection in Marcelo's eyes and, for long seconds, seemed to ponder something far beyond words. Finally, he sighed slowly, as if making an uncomfortable decision, and began rummaging in his bag of scrolls.
"Listen, I came chasing a story, but there are times when work can wait," he said, pulling out a soft leather roll. After undoing the tie, he handed it to the youth. "This is an updated map of the Kingdom of Velmoria. It contains some of my notes on important places that might be useful. It accompanied me during my novice days, but now I just kept it on a whim."
Then, he took out a book with a worn cover, tapped the leather twice, and added:
"Here are some notes on summoning, all written by me. I hope they serve you."
Marcelo received the map and the small book as if gathering treasure.
Simon continued: he pulled a small pouch from the bottom of the bag, from which emerged a mana crystal. Though tiny, its glow surpassed any Marcelo had obtained hunting with Lýdia.
"I got this from a Champion-rank monster on one of my journeys," the masked man explained. "For me, crystals of this class make no difference anymore; only Supreme or Transcendent level ones are useful. For you, however, it could mean a lot."
Lýdia peeked over Marcelo's shoulder, eyes sparkling with curiosity and desire. Simon smiled wryly:
"It's a gift for your lovely summon."
Awkwardly, Marcelo accepted it, stammering:
"I don't know how to thank you for such kindness…"
"The best thanks," Simon replied, "is to survive and become a great summoner. And if you ever reach the top of this world, remember me."
Marcelo beamed and thanked him again. Despite the hardships, he realized how luck followed him: he always found people willing to help.
Marcelo, intrigued, asked:
"You said only Supreme or Transcendent monster crystals still serve you. Forgive my indiscretion, but… what rank are you?"
Simon remembered the reason he was there; revealing too much would be foolish. Letting him live and even gifting him was already enough. He suppressed the urge to boast—after all, he was a Grandmaster; were it not for the emperors themselves, he'd be at the world's peak.
He spoke calmly:
"I'm at a very high rank; few could face me as equals."
Sensing Simon didn't wish to elaborate, Marcelo didn't press.
Studying the map, Marcelo noticed a curious detail: nine cities had distinctly feminine names and, curiously, were the largest; the others, smaller, seemed to bear common names. Intrigued, he turned to Simon:
"Why are these nine cities somehow special?" he asked.
Simon arched an eyebrow and smiled slightly.
"I see you don't know the kingdom's history yet," he observed, settling himself by the fire. "Well then, let me tell it to you."
"Six hundred years ago," Simon began, gazing into the fire, "the territory we now call the Kingdom of Velmoria was nothing but sparse plains and rival fiefdoms. Then came Velmoria d'Akrel, a Legendary-rank summoner, one of the most talented of all time, the one who single-handedly defeated a Divine-rank stellar dragon on one of her adventures."
"The region was desolate; those who lived here felt death's breath on their necks. A widow, Velmoria sought an isolated place to raise her daughter and chose these lands. When she decided to unify the domains under a single banner, there was no resistance—who would dare challenge such power?"
Marcelo frowned: he'd always heard the maximum rank was Emperor.
Noticing his doubt, Simon asked if something puzzled him. Marcelo then questioned what the Legendary rank was.
After a brief silence, Simon explained:
"The Legendary rank is above Emperor. It gets its name because all who reach it become eternal legends. You see: the more mana we possess, the higher our level, reflected in the number of mana cores. Today, the known maximum is five. In the past, it was said Legendaries had six cores, allowing them to summon Legendary-rank creatures—demigods or, perhaps, a god."
"And Velmoria's husband?" asked Marcelo. "I imagine he was also a famous figure."
Simon leaned back and let out a soft whistle, as if searching for the best way to answer.
"Actually, no," he said, intrigued by his own observation. "There are almost no records of him. I've scoured archives of this kingdom and neighboring nations; no text mentions his name. What we know is that Velmoria arrived here carrying her daughter in her arms and, in some chronicles, declares herself a widow."
He kept his gaze on the flame before continuing:
"They never revealed the father's name. Some less reliable manuscripts even insinuate he wasn't human; some whisper he was a monster, or, in more malicious versions, a demon."
Simon raised his hand, forestalling any hasty conclusions.
"But that makes no sense, and no one risks spreading such rumors publicly. The royal family would consider it an unforgivable affront. Anyway, it remains just tavern gossip."
Well... now let's continue the story...