Early morning. I stood before the wooden cabin, gazing at the gray, overcast sky, and sighed grumpily. Why did I have to be reincarnated into this strange world? And why was I being hunted by the continent’s most powerful organization?!
Gazing at the distant horizon, deep melancholy filled my heart.
It was almost seven. Dawn had broken, and the all-night rain finally stopped. In the east, a pale glow of dawn appeared, faintly revealing the white light of the rising sun.
Eunice beside me completely ignored me. Even noticing my gloom, she turned a blind eye. She simply took a letter from the old lady and examined the signature carefully.
"To my dear granddaughter Ada—Your aged grandmother, Zela Rupert."
This was a family letter the old lady entrusted us to deliver.
Eunice said, "I’ll personally give this to your granddaughter. Thank you for your help."
"Child, I should thank you," the old lady replied with a kind smile. "It’s been over a year since Ada last visited. She called this place too quiet and dull—nowhere near as lively as the city. If you find her, she might help you. Though she dislikes magic, she’s a gifted potion Alchemist. She should know ways to heal the injured."
Eunice nodded and tucked the letter into her coat pocket. She already knew where all the pockets were.
The old lady’s granddaughter lived in Bluewater City, east of the Severed Mountains. She hadn’t planned to send a letter. But seeing our helplessness with Rosalynd’s injuries, she remembered her granddaughter’s skills. She wrote this note, hoping Ada could wake Rosalynd.
I marveled at our luck—meeting such a kind old lady. Though not a healing Mage herself, her granddaughter studied magical potions. She could likely help us.
I now realized that room filled with workbenches and glassware was for potion research.
Time pressed on. After thanking the old lady for sheltering us and chatting briefly, we set off out of the Severed Forest.
My clothes were slightly damp from the rain. As we left, the old lady suddenly reached out her hand. I flinched, thinking she’d cast that corpse-burning flame spell. Instead, she used a second-tier drying spell, instantly drying my clothes.
Magic was truly convenient, I thought sincerely.
Even walking with Eunice through the forest, I couldn’t shake that magical sensation. Drying moisture in an instant—what if used on humans? Drying out a person’s water… I shuddered involuntarily. Could anyone live if their moisture was extracted?
Mages were hated and hunted for good reason. Such mysterious power naturally frightened ordinary folk. The Holy Church exploited their ignorance and fear, twisting "Mage" into a symbol of evil.
For me, the white stone was the greatest gain. It opened a new door—magic.
Evil wasn’t magic itself, but those who wielded it.
The Church knew this truth well. That’s why they branded Mages heretics. Divine power couldn’t be stolen freely. If everyone mastered magic, what use were gods?
If Mages thrived, the Holy Church—built on lies—would crumble. Even grand cathedrals would fall in truth’s flames. Fear of this accessible power made the Church so hostile.
But I must master magic. It’s my key to surviving this world. With great power, no danger matters—I believed that.
From Eunice, I learned this world brimmed with malice toward Mages. Unlike my dreams of high-status wizards, they were rare. Hiding under the Church’s shadow, they lived in darkness, terrified to reveal their magic. Exposure meant betrayal and the cold blades of Church Knights.
Every year, "witches" or "wizards" burned at public stakes. Crowds gathered to watch "demon" executions, treating them as gossip. Humans everywhere loved spectacles—even killings.
Ignorant onlookers threw stones, trash, or eggs at the pyre. They blamed all misfortunes on the bound victim. Priests chanted hymns nearby. The Church claimed Nightfallers couldn’t enter heaven—only hell awaited. Divine flames alone could purify their sinful bodies and free twisted souls.
"Nightfaller" was the Church’s term for Mages. They preached that devils lured wizards into darkness, stealing divine power, wielding evil, and cursing the innocent. Their sins demanded purification.
Of course, "Mage," "wizard," and "Nightfaller" became tools for the powerful. To crush rivals or the powerless, officials slapped on labels like "colluding with Nightfallers." Then came raids. Even a sheep at home, smeared with coal, could be called a Cerberus—it was more twisted than magic itself.
For magic, this was a sorrowful age. Truth hid beneath divine radiance. Hypocrisy’s temples towered. Divine authority ruled all—even kings bowed to the Pope.
Only one exception existed: a land beyond the Church’s grasp.
The Avaria Empire. The world’s only nation where divine power hadn’t stolen royal rule. The only place nobles didn’t bow to bishops. Though churches stood there, most were empty shells. Fewer than ten percent of Avarians worshipped the One God. Nightfallers were captured not by Church Knights, but imperial guards. Avaria’s people trusted their army and glorious Knights more than any benevolent god.
This nation’s very existence was a miracle.
