Sixteen years ago, a new era dawned, turning the world upside down.

The divine miracle known as the Transworld Gate connected 666 fragmented human realms.

This included the baseline world—Earth, the world of supernatural powers—Lingxing, the world of magic—Marae, the world of cultivation—Xuan Yuan Continent, the world of steel—Masialo, the savage world—Mu... and countless others. Each unique realm gradually coalesced through the Transworld Gate.

Moreover, the Gate opened a passage to the higher realm—the Demon World. At the Demon World’s edge, the Border Battlefield—a convergence of upper and lower worlds—factions from every realm fiercely competed for resources and wealth no one could refuse.

Marae, this world of magic, was naturally among them.

Even among all fragmented human realms, Marae ranked near the top. In this magic-dominated world, the hierarchy of "realms" was simple: Magician, Sorcerer, and Great Sorcerer. Magicians were further divided into Junior, Intermediate, and Senior levels—human-defined ranks. "Great Magician" was a subset of Senior Magicians, referring to those whose power vastly exceeded ordinary Seniors yet fell short of Sorcerer status. It was, in a sense, a mark of humiliation.

Great Sorcerer was the highest rank. Among them, the exceptional few were honored as Sages. The Great Sage, elected by fellow Sages, stood as their leader—the true pinnacle of magicians.

Mystic Warriors followed a similar hierarchy: Junior to Senior Mystic Warriors mirrored Junior to Senior Magicians. Ultimate Warriors matched Great Magicians. Battle Spirits equaled Sorcerers. Great Battle Spirits matched Great Sorcerers. War Emperors stood alongside Sages. The apex of Mystic Warriors—the Grand War Emperor—paralleled the Great Sage.

The Great Sage and the Grand War Emperor: two titans standing atop Marae, balancing each other as tradition dictated.

But exceptions always existed.

For convenience on the Border Battlefield, the strongest warriors from each realm were called "Supremes."

Marae’s mightiest could easily crush hundreds of Supremes from other realms.

...In other words, while over five hundred realms’ Supremes couldn’t match the Great Sage or Grand War Emperor, dozens could rival them. Roughly a dozen Supremes surpassed them. And a handful of monstrous beings could crush them like ants.

When the Transworld Gate first opened, Marae’s Grand War Emperor—"Void Whale Knight" Oshu Sistelynch—fell in battle against other Supremes. His prized mount, the divine beast "Void Whale," was dismembered and devoured by several savage-world Supremes who watched nearby.

Such a death was utterly unworthy of a "Grand War Emperor." It was nothing short of a farcical tragedy.

Since then, Marae had only one Supreme left: the Great Sage—"Rainbow Witch" Dai Aitongville Balzac. For over a decade, she’d spared no effort to fill the void left by Oshu’s death while fighting for Marae’s interests on the Border Battlefield. Even she was growing weary.

Countless troubles still plagued the world.

Beyond the Border Battlefield, internal strife multiplied like weeds.

For instance, a Plague had tormented Marae for three years.

Most of Preyn and Afreista, eastern Barbra, and several large archipelagos of Osleva—all lay under the Plague’s shadow.

——————————————————

On Preyn—one of Marae’s two central continents—a convoy of white-robed figures slowly passed through a small coastal town.

The sea breeze carried a faint fishy tang. Bright sunlight filtered through leaves, casting emerald shadows. Houses built from shell-mixed mud resembled merfolk dwellings from fairy tales.

The scenery was breathtaking.

Yet it couldn’t mask the town’s deathly stillness.

Plague-stricken people clung to life here, day after day.

On doorsteps, cloaked figures huddled in twos and threes. Their voices were hoarse whispers, broken by sharp coughs. Beneath their hoods, purplish-black blotches marred faces and arms. Their skin held a lifeless, leaden gray.

Occasional passersby hurried down streets, coats pulled tight, handkerchiefs pressed to bloody coughs.

An old man, his face nearly swallowed by blotches, opened a window. Morning light didn’t lift his spirits. Staring at his reflection in the glass, he sighed deeply.

A town ravaged by Plague. People suffering under its weight.

Quarantined to contain the outbreak, they couldn’t leave.

So when this foreign convoy passed through, every eye locked onto it.

"This—this is—"

"Could it be—"

The convoy was small but impeccably equipped. Each knight rode a snow-white stallion, clad in gleaming silver light armor. The carriage between them was ivory-white—unadorned yet radiating solemn dignity.

"Divine... Divine envoys?"

"It’s true!"

"Holy clerics!"

"Praise Smira, Goddess of Magic! Praise Rien, God of Life!"

"The gods haven’t abandoned us!"

"Please! I beg you!"

"My child caught the Plague too... please... just heal him..."

"Stop! Please stop!"

Facing the surging crowd, the lead female knight’s face flickered with pity. But she quickly hardened her expression.

"Quiet! Step back—"

"PLEASE!!!!"

"Save my husband and child!"

"My father! He’s barely breathing!"

"BEG YOU! BEG YOU!!!!!!"

Seeing no halt, the townsfolk grew desperate. They surrounded the convoy, kneeling and kowtowing recklessly. The knight pinched the bridge of her nose, helpless.

*(I know. I know! As servants of the divine, we can’t ignore this! But...)*

Though the Plague’s spread had slowed recently, the situation remained grim. Countless towns like this existed. Stopping to heal each one...

*(Curing the disease isn’t enough. Proper rituals are needed to shield them long-term. But that takes time. One city after another... it’d never end...)*

Just then—

"Enough! Halt the convoy!"

At the clear, youthful voice, every knight instinctively stopped. Then came muffled arguing from the carriage.

"Holy Maiden, please don’t—"

"But these people—"

"We’re en route to Yazel’s capital! Its outbreak takes priority. We can’t keep stopping for every village! Consider the bigger picture!"

"But... but..."

The arguing faded into silence. Then the carriage door burst open.

A girl in white robes appeared.

A girl who perfectly embodied the title "Holy Maiden."

Her near-white, light brown hair shimmered like a golden cascade in the sunlight.

Eyes of the same hue held the polished gleam of flawless gems, radiating untainted light.

Flawless porcelain skin framed perfectly proportioned features—both elegant and endearing.

Though her robe was loose, it hinted at a slender, graceful figure.

Her mere presence made the sick forget their pain. They stared, spellbound by this angelic vision.

"The Holy Maiden..."

A murmur spread. Disbelieving, the townsfolk had only heard legends of her. Now, seeing her so close, their frantic pushing ceased. No one dared move.

"Your... Highness... please..."

An old man, wrinkles deep as cracks, shuffled forward first. The Plague had hollowed him into a walking skeleton. His mind clouded, he moved on pure instinct toward salvation. Trembling, he reached a blotched, filthy hand toward the girl—

"Wait—"

A knight stepped in, sword drawn. But the girl moved faster—

—and without hesitation, clasped his grimy hand with her own soft, jade-like one.

"Bad... very bad. A few more days and it’d be too late... but it’s alright. It’s alright. I’m here..."

Her gentle voice soothed him. Golden light glowed from her palm. The blotches vanished instantly. Wrinkles softened. He looked twenty years younger.

The crowd gasped.

No chants. No intricate spells. No potions. No complex rituals. Just touch—and the disease erased.

It was divine.

Few mages alive could do this. Only one was an underage girl—

"Holy Maiden... it really is the Holy Maiden!"

Cheers erupted. Merely seeing the legendary Holy Maiden revitalized their spirits. This dying town breathed anew.

Amidst the joy, a middle-aged man leaned from the carriage. Frowning, he whispered near the girl’s ear: "I’ve warned you repeatedly, Holy Maiden. Consider the bigger picture."

"But if I can’t save those right before me... what meaning does ‘Holy Maiden’ hold?"

She flinched slightly but met his gaze bravely.

"...Fine. Since it’s done. Another day lost, it seems."

The man—High Priest Shandoba Muller—snorted softly and fell silent.

The lead knight—Deputy Grand Holy Knight Yaldor Gran—narrowed her eyes at Shandoba. Then her gaze shifted to the girl, surrounded by weeping townsfolk.

"Holy Maiden..."