The light faded slowly, not with a flash but with a draining hush—like sunlight bleeding out of water. Kael's knees were the first thing he felt, pressed against smooth, chill stone. The floor beneath him was unnaturally clean, its surface catching the edges of light like polished obsidian veined with shimmering gold. As his vision cleared, the world around him slid into view with overwhelming clarity.
They were in a hall. A vast, echoing cathedral of a space that dwarfed the concept of a room.
The walls soared upward into an arched ceiling lost to shadow, broken only by thick columns rising like the trunks of petrified titans. Each column was engraved with countless runes, meticulously carved and glowing faintly with blue magic that pulsed in a steady rhythm, like the heartbeat of the room itself. Along the walls, enormous stained-glass murals depicted scenes of war, heroism, and divine intervention—swords raised to the heavens, angels descending in fire, beasts torn apart by radiant light. Each panel glittered with colored shards that caught the flames of the wall-mounted braziers and scattered fractured color across the floor like liquid jewels.
Kael pushed himself to his feet with a soft grunt. The weight of his body has returned, along with the sharp pinch of disorientation curling behind his eyes. Around him, his classmates stirred—some still on their knees, others stumbling upright with wide eyes and pale faces. Their school uniforms looked foreign here, like misplaced artifacts in a sacred tomb.
Then Kael's eyes rose to the far end of the hall.
There, elevated atop a series of blank marble steps, was a double throne carved from obsidian. The chairs themselves were shaped not for comfort but for symbolism, with high, arching backs that reached like spears toward the ceiling. Around them coiled twin dragons sculpted from silver and garnet, frozen in eternal combat across the stone. The thrones shimmered faintly with enchantment, the edges of the stone breathing with threads of faint violet mist.
And seated upon those thrones were the rulers of this world.
The man in the left throne—clearly the king—was a figure sculpted by discipline and steel. His build was powerful, his frame square and broad beneath layers of formal battle regalia that blended deep midnight blue with hard-edged silver accents. His hair was short, streaked with gray at the temples, and his beard was trimmed with a sharp line along his jaw. His eyes, a piercing glacial blue, held an unrelenting weight. He didn't simply look at his guests—he measured them, like one might a map before war.
Beside him sat the queen, and her presence was colder than the king's intensity. Her features were flawless and smooth, almost too perfect—like the surface of frozen water moments before it breaks. Her skin had the porcelain softness of powdered snow, but her eyes were sharp, slanted, and the color of dying embers, smoldering with quiet intelligence. Her hair, impossibly long, cascaded over one shoulder in an elegant wave of moonlit silver, ornamented with fine chains of light crystal that caught the torchlight with every small movement.
Standing beside the thrones were two girls—princesses by the way they were positioned and dressed.
The older one held herself like a soldier, back straight and arms folded neatly behind her back. Her dark brown hair was tied into a severe braid that reached to the middle of her spine, and her eyes—gray and focused—rarely blinked. She wore half-armor fitted perfectly to her slim, athletic frame, layered over a high-collared royal tunic. Everything about her said trained tactician, someone raised not just to rule but to command.
The younger girl was smaller and stood with her hands clasped in front of her. She looked like she barely belonged in the room. Her dress was layered with soft fabric dyed a pale lavender, trimmed with delicate white lace and stitched with constellations in thread-of-silver. Her hair, loosely curled and the same starlight shade as her mother's, tumbled around her shoulders. Her expression was uncertain—almost anxious—as her eyes flicked nervously across the crow of students, never settling for more than a second.
Kael took it all in, and his stomach sank. This wasn't a joke. This wasn't a simulation. These were real people. They hadn't just been summoned—they've been delivered.
A man stepped forward from the foot of the thrones. He was tall and cloaked in a robe of deep crimson lined with runes that shifted and shimmered subtly with movement. His beard was long and white, parted like curtains, and his eyebrows were thick, curling up at the ends as though permanently shaped by wind. He walked with the grace of someone whose bones has forgotten frailty, each step tapping gently against the marble with the aid of a long white staff tipped with a crystalline gem that pulsed with color—blue, then green, then gold.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and warm, but carried an unmistakable echo, like two voices speaking from different ends of a vast chamber.
"Young heroes," he said, "On behalf of His Majesty, King Aldros of Elaria, and Her Queen Seraphine, we welcome you. By sacred rite and ancient spell, you have crossed the veil from your world into ours, chosen by divine providence to stand against the darkness."
The king stood slowly, every movement deliberate. When he spoke, it was not with the theatrical thunder of fiction—it was with cold clarity and a tongue sharpened by diplomacy.
"Your arrival," he said, "is a blessing our world has waited centuries for. You are the long-prophesied Heroes of Salvation. You come bearing the gifts of the Goddess. The means by which the Demon King shall be overthrown. And peace restored."
Kael's lips barely moved as he whispered to himself, "You better hope I don't find a way back to her."
The elder continued, lifting his staff high.
"Please, speak the word 'status.' It will revel your Blessing, your Class, and the sacred gifts given to you by the Divine."
The students began to murmur, unsure.
One of the boys near the front—tall, broad-shouldered, with sleek black hair and the natural confidence of someone used to admiration—spoke first.
"Status."
A shimmering panel appeared in front of him, glowing gold and translucent. Line of elegant script scrolled across it in a language the students had never seen before, but somehow, they could all read it.
Name: Tatsuya Minoru
Class: Hero
Blessing: Sword God's Favor
Skills: [Divine Slash I], [Heroic Aura I], [Unshakable Will I]
Whispers erupted from the students. Tatsuya looked stunned, then proud, his lips curling into a slow, satisfied smile.
One by one, others followed
"Mika Aihara"
Class: Saintess
Blessing: Divine Healing Grace
Skills: [Mass Heal I], [Holy Protection I]
"Reika Kisaragi"
Class: Archmage / Divine Mage
Blessing: Magic God's Insight
Skills: [Flame Tempest I], [Mana Sculpt I], [Divine Channeling I]
"Daigo Shiranui"
Class: Divine Warlord
Blessing: War God's Roar
Skills: [Crushing Strike I], [Battlecry I], [Iron Body I]
Each name came with a growing reaction from the crowd. Excitement. Awe. Some cheered. Others clapped each other on the back. The air filled with hope, nerves, and the trembled of purpose.
Kael waited.
He knew what was coming.
When it was finally his turn, the elder looked down at him.
"And you, young one?"
Kael's expression didn't shift. His voice was calm.
"Status."
The panel formed.
But it looked different.
Dim. Dull. The color of ash instead of gold.
Name: Kael Ishiro
Class: —
Blessing: None
Skills: None
The elder stared at the panel for several long seconds, the light reflecting in his eyes. Slowly, he lowered his staff. His face didn't contort in anger, or pity—just worry.
The King leaned down as the elder approached, whispering something inaudible into his ear.
The King's brow tightened. Then, after a moment, he stood and raised a hand.
"Four among you," he said, pointing to Tatsuya, Reika, Mika, and Daigo, "have been marked by the divine. You will be known as the Heroic Party—the saviors of this world. The rest of you shall train, support, and fight alongside them in the coming war."
He didn't even look at Kael.
"Rest well. Tomorrow, your training begins."
Kael stood in silence as the crowd moved, the students escorted out into the twilight beyond the castle's high windows. He didn't speak as they passed through a towering archway into a smaller, second castle—dormitory-like, though still regal.
He didn't respond when the teacher tried to comfort the class, nor when the otaku boys gushed about their dream coming true.
He walked alone to his room. A modest space. Soft bed. Stone walls. Wooden desk. One window looking out into a moonlit courtyard.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands.
The silence pressed in.
The—
A laugh.
Smooth. Slithering. Mocking and amused.
"Well, well," a voice whispered, "what a fascinating little insect the goddess tried to crush."
Kael stood up slowly.
"Who are you?" he said aloud, eyes narrowing, scanning the corners of the room.
"Oh, don't bother looking. I'm not here, boy. Not in any way you'd understand."
He paused. Then said, "You're not on this plane of existence physically."
A chuckle.
"Aren't you a smart one. Yes. And I've come with a deal."
Kael's jaw tensed. "What kind of deal?"
"The kind that gives you what she denied. Power. Leverage. A system that doesn't care about gods or blessings. One thing, though—"
"What is it?"
The voice smiled through silence.
"All I want... is for you to punch her. Just once."
Kael stared forward, unblinking.
"I would've done that for free."
"Then we have a contract."
A chime echoed in his mind, and a translucent panel appeared before him.
Welcome, Kael Ishiro.
You have unlocked the Bondforged System.
Passive activated: Resonant Leech — All classmate's growth increased by 5x. Shared potential: 0.00%
Kael started at the panel. Slowly, a grin crawled across his face.
"Well," he murmured. "Looks like I just got an advantage."