Humanity came close to decimation by devils. But just one man...inspired others to break through their limits, and come together to fight! As Magic Knights, they saved humankind.
Thereafter they called him the Anti-Magic King. He became a legend--along with his friends, rivals, and allies.
It has been one hundred and fifty years since that day.
A line of drums began to roll, and triumphant horns blared. Throngs of people lined the road beneath the enormous coliseum of Kikka to cheer their friends and loved ones. The wide, colorful banner over the coliseum's gate proclaimed the Magic Knight Selection Exam, an opportunity that came but once a year.
The Clover Kingdom was a mountainous country, and Kikka was quite large for a city in the Common Realm. Layers of housing and other buildings followed the sloping landscape, and at the heights of each cresting hill was an enormous wall of stone. But above all of them, in the far, blue-tinged distance, stood the Royal Capital as if judging the next generation of its protectors. A warm sun and a clear blue sky watched from above as the wind stilled in anticipation.
Vendors in colorful tents dotted the cobbled streets, eager to sell their wares to observers and participants alike. Some among the crowd could already feel the tingle of Mana in the air, as so many hopeful mages gathered.
A big, rough looking boy with a shocking head of orange hair and a thickly freckled face
barged through the crowd with little care for whom he might bump into."Miracle Potion! Come try my Miracle Potion!" called one of many peddlers to everyone who passed,
a rotund man in colorful striped garb. "It'll increase your Mana for two whole hours! Your spells will be twice as strong!" Many of the would-be-knights, especially those of noble birth, passed the man with their noses upturned...but others slowed their walk, clearly tempted by his offer.
There were many other distractions along the coliseum road. The smells of fresh treats drifted through the air like curling, beckoning fingers.
A young blonde man, with a numbered badge on his chest to mark him as an applicant,
wobbled from cart to cart as he precariously balanced several varieties of snack foods.Several small tents outside the coliseum's gate had long lines for this year's applicants. Official looking men and women with clipboards would take the name, age, hometown, and other relevant information of each applicant before assigning them a numbered badge. There were easily a few hundred people here.
One poor girl, wringing her hands as she looked around with tired, deep-set eyes, kept getting cut in line.
Every time she would simply try to go to the next shortest queue, and yet due to a lack of assertiveness the same thing happened again...
From across the Clover Kingdom they had all come; for this day, they had prepared their resolve. Some walked with heads held high. Others muttered to the stones at their feet, shoulders bent under the weight of unknown burdens. Many an eye glinted with the foolhardy confidence of youth, or the stony glare of steadfast determination. Many boots bore mud and scuffs from long days of travel throughout the divided realms of the kingdom. Those of noble blood, however, displayed their status with immaculate fashion and fresh, clean faces. But every young man and woman, tomes in hand, strode towards the gaping portcullis as if prepared to walk into the maw of a dragon.
Today, some would become Magic Knights, and others would fail. All would start from the same place--but how far each could go would be decided by their results.
Kikka - Coliseum Road
The red-headed young man stood with a canvas sack over his shoulder, looking up into the hills. The circular, megalithic defenses gave the city a terraced appearance, like some of the fields he had seen in the smaller villages of the Forsaken Realm. Yet the castle beyond must still dwarf them, he thought.
Just how enormous was it, the Clover Castle, if it could still be seen towering like this from so far away? The whole time he had traveled, the youth had never seen it go completely out of sight. Like the north star in the night sky, as long as one kept the capital in sight they could almost certainly find their way anywhere in the kingdom.
"Tristan Goffe! You're number 176!" called the official. Tristan adjusted his bag as he took the small wooden badge he was offered, and pinned it to the shoulder of his cloak. As Tristan left his place in line and proceeded towards the updrawn portcullis, he gulped and placed one hand on the leather book-holster at his side.
His grimoire let off an ever so light glow, like the yellow embers of a forge peeking through an iron grate. Reassured by its presence, he tried to control his breathing.
"Hmph. More
Commoners this year than ever." sneered a voice to Tristan's left. He glanced over, and saw a
trio of boys around his age wearing much better clothing and looking quite smug. Oddly enough, the one who'd made the comment had black hair coifed into a brilliantly gel-slicked and shiny
pompadour. Tristan wondered if it was one of those fashion things where rich people intentionally imitated the lower classes out of "humility" or something. "It's a shame what's been happening these last few generations--even the Golden Dawn takes them in now! They'll let
anyone call themselves a Magic Knight!"
The red head let the comment slide off his back and kept walking, but the three nobles kept pace with him. They were all going to the same place, after all. The one with the pompadour stepped closer to him.
"Where are
you even from? One of those orphans the church wastes so much of our tithes on, hm?" Tristan didn't answer. "Hey! The fellow with the red hair, I'm speaking to you!"
"...I'm from Cheka. My family owns the forge there." Tristan gave the noble a side-glance as he deadpanned his answer.
"Hmph! Never heard of it, of course!" Pompadour chuckled as he looked over his shoulder at his two cronies. "But, you know what? I can respect a craftsman, to some degree!" He suddenly threw an arm around Tristan's shoulder, and the commoner boy immediately fixed him with a cold look. "How about this?" Digging into a pocket of his petticoat, the boy produced a jingling bag of coin. "I'll give you...let's say, 5,000 Yule, to go back home today, huh? You can buy yourself...I don't know, a nice hammer or something!" Tristan started to duck out from under the other youth's arm, but the noble stepped to the same side and tightened his grip. Again, he shook the bag of coin. "C'mon, it's easy money! Isn't that supposed to be what your kind's all about...?"
Tristan's lip curled under the collar of his cloak. For one thing, a proper smith's hammer could cost several times that amount, and it was an insult to his craft. For another, if it weren't for this kid being a noble, he would've been much more forceful about removing his arm...