Chapter 1

The Death of the World’s Greatest Magician, Pedro

On the day Pedro, the world’s most powerful magician, passed away, magic-wielders from every corner of the magical continent gathered. Some arrived with staffs in hand, others mounted on magical beasts, traveling from distant lands. Their dark robes merged into a vast, undulating sea, blending seamlessly with the sky still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness. 

Never before had this place seen so many magicians—or even so many people. 

Located at the far eastern edge of the continent, where snow-covered mountains meet the deep-blue sea, lies a sparsely populated region known as Bralet. Its name means “a seaside village with a lighthouse.” 

To the villagers, Pedro’s towering mage tower had always been nothing more than a lighthouse. Unaware that it was the legendary, mystical Mage’s Tower, they assumed the lone figure inside was merely the lighthouse keeper. Year after year, they lived their lives, taking the tower’s light for granted—until today. 

At the moment Pedro lay on the brink of death, the outside world stirred with activity. Strangers appeared along Bralet single path to the outside, rising from the air, emerging from the waters. With their strange staffs, bizarre beasts, and unfamiliar robes, they were clearly not ordinary travelers. They were magicians. 

They arrived in the twilight hours, gathering beneath Pedro’s mage tower, waiting in silence like statues. 

The only witness to this peculiar scene was a drunken villager who stumbled upon them by accident. After relieving himself, he pulled up his pants, stumbled back home, and dismissed the sight as a dream. As he drifted to sleep, a hazy thought crossed his mind—what were those strange people doing? Were they looking at the lighthouse? 

The villagers had no idea what was happening inside the “lighthouse,” nor that the “keeper” within was breathing his last. Just yesterday, before nightfall, the last fisherman returning to the village had seen Pedro. Though Pedro responded to his greeting with his usual curt nod, he had nodded, hadn’t he? There was no sign he would die the next day. 

But what the villagers couldn’t see, the magicians knew all too well. 

A year ago, a prophet foretold Pedro’s impending death. Over time, more seers confirmed the prophecy until it became undeniable. In Pedro’s final moments, his magic could no longer obscure the stars, and the astrologers guarding the constellations pinpointed his exact location. Within moments, magicians flocked to his tower, not to mourn but to claim his magic book. 

It wasn’t just a book—it was his magic journal. 

Most magicians record their insights, incomplete spells, and discoveries in notebooks. While the owner lives, these are called “magic notes.” Upon their death, they become “magic books.” A book’s value depends on the strength of the magician who wrote it. For a lesser magician’s notes, few would fight. But Pedro, hailed as the most powerful, longest-living magician, who had traveled more countries than any other, left behind a book that promised immense knowledge—and inevitable conflict over who would inherit it. 

And so, at the very moment Pedro breathed his last, a throng of magicians surrounded his tower. 

“He’s dead,” said one magician, who sat astride a massive red dragon. His beard and hair were white, and a large blue gemstone adorned a ring on his thick finger. Notably, he carried no staff—proof of his immense power, as only those who could cast magic without a medium abandoned staffs. 

“We can go inside now,” said a gray-robed magician beside him, riding a black wyvern. But the moment the words left his mouth, his expression darkened. 

“We can’t get in? The conditions aren’t met? Pedro set requirements for the heir?”

The moment those words were spoken, a young magician riding the wyvern vanished without a trace, along with several others in the crowd. Though their numbers weren’t great, the group noticeably thinned. 

“All of the ones who disappeared are young,” observed another elderly magician astride a mighty bird-like mount. “It seems Pedro intended for a new generation of magicians to inherit his legacy.” 

This was no surprise. Magicians of Pedro’s caliber could, even after death, impose enchantments upon their towers, setting conditions for selecting their heirs. 

Some magicians prefer their research to die with them and attempt to destroy their notes before passing. However, while that might be possible for ordinary magicians, for someone like Pedro, it was nearly impossible. Over time, his magic notebook had absorbed so much power that it had transformed into a magical artifact, more durable than its creator. Even Pedro couldn’t easily destroy it. Moreover, most magicians, regardless of their reclusive tendencies, wish to pass on their knowledge. Even necromancers—among the most solitary practitioners—see it as an honor to share their wisdom in this way, ensuring it lives on beyond them. 

Pedro was no different. His mage tower had not been sealed but neither was it open to all. 

Inside the tower, the young magicians who had arrived by various means looked around at one another. They quickly noticed a shared trait—they were all under 25 years old. 

This, it seemed, was Pedro’s only requirement for his successor. 

Beyond that, the group was diverse. Some wore black robes, others white, gray, or brown—there was no dominant color. Even necromancers, despised by most of the magic world, were represented by two individuals. 

It seemed the legendary magician Pedro truly lived up to his reputation—neither purely good nor evil, and inclusive to all. The young magicians shared a single thought: He really did teach without discrimination.

With this realization, most raised their staffs—except for two, who carried none. These two immediately stood out, marking them as the most powerful competitors among the group. 

After sizing up their rivals, they turned their attention to the tower’s interior. 

Though the exterior appeared dilapidated and no taller than three and a half stories, the inside was entirely different. The space was vast, far exceeding the exterior’s dimensions. At the tower’s base was a wide floor with an elevated circular platform at its center. Each magician saw a set of steps appear directly before them, spiraling upward like a grand chalice. At the very top, a book hovered in midair, faintly glowing. 

It was Pedro’s Magic Book! 

The magicians’ hearts raced as they recognized the prize they had come for. Without hesitation, they sprang into action, each racing toward the top of the platform. 

Speed alone would not be enough—they had to slow their opponents down. 

But these were no ordinary magicians. The young competitors were either the elite of prestigious magical families and academies or exceptionally gifted individuals who had made it here through their own efforts. None would give in easily. 

As they ascended, spells of every kind lit the air. The young magicians unleashed everything they had, battling furiously while climbing as fast as they could. 

In every competition, there are winners and losers. One by one, some were struck by spells and fell back down the stairs. But these were no ordinary competitors. In the end, nine magicians managed to reach the top. 

No—there were ten. 

Before the stunned nine could catch their breath, the tenth person entered from a side door, holding a key in his hand. 

A key?! 

The nine magicians stared in disbelief. 

As it turned out, each mage tower was unique, shaped by its owner’s preferences. Though Pedro’s tower initially appeared no different from many others—tall and austere—what awaited them at the top was far from ordinary. The steps they had just climbed transformed into a narrow, dark corridor, leading to a plain room. 

The room was simple and well-maintained, with aged wooden floors, shelves crammed with books, and a large, heavy desk. On the desk, steam rose from a cup of hot tea. Behind it, a figure lay slumped over, as if he had fallen asleep while drinking. 

The old man wore neither robes nor any garment resembling the magicians’ attire. Instead, he was dressed in a plain shirt and trousers, with a handwoven blanket draped over his legs. His glasses rested on the desk, and a single drop of brown liquid clung to his beard. 

He looked as if he had dozed off while enjoying his tea. 

All at once, the magicians realized: This was Pedro, the legendary magician himself! 

And beneath his hand, glowing faintly, was the object of their desire—Pedro’s Magic Book.

A shiver ran through the group as they stared at the book, then at the young man who had just entered the room from the side door. 

How he arrived didn’t matter. The fact that he was here meant he was a competitor, just like them. 

Unlike the other nine, who were injured and wore torn robes from the climb, the tenth young man looked entirely unscathed. He wore a cloak, not a magician’s robe, but the kind used by wanderers. Though patched in places, the cloak was clean and well-kept. A travel bag rested on his back, and his face bore the weathered look of someone who had journeyed far. 

The nine magicians locked eyes with the newcomer, knowing without a doubt—he was their rival.

The man was tall and slender, with pale skin, narrow eyes, and thin lips. His long, ebony-black hair was simply tied and hung over his right shoulder. 

He didn’t look like a magician—more like an ordinary human from the mundane world. 

Immediately, a young red-haired magician named Speran turned his staff toward him. The other eight magicians followed suit. 

The reason was simple: the newcomer was now the closest person to Pedro’s Magic Book. 

The man stood right beside Pedro, within arm’s reach of the legendary book. 

And, in fact, he was preparing to take it. 

After casting a deep glance at Pedro’s seemingly sleeping form, his gaze shifted to the glowing book floating in midair. Reaching out, his pale, slender fingers grasped the ancient tome. 

“Stop!” 

All nine magicians shouted at once, and a flurry of spells shot toward the newcomer. But just as the magical barrage was about to overwhelm him, the man calmly closed his fingers around the book and picked it up. 

His expression hardened, his lips pressing into a grim line. With one hand clutching the magic book, he used the other to pull off his cloak and drape it over Pedro’s body. 

The nine magicians stared in disbelief. He wasn’t even going to cast a spell—was he planning to withstand their magic head-on?! 

Indeed, that seemed to be the plan. However— 

As the countless rays of magic reached him, the young man realized something astonishing: there was no pain. It was as if the magic had been absorbed upon impact, vanishing entirely. 

The nine magicians froze in shock. 

The pale young man also stood motionless, stunned by the outcome. 

Then he saw the cause. 

At the exact moment their attacks had reached him, another hand had emerged—from the black, glowing book in his grasp. 

It was just a hand, protruding from an abyss of darkness. The black light seemed bottomless, like a miniature black hole, enveloping the pale wrist that reached out from within. 

All the spells the magicians had cast had been absorbed by this black light. 

The nine magicians immediately realized what was happening: another rival had entered the fray. 

They raised their staffs and unleashed even more spells. 

However, the pale young man only gripped the book more tightly. 

He had no intention of letting go. 

On the other side of the black hole, the mysterious hand also refused to release its grip. The force pulling from within was immense, an irresistible suction that began to draw the young man into the darkness. 

Yet, even as his body was pulled inside, he did not loosen his hold on the book. 

Before their eyes, his arm disappeared into the black void, followed by his torso, and then his worn leather shoes. The very moment the tips of his shoes vanished, the barrage of magic struck—but it was too late. 

The book that had floated in midair was gone, as if it had never existed. All that remained was Pedro’s lifeless body, still draped in the cloak. 

Then, as if affected by a time-reversing curse, the corpse began to decay. Pedro’s hand, resting on the desk, darkened and shriveled, becoming brittle and crumbling into dust. A gust of wind blew in through the now-open tower, scattering his remains into the air as the cloak fluttered aside. 

And so, the battle for Pedro’s Magic Book came to an end. 

No one knew who had taken the book, and its whereabouts became an unsolved mystery.