Ancestral Lineage

"The world as we know it was founded by a family of six. What are their names?"Professor Felicia's voice rang clearly through the lecture hall as she adjusted her circular spectacles. Her black hair shimmered under the class's luminous orbs, swaying gently with her movements.

"Yes, Derick?" she called, pointing toward a pale-skinned boy whose blood-red eyes glimmered with excitement.

"Emperor Baurta!" Derick declared with vigor, already preparing to continue, before the professor swiftly turned to another student.

"Riele?" she said.

The elven girl with long golden hair and a serene expression answered with practiced grace, "Emperor Angrim."

One by one, the students followed suit:

"Emperor Lariciem!""Emperor Demurral!""Emperor Maddoc!""Empress Marcea!"

Each name was spoken with reverence. Worship.

Professor Felicia's smile softened as the final name was uttered."Indeed. Six siblings. The first wielders of the god-arts. It was they who faced the Demon Prince and prevailed—on their very first confrontation. From their triumphs, our empires were born. Gassendi thrives today because of them."

She closed her book with a satisfying snap.

"This concludes our history segment. Tomorrow, we begin practical duels. Prepare well. Good luck—and goodbye for now."

With that, she exited the room, her black hair flowing like ink in the air behind her.

"Big brother! Big brother! Can we have ramen today? Pleaase?"

A boy, about thirteen, bounced energetically beside a desk. His long, messy, dirty-blonde hair flopped with each jump, and his golden eyes sparkled beneath silver-rimmed glasses.

"You really love ramen that much, huh?" said a taller boy, seventeen, exaggerating his tone with a tired smile. His dark blue eyes betrayed a hint of quiet fondness—and resignation.

"G-guys... Are you heading to the cafeteria?" a stammering voice joined in. It came from a boy with green hair and eyes, small black horns curling slightly from his forehead. His skin was dark, and his name was Radar.

"Yeah, Radar. I can't seem to get Lith off my back," Vorden replied, chuckling as he ruffled his younger brother's hair and ran a hand through his own ash-grey locks.

"Okay! Hehe!" Radar grinned.

He was the next oldest, about 16 years old. He was a dwarf, well, of a kind no one knew of except the older generations. He was referred to as Black Horns. If only he knew that in some years to come, the whole academy of Alpa would come to fear his title.

"Hello, big brother Vorden!" called out another member of the group—a feline boy with snow-white hair, a white tiger's tail swaying lazily behind him. His purple eyes were bright, his aura confident.

"Hey, Kyle," Vorden greeted, rising from his desk with the same calm strength he always exuded.

The group filed out together, laughter trailing behind them like sunlight. Their bond, their confidence—it drew eyes and envy in equal measure.

No one quite knew why they were so close… or so strong.

In the shadowed corner of the classroom, a pair of icy blue eyes narrowed.

The chill was palpable, freezing even the air around her. It came from a striking elf girl with long, snowy white hair. She sat with perfect stillness, her beauty sharp and unapproachable.

Alma Targus.

The Rank 5 Wind Tyrant.First Year. Top tier. And she was not to be underestimated.

A tablet hovered in front of her, displaying Vorden and his companions in motion.

"The rumors are true," she murmured to herself."He's hiding his strength. Well. Better than I expected. He'll be the hardest to defeat."

Her eyes flicked over Lith and Kyle."Strong. But manageable. Perhaps a challenge. But not unbeatable."

Alma had earned her Wind Tyrant title under… unique circumstances. She was the only one in her year to claim it—and that made her dangerous.

Vorden, of course, was the Rank 5 Shadow Tyrant.His younger brother, Lith, despite his energy, held the title of Fire Tyrant.

The stage was set. The ranks were clear.

But what wasn't clear—what no one knew yet—was what would come when those ranks clashed.

The day moved on—entertaining for some, enlightening for others, and a few… utterly painful.

And speaking of pain, Radar was drenched in it, sweating waterfalls as he pushed through his brutal daily workout. Dressed in nothing but a pair of black shorts fastened with a single golden button, he looked almost ridiculous to any casual observer. But if anyone knew what that button truly was, they'd think twice before laughing.

It was no ordinary accessory.The button was an artifact—an advanced training weight crafted by none other than the Head Advisor of Alpa himself, a master blacksmith of terrifying renown. Infused with mass-manipulating runes and ancient forging techniques, the button was as heavy as three fully loaded barbells—its weight compressed into a deceptively small form.

For Radar, that meant wearing this soul-breaking burden every single day. Not just during workouts, but during meals, classes, meditation, even sleep. His master's instructions had been clear: "Make it part of your existence. Let it shape you. Literally."

Dwarves were naturally durable and powerfully built, but Radar's kind were far removed from the bearded, stocky folk of myths and fairytales. These dwarves could grow as tall as any elf or human, their strength and heritage far deeper than mere appearance. In truth, "dwarf" was more of a title—an echo of ancient power and a forgotten legacy.

And Radar?He wasn't just a dwarf.He was a King in waiting.

Of course, he didn't know that yet.

With a final, guttural grunt, Radar collapsed onto the ground, panting as though he'd just sprinted across continents. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath a battle won. Sweat streamed down his bronze skin like a downpour.

But then, something strange happened.

The earth beneath him responded.

Rather than clinging to his body or turning to mud, the ground seemed to part, shifting to accommodate him with reverent precision. Dust rolled away from his limbs, and even the pressure of the earth softened beneath him.

He was unconsciously controlling it.

The gift of his bloodline, buried deep in his soul, was awakening.

The strength of dwarves wasn't just physical. It was elemental. It was the very earth itself. And now, the young warrior was beginning to touch the fringes of that ancient resonance.

His body was becoming more defined with each passing day—muscles compact, lean, and forged under pressure far beyond normal. To his master, it was only a matter of time before the world saw Radar for what he truly was.

A king not by crown……but by right.

For now, though, the future King of the Earth lay on the ground, utterly spent—breathing hard, unaware that the world beneath him had already begun to bow.

...

A beautiful, dark kite-shaped symbol hovered silently above the head of a grey-haired boy. It pulsed with an eerie glow, casting deep, ethereal light across his bare torso. From his skin, thick smoke leaked—inky tendrils of shadow that coiled around him with fluid grace, swirling like a loyal companion welcoming his return.

It danced, spiraled, shimmered—and then, just as suddenly, receded into his pores like breath returning to a sleeping beast.

Vorden's eyes snapped open, burning with a dark gleam for a moment before dimming back to their usual deep blue.

"Huff... That was very tiring," he muttered, exhaling heavily as he turned toward the shower.

Crossing the hallway, he paused mid-step at the sight of a familiar scene—Lith and Kyle fast asleep on the floor, snack wrappers and half-eaten biscuits strewn around them. Their peaceful faces looked innocent, even childish, completely opposite to their monstrous potential.

Shaking his head with a faint smile, Vorden bent down and gently carried them, one after the other, to their respective rooms. He tucked them in without a word, his movements practiced, familiar. Their dormitory resembled more of a luxury apartment: a massive common room with couches and training mats, and four private bedrooms—his, Radar's, Lith's, and Kyle's.

Just as he turned to return to his room, he felt a presence behind him.

He didn't startle. He simply turned.

Radar stood there. Shirtless, sweat still clinging to his bronze skin, the golden button glinting faintly on his shorts. His breathing had steadied, but hesitation flickered in his eyes.

Vorden waited, giving him space to speak.

"I..." Radar started, pausing, gathering the courage. "Can you train with me? I mean... teach me?"

Vorden raised a brow slightly—then smiled.

"No problem," he said without hesitation. "When?"

Radar looked up, surprised by how fast Vorden agreed. "...Now?"

Vorden shrugged, grabbing a simple black shirt and slipping it on. His torso, honed through years of insane training, looked more sculpted than most students twice his age. There was no arrogance in his posture—only quiet control.

"Okay. Let's go."

Radar's gaze lingered on him for a second longer than intended.His own body—though improving—felt like a pale imitation beside Vorden's carved form.

If only he knew the kind of monsters Vorden and Lith called parents...The kind of training they endured...He might not just admire his master—he might worship him.

But there was no time for self-doubt.

Radar clenched his fists and followed.

Tonight, the Dwarf King would take one more step on his path—guided by shadows, training under stars.