Why is Background Character the Strongest Now?

Chapter 18

Somewhere deep in sleep…

The wind was cold.

It brushed against his cheeks as he climbed the rocky side of a hill. Boots slipping on moss, gravel crunching beneath his feet, Marcus Ardent—eight years old—pushed himself upward, defiant and full of pride.

The sky above was a vivid, brilliant blue. Clouds floated lazily, and the scent of pine mixed with the thrill of quiet adventure. He had wandered away from his parents during a family trip. The nobles were too busy discussing politics, alliances, and land disputes. He had wanted something more.

He had found it.

From the top of the hill, the world opened before him—forests bathed in gold, rivers that shimmered like glowing veins, and distant mountain spires that touched the clouds.

But he made a mistake.

One misplaced step sent his foot slipping off a loose stone. His body tumbled down the slope like a ragdoll. Dust flew. Branches scratched.

Pain exploded in his leg.

Snap.

He cried out, tears falling freely. He was only a child, after all. He had broken his leg.

Strangers walked by. They glanced, whispered, but didn't stop.

"Whose kid is that?"

"Where are his parents?"

No one helped.

Until she appeared.

A young woman in her mid-twenties with long silver-white hair and storm-gray eyes. She wasn't dressed like a noble—her cloak was travel-worn, her boots caked with dirt—but her presence calmed the world around her.

And beside her stood a boy.

Same age as Marcus, maybe younger. Tousled white-silver hair, deep brown eyes, sun-kissed skin, and the calmest smile Marcus had ever seen.

The boy stepped forward and handed him a candy.

"Don't cry," he said softly. "It's not that bad of a fall. You'll be okay."

The woman checked his leg, said nothing harsh—only kind, quiet words—then lifted him onto her back and carried him down the trail. His guards found them halfway. His mother came running, weeping harder than he was.

The woman's name was Emma Celestrian.

His mother tried to offer her gold.

She refused.

Later, Marcus wondered: Celestrian? Could she be related to the Sword Emperor?

But the thought faded. Everyone knew the Sword Emperor had no family. He was a lone legend who rose from nothing.

And yet…

What stayed in Marcus's heart wasn't the woman.

It was the boy.

Ezra.

⸻

At first, Marcus had tried to treat Ezra like a little brother. The kind of cute, humble kid nobles could flaunt.

That illusion shattered the day they first sparred with wooden swords.

Ezra beat him. Effortlessly.

Again and again.

Even when Marcus trained harder, learned better techniques, and improved physically—Ezra stayed ahead. His sword moved with clarity, precision. Even when he spoke, he did so with calm, polite confidence.

It stung.

But Marcus never hated him for it.

Even when his own mother smiled at Ezra more than him… even when he lost… Ezra always bowed after the match with grace.

Marcus kept visiting him.

Even when his father disapproved. Even when his status warned him not to mix with "commoners."

Because Ezra wasn't just strong.

He was better.

Then came the core awakening.

Marcus awakened an S-Rank Core—an event that sent ripples across the nation. News hailed him as the "Hope of Humanity." No one in centuries had awakened an S-Rank.

Special guards were assigned. Nobles showered him with praise. Cultivation chambers were prepared just for him.

And Ezra?

Ezra simply smiled and said he had a B-Rank core.

Marcus believed him.

…For a time.

But then came the subtle signs.

Ezra wasn't just keeping up—he was pulling ahead.

His reflexes, his swordplay, even his instincts… everything felt a tier beyond what a B-Rank could offer.

Sometimes, Marcus saw him spar with older students—and win.

"There's no way… he's not a B-Rank," Marcus had whispered to himself once. "He's hiding something."

But he never pressed. Never asked.

He waited.

Hoping Ezra would tell him the truth someday.

Hoping he was still the same boy who gave him candy with a smile.

⸻

Then came the night in the forest.

Silver moonlight. Screams.

Blood.

A sudden vampire ambush on their mission.

Marcus remembered the shouting. The chaos.

"Mark, run! I'll hold them off!"

"No—I can't!"

"I'm stronger than you think! GO!"

"No! Ezra—!"

Ezra turned.

His kick slammed into Marcus's chest, sending him flying backward into a tree.

And then he turned toward the swarm of vampires—blade drawn, eyes fierce.

He charged alone.

Sword gleaming.

Hair catching moonlight like silver fire.

"EZRAAAAAA—!"

——————

Marcus jolted awake, his chest heaving, sweat clinging to his brow.

Across the room, his roommate was buttoning his uniform. "What happened, Marcus?" Dalen asked, glancing over with concern.

Marcus sat up, his breaths shallow and rapid. "Just… a nightmare."

"You sure you're okay?" Dalen asked, stepping closer.

"Yeah," Marcus exhaled, trying to steady himself. "Just a bad dream."

Dalen gave a half-nod. "Well, if you're up, get moving. Lyria, Evelyne are already waiting for us."

Marcus nodded silently, but his thoughts lingered on the dream.

Why am I dreaming of Ezra again…?

No matter how much time had passed, the guilt clung to him like a shadow. If only he'd accompanied Ezra that day with his bodyguards… maybe Ezra wouldn't have died.

He shook the thought away and rose from the bed, glancing at Dalen.

Maybe the gods took Ezra but gave me Dalen in return…

Marcus felt a quiet gratitude toward his roommate. Because of Dalen, he had repaired things with his fiancée. Dalen had even saved the academy from a major accident and was already a rising star with impressive strength.

Moments later, the two descended the staircase. As they reached the 5th floor, a familiar voice called out.

"Finally," said Evelyne, waiting gracefully in her academy uniform, her cherry blossom-colored hair swaying gently.

Without hesitation, Marcus walked up to her and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Public displays like this weren't forbidden at the academy.

Dalen greeted the others, and when his eyes briefly met Lyria's, a faint blush colored his cheeks. But Lyria only gave him a confident smile and cool nod.

Marcus noticed. He chuckled. "Still crushing on her, huh?" he teased under his breath.

Evelyne clasped her hands. "Shall we go? Only twenty minutes left before class."

They all headed downstairs and boarded the skyrail. The sleek vehicle sped across the academy's suspended rails.

Dalen sighed. "We're late again. Marcus, seriously, you need to work on your sleep habits."

"It's just five minutes," Marcus shrugged.

"I should sleep in your room then," Evelyne said playfully. "Might help you wake up on time."

Lyria rolled her eyes. "That's against academy rules. Keep your distance, Miss Evelyne."

"Oh?" Evelyne smirked. "Jealous? You can always sleep in Dalen's room."

"You're impossible!" Lyria snapped, her face tinged with irritation.

Both Marcus and Dalen burst into laughter.

Moments like this… Marcus wished they would never end.

Soon, they reached the training building and stepped off the skyrail. They walked briskly toward their designated area: Combat Training Zone 001-B.

As they approached the open-air ground, it was already buzzing. Students from all sections—Class A to F—had gathered for a rare joint session.

A sharp voice cut through the murmurs.

"You're late," snapped Professor Katrina Drakheart, their stern homeroom teacher and a Rank 7 magician with a fearsome reputation.

Marcus scratched his head. "Sorry, Professor, we were just grabbing a bite—"

"Don't lie to me, Mr. Ardent."

Another voice interrupted. Calm, composed. "Let it go, Katrina. They're only a minute late."

The speaker was Professor Drake, a sharp-eyed man with green hair who specialized in Martial arts.

Katrina sighed. "If you say so. But don't be late again."

The group nodded and slipped into formation with the rest of the class.

Professor Aric, the spear instructor of Class A, stepped forward. "Before we begin today's lesson," he announced, "we'll conduct a Special Duel Evaluation."

Excited murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Silence," came the commanding voice of Professor Yumina, a tall woman with icy features.

Aric continued, "Each student will engage in three duels. Lose all three, and you'll receive punishment—extra classes on Sundays."

Gasps followed.

"But win even one duel, and you'll receive reward points."

He raised a hand, counting fingers.

"First win – 1000 AP.

Second win – 5000 AP.

Third win – 8000 AP."

Excitement surged. After all, Academy Points were the true currency here—used to buy gear, food, techniques, everything.

"Don't worry," Aric added, "we've matched opponents fairly. Your duel list has already been sent to your devices. And when your name is called, proceed to the arena. You're free to go all out. Killing is prohibited, of course—but if anyone is seriously injured, our healers will handle it."

All around, students began checking their devices.

Marcus opened his.

Round 1 – Leo Grant

 Round 2 – Ryan Cole

Round 3 – Ezra Celestrian

His breath caught.

His hands trembled. His knees weakened as he dropped into his seat, pale and speechless.

"Marcus? Are you okay?" Evelyne asked, hurrying to his side.

The entire class turned to look. Even the professors grew concerned.

Marcus didn't respond. His mind was spinning.

Ezra…? But… he's dead… Isn't he?

Evelyne, worried, took his device and read the list herself.

Her eyes widened. She scanned the crowd—and then froze.

Standing quietly in the far corner was a figure with silver-white hair, gray, piercing eyes, and a calm smile on his lips.

"Ezra…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Marcus followed her gaze. Their eyes locked onto the boy in the distance.

His lips parted in disbelief.

"Ezra…"