In the storied annals of the Roland Empire, a legendary emperor once declared a maxim that echoed through the ages:
"The Imperial Code is sacred and inviolable! Within the empire's borders, all must bow to its unyielding constraints."
That emperor forged the most resplendent era in Roland's history, an age renowned for its ironclad laws and unshakable rule. Yet, whispered tales tell of another saying, one never etched in official scrolls but passed through shadowed channels, as infamous as it was clandestine:
"All must heed the Imperial Code—save for two exceptions. The first is the emperor himself, for royal prerogative may, at times, rise above the law. The second… is the mage!"
Mages, wielders of powers far beyond mortal ken, could reshape destinies when their might reached its zenith. Chronicles speak of those whose strength soared to such heights that they seemed nigh divine to common folk. With a gesture, they could level mountains or fill seas. They could summon tempests of ice and snow or sear plains into barren deserts with blazing suns. A single wave of their hand could annihilate armies or unleash calamities to topple nations.
For such titans, the "Code" of the mundane world held no sway. To bind those who could rend the heavens with mortal laws was a fool's errand. Even lesser mages, locked in duels of life and death, could spark disasters to raze entire cities. Ancient records from the continent's fractured past—before its unification under Roland's banner—tell of mages whose clashes obliterated city-states in mere moments.
Even after the empire's rise quelled widespread wars, mage duels dwindled but never ceased. History notes instances where mages, caught in private feuds, "incidentally" obliterated towns with a flick of their wrath. Yet, astonishingly, the Imperial Code never forbade mages from dueling in public spaces. While commoners faced strict bans on brawling, mages stood apart, unbound.
Even the Magic Union, that august body of sorcerers, merely urged restraint in crowded realms—no rigid decrees, only suggestions. By pact with the empire, any mage of mid-tier rank or higher, unless guilty of treason, could only face judgment through a tribunal of the empire, the Magic Union, and the Temple of Light. Without this triad's accord, no imperial hand could seize or condemn such a mage.
In centuries of Roland's history, no mid-tier mage had ever been punished for breaking mundane laws—a stark testament to their exalted status. Mages, with their unearthly prowess, stood above the common throng. Free to act by whim, unshackled by mortal chains, they were both revered and dreaded. And in truth, fear outweighed awe in the hearts of many.
Half Horn City's denizens were jolted from slumber that night by tremors that shook the earth. Beds quaked, lamps swayed, and wooden doors groaned under the strain. Many stumbled, unable to stand, as terror seized them. Fleeing their homes, they found the night ablaze—not with stars, but with blinding radiance flaring at the horizon.
Bursts of light pulsed, now fading, now flaring anew, paired with roars so primal they chilled the soul. Was it some beast, or something worse? Shockwaves rolled from beyond the city, each one heralding an unknown calamity—earthquakes, fiery skies, and those bone-rattling bellows. Panic gripped the city.
The northern wall crumbled under one brutal quake, its collapse a deafening knell that sent crowds surging blindly through the streets. Far off, toward Half Horn Mountain, two colossal orbs of light—one silver, one crimson—clashed with ferocious intensity. Each collision birthed a radiance that drowned the night, outshining even the moon. Thunderous booms followed, each one a hammerblow to the heart.
The city's meager garrison—light infantry tasked with patrolling the walls—floundered amid the chaos. Too few to quell the masses, they were as fear-stricken as those they sought to calm. Worse news came: the cavalry camp outside the city lay in ruins. The few dozen soldiers left behind were battered and unconscious, their renowned leader, Sir Spann, gravely wounded. The camp bore scars of an assault—charred earth and smoldering flames.
The crowd surged toward the city gates, some climbing to higher vantage points in desperation. Then, a sound like rolling thunder roared from Half Horn Mountain, followed by a cascade of crashes, as if a storm of lightning had struck.
"Half Horn Mountain's collapsed!" someone wailed from a rooftop. The cry spread like wildfire.
Indeed, the mountain was gone. That familiar peak, visible from the city's walls, had crumbled as if it were no more than a sand heap swept away by an unseen hand. A blinding flare erupted, visible even leagues away, and keen-eyed watchers swore they saw vast, shadowed shapes dancing within the light.
For Half Horn City, this was a night etched in memory—a night of dread that left them yearning for dawn's salvation. Only when the first rays of sunrise pierced the sky did the quakes, roars, and searing lights finally fade.
An hour later, with no further signs of doom, trembling hearts began to steady. At the ravaged cavalry camp, Sir Spann and others were roused from their stupor—among them Knight Robert and the Rowling House guards. They had been felled by a mage's might, the grand hall collapsed by her icy sorcery, leaving some crushed beneath debris.
The first to stir was Rolynn, the female knight. Spared the night's assault due to her earlier wounds and Solskjaer's sleep-inducing draughts, she awoke frail from blood loss but unharmed by the attack. Knight Robert followed, then Sir Spann, and finally the Rowling retainers. Learning their young master, Du Wei, and the fearsome assailant were gone, panic seized them anew.
Piecing together accounts, Robert, ignoring his scorched wounds, rallied a handful of able-bodied men and set out for Half Horn Mountain in a carriage. Sir Spann, too injured to move, sent every able soldier to join them, for rumors placed the assailant at the mountain's heart. He also dispatched riders to the spring maneuvers' camp and Lille Province's governor with urgent reports.
Robert's party, including the weakened Rolynn, reached the mountain—or what remained of it. The sight before them struck them dumb.
They had scoured Half Horn Mountain just a day prior, hunting magical beasts across its wooded slopes. It had been a classic southern ridge, stretching three to four leagues, cloaked in dense forest, its U-shaped range crowned by a peak overlooking the city.
Now… it was gone.
Robert and Rolynn, carried from the carriage, gaped in disbelief. A local soldier swore this was the place, yet his own eyes betrayed his words, wide with horror.
Before them sprawled a colossal crater, three leagues wide. No trace of the mountain remained. The carriage halted at the crater's edge, and Robert shivered as he beheld the surreal scene.
The crater screamed of cataclysm, as if an explosion had obliterated the entire ridge. Jagged stones littered the rim, the ground churned to thick sand, all traces of soil erased. The pit grew deeper toward its center, a yawning abyss.
Strangest of all was its division. To the left, a frozen wasteland gleamed—thick ice encasing the ground, frost cloaking every stone in a silver sheen, as if forged by millennia of cold. To the right, a scorched desert reigned, its sands parched and cracked, stones split by unrelenting heat. Not a drop of moisture survived.
This stark duality—ice and fire, locked in one vast crater—stirred both awe and dread.
Robert, ever the steadfast knight, was the first to shake off the stupor. "Last night, a battle of unimaginable power raged here," he said grimly. "That mage, Vivian, must have clashed with the assailant. But our concern is our young master. He wasn't at the camp when we were saved. He's either been taken… or worse."
He bit back darker thoughts. If mages could reduce a mountain to rubble, what chance had a mere boy? Yet duty held him firm. "We can't despair," he growled. "He might have escaped, or been captured. Our task is clear—find him."
He issued two orders: search the area and send word to the Rowling castle in Kurt Province. This was beyond their power to resolve.
Where was Du Wei now?
Du Wei was doing something he'd never dreamed possible.
He was riding a dragon.
Clinging to the beast's back, he soared through the heavens, the wind a howling tempest that forced him to shield his face with his cloak. His hands gripped the dragon's protruding scales as it wove through clouds, the sea of mist swirling below. Despite the peril, a thrill surged within him, urging him to shout into the storm.
"P-please don't g-grip its s-scales so t-tightly!" came Vivian's plaintive voice. The young mage, frail and pale, lay pressed against the dragon's back, her face drained of color. Her heart ached as Du Wei clutched her beloved beast. "It-it'll get u-upset. D-dragons are p-proud, and m-my Scorching Sun is s-still a ch-child. It d-doesn't l-like its s-scales being g-grabbed…"
"What else am I supposed to hold?" Du Wei snapped, his words swallowed by the wind, choking him into a cough. He glared at her. "With this gale, if I don't hang on, I'll plummet!"
"Not its scales, fine," he growled. "Get us away from your lunatic sister's pursuit, and when we're safe, I'll craft a bridle for it."
A bridle?
By the gods, forgive poor Vivian—and this mad boy. A bridle for a dragon? Did he think such a creature could be tamed like a horse?
A mournful cry broke from the dragon, its crimson scales glinting. Du Wei's heart lurched. "Your beast's failing!"
Vivian's voice trembled. "S-Scorching Sun's j-just a y-youngling. It's w-wounded, c-carrying two p-people…"
The dragon's left wing bore a jagged gash, hampering its flight. Its body listed, veering sideways as it struggled.
"Do something!" Du Wei barked. "Or we're both dead!"
"I-I've g-got nothing l-left!" Vivian wailed. "Y-you t-took everything I h-had!" Tears welled in her wide eyes, and she sobbed, her voice suddenly clear: "The world outside is so terrifying! Teacher, save me! I want my mom, my dad! Save poor little Vivian!"
Du Wei nearly slipped from the dragon's back in exasperation. Now she stops stuttering—to cry like a child? He roared curses, but the dragon's strength gave out.
After battling half the night, its magic spent and wounds bleeding, the beast could bear no more. With a final, piteous wail, it plummeted from the sky.
"Damn it, do something!" Du Wei shouted. "Your dragon's done for!"
"Mommy! Daddy!" Vivian wailed.
"Stop crying, or we're dead!"
"Mommy, save poor little Vivian!"
The wind swallowed their voices as the dragon spiraled toward the earth below.