This is the story of a boy—a boy destined to save the world… not just once, but many times.
Yet every tale must begin somewhere.
"See you, Mama!" the young boy Henry Dreherg called as he stepped out of the small wooden house he shared with his mother.
"See you," his mother answered warmly, smiling and waving back.
Henry paused just beyond the door, his backpack slung over one shoulder. "Now what?" he muttered to himself.
At fifteen years old, Henry was still young. In truth, far younger than most who dared to set out on their own. His older sister had left home two years earlier at the same age, eager to chase her own path, and Henry now found himself imitating her.
It was tradition in this land—when one reached adulthood, they left the comfort of their parents' homes to carve out an adventure of their own. Most waited until they were older, stronger, and wiser. But Henry could no longer endure staying behind.
"I think the city is a great start for now," he decided aloud, setting his eyes on Gravental.
The town of Gravental was no ordinary village. It was the proud capital of the province Grafenberg—named after the noble family that had ruled it for generations. Though Grafenberg was the smallest of the Great Empire's seventeen provinces, its heart pulsed here, within Gravental's bustling walls.
Before crossing the stone gate and stepping inside, Henry drew in a long, steady breath. His chest rose and fell.
"Easy, Henry. You can do this," he whispered to himself, trying to calm the excitement trembling in his limbs.
Twice a year Gravental hosted a grand market. Traders from every corner of the Empire gathered here, their stalls packed with strange goods—rare foods, curious artifacts, weapons, and trinkets both magical and mundane. But in the quiet morning hours, the streets remained nearly empty, the tents still shuttered, their treasures hidden.
Henry's stomach growled. Grimacing, he dug through his backpack, searching for coins or even a scrap of food. His hands came up empty.
He sighed, slapping his forehead. "I should at least have brought some bread until I found a way to get money. Stupid me."
Then he threw his head back, determination sparking in his eyes.
"OKAYYYYY!" Henry shouted to the sky with such enthusiasm that his voice echoed through the city streets.
"Then let me earn some money first!"
Passersby turned to stare at him in confusion. To them he must have looked strange indeed—dark jogging clothes and a mop of curly black hair streaked with red across the top. But Henry paid no mind.
He strode to a nearby wall plastered with posters and leaflets. In places like this, where folk couldn't afford the fees of guild postings, notices for odd jobs and requests covered the stone surface like a patchwork quilt.
"Bounty-hunting? Nah. Treasure hunting? Nah…" He murmured, scanning them one by one.
And then his eyes lit up like a child's in a candy shop. A flyer advertised a local fighting club—promising money to anyone bold enough to challenge their reigning champion.
Such clubs often worked the same way: fighters paid an entry fee, faced the strongest brawler, and almost always walked away defeated. But Henry's heart thumped with excitement. He was confident he could win.
He followed the directions into a narrow alleyway. The deeper he walked, the darker it grew, shadows pressing in on either side.
"Is this a fluke?" Henry muttered. Too many posters led fools into fake locations—traps where thieves would be waiting.
Then, in the gloom, he spotted it: a massive iron door.
He knocked hard. "Hello? I'm here to earn some money!"
The door creaked open, and a wave of noise burst forth—cheering crowds, pounding heavy metal music, and the scent of sweat and steel.
A towering bald man, muscles bulging beneath his shirt, loomed in the doorway.
"You must be the champion," Henry said, a confident grin tugging at his lips.
The man threw his head back and laughed. "Surely not, boy."
He stepped aside, revealing the hall beyond. The room was packed with gym equipment and a roaring crowd. At the center stood a boxing ring, where one fighter—a tall young man with dark blond hair slicked back in a taper—was dismantling his opponent blow by blow.
Henry's eyes widened in awe. "This must be your champion, right?"
But the man at the door blinked, shocked, and said nothing.
Henry smirked. "I guess the other guy is."
The beaten fighter collapsed, limp as a ragdoll, and the hall went silent. Then an announcer strutted into the ring, raising his arms.
"Weeee have a new CHAMPIONNNN! BUTTTT THE CHALLENGE DOES NOT END HEREEE! Whoever defeats him will be rewarded DDDDOUBLEEE!"
No one moved. The previous fight had left the audience speechless; the former champion was carried out lifelessly.
Henry stepped forward. "I will."
Gasps rippled through the crowd as Henry vaulted into the ring.
"I will fight him."
Laughter erupted.
"You? You want to fight him?" The announcer scoffed.
"Stop laughing and leave the ring," the blond fighter said coolly. His voice cut the noise like a blade.
He turned his piercing eyes on Henry. "Your name."
"I'm Henry. And you?"
"Jack."
They squared off. The atmosphere shifted instantly—the crowd hushed, tension thick in the air, like needles pressing against skin.
The bell rang.
Both fighters exploded forward.
"This speed…" a spectator gasped.
It was like watching two predators collide. Punches flew like gunshots, blocks and dodges flashing in a blur. The crowd erupted, the gym trembling with their cheers.
Henry held his ground against Jack's heavy blows, eyes searching for an opening.
"NOW!" he thought, dropping his guard to launch a quick strike.
But Jack seized his arm, flipping him over his shoulder.
Henry crashed to the mat, rolled, and kicked Jack's legs out from under him. The blond fell, but when Henry leapt forward to pin him, Jack's boot cracked into his face, throwing him back.
They scrambled to their feet, charging again. Henry unleashed a furious barrage of punches—Jack blocked, swayed, and weaved with precision.
Jack gritted his teeth. If I want to win, I have to end this quickly.
"NOW!" he roared inwardly, driving an uppercut into Henry's jaw.
But in that same instant, he left himself exposed. Henry's fist snapped upward, his own uppercut colliding with Jack's chin.
Both fighters staggered.
The crowd screamed as the clash echoed through the hall.
Meanwhile…
The market outside bustled to life. Tents were thrown open, and hawkers cried their wares—food, armor, books, ores, and even enchanted stones. Among them was Giacomo Bonis, a young rock trader with long black hair and sharp, greedy eyes. He set his treasures on display, recalling the foreign expedition where he'd found his prize: a gleaming blue stone, set upon a golden chain to heighten its value.
"Ah, customer," Giacomo said smoothly as a heavyset man approached. "I think I have something worthy of your coin."
He produced a wooden box, opening it to reveal the stone.
"This was sealed deep in a cave in Transylvania," he boasted. "Surely worth the journey, no?"
In truth, it was a trick. Giacomo planned to sell the genuine stone at the auction later. This one was merely a replica—a scam merchants often used.
The customer leaned in, captivated. Neither noticed the small boy lurking nearby, hood pulled low, glasses glinting.
In a flash, the boy snatched the stone and bolted.
"HEY! SOMEONE STOP THE THIEF!" Giacomo roared.
But the boy was quick. He darted through an alley, lifted a grate, and vanished into a hidden shaft. Crawling swiftly, he emerged in an office-like chamber.
His breathing slowed. His expression relaxed. He walked calmly to the door, opened it—
—and froze.
Before him, a crowd thundered with cheers. At the center, two fighters stood battered, eyes locked in burning defiance.
"I can still go on," Henry rasped.
"Yeah. Me too," Jack answered.
And then, as if bound by fate itself, both collapsed to the canvas at the same time.
The boy's eyes widened, tears welling.
"BIG BRO!" he cried.