"Father, Mother... I've grown up. Please, let me choose my own path."
Thirteen-year-old Leo stood his ground, meeting his parents' gaze with unwavering resolve. Regardless of their protests, he had to seize this chance: to join the Westmarch Training Camp, and from there, ascend to the secret base to master the mystic arts.
His mother wiped away a stray tear, her other hand fiercely pinching the soft flesh of his father's waist. "This is all your fault, you old fool! If you hadn't blathered on about that training camp, our son wouldn't be hell-bent on leaving. If anything happens to him, how am I supposed to go on?"
His father, Tem, gave a sheepish laugh. "My beautiful wife, the Kingdom recruits every child who turns fourteen anyway. Leo is just going a year early. It proves our boy is a genius, doesn't it?"
Six-year-old Majesty stood by, her little face scrunched up like a steamed bun. "Daddy, Mommy... I don't want big brother to go either. But since he said it, I have a feeling... a feeling that going to the camp will be good for him."
The family knew that Majesty possessed a flickering, hit-or-miss gift—a sixth sense for the outcome of events. As she grew older, the accuracy of her premonitions only sharpened.
"Father, Mother, you heard her," Leo pressed. "There's no harm in me going. When I return as a Great Hero, you'll be the pride of the village."
Silence fell over the room.
Eventually, Tem broke it. "Let the boy go. A man must chase his dreams. Besides, dear, if I hadn't been persistent, I never would have caught the most beautiful woman in the village. And... if you miss having a child around, we could always... hehehe."
As his mother's "Nine Yin Bone-Crushing Claw" descended upon his father and his little sister looked on in confusion, Leo knew he had won. He turned away, blinking back the heat in his eyes.
"Majesty, keep your gift a secret from outsiders. Listen to our parents. Father, Mother... take care of yourselves. I will return as a hero."
Relying on years of physical conditioning and the eccentric mental cultivation techniques he'd learned from the "Bear-Old-Man," Leo successfully entered the Westmarch Training Camp.
Every month, the children would gather at the camp gates, eyes wide with anticipation for the supply caravan. The drivers brought more than just food; they brought the "Voice from Home"—letters filled with a father's stern encouragement, a mother's worried nagging, a sister's longing, and the warm regards of neighbors.
Leo was driven. Once he mastered these powers, he could protect them all.
But one day, the supply driver's face was grim. "Leo... you need to brace yourself. When I passed through your village... your family was gone. They've vanished."
The news hit Leo like a thunderclap. He returned to the barracks in a daze.
In the world of Diablo, "missing" usually meant a silent, horrific end. This was a world where weakness was a sin, where angels and demons played chess with human souls, and where "human-manure-stirrers"—cultists and traitors—lurked in every shadow.
He threw himself into a suicidal training regimen. His mind and body were on the verge of snapping when a letter finally arrived, a single spark of hope.
> Dear Brother,
> By the time you read this, I have been saved. We suffered an 'accident,' but I don't blame you. I think Father and Mother felt the same. Only now do I understand why you were so determined to join the army. You were always the wise one.
> We were taken by a cult of fallen mages on my seventh birthday. They tried to use our parents to break my will and force me to join them, but I was rescued before they succeeded.
> A mysterious organization saved me. But I must tell you the tragic news: Father and Mother did not survive until the end.
> Fortunately, I have been given a chance. This organization has taken an interest in my gift, and I have joined their training camp. Brother, we must both graduate. One day, we will purge the evil from this world together.
> Your loving sister, Majesty.
> (Dictated to Natalya)
>
Natalya. Leo recognized the name instantly from the games. If Majesty was with the Khastari—the Order of the Mage-Slayers (Assassins)—she was in the only group capable of hunting fallen sorcerers. She was safe, but the weight of her maturity in the letter pierced his heart.
He vowed never to feel that powerlessness again.
Present Day: Bastion's Keep
Leo was pulled from his memories by a booming laugh. "Leo! You okay? Looks like your forehead isn't quite as thick as your hide after all!"
Reinhardt reached down and hauled Leo up with a display of casual, massive strength. Suddenly, the mournful blare of a gathering horn echoed through the fortress.
Within ten minutes, 1,200 recruits had assembled. Commander Robert, clad in full plate, surveyed the ranks.
"Lads," Robert's voice carried easily across the freezing yard. "You are the pride of humanity. Out of 80,000 recruits, only you 1,200 remain. You are the elite of the elite."
"In three days, you will depart for a secret location to begin your training in Mysterious Powers and execute a classified mission. Whether you return as heroes or leave your bones in a foreign land, you have already achieved more than any common man ever will. To me, you are all heroes!"
"VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY!" The blood of the young recruits boiled, their shouts shaking the snow from the rafters.
"Silence! We know little of where you are going, but guides will meet you there. Your primary mission is to survive. To give you a fighting chance, the Alliance has pooled its resources to forge masterwork equipment. Go to the quartermaster. Choose wisely. This gear is the only thing that will keep you alive."
Leo waited for the crowd to thin. As he watched recruits walk out with familiar-looking gear, a mechanical chime rang in his head.
[Ding! Target detected: Normal (White) Quality Equipment. 'Super Cain's Notebook' APP activated.]
[Humble mortal, you owe your thanks to the Druid Sage 'Hade' and various nameless Sages for this gift.]
Leo nearly slapped his own thigh in shock. Twenty years! My system finally arrived!
He mentally opened the "Notebook." It was exactly what it sounded like: a comprehensive encyclopedia of Diablo II data. Every item, every stat, every monster.
But I'm not a scholar, Leo thought. Wait... let's see what this can do.
He walked into the quartermaster's store. As his eyes swept over the racks, windows of data popped up. These weren't just "white" items—they were Perfect Rolls. Every piece of gear had the highest possible base defense or damage for its tier. It was as if someone had used a cheat engine to "import" perfect items into reality.
He tried the heavy stuff first.
* Ancient Armor: Def 233. Requirement: 100 Strength. (Too heavy).
* Gothic Plate: Def 135. Requirement: 70 Strength. (Still too heavy).
Without a status screen, Leo had to guess his own stats by trial and error. Eventually, he found his limit:
* Helm: Bone Helm (Def: 36, Req: 25 Str)
* Armor: Light Plate (Def: 107, Req: 41 Str) – A "Light" class armor that wouldn't slow his movement.
* Shield: Bone Shield (Def: 30, Req: 25 Str) – His beloved Tower Shield was simply too heavy to wield effectively yet.
* Belt: Heavy Belt (Def: 6, Req: 45 Str) – Equipped with slots for 12 potions.
* Weapon: Two bundles of Short Spears (80 total). Throwing Damage: 10-22 / Melee: 2-13.
He stuck with the "Turtle Style"—spear and shield. It allowed for both range and defense. As he strapped the bundles to his back, he felt a surge of confidence. With the knowledge in his "Notebook" and a potential class awakening in three days, his path finally looked clear.