At the summit of the towering rocky mountain, where the wind brushed against the sharp edges as if playing a funeral melody, Janero stood stunned. His eyes never left Soren—that mysterious being who didn't seem human at all. Deep inside, Janero wondered what fate had in store for him with this man. Was climbing this mountain mere coincidence… or a carefully set trap?
Soren moved with a calmness that stole one's breath and sat on a protruding rock. He opened his old book, his eyes devouring the lines while his lips moved quickly without producing a single sound. It was an unsettling sight—words being read yet unheard, wisdom spreading into the air without noise.
Janero watched him, questions piling up in his mind. What could he possibly be reading at a time like this?
He glanced down at his clothes, which only hours ago had been a symbol of pride at the academy. Now they were torn, covered in dirt and gravel, their blue shine long gone.
Unable to bear the eerie silence any longer, Janero cleared his throat and said, trying to keep his voice steady,
"I'll be leaving now… It was an honor meeting you, sir."
In that instant, Soren snapped his book shut with a force that shattered the quiet and looked at Janero like someone gazing down from a cliff into an endless abyss.
Suddenly, a terrifying aura exploded from Soren's body. A crushing pressure filled the air, weighing down on Janero's chest. The boy collapsed instantly, his body trembling, his bones nearly shattering under the immense force.
"Are you seeking power?" Soren asked in a dignified voice.
"Yes…" Janero answered, struggling just to lift his head.
The philosopher slowly stood and approached him. Extending his hand, he said calmly,
"Follow me… There is a better place for you to train. Night will fall soon."
Janero hesitated, then grabbed his hand and stood, brushing the dust off his body. He cast one last glance toward the dense forest where his friend Keelin had disappeared before following Soren's mysterious steps.
Meanwhile, Keelin was venturing deeper into the heart of the green darkness. The forest had grown eerie. Sunlight faded gradually, surrendering the land to the cold breath of night. Sweat mixed with dirt on his forehead as his exhausted body groaned from the effort.
"A whole month of suffering…" he muttered bitterly while pushing through thorns and parasitic weeds.
The sounds of wild animals and snapping branches beneath unseen creatures only heightened his tension.
Then he froze.
Before him stood the largest tree he had ever seen—a tree that seemed to have witnessed eras never recorded in books.
But the real shock lay at its base.
There were food remains… not from beasts, but neatly arranged human leftovers. Beside them, a precise symbol shaped like a cup had been carved into the trunk.
"Damn this academy… they didn't even give me a gun. I'll have to fight with my bare hands," Keelin muttered, scanning his surroundings frantically.
Finding no one, he sat beneath the giant tree and looked up at the leaves dancing in the darkness. Fatigue overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes, falling asleep where he sat, trying to gather the fragments of his spirit.
He had barely drifted off when an immense aura burst outward—a wave of energy so powerful that every bird in the forest took flight in terror, their wings filling the air with chaos.
Keelin's eyes snapped open.
Before he could react, steel-like hands clamped around his neck, slamming him brutally against the tree.
"Who are you, stranger? What are you doing here… in my place?"
His blood froze. He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.
"If you don't talk in five seconds… I'll blow your neck apart. Before you even blink, you'll die without feeling pain!"
"I—I'm a student at the academy!" Keelin choked out desperately.
"Which academy?" the man demanded, tightening his grip.
"A-Arcanum Peaks!"
The hands suddenly loosened.
Keelin collapsed forward, gasping, clutching his neck to make sure he was still alive. Slowly, he raised his eyes to see the person who had nearly ended him.
The man radiated overwhelming presence. A blond beard mixed with black framed his face, and his eyes emitted a terrifying crimson aura.
"What is your name, student?" the man asked.
"Keelin Arminster," he replied, his voice shaking.
The man studied him deeply, as if clearly seeing his aether.
"Your Aether Thread… Level Two?"
"Yes."
The man chuckled mockingly.
"I see… your academy must be running the full Aether Stone integration exam. Am I right?"
"Yes…"
His expression suddenly changed. The crimson aura faded, replaced by strange composure.
"Alright. I apologize for the attack."
He straightened and spoke words that made Keelin realize the gravity of the situation.
"My name is Farouk… known as 'Farouk the Moroccan'… one of the Five Philosophers. It's a pleasure to meet you, Keelin Arminster."
Keelin stood silent, staring at the philosopher whose very presence felt like it could tear the forest apart.
A faint sting pulsed in his head.
This man… isn't normal…
He saw no weapon.
And yet…
His entire body screamed danger.
Farouk smiled lightly—not mockingly, but calmly… wisely.
"Don't worry, Keelin. If I truly wanted to kill you, you wouldn't have even felt my presence."
Keelin froze.
He hadn't sensed him approaching.
He hadn't heard footsteps.
Suddenly—
Farouk was standing right in front of him.
Only one step away.
Keelin's eyes widened.
It was the gaze of someone accustomed to always standing above others.
Farouk looked nothing like nobles in decorated robes.
He was simple…
Terrifyingly simple.
Dark black hair, slightly wavy, falling casually over his forehead as though even the wind respected him. Deep eyes, dark brown almost black, steady and unshaking—the eyes of a man who read people the way others read books.
A neatly trimmed light beard gave him a mature look—not old, not young… but at the perfect age where wisdom peaks.
He wore a long, plain white robe, covered by a dark brown cloak wrapped around his shoulders.
His presence alone weighed heavier than a thousand swords.
In his hand, he held an old scroll as if it were more important than any weapon.
As though his words… were his true blade.
Even his stance was straight and relaxed—no tension, no battle readiness…
The confidence of someone who knew he would never lose.
Suddenly, Keelin felt something strange.
Not fear…
But the faint sensation that he stood before someone who already knew all his secrets.
"…This is a philosopher?" he whispered inwardly.
"This… is far more dangerous than anyone I've seen at the academy."