In the war-torn skies of Aethoria, strength was more than survival—it was law.
This realm, where mortals chased divinity and sects carved legacies into the bones of dying stars, birthed three great human powers: the Hondon Sect, known for their brutal martial code; the Pyeonjaeham Sect, master scholars of manipulation and deceit; and the Jonjae Sect, a sanctuary of balance where will, wisdom, and strength intertwined.
Each of these factions had clawed their way into the Leveling Realm, a dimension of shifting laws and unbound essence—where one could ascend, evolve, and even become myth.
It was within the tranquil peaks of the Jonjae Sect that a rare phenomenon unfolded—a Level 9 birth. In a world where most entered life barely touching Level 1, this was no simple anomaly. It was an omen. A ripple in fate.
The child's name had not yet been written, but his blood already whispered of eternity.
His parents, Han Lockhart and Chae-min Elise, were no strangers to the awe of others. Both stood at Level 70, warriors whose mere presence silenced courts and deterred wars. Han, once a wandering swordsman, bore the charisma of a king and the resolve of a storm. His eyes, iron-grey, had seen countless lifetimes of combat. Chae-min, his beloved, was said to be born of light itself, her golden curls and oceanic gaze reminiscent of lost celestial beings.
Their love had defied sect rules, bloodlines, and even fate itself. It had been forged in the fires of countless wars, and from that fire, their son had emerged—a child destined to break the limits even gods dared not test.
But the world did not greet miracles with celebration.
It greeted them with fear.
As word of the Level 9 birth spread beyond the jade gates of the Jonjae Sect, it poisoned the hearts of rival leaders. The Hondon Sect, who viewed strength as dominion, saw the child as a threat to their supremacy. The Pyeonjaeham Sect, always lurking behind illusions and subterfuge, deemed the boy an unpredictable anomaly—one that must be erased.
And so they struck.
It began with shadows in the wind—scouts, saboteurs, whispers of poison in cups. Then came the waves—assassins cloaked in aura, martial artists who had sharpened themselves into weapons. Dozens became hundreds.
Even Han and Chae-min, whose power could rend dimensions and command stars, found themselves pressed beneath the sheer tide. Blood soaked the forested outskirts of the Jonjae stronghold. Each blow shook mountains, each scream echoed across realities. And still, they fought. Not for pride. Not for vengeance.
But for their son.
Yet within the final wave came something far darker than steel or shadow.
A presence.
He moved like a ripple through space, his steps too quiet, his aura too vast. No name was spoken—only a codename, as feared as the end itself.
Green Python.
A Level 100 martial artist—a being who had crossed the veil of mortality. He had no allegiance, no faith. Only contracts and blood. And now, the contract was clear:
> Eliminate the Level 9 child. Wipe the Lockhart line from existence.
He arrived not as a soldier, but as a cataclysm. When Han met his first strike, the world bent. Time stuttered. Even Chae-min's light, so brilliant it seared reality, was smothered under his coiled might.
In the skies above the battlefield, constellations dimmed as three deities paused their eternal duel to witness the clash below. This was no longer a battle of strength. It was a war of legacies.
And at the heart of it, a crying child—unaware of the war raging for his existence.
The child who would one day be known not just as a Lockhart, but as something more.
> The one who would reshape Aethoria.