Rowan Radcliffe stood on the precipice of anger and despair, his heart heavy with the weight of rejection from Beacon Academy. The dreams he had nurtured and the aspirations he had cherished were shattered, leaving him in a state of anger and deep depression. It felt as though the world had conspired against him, mocking his efforts and belittling his ambitions.
The rejection letter had pierced his soul, tearing away the fragile veil of hope he had clung to. It whispered cruel words of inadequacy, fueling his anger with every breath. The pain of being deemed unworthy gnawed at him relentlessly, dragging him into a dark abyss of self-doubt and anger.
But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Rowan's anger began to morph into a deep-seated depression. The weight of rejection had taken its toll, sapping his spirit and draining his motivation. He questioned his worth as a warrior, wondering if he was destined to be forever confined to the shadows, a failed applicant with shattered dreams.
The nights became long and restless, plagued by a constant barrage of self-doubt and regret. The darkness that engulfed him mirrored the void in his heart, a void created by the absence of acceptance into Beacon Academy. The once-bright flame of his passion dimmed, smothered by the suffocating embrace of depression.
In the wake of his rejection from Beacon Academy, Rowan Radcliffe found himself standing on the precipice of desperation. With no other options before him, he made the difficult decision to become a mercenary—a path he had never anticipated, but one that promised survival in the unforgiving world of Remnant.
As Rowan immersed himself in the life of a mercenary, his days became a blur of endless battles and thankless jobs. The once-burning flame of his anger and determination began to flicker, overshadowed by a growing sense of despair. He found himself trapped in a cycle of menial tasks and meager wages, struggling to make ends meet in the unforgiving city of Vale.
The thrill he had once felt upon vanquishing the Grimm now dulled, replaced by a hollow emptiness. The weight of his rejection from Beacon Academy pressed heavily on his shoulders, exacerbating the sense of futility that permeated his every endeavor. He became a nameless grunt, lost in the sea of mercenaries, their faces blending into one another, forgotten as soon as the job was done.
Each mission he undertook felt like a drop in an ocean of countless battles, with no end in sight. Rowan's once-noble aspirations were reduced to a fight for survival, fueled not by passion but by necessity. The wages he earned were meager, barely enough to sustain himself, let alone provide a glimmer of hope for a better future.
The city of Vale, once a place of opportunity, had transformed into a harsh, unforgiving environment that mirrored the desolation within Rowan's own heart. As he walked the city streets, he saw the stark contrast between the bustling crowds and his own insignificance. The walls of despair seemed to close in around him, suffocating his spirit.
In the depths of his despair, Rowan questioned whether his dreams of greatness were nothing more than illusions. The once-fiery anger he had harbored had been replaced by a cold resignation, a belief that he was destined to be forever trapped in a cycle of mediocrity. He wondered if he was condemned to be just another faceless cog in the machine, never to rise above his circumstances.
Rowan Radcliffe's latest assignment had taken him deep into the wildlands of Anima, a rugged and lawless territory plagued by the scourge of bandits. The village he was tasked to protect had been subjected to repeated attacks, leaving its inhabitants fearful and vulnerable.
Rowan Radcliffe's latest assignment had taken him deep into the wildlands of Anima, a rugged and lawless territory plagued by the scourge of bandits. The village he was tasked to protect had been subjected to repeated attacks, leaving its inhabitants fearful and vulnerable. Alongside a squadron of fellow mercenaries who had accepted the same job, Rowan set out to confront the imminent threat.
The journey to the village had been treacherous, navigating through dense forests and treacherous terrain. Rowan's instincts were sharp, his senses heightened as he led his squadron, ever watchful for signs of danger. In that lawless land, bandits lurked behind every tree, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
As they reached the village, the tension in the air was palpable. The villagers, worn down by fear and hardship, looked to Rowan and his fellow mercenaries for protection. They knew that the arrival of these hired swords meant the difference between life and death, between a semblance of peace and relentless terror.
With nightfall approaching, Rowan and his squadron fortified the village's defenses, setting up barricades and coordinating their strategies. They knew that a confrontation with the bandits was inevitable, and they stood ready to defend the lives of the innocent.
The attack came under the cloak of darkness, the bandits descending upon the village like a pack of ruthless predators. Rowan's combat skills were put to the test as he engaged in a fierce battle, his blade slicing through the ranks of the assailants. His squadron fought alongside him, each member relying on their own expertise to repel the bandit onslaught.
The clash was intense, the clash of steel against steel filling the night air. The bandits, driven by desperation and greed, fought with a ferocity that matched their reputation. But Rowan and his fellow mercenaries, hardened by countless battles, were prepared for the brutality that awaited them.
As the battle raged on, the tide slowly turned in favor of Rowan and his squadron. Their coordinated tactics and combat prowess wore down the bandits, their resistance crumbling beneath the weight of relentless determination. One by one, the assailants fell, their threat vanquished by the skill and resilience of the mercenaries.
With the final bandit defeated, a moment of eerie silence fell over the village. Rowan's breaths came in heavy gasps as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle. The bandit threat had been eliminated, the villagers now able to breathe a sigh of relief. For a fleeting moment, Rowan allowed himself a sense of accomplishment, knowing that he had fulfilled his duty to protect the innocent.
But even as the immediate danger subsided, Rowan knew that the battle was far from over.
In the wildlands of Anima, bandits would continue to rise like weeds, their presence an ever-looming threat to the peace and prosperity of the land. He understood that this was just one of the many dirty jobs that mercenaries like him had to face, the tasks that the Huntsmen deemed less important in their pursuit of Grimm.
Having fulfilled his duty in protecting the village from the bandit threat, the group of mercenaries disbanded, each making their own way back to their respective a lone mercenary, transportation was not provided by employers. It was a lesson he learned through experience, particularly when accepting missions that took him outside the confines of the city of Vale.
With no horse to carry him and no company to share the journey, Rowan set off on foot, his path leading him through the vast and untamed wilderness that separated him from the comforts of civilization. The road stretched out before him, winding through dense forests and treacherous terrains, offering a stark reminder of the isolation and independence that came with the life he had chosen.
As he ventured deeper into the wilderness, his gaze caught sight of something out of place—a ruined pillar jutting out from the earth. Intrigued, Rowan approached the dilapidated structure cautiously, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. The pillar stood weathered and worn, bearing the marks of time and neglect. Its significance remained a mystery, its purpose long forgotten by those who had once revered it.
With a sense of curiosity, Rowan inspected the pillar more closely, his eyes scanning the intricate carvings that adorned its surface. Among the worn engravings, his gaze landed on a distinct chess piece—a man holding a staff. Its presence struck him as peculiar, the symbolism veiled in secrecy.
Intrigued by the presence of the chess piece on the ruined pillar, Rowan Radcliffe reached out and picked it up, cradling it in his hand. As he examined the intricately carved details, a sense of wonder and curiosity filled his mind. The figure of the man holding a staff seemed to exude an aura of ancient power.
However, as Rowan's gaze lingered on the chess piece, a sudden, blinding light erupted from within it. The intensity of the glow enveloped him, forcing him to shield his eyes. The brightness consumed his vision, and he could feel his heart racing in anticipation and uncertainty.
For what felt like an eternity, Rowan stood blinded, unable to make sense of the overwhelming radiance that surrounded him. Time seemed to stretch, elongated by the pulsating light that permeated his senses. It was as if the very essence of the chess piece had awakened, revealing a hidden power within.
As the blinding light subsided and Rowan's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the forest, a strange occurrence unfolded before him. A figure materialized, seemingly out of thin air, standing mere feet away. The young man wore a vibrant red robe, its fabric flowing gracefully around him, contrasted with a short cut of brown hair, added to the enigma of his appearance.
Rowan's confusion deepened as he struggled to comprehend the sudden manifestation of this mysterious figure. Questions flooded his mind, his thoughts racing to make sense of the situation. How had he arrived here? Who was this stranger before him?
The enigmatic man stood in the midst of the forest, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings as if he were evaluating his surroundings. A neutral expression adorned his face, masking the thoughts that surely raced through his mind. In a murmured voice, he spoke to himself, his words barely audible.
"So, this is Remnant," he uttered, his tone filled with a mix of curiosity and recognition. "Seems I wasn't summoned into a grail war. Thank god for that. I wouldn't want to fight in one of those ".
He looked on the ground around himself "No sign of any summoning circle but there is a powerful magical signature around me. Did I independently manifest? No. Was I summoned as a counter guardi…?"
Rowan Radcliffe watched the man in stunned silence, his mind spinning with questions and confusion. The sudden appearance of this stranger, his mutterings, and the mention of a grail war—it was all too much to comprehend.
Summoning his courage, Rowan finally spoke up, his voice filled with a mix of awe and bewilderment. "What the hell just happened? Who are you, and how did you get here?"
The man's gaze shifted toward Rowan, his eyes carrying a depth of wisdom and knowledge. They seemed to penetrate beyond the surface, as if he were peering into the very depths of Rowan's being. He regarded him with a calm demeanor, his expression unfathomable, as if he had anticipated the question that was about to be asked.
"And you must be my summoner." He walked towards Rowan before continuing with his ramblings "And, of course I was summoned by a bloody background character. I sort of wish fortune could have favored someone like…".
"You are calling a background character, you fuc…" Before Rowan could rebuke the man's insult, he started to feel light headed and started to lose focus. Suddenly, he crashed onto the ground, falling completely unconscious.
As the man gazed upon the unconscious boy, a sense of realization washed over him. He muttered to himself, acknowledging the boy's depleted aura reserves. "It seems the boy used all his aura reserves to summon me."
He knelt down beside the boy, studying his features with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The man contemplated his next course of action, his thoughts swirling with possibilities. He recognized that the boy was not a well-known figure, merely a random individual without any significant presence.
"Now, what to do, what to do," the man pondered aloud, his voice filled with a tinge of contemplation. He considered severing the contract he had formed with the boy, dismissing their connection as inconsequential. After all, why should he remain bound to a random "mob character" when more interesting prospects could be found?
The man's mind wandered, imagining the possibilities of having someone like Cardin, a character with more prominence and potential, as his master. The thought of the challenges and interactions that could arise from such a pairing intrigued him.
"Even Weiss," he mused, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Her semblance, a weak system of magic in itself, could provide an entertaining dynamic. Perhaps I could even enhance her abilities with some magi..."
His thoughts trailed off as he gazed at the unconscious boy once more, a flicker of empathy crossing his expression. Despite the boy's perceived insignificance, a part of him hesitated to sever their bond so callously. After all, there was something compelling about the unexpected nature of their connection.
He started chucking "Be happy boy, it seems you will live today.".