I. A Weary Squad
Arthur had joined a small supply unit departing from the border outpost, heading toward the Dark Forest front. The squad consisted mostly of young, inexperienced men who, like Arthur, had been forcibly conscripted.
His squad was led by Sergeant Korhan, a man exhausted by the weight of war who punctuated every sentence with a curse. Korhan was only twenty-five, but the toll of the battlefield had made him look decades older.
"Listen up, you F-Class runts!" Korhan barked, pointing a finger at Arthur. "You, Arthur—I heard you were a prisoner who crawled back. You didn't stand a chance, did you? Well, lucky for us, you're here now. Weak-mana trash like you serve only one purpose on the front lines: meat shields. Follow my orders, or I'll slit your throats myself!"
A young soldier next to Arthur, Emre, whispered tremulously, "The Sergeant is right. In this war, if your mana is weak, you are nothing. As we get closer to the front, the mana from the Orcs and Elves makes the very air feel heavy. Mine is D-Class, and I'm still terrified."
Arthur felt fortunate that he was concealing his true mana. Being seen as F-Class increased the risk of being assigned to the most dangerous suicide missions, but it also kept him off the radar of powerful mages who might sense his anomaly.
II. The Filth of the Alliance
As they approached the front, the landscape turned ghastly. Splintered trees, scorched earth, and the pungent, metallic scent of magic hung thick in the air. Upon reaching the Human Army's main camp, Arthur saw Orc warriors up close for the first time.
The Orcs were terrifying—brown and green-skinned behemoths clad in crude armor, wielding massive axes. They were four times as muscular as any human. Their camp sat adjacent to the human headquarters, but the cooperation between the two races was clearly one of cold pragmatism, not friendship.
"Look at them," Emre hissed with disgust. "The Orcs have sworn to take the lives of every Elf. The King only uses them because they are the only ones who can match Elven ferocity. They strike with brute force where our mages falter."
Arthur studied an Orc's armor intently. It was a fusion of dark metal and bone. As Anna had mentioned, a crude Mana-Nullifying Enchantment was etched onto its surface. It was designed to repel the delicate elemental spells of the Elves, allowing the Orcs and Humans to press forward with raw physical might.
Arthur sifted through the knowledge he had gained in the Elven Library: The Orcish nullifier repels elemental magic, but how does it react to Condensed Magic?
III. The Captain's Despair
After delivering their supplies, Arthur and his squad were stationed behind a muddy trench on the front lines. The commander there, Captain Demir, was an old, hollow-eyed man. He looked at Arthur's squad with total apathy.
"Are you the new recruits? F-Class? It doesn't matter," Captain Demir said, his voice saturated with hopelessness. "The situation is dire. The Elves are monsters with inexhaustible mana. The Orcs provide a shield, but we are just the filler in between."
The Captain pointed toward the forest beyond the trench. "The order is to hold this trench at all costs. The Elves' next assault is imminent. If the Orcs push forward, we support them."
Arthur peered over the edge of the trench. For the first time, the raw reality of this war sank in. The faces of the soldiers around him held nothing but fear, despair, and hatred. This was exactly what Anna had described: a senseless slaughter for resources.
Arthur knew he couldn't survive this trench as a mere F-Class. He would either die or be forced to reveal his hidden strength. But revealing his Frost Magic would make him a target not just for Faerondil's agents, but for his own commanders.
At that moment, a sound erupted from the forest. It wasn't the crash of an artillery shell or an Orcish war cry. It was the high-pitched, droning hum of Elemental Magic tearing through the atmosphere.
"Mage fire!" Captain Demir screamed in terror. "Take cover! The Elves are coming!"
Arthur felt the mana. Dense, purified Flora Mana. It was an Elven Mage's opening strike
IV. Flora Magic and the Ice Veil
Seconds after Captain Demir's frantic warning, the droning hum from the forest morphed into a surging torrent of deep emerald energy. It was a targeted strike from an Elven Flora Mage, designed to shred everyone within the trench.
Beside Arthur, two young F-Class soldiers—one of them being Emre—screamed in terror. Their mana was utterly insufficient to stall such an onslaught.
For the first time in his life, Arthur consciously pushed his mana out of the Seal with everything he had. He didn't just manifest a needle; he willed it into a Shield. His E-Class reservoir began to drain at a staggering speed.
Due to the deafening roar of the attack, no one noticed Arthur's movements. From his outstretched hands, a dense, crystallized mana erupted, forming an invisible Frost Veil just above the trench.
The Elven Flora Magic was so potent that it began transforming into thick, thorny vines, reaching into the trench to claim lives. However, the moment that green energy touched Arthur's Sealed Frost, the tips of the vines froze solid. The Flora Magic, encountering the pure, distilled coldness of his mana, shattered into frozen splinters.
The trench had been spared—at least for a few heartbeat-lengths.
"The attack stopped!" Captain Demir shouted in disbelief. "Did our mages actually do something?"
Arthur was on the verge of collapsing, his mana completely spent. He managed to stay upright, but as the Seal locked itself to preserve his life, the Frost Veil began to evaporate.
V. Loss and Regret
Arthur's brief defense had not been enough to save the entire line. The Flora Magic had bypassed his veil at the far end of the trench. Gasping for air, Arthur turned to his side.
Emre and the other F-Class soldier were buried beneath the crushing weight of the emerald vines. Their frail mana had failed to repel the strike. They were mortally wounded, their lives fading before his eyes. The cold breath of death brushed against Arthur's face.
He felt the hollow bitterness of his "success." He had created a shield, but he had only saved himself. He wasn't fast enough. He wasn't strong enough.
In the chaos of the trench, Arthur whispered a vow to himself—a whisper lost in the din of war, but one that altered his destiny:
"Damn it... I am so weak I can't even protect my friends. What good is E-Class? If I cannot unlock this Seal, this power is nothing but a shallow deception."
The stench of blood and mud served as a brutal reminder of his reality. Just as he had sacrificed himself for Anna in their past life, he now realized he needed true power to save anyone in this one.
VI. A New Resolve: Ending the Secrecy
In the days following the skirmish, the surviving F-Class conscripts were tasked with the grim duty of recovering bodies and hauling supplies to the high-ranking mages in the rear. This gave Arthur a front-row seat to the ugly truth of the human army.
While delivering rations to a high-ranking Fire Mage, Arthur noticed the man's blatant apathy; the mages lived in relative comfort while the war was fueled by the blood of peasants.
Arthur made his decision: He would hide no longer.
To remain an F-Class supply boy was merely waiting for a slow death. He could never fulfill the task Anna gave him—to grow strong and end the war—from the shadows of a supply tent.
I am E-Class. My magic is as dense as a noble's defense. I will not rot in these trenches anymore.
At thirteen years old, Arthur cast aside his rusted, notched sword and walked toward the command tent. He volunteered to fight on the front lines as an E-Class combat mage.
Following this decision, Arthur began to unleash the limited but terrifyingly dense power of his Sealed Frost in favor of the Human-Orc Alliance. His shocking power momentarily nullified Elven Flora and Water spells. Every strike he delivered was small in scale but lethal in execution.
Before long, a legend began to spread among the ranks of a mysterious, masked mage who secured impossible victories against the Elves. The soldiers no longer spoke of the "weak F-Class boy." Instead, they whispered a new name with newfound respect: "The Frost Warrior."