Our story began in 1851 AD, in a Third World village called Kanyú.

This year marked the end of the largest rebellion against Uznu Urúrú and his race. As with every rebellion, both the rebels and those in power would have their followers. The rebellion happened on the Seventh World but Kanyú, which was all the way up to the Third World, was involved.

The already small village had grown smaller. Countless people had died and would never see the sun again. The few people who had returned brought with them an infectious disease.

"The King has sent me," the town crier cried, "he ask me to tell you the disease is infectious: it's contracted by inhaling air droplets and touching body secretions of the sick. Stay away from the sick as far as humanly possible."

The town crier had spend the whole of yesterday and today repeating the same thing. It would be okay to assume that everyone would maintain a healthy distance from the sick, right? Well, no.

In one of the darker alleys that led to the outskirts of the village, a young man carried a sick person on his back with absolutely no care in the world.

This young man was dressed in a white robe and, surprisingly, a red headband. His face was young but had a unique calm that could only be gotten from experience. He took every step with a great care, adjusting the sick person on his back every now and then.

It was evening when this young man reached the medicine store he'd been targeting. He was lucky the store was still open and there was a healer waiting outside.

"Good evening, dear sir," he bowed deeply, "my mom is sick, please help me."

The old healer smiled happily. It wasn't everyday they got customers at this hour of the day.

"Put her here." He directed the young man to an inspection table just inside the establishment.

The healer opened the woman's eyelids and shone the inspection lamp in it. Then he took her pulse for a minute.

"What happened?" He asked with a raised voice.

The young man sighed. "My mom isn't like the other sick people... her body is warm, her breathing normal and her pulse is fine as well. She just can't wake up."

"Did she participated in the war?" The healer asked. Although, there was no direct order to catch the remnants of the rebellion, nobody wanted anything to do with them.

"What does that have to do with anything?" The young man asked with a knitted brow. His mom had indeed participated in the war, that was how she ended up sick. But since there were people who didn't participate but had contracted the sickness, there was no point in telling everyone that you got yours in the war.

"Er... sorry. I didn't mean to... "

"It's okay. I just want her to be fine. I'll pay any amount."

"Young man, I won't lie to you. We don't have the expertise to heal your mother. I think she is suffering from a disease of longevity. Her longevity is in chaos and can burst at anytime."

There was no need to tell the young man what would happen afterward. Anyone would die if their longevity was broken.

Then I have no choice. Armad decided. He'd already been to all the general healers in the village, it was time to try something else.

He took his mom and ran southward out of the village. He would visit Babara the fortune teller. It was a risky move but nothing compared to living without a mother.

Babara was once the leader of all the healers on the Third World. Seven years ago, he was cast out by the King after he was accused of using a forbidden spell. The man used to live in the capital but when the royal knights stripped all his belongings he had to come back to his home village Kanyú. The citizens of the village were a superstitious bunch: they believed anyone using a forbidden spell was a cause for disaster. Babara was ultimately cast out of the village to live in the nearby forest.

The young man arrived at the last known location of the healer at twelve midnight. The area was dark and derelict filled with screeching of beasts and the howling of winter wind.

He could be attacked by bandits, goblins, Dordors, possibly even Scorphants... It was time to check his classification to make sure he was ready for any challenge.

Class: Lightning Elementalist lv 51

Djinn: Lightning-Type

Spell slots : 3 (0 free)

1] Lightning Flash lv 4

2] Lightning Bolt lv 8

3] Meditation lv 6

Sword slots : 2 (0 free)

Dance of Uncertainty lv 4

Yellow Dance lv 1

In this world, to gain a class you had to literally tame and enslave a Djinn. Djinns were special spirits that possessed supernatural abilities. Most commonly Djinns had elemental abilities but a few had something rarer. After taming and enslaving the Djinn, you would gain a classification that resembled its natural ability. The young man had enslaved a lightning-type Djinn at the age of six, and he subsequently gained the Lightning Elementalist class.

Every fifteen levels of your class you'd get a spell slot, and every twenty-five levels you'd get a sword slot. With these three spells and two swords, the young man felt safe. As long as a High demon didn't appear he would be fine.

It was dark and he needed a lamp. He removed a small touch from his pocket and shone it around.

He knew he was climbing a mountain, what he didn't know was that he was already a hundred meters high. He saw a stairway of igneous rock with a lone hut at the top of the stairs.

The young man blinked twice and rechecked the hut again. A floating hut?

It was a magical world but it would be insane for anyone to keep a floating hut. Even the cost was enough to scare people away from trying anything like this. Well, it mattered little. There was a hut and that hut held his last hope of saving his mom.

"Babara." He called out. Initially gently but he became increasingly impatient as time went on and there was no response. He even felt bad for not learning one of those voice amplification spells.

After ten minutes, the young man decided to climb all the way up and see if there was anyone inside.

It was at this moment that he heard a voice behind him.

"You've aw'en me from 'm sleep."

The young man hurriedly turned around to meet the speaker. A short, thin and bald old man, always yawning. That was the Babara he knew.

"Good evening, Babara, I'm really sorry for disturbing your rest. I wouldn't have dared tried anything like this if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Please, forgive my insolent behavior." The young man maintained his bow for several seconds after he had finished speaking.

Babara narrowed his eyes into a frown. He hated the kingdom and the people living in it, but he did have a soft spot for brave men. Men willing to take any risk to achieve their goals. Probably, because he was exactly like that.

"You have five seconds." Babara said.

"My mom is sick. She has a normal pulse, breathing and body temperature but she is still unconscious. I have been to all the healers in the village but no one could help me. I want to you heal her, please." The young man rattled as fast as he could.

Babara shrugged. "Those good for nothing healers can't do a thing. Someone has messed up with your mom's longevity. Her entire longevity will... " He walked closer and took her pulse. He shone his touch in her eyes and even plugged a hair from her head, and to the young man's utmost disgust, he spat his saliva on the hair. After nine seconds the hair withered. "Her entire longevity will burst in nine months."

The young man sighed softly. Most of the healer's had mentioned something about a disease of longevity.

"Can you heal her?"

"Of course, I can. Don't compare me with those useless old fools. Look, you just come in time, if you had come a day later, I wouldn't have accepted your request."

The young man frowned. Although Babara was known to be a man of his word, he was also widely known for his skills in conning people.

"What do I have to do?"

Babara smiled. "First, I have to know your name if we are doing business."

"I am Armad Djinn."

Babara frowned. "I have a spell that detect lies. If you lie one more time then we are done."

Now it was the young man's turn to frown. How the hell did a healer got his hands on such a spell? Hell, even his mom didn't have one.

His name wasn't something he could tell to any stranger. It wasn't something he could tell to anyone actually.

But... it was either that or his mom's life.

"I am Armad Wilberforce."