Years later, a new force began to emerge among humanity—a movement led by an organization that sought to defy the old laws and spread the knowledge of magic to the common people.

This organization established bases in remote, overlooked areas. Destitute individuals, some seeking refuge and others rescued by the organization, were introduced to the concept of magic and taught how to wield it.

The most promising among them received focused training, becoming competent magicians. The organization’s sole directive for them was clear:

Do good. Teach others.

At first, the nobility dismissed the movement, but by the time they realized the implications, it was too late to stop.

A handful of commoners proficient in magic could rival the strength of an entire army. Within just a few years, the previously oppressed lower class gained the power to resist their aristocratic oppressors.

One man, in particular, rose to prominence during this upheaval, his name destined to be etched into history:

Bernard Parker.

Not only did he instigate a movement that overturned the established order, but his personal prowess also ascended to the pinnacle of human strength at the time.

Eventually, the situation spiraled beyond resolution. The nobility begrudgingly announced their support for universal magic education, establishing a framework to teach magic to the masses.

With the widespread adoption of magic and the systematic identification of talent, every human gained the opportunity to learn and master magic.

This marked the dawn of humanity’s rise. Within just two decades, humans became the most dominant species on the continent.

Titles such as "Founder of Human Magic" and "The Saint" were bestowed upon Bernard Parker.

Now in his sixties, Parker—the revered "Father of Human Magic"—seemed preoccupied with certain thoughts.

In a courtyard, the renowned magician sat across from a familiar figure. Despite his age, Parker’s physique was robust, honed through years of training. The woman opposite him, however, showed the unmistakable marks of time. Though her figure remained graceful, the years had left their imprint on her face.

Parker, with his abilities, could live well past a century. Alea, on the other hand, who had once dabbled in forbidden magic and lacked any innate magical reserves, was lucky to have reached an ordinary human lifespan.

She wore a veil at all times, concealing her face from others. What was known was her close relationship with Parker.

“Hey, are you planning to wear that veil when you see her?” Parker asked, exasperation and a hint of concern in his tone.

Over the years, Parker had made countless friends, some powerful in their own right and others who had risen from obscurity thanks to magic. Yet for all he had done to empower others, he felt powerless against Alea’s rapid aging.

Why did she hide behind the veil? He knew the answer—she simply couldn’t bear to face the reality of her own aging.

Unlike their master and Zola, who were ageless, Parker himself showed no visible signs of decline. Compared to them, Alea’s condition was difficult for her to accept.

“Of course. Especially when meeting her,” Alea replied without hesitation.

Parker rubbed his bald head, sighing.

“She probably only recruited me because she was attracted to my good looks back then. Now, with me like this…” Alea joked, her tone light but her smile carrying an edge of bitterness.

“Hahaha, I can’t hold it in,” Parker laughed, slipping into an old phrase he had heard countless times during their travels—a quip Aino often used.

He grew quiet for a moment, reflecting on Aino’s recurring words: “It’s so boring.” or “This world is too backward.”

Whenever she said such things, her eyes carried a loneliness that made Parker wonder if, in her eyes, they were truly her friends. If they were, why did she seem so isolated even among them?

In time, Parker came to understand.

In some ways, her thoughts mirrored his own unspoken aspirations.

He, too, detested the backwardness of their world.

He remembered his life before meeting Aino, scraping by as a petty enforcer for bandits, living as a pawn for stronger men. In the end, he would have been discarded, left to die without a shred of dignity—just like so many others.

If not for Aino, that would have been his fate. And it was the fate of countless others.

Parker rose from his seat and extended his senses outward.

The city sprawled before him was filled with tall buildings; the crude, ramshackle huts of the past were long gone. Such structures were now deemed "hazardous" and were prohibited in modern human settlements.

The streets were smooth and sturdy, the people neatly dressed, and each bore a faint magical aura.

The city was no longer solely inhabited by humans. Minotaurs carried heavy cargo, while winged demi-humans handled work high above the ground. These non-human species had learned human language and integrated into human towns.

Human strength had driven progress across the world. The conflicts born from territorial disputes had significantly diminished.

Adventurers were no longer legendary, untouchable figures; they were now a commonplace profession.

Even children in civilian homes, seven or eight years old, could be seen playfully casting minor spells.

This kind of world… Aino would find it far more interesting, Parker thought.

He placed a hand on Alea’s shoulder, gazing at her radiant golden hair, still as brilliant as it had been in their youth. Parker let himself drift into memories.

Meanwhile, deep in the forest, a team of five adventurers pressed forward. Their goal was to gather a substantial quantity of Purple Spirit Grass, a rare plant that thrived only in areas saturated with magic.

The Bandalrk Plains were rumored to host a wealth of the plant deep within its borders.

Of course, regions with high magical concentrations often came with great dangers.

But high risks promised high rewards. A small crate of Purple Spirit Grass was worth more than the bounty for a high-tier monster.

And high-tier monsters? Against such creatures, the five ordinary adventurers would likely be wiped out.

Devon, the group’s leader, was a seasoned adventurer. After years of investigation and analysis, he had reached a bold conclusion:

The inner regions of the Bandalrk Plains—reputedly teeming with powerful monsters—were actually devoid of significant life.

Devon kept this insight to himself. Sharing such information would only invite skepticism and accusations of deceit.

He scoffed at the doubts of the younger adventurers, who dismissed him as a scheming old swordsman looking to lure fools into danger for his gain.

Let them sneer. Devon had always been daring, and now in his forties, his confidence had only grown. He had ventured into the plains multiple times, quietly observing its deeper regions from different angles and times.

Not once had he encountered a living creature.

Devon wasn’t reckless; he understood the risks of places rich in magic. But his knowledge of such regions led him to other possibilities:

Perhaps a powerful being had perished there long ago, leaving behind indelible traces of magic that repelled other creatures.

Or perhaps some natural phenomenon had altered the environment, making it inhospitable to most life.

If these theories were correct, then the potential rewards of exploring the plains were immense.

So he shared his theory with a few trusted companions. In the end, four others agreed to join him in this daring venture into the Bandalrk Plains’ mysterious depths.

To outsiders, their plan seemed suicidal.