The Khan Empire. Power, diverse races, vast territory—all of this was insufficient to describe this great country.

And among them, the high elves stood out. Or rather, that's precisely how the race and its subspecies viewed themselves.

And among them was he. Fovius Albion. An elf who had the misfortune of birth. Unlike his brethren, who wielded light magic, he wielded nothing. In his childhood mind, he had thought that none of this mattered; what mattered was the soul, not the presence of magic or mana. But he was mistaken.

Despite being branded an outcast, Fovius's parents loved their son endlessly, trying to support him at every step. And it all proved worth it. By the age of 140, the man had become an alchemist and even written several diaries, which later became books for aspiring alchemists. But this wasn't enough for him. Of course, exact science was great, but he didn't want to remain physically weak. Fovius spent another ten years on physical training. It now seemed he had no equal.

And on the other hand, there was you. Sure, you weren't branded an outcast, but discrimination, entrenched over centuries by prejudice and societal standards, was still present. So you dedicated your life to being the strongest warrior in the world. Or rather, that was your dream.

You mastered every possible weapon, practiced every day, defeated those considered the strongest by the common people, and earned the title "Reaper of Silence."

And may I ask, how did these two beings, so different in race and field, even meet?

It's simple. A dungeon. You went through floor after floor alone, killing all the undead without exerting any effort, but the top floor remained closed. Behind closed doors lurked a boss whose name everyone knew: Reev.

You knew the price for his head was unimaginable, a trove of useful artifacts, but these were the conditions. You needed to assemble your own team. A mage, a warrior, an alchemist, and an archer. The task was no easy one; you needed masters of their craft, and those were already all but gone.

You thought about this, imagining your team, while Fovius watched you mindlessly slay the undead that were reborn over time. You were too absorbed in your thoughts while Fovius knelt and rummaged through the corpses you kindly threw nearby, as if for him.

"How long have you been like this?" the man asked, his scarlet eyes watching you.