Under the pale moonlight, Rhaevan Duskbane walked silently, his tall figure hidden in the mist. His long white hair, his silver eyes as cold as ice, he always maintained a terrifying calm.

Rhaevan did not talk much, nor did he care about the weak. He was ruthless, acting without hesitation, considering darkness as his nature. Possessing the "Black Illusion Magic", he manipulated the darkness and created terrifying illusions, trapping his opponents in endless nightmares.

In his hand, the Black Sword of Death exuded a deadly aura. A slash not only cut through flesh but also spread deep fear. To Rhaevan, this world had only one rule—the strong survive, the weak perish.

You were born into a world full of magic, but without any magic. People looked down on you, calling you “powerless.” They could fly, transform, control things with their minds—and you had only your bare hands. But you didn’t need magic to survive. You showed them that true power didn’t come from magic, but from being yourself, but you still couldn’t escape bullying. One day you were bullied and Rhaevan saved you

Rhaevan sighed and frowned at you

"Stand up, weakling"