There was once a man who was exceedingly below average in terms of talent and strength.

However, he defied his fate.

Looting a ruined and cursed household to learn their secrets. He became an Exorcist.

Perhaps the last one to ever exist.

The name of this person was Landan Lindblum. The father of Lex Lindblum.

After the death of his loving wife, Landan became more sensitive to his family.

Even more driven to protect his only son.

The last proof of their love and intimacy.

Of course, continuing a legacy and devotion towards his wife wasn't the only reason.

He  suddenly started coughing.

A part of him felt like a lama in a desert. His body was aching… thirsting for his salvation.

The silent Red Wind slowly corrupted him down to his soul. It used up his talismans.

And that poisonous girl only made it worse.

He had detonated the Ruby MagiPistol in order to finish off that Dark Muse he'd fought.

It was the only option he'd had at the time.

A bump in the road shook him, and Landan felt like his entire body was now irradiated. 

He should leave them now.

The car slowly parked. It wasn't the impeccable manoeuvre he'd be remembered for, but it was enough to get the zombies to not notice them if he turned the engine off.

He'd slaughtered everything that got in his way, and those runners had become quiet.

It was a good chance to slip away.

Ryan and Lex were unconscious in the back.

They had gone through a gruesome battle and needed time to heal. He was a bother.

His 'radiation' would halt their recovery.

He left the keys in the car. The automatic lock activated. Making his decision have weight.

Choosing to never come back.

'Be well…' It was a goodbye without signal or sound, but it wasn't an act he could wait on.

There was something he had took with him.

It was a beckoning Demonic Sword wrapped in cloth. A mistake he should have buried.

The 'Wispering Devil' Demonic Sword was in his hands. Which was also known as…

…'Shaitaan'.

…..

….

…

..

.

In the apocalyptic dreamworld where Simon Rainglow resided, a figure had appeared.

Lex had made his entrance after some time.

"You lost?" The insensitive old man asked as if to clarify, and the youth nodded his head.

"I let my guard down." It looked like he still had enough baseless confidence to say that.

But his lack of eye-contact said otherwise.

Simon thought for a second, then sighed before bringing up something he discovered.

"Why do you know my 'Kata'?" These words had caused the other to look with big eyes.

"…What?" Lex didn't quite understand.

"What you call 'Bullet Style'… It used to be part of my martial arts." He dropped a bomb.

Lex couldn't help feeling astounded.

The sheer coincidence that the lost martial arts of Exorcists would be the Hero's style.

Was this really a coincidence?

"It must be fate." Simon found this detail amusing. He didn't think much of it at all.

"You said this is part of your style, then…" Lex found that his guess was hopelessly correct.

One could say that all this time, Lex and his father had only learnt a scrap of the full style.

A fraction of a fraction.

"Yeah… I’m not teaching you.” Simon made that clear. Like it was too much of a bother.

“…Well, I didn’t ask anyway.” Lex was grinding his teeth while trying to think of other things.

He wondered if his dad was alright.

He didn’t look injured, but there was still a bit of dirt on his clothes from a difficult battle.

And that explosion earlier…

“I’ll teach you the Fundamental Arts when we have the time, though. It’s not like I don’t want to help you… It’s just not my job.” Simon was relaxing on rubble while making this point.

“Then what IS your job.”

“Judging you. Don’t you know the reason your Stigmata Gifts were given?” He stared.

“…I thought I had none.”

“Not until I gave a thumbs up and decided you were worthy of being a ‘Hero’. If not, this special Job Class would vanish with me. You wouldn’t have been able to remember me.” A chilling tone was expressed in a lax manner.

There was this distance between them that couldn’t be shortened with simple words.

They were literally worlds apart.

Lex knew that nothing he said would be able to bridge this gap. All he could do was…

…barter.

He quickly assessed the gains and losses before putting on an admiring appearance.

Hiding away his thoughts.

“Woah, you’re cooler than I’d thought. So this style of yours continues to exist? Aren’t the requirements too high?” These words stroked the old man’s ego. Lex had spoke it clearly.

Purposefully gassing him up.

Though he didn’t show any signs of change in his attitude, Simon’s mouth curved up ever so slightly. Acting aloof to get more attention from his fan. He was still popular, right?

“Not exactly. You see… After my body was ruined in the First Cycle, I adapted my style to a body less than a normal person. The only requirement is skill.” Simon started to speak.

At these informative words, Lex gasped audibly so that the old geezer could hear.

Half of his action wasn’t really an act.

He DID feel awed by the old man, after all.

“Then are there a lot of users?” This inquiry made the inflating ego of the man to drop.

A quick shift in attitude.

“Sadly, even splitting up my techniques didn’t make them simple enough for anyone to learn. I remember the Lazrik Clan were the only ones to simplify my ‘Bullet Kata’ into a useable style. Thought it had drawbacks.” It was then Simon looked at youth discreetly. A human response to the situation before him.

He continued: “I’ll teach you the real thing when you master the Fundamental Style. No sooner. You can’t imitate greatness with the little strength you have at this moment.”

It looked like he started to give in.

Lex finally found Simon’s one weakness:

‘Compliments’.

…No, seriously.

“How did you create such a style?” Lex got onto a subject they both could gush about.

“I entered ‘The Zone’ and ‘BEAST MODE’ too many times. That, and living for a lot longer than most of humanity.” Although these terms Simon mentioned were known, Lex had no idea what they really entailed.

“So what Stigmata Gifts are you giving?” It was time to get onto the main topic at hand.

“Don’t rush.” The old man spoke lazily while raising his hand to make it appear in the air.

Five beads of different colours appeared.

They took the shape of a halo tattoo and stuck itself on Lex’s right arm roughly.

Engraving itself onto his magical power.

Lex felt his senses change. Almost like he could sense nature much more intimately.

A form of resonance…

“First, is called ‘Party Link’. You can monitor the location, life force, and buff those in your party so long as permission is given. You can choose up to four permanent members.” The explanation that followed was surprising.

“Permanent?” This felt too crucial for Lex.

“You can’t go switching around friends so easily, right? Only death can desynchronise this.” It was a naive look- No, it was a warm smile that seemed to not have any ill-intent.

Even though the rule was so extreme.

“What if they don’t want to follow me?” This was a question that really needed an answer.

“What if they don’t? Partners are for a lifetime, after all.” Simon didn’t even flinch.

It was then Lex realised what he wanted.

A five-man band. Joining our strengths for the sake of taking down a larger than life foe.

“…What buffs do I get?” He simply moved on.

Looking at the five coloured halo that turned into a tattoo bracelet coiling around his wrist.

“You get five ‘elements’ of F Rank. They may not be enough fully cover a body in reinforcement, but it’s more than what I had to work with initially. Whether you can grow or use this will be up to you.” Simon explained.

It made Lex realise that he was gifted any Magic Pathways to make manipulating this easier. He felt his insight on magic was becoming deeper, and remembered a detail.

From what his father, Landan, had spoke about the Lazrik Clan. It’s said they used to use Elemental Talismans due to their inherited Combat Gift. Allowing them to be attuned to five elements, unlike others.

With this Stigmata Gift, he could mimic those techniques. However, they were at home.

He needed to get there to get stronger.

Strong enough to protect his only family left.

“Now time for your second Stigmata Gift. It’s time to choose.” With that, Simon got up off his bum and walked towards a certain direction of this world. He gestured at Lex.

Asking him to come closer.

When Lex and Simon arrived, they were greeted by a location different from the norm.

There were thousands of weapons the first hero had used throughout his entire life.

All of them scattered. Some were on rocks.

Like one particular single glove.

“This was what I called Mjollnir Hammer. It used to be a glove my dear uncle gave me on my birthday, but I’d repurposed it to suit my needs.” Simon picked up a clear white glove.

There were runes embedded that were engineered into it by ancient techniques.

They changed a normal glove into a weapon.

“That there is the necklace I used to hold my prototype firearms.” There were guns created in an era of fantasy. Their strength couldn’t be compared to modern firearms, but useful.

Extremely valuable insight into history.

Simon continued boasting about his past. It was likely the first time he had the chance to.

He brought forth ordinary weapons to weapons he had enchanted by himself.

Mystic Tools of the past.

“This one is called Confessional Daggers. 

A thousand Answers follows a big Question, and every Question must have an Answer.

This was made early on… I didn’t have much on me at the time except my ingenious mind.

Managed to create an item rivalling a Holy Weapon, and later made one myself!” As he was constantly bloating his backstory and journey, the youth listening had a ‘question’.

“Can I choose a Holy Weapon then?”

“You aren’t worthy of it.” Simon brushed him off and didn’t even attempt to explain himself.

“…You said I’m a Hero.” Lex knew hardness wouldn’t work, so he tried a softer way to ask.

Hearing those ‘heartbroken’ words, Simon had to rethink what he was about to say.

Being put in the hot seat out of nowhere.

He had a good answer, but he wasn’t sure if the young boy would be able to accept it.

“Hah… That… Fine, it’s not about worth. If you gain a powerful weapon, your destiny will be twisted by it. Especially a ‘Named’ blade.” It really was an explanation hard to accept.

“Named? Destiny?” Lex made a difficult look.

“An example… Hmmm… Let’s see… It’s… like the story of Caliburn. You know, that one about King Arthur? King Arthur? You MUST know that story in your era too.” It was such an important story that it was part of identity.

The cultural identity of the northwest was closely tied to if they knew this famous tale.

About the mystical sword in the stone.

“Ah, King Arthur? Well, that one’s a classic in my era.” Lex’s words caused the old man to sigh in relief, but also in confusion in how the works had been able to survive two disasters.

Was this what they meant by a timeless work? That it pops up even in this new era?

If only Darry Dotter got the same treatment.

“Well, if you pulled the sword of the stone in reality… Err, wait… bad example.” Simon stopped himself before saying ‘you would become king’, since that would only spur the boy forward: “Yeah! If you got anything related to Arthurian Legends. Ya screwed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Wives cheating on husbands. Homicide, genocide, patricide, etc. Arthurian Legends have it all. If you pick a sword and it influences your fate, then don’t blame me.” These joking words were spoken with a dreadful coldness.

He was absolutely serious.

“Alright alright… I’ll pick some normal weapons. Happy?” Lex raised his arms.

The old geezer was smug, and started talking about his extensive history once again.

Even though it was endless, the stories were so epic that Lex couldn’t help being drawn in.

Falling for the trap of meaning over practicality. He was a patient listener.

The best audience for a storyteller.