"Strange, why are the Warcraft movents so bizarre lately?"
"Yeah, so small Warcraft have even co to human cities, but there's no word of them attacking humans. It's really odd."
"Could this be a sign of so disaster brewing? Such strange phenona must have sothing behind them."
In the first month, strange events occurred in various regions of the Stigma Continent—chaotic Warcraft, letters with addresses but no recipients. Everything was bizarre, leaving people puzzled.
In a remote village on the Stigma Continent, several children played in the fields, while a boy about thirteen or fourteen tried hard to catch sothing that resembled a field frog.
The boy was just an ordinary child. His face was sared with mud, but he seed particularly happy.
Plop! He missed and fell into the mud, but he continued to laugh joyfully.
Suddenly, a giant shadow appeared in the sky as a Warcraft swooped down towards the ground.
In this small village, where the strongest were only Body Refining Realm Martial Artists, a True Martial Realm Warcraft was simply invincible, and even the strongest man in the village would et a fatal end.
Other children scattered in fear, but the boy couldn't run fast in the mud, helplessly watching as the flying Warcraft got closer.
Yet the Warcraft rely soared overhead without attacking, and from its claws, a scroll dropped as it passed above the boy.
Still in shock, the boy carefully picked up the scroll. Although it had fallen into the muddy pit, when he lifted it, the scroll was surprisingly clean and dry.
"This must be sothing valuable; I'll take it ho and ask Mom to sell it for money!" The boy, still curious, opened the scroll.
There were many words on the scroll. Although the boy barely knew any characters, the anings inscribed were directly imprinted in his mind.
"Ritian International Culture and Martial Arts School?" Countless pieces of information flooded the boy's simple mind. In his world, the quickest thing was to play, but the concept of a Martial Artist was very vague to him.
The boy brought the scroll ho right away. His parents, having attended so school and visited the city, were considered world-wise in this rural village.
They pondered deeply over the scroll.
It was an admission letter to a Martial Artist school!
But it was too strange—they were just ordinary farrs with no Martial Artists in the family, let alone applying to a martial arts school, sothing far beyond what they could afford.
Moreover, the school was on the Central State Continent, and they had no idea how far that was. Just the travel costs were beyond their ans.
At that mont, they found a peculiar ship ticket and a card, which turned out to be from a universal money bank on the Stigma Continent. The card held a sum of money, significant enough for them to travel to the nearest large city and even stay for several days.
As for the ship ticket, it bore a strange symbol and the words "Ritian Express," along with small print indicating that one could board at any port with a spacecraft using this ticket to go directly to the "Ritian International Culture and Martial Arts School."
"What do you think, the boy's mother?" The boy's father was already tempted; if their child could beco a Martial Artist, their family could leave the mountains and see a more colorful world.
The only issue was whether this school truly existed or if it was a scam.
"You're overthinking," the woman said, "The money alone is worth several years of inco for us. We are just farm folks, not worth deceiving."
"True!" The man patted the boy's shoulder. "Son, do you want to beco a Martial Artist?"
"Dad, what is a Martial Artist? Like Uncle Wang next door?"
"A Martial Artist!" The man reminisced, "Let
tell you stories about Martial Artists!"
...
This scene unfolded in many places. Those who found these scrolls ranged from ordinary people to young gentlen and ladies of warrior families, even orphans and wanderers.
Of course, so thought of it as a boring joke and tossed the admission letters aside, where they quietly awaited new owners.
Lacking credibility, most Martial Artists discarded these letters, and those who believed were generally not Martial Artists.
In the week before the third month, boys and girls from different countries and regions who had received admission letters used the money to arrive at spaceship ports in each city.
In the capital city of a Ninth Grade Kingdom, three poorly dressed individuals entered the spaceship port.
"Please stop; no one without a ticket can proceed further," the staff stopped them.
"How about this?" The boy nervously showed the ticket.
"Of course, you may enter!" The staff's deanor instantly turned very respectful.
Not long ago, their company had been directly acquired by a mysterious figure. The new owner did not implent sweeping changes but invested in a new batch of spacecraft, available at all ports, to carry only those with this particular ticket.
Relieved, the three exhaled.
"Son, make sure to find a way to send us news when you get there." The middle-aged man and woman waved to their son.
"Yes, I will definitely co back as a Martial Artist!" The boy said with determination.
The boy passed through the passage and entered the spaceship port. The huge and luxurious spaceship wildly sparked his eyes and mind.
Besides him, there was another girl with luggage, looking at the spaceship with curiosity.
"Are you also going to the Ritian International Culture and Martial Arts School?" The boy asked bravely.
"You are too?"
"Yeah!"
"Hello, I'm Habert."
"Hi, I'm Keranji!"
...
After a week of flying, the spaceship finally stopped. During this ti, as they passed several empires and cities, new people would board. However, everyone seed filled with uncertainty about the future and didn't interact much.
This was the happiest week of Habert's life, with endless snacks and fruits in the spaceship rooms, and various priceless items he'd never seen before. Especially milk tea and spicy sticks, which he found particularly irresistible.
As he stepped off the spaceship, his eyes were full of reluctance.
Upon exiting the spaceship, his pupils expanded even more, for in this port, there were at least tens of thousands of spaceships docked, a scale that could rival the most bustling cities of Central State.
Among the ten thousand admission letters, after several transfers, at least ten tis as many owners had touched them, and finally, the one thousand who made it here must have been those most destined for the school.
A thousand boys and girls, with luggage and confusion, followed the port's directions towards the exit.
Suddenly, a blinding sunlight made it hard for them to open their eyes. Before they could see anything clearly, a voice echoed in their ears.
"Kids, welco to the Ritian International Culture and Martial Arts School!"
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