Morning light filtered through the high, arched windows of House Velebrandt. Golden rays danced upon the polished marble floors, revealing faint patterns etched by artisans long dead—each swirl a testament to the wealth and legacy of the Archduke family.
Lucien Caelum Valebrandt stood silently at the manor's highest balcony, watching the fading silhouette of his father's convoy disappear into the misty western horizon. Carriages, banners, and knights had vanished beyond the treeline. All that remained now was the haunting silence—and the weight of expectation.
"The frontline…" he muttered under his breath.
The Abyssian King had returned. War was brewing again in the west.
---
The First Day
Lucien's daily routine now began with simplicity but purpose.
He rose with the sun. His room was always warm from the early fire lit by the maids, and Marie was often standing silently at the door, waiting with a small bow and a polite smile.
"Good morning, young master."
Breakfasts were lavish affairs, even without the Archduke. House Velebrandt took pride in its hospitality. Silver platters unveiled roasted venison, thick bread, butter laced with honey from the western hills, and fruits not native to the region—likely imported from elven trade routes.
Lucien sat alone at the long dining table, slowly growing used to the etiquette and precision expected of nobility. The forks. The tiny blade for cheeses. The correct spoon for soups. He didn't care for such things in his old life, but here—he had no choice but to learn.
---
The Library
By mid-morning, he was often found in the Velebrandt Library.
A cathedral of knowledge.
The walls towered high, wrapped in polished bookshelves that stretched up like silent sentinels. Magical lights floated along the railings of the upper levels, dimly glowing to help readers without the need for torches.
He read obsessively.
Tomes about the Way of the Sword of the West—a brutal, instinct-driven style unique to the Velebrandt bloodline. Writings on the origin of Aura, and how only the truly strong could grasp it. Scrolls explaining the beastkin cultures of Varnakar, and even church-approved journals about holy power and its significance to human faith.
"The system unlocks at 10...but only if mana or aura awakens," he read quietly, eyes narrowing.
So why do I already have it? And neither power yet?
He closed the book slowly, thoughts swirling.
---
Moments With His Brother
Each afternoon, Lucien would find time for the little one.
His baby brother—named Emilien—was only a year old, with soft silver hair like Lucien's and big curious eyes. Emilien always giggled when Lucien made strange faces or wiggled his fingers. The contrast between the heavy fate Lucien carried and the innocent warmth of his sibling was stark.
"You'll grow up to be a monster of a hero, won't you?" Lucien would whisper while bouncing the child gently.
His eyes darkened.
And you might one day try to kill me too…
---
Stories From His Mother
In the late afternoons, Lucien would sit by the Archduchess's drawing room.
She was elegance personified—refined, calm, and always draped in gold-accented robes. A former imperial princess, and now a shrewd manager of trade, diplomacy, and House Velebrandt's affairs.
She would often sip from her porcelain cup and share stories from the capital or her childhood at the Imperial Palace.
"Did I tell you how I once made the Emperor chase me around the gardens because I stole his crown?"
Lucien chuckled softly.
He listened to her with the quiet reverence of someone who had once been motherless. These stories, light-hearted as they seemed, grounded him.
---
Merchant Negotiations
He once peeked into the northern chamber where the Archduchess sat with her advisors and foreign merchants.
Discussions of Abyssian remains, beast carcasses, and magical reagent pricing filled the room. Some merchants bargained with trembling hands. Others flaunted their supply chains like war trophies.
"Thirty platinum for the heart of a voidborn beast? That's theft."
Her words, calm and commanding, silenced them all.
Lucien stood in the hallway, impressed.
So this is what it means to run a household of war and legacy...
---
The Week's End – The Arrival of General Knight Rex
By the week's end, the peaceful rhythm was disrupted.
A dark-coated knight arrived at the manor gates, riding a monstrous steed draped in steel and chainmail. His armor bore scars from countless battles, and his presence demanded silence.
General Rex.
The man dismounted slowly, his piercing gray eyes fixated on the boy waiting at the training courtyard.
Lucien stood straight, a sword at his side—not yet drawn, but ready.
The General nodded once.
"So you are the son of Caelum Velebrandt."
His voice rumbled like thunder before a storm.
"Let's see if you carry his blood, or merely wear it."
Lucien's grip tightened around the hilt.
Let the training begin.
______________________________________
The early morning mist still clung to the cobblestones of House Velebrandt's inner courtyard, bathing the estate in an ethereal light. Birds chirped high above the crimson-tiled roofs, their songs almost drowned by the distant rhythm of boots and drills. Yet today, this particular courtyard was silent—ominously so.
It was a ground seldom used except for matters of martial importance. Its pale marble floor was cracked in places, not from age, but from the weight of history. Dozens of embedded gouges, traces of past duels and training, marked it as a field of discipline and violence. Towering statues of ancestral swordsmen loomed from the edges, casting long shadows like silent judges.
There, at the center, stood a man like a steel monolith—General Knight Rex. No music announced his presence, no servants flanked him. He needed none.
Clad in worn, practical armor with pauldrons adorned by the Velebrandt crest, the man radiated strength not from raw size, but from presence. His graying hair was tied back neatly, and a thin scar ran from the edge of his temple to the cheekbone, a gift from the Beast Wars. Beside him rested a sheathed greatsword taller than a grown man, its hilt wrapped in faded crimson leather.
Lucien Caelum Velebrandt, still small in frame but sharp in eye, stepped into the yard with his silver hair neatly combed, his noble tunic tightened around his waist by Marie's careful hands. He held a wooden sword, light and balanced.
He took a deep breath.
Rex turned. "You're early. Good. I like punctuality."
Lucien bowed slightly, still not used to the formalities but copying them well. "I didn't want to make the one training me wait. That sounds like a good way to lose a limb."
Rex chuckled. "Smart mouth. We'll fix that."
With a subtle motion, he unsheathed his blade and held it forward.
Then it happened.
The very air bent.
A shimmering light bled from Rex's sword—not magic, not spell, but something far more primal. It wrapped his blade in a second skin of translucent gold. The stone beneath his feet cracked just slightly. Lucien could feel the air tighten, like the world held its breath.
"This is aura. The strength of will made manifest. Unlike mana, it does not obey the rules of external forces. It obeys you."
Rex swept his blade to the side, and with it, the invisible pressure vanished.
"Only a few ever awaken it. Even fewer ever control it."
Lucien stared, captivated. "You… that was incredible. What rank are you, Sir Rex?"
"S+. Enough to command troops and carve through monsters." He lifted a brow. "Your father, though, is SSS. One of 7 humans to ever reach that height in this current generation."
Lucien whistled. "And let me guess, the others are all dead or retired?"
"Ofcourse not, its the Grand Dukes of each household and the current Emperor."
"So father's the best among them."
"Undoubtedly. But SSS is the ceiling for anyone without the blessing of the Goddess. No matter how hard you train, you won't break it without becoming a Hero or being born something other. Its the highest rank a person without a hero's title can achieve," Rex continued. "Only a few across all races ever reach it. And your father, Grand Duke Thalor Velebrandt, is arguably the strongest human alive."
"Human?" Lucien asked, eyes narrowing.
Rex smirked, walking past him. "There are SSS ranks among the Drakari, the Elves, even among the Meranth deep under the sea. But while humans can match them in rank, our output—our quality and quantity—is far behind."
Lucien looked down at his wooden sword. "So… if someone like me wanted to reach SSS, I'd need more than just talent."
"You'd need hell," Rex replied. "And to walk through it smiling."
Lucien nodded slowly. He felt his wooden blade. It vibrated faintly in his grip, not from power—but from purpose.
"Let's see your basics," Rex said, tossing a second wooden sword toward the boy. "No aura. Just technique."
Lucien caught it. They both stepped into the marble ring.
Rex took his stance—squared shoulders, forward foot loose, center guarded.
Lucien blinked.
Then moved.
Wood met wood. Sparks of friction, not flame, echoed through the court. What began as test swings escalated into a dance. Parry. Lunge. Pivot. Slide.
Lucien's sword arced perfectly each time, his feet moved not erratically but with a precision that seemed beyond instinct—as though every step had been calculated five seconds before he took it.
Rex narrowed his eyes. The boy's body was still soft, his strength undeveloped, but his form?
This isn't imitation. This is mastery.
Lucien ducked low, sweeping at Rex's ankle. The general sidestepped, impressed. The boy adjusted, twisted, and jabbed—aimed directly at a gap in Rex's guard.
He saw that opening. He created that opening.
"Where did you learn this?" Rex grunted mid-swing.
Lucien, panting but smiling, replied, "Wish I knew. Maybe I had dreams of swordsmanship in the womb."
But his arms began to ache.
Each strike from Rex weighed heavily. Each parry slowed his limbs further. And soon—
With one solid upward strike, Lucien's wooden sword flew into the air. He fell to one knee, chest heaving, but eyes alight with joy.
Rex stood above him, unmoved, but thoughtful.
"You lost."
"Yeah," Lucien panted. "But I looked cool doing it."
The knight offered a hand.
Lucien took it.
"Wherever your talent comes from," Rex said, narrowing his eyes, "it's real. Above SSS, I'd say. And I don't say that lightly."
Lucien chuckled. "Don't worry. I plan on breaking SSS someday. Hero title or not."
He stared at his hands, trembling but still wrapped around the hilt of his sword.
This path... It's real.
And somewhere within, he could feel it—a presence dormant, watching, waiting. As if his blade had a memory of its own.
The blade that remembered.