The Shattered Light of Legacy
[A BORING AURA FARMING CHAPTER]
[PLEASE CONTINUE READING FOR A SATISFACTORY PLOT TWIST ]
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Earlier That Morning – The Hall of Aetheric Theory
Marble pillars lined the grand lecture hall, their surfaces etched with glowing runes that danced with latent energy. Dozens of students sat on arched tiers, notebooks and enchanted quills at the ready. At the front stood Professor Halbrecht, an elder magister with a voice like thunder encased in velvet.
> "Now," he said, adjusting his monocle, "can anyone explain the fundamental limitation of elemental amplification when applied through soul channels?"
Several hands rose. Lucien Felwyn's(ONE OF THE 10 GREAT FAMILIES), of course, was first.
> "The soul fractures when overwhelmed. You risk essence bleed. Only a fool would attempt full amplification without a stabilizing core."
The professor nodded approvingly. "Correct… in part. And yet—"
Rael's voice cut in from the back row.
> "The concept of 'fracture' is a misinterpretation. The soul doesn't break. It reflects — distorts under pressure, yes, but only when force is imposed from the wrong plane."
The room turned.
Even Halbrecht paused.
> "Explain, Mister… Rael, was it?"
Rael stood slowly, his tone calm and clinical.
> "In the Old Tongue, the soul was called Verani el-Nor — the mirror of the eternal. Elemental amplification doesn't break the soul. It amplifies existing harmonics. Only when forced through an opposing resonance does backlash occur."
Aelira Caerthyn's quill stilled mid-word. Her moonlight eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Professor Halbrecht looked as if someone had slapped him with a forgotten truth.
> "...That's an interpretation even seasoned Runeseers hesitate to touch. Where did you—?"
> "I read," Rael said simply, "and I remember."
Lucien's jaw flexed.
> "Quoting forbidden texts doesn't make you brilliant," he muttered under his breath.
> "Then perhaps you should stop fearing the ones you don't understand," Rael replied without looking.
A low chuckle rippled through the room.
Lucien's face reddened.
Halbrecht cleared his throat.
> "That's… enough for now. Let's adjourn early. I believe the dueling courts are open for use. Some of you may need the exercise."
In the arena Rael stood at the edge of the arena, his black mantle shifting gently with the wind. Around him, nobles from across Eldrath gathered, their voices a mixture of laughter, mockery, and whispers. His presence, once ignored, had become a ripple of discomfort.
He held no sigil. No known house. No lineage to speak of.
And yet, the trial stone still smoldered from the memory of his touch.
> "Look at him. Standing there like he owns the place."
The voice came from a boy in lavish crimson and gold robes, his chest puffed with the arrogance only centuries of unchecked power could grant.
> "That's Lucien Felwyn," whispered a passing student to another. "Heir to House Felwyn. He thinks the throne belongs to his bloodline."
Lucien approached, flanked by two other nobles—Cassian Gormund, broad-shouldered and scowling, and a lithe elf with moonlight eyes and the crest of House Caerthyn on her sleeve.
> "You there. Commoner," Lucien sneered. "What accident brought you to this sacred ground? Or are we now letting rats crawl into the lion's den?"
Rael didn't flinch. His eyes, calm and unreadable, lingered on Lucien for only a moment.
> "Rats survive what lions ignore," he replied, voice like cold iron.
Lucien's smirk twitched.
> "Is that supposed to impress someone?" he snapped. "Do you think magic makes you noble? That power alone grants you worth?"
> "No," Rael said. "But I know what makes a lion bleed."
A hushed silence fell over the courtyard.
Even Lady Elira Caerthyn raised a brow.
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The Duel of Pride and Ash
The silence following Rael's final words was sharp — brittle like glass just before it shattered. Around the courtyard, murmurs surged like a rising tide.
> "Did he just threaten the heir of House Felwyn?" "No… he promised something worse."
Lucien's jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his side. Magic danced around him, thin veins of silver light flickering along his gloves — a silent threat, barely restrained.
> "You overstep," he growled. "You think a fluke at the trial stone gives you the right to breathe in the presence of legacy?"
Rael tilted his head slightly, calm as ever.
> "Legacy? You mean the borrowed glory of your ancestors?"
"I have no need to borrow anything."
Lady Aelira Caerthyn, still standing among the crowd, let out a soft breath.
> "He's provoking Lucien deliberately," she murmured to herself. "But why…?"
Cassian Gormund chuckled, stepping forward with his arms crossed.
> "I say we let them settle this with steel and flame. It's been too long since I've seen a noble get humbled."
Lucien's pride snapped.
> "I challenge you, Rael. In the name of House Felwyn. A sanctioned duel under the laws of Arcanum."
A ripple spread through the crowd. Formal duels weren't taken lightly. They invoked honor, risked reputation, and in some cases — lineage.
Vaelreth... no, Rael met his eyes. Then, slowly, he removed the black mantle from his shoulders and dropped it onto the marble tiles.
> "No magic," he said softly. "No weapons. You and me. As you are. As I am."
The crowd gasped.
Lucien blinked in disbelief. "What are you—?"
> "You talk of blood," Rael cut in, "Let's see if yours has spine in it."
Lucien laughed, but it cracked under the pressure. He turned toward the dueling master at the courtyard's edge.
> "Witness this challenge. I invoke House Felwyn's right to arms."
The master — an old, battle-worn mage with a hawk's gaze — nodded. He raised a hand, and a silver rune shimmered in the air.
> "The challenge is accepted. No killing blows. Magic permitted only if declared. Duels of lineage must be witnessed and logged."
Lucien turned back, but his voice lowered to a hiss.
> "You will crawl from this courtyard, worm."
Rael walked to the weapons rack at the edge of the dueling ring.
He passed rows of enchanted blades — swords of starlight, spears of thunder-forged steel, wands laced with phoenix hair.
He ignored them all.
Instead, he reached toward the training bin and pulled free a dull wooden practice sword.
The room fell completely silent.
> "Is this arrogance or madness?" someone whispered.
"He'll die," another muttered.
Lucien's eyes gleamed, and his voice turned cruel.
> "Very well," he whispered. "Then I too… discard pretense."
From within his sleeve, he pulled a vial of black mercury and crushed it in his palm. The liquid shimmered unnaturally as it sank into his skin.
The crowd screamed.
A brand flared across his chest — a forbidden sigil.
> "That's soulbinding magic," gasped a girl in Vyrmor black. "That's illegal!"
The master duelist stepped forward.
> "You—! That's a violation—"
> "No," Lucien shouted. "My house grants me authority. I invoke the Bloodright of Felwyn. Let this duel carry true consequences."
The air warped.
Dark tendrils wrapped around Lucien's arms, forming armor of cursed bone. His eyes gleamed with unnatural fire.
> "You should have bowed, commoner," he snarled.
Rael didn't answer.
He walked forward, barefoot now, the wooden sword held loosely at his side like a shepherd's staff.
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The Duel Begins
Lucien struck first.
He moved like a storm — shadow magic slashing through space itself. Fire erupted from the ground as dozens of black blades hurled toward Rael.
> "Die—!"
Rael didn't dodge.
The blades vanished before they touched him, devoured by some unseen force, like water poured into the void.
Lucien stumbled, eyes wide. "What—?"
Rael stepped once.
The entire dueling platform cracked beneath his foot.
He moved again — and was suddenly inches from Lucien's chest.
The wooden sword tapped Lucien's ribs.
A tap — and Lucien flew backward as if struck by a mountain, crashing through three stone pillars.
Silence.
Students scrambled back, gasping as smoke and debris clouded the field.
Lucien stood — coughing blood — rage overtaking his pain.
> "You… you cheated! That's not possible!"
> "I've faced gods," Rael said. "You are not even a storm."
Lucien screamed — summoning a monstrous form of cursed mana, a serpent made of bones and screaming souls. It lunged at Rael, jaws wide.
Rael raised the wooden sword.
He didn't swing.
He simply spoke.
> "Be still."
The serpent froze mid-air.
Then shattered into dust.
Lucien collapsed, on his knees, trembling.
Rael stood over him, voice now low enough only Lucien could hear.
> "Your ancestors weep for what you've become."
He turned away.
The dueling master, pale and shaken, stepped forward.
> "Victory... to Rael. By overwhelming dominance."
Lucien was dragged from the courtyard. Students whispered. A House heir defeated — humiliated — not by might, but by something they didn't understand.
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The Aftermath
Whispers turned to rumors. Rumors became legend.
> "He didn't use magic." "That wasn't a sword. That was judgment." "He stopped forbidden sorcery with a word."
But not everyone was awed.
House Felwyn's seat in the Grand Assembly now burned with shame. Lucien, though not dead, was exiled from the family line by evening. His disgrace sent waves through the courts.
Lady Lysandra Vyrmor watched from a high balcony, cloaked in dusk.
> "Interesting," she whispered. "He's not just a threat. He's a fulcrum."
Lady Aelira Caerthyn remained silent. But she made a note. Her
spies would watch him closely — and protect him from the shadows.
Two houses had chosen to remain neutral… for now.
But the others had seen too much.
Power draws fear. And fear demands chains.
Rael, unknowingly — or perhaps intentionally — had begun a war of legacies with a wooden sword and no name.
And across the sea, the Crystal Thrones whispered.
> "The reckoning walks."
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