Arthur stood alone, trembling, sword still clenched in one hand, the golem's ruined body sprawled behind him. Its core had dimmed—finally.
But Arthur's own light was fading too.
He dropped to one knee.
And finally—he closed his eyes.
"Just… a moment… let me breathe…"
But peace would not come so easily.
CRACK.
The air twisted.
A golden arc of light tore open space inside the chamber as a woman stepped through—her robes fluttering like storm-whipped silk.
Golden eyes. Black hair streaked with stardust.
"ARTHUR!"
Rubina Valerian had arrived.
The peak Rank 7 Archmage of Elydrion, matriarch of House Valerian, and—most importantly—his mother.
Her eyes widened at the sight before her: the flickering chamber lights, the disabled healing systems, the blood on the floor… and her son collapsed in a pool of his own mana and pain.
"You absolute fool."
She rushed forward, kneeling beside him.
Without a word, she raised her staff.
"Mega Heal!"
A radiant green spell circle bloomed, casting shimmering light through the broken chamber. The energy surged into Arthur's chest, sealing the wound, stabilizing his breathing.
But it wasn't enough.
"Mega Heal! Mega Heal! Mega Heal!"
Again and again, she cast her strongest healing magic, weaving Rank 6 and Rank 7 healing arts in rapid succession, chaining sigils faster than any healer in the empire could hope to match. Light filled the room, holy and powerful.
Arthur's wounds slowly closed.
His pulse steadied.
But Rubina didn't stop.
"Sanctum Mend. Vital Surge. Absolute Restoration."
She cast everything. As if afraid that even the smallest scar would become a wall in his future.
By the time the light faded, Arthur was unconscious—but whole.
She placed a trembling hand on his face.
"…Don't do that again, my son."
⸻
Moments later—
The door burst open.
A wave of elite presences filled the chamber.
Alaric Valerian, Patriarch of House Valerian, strode in with stormy eyes and clenched fists. Behind him came the young but sharp-eyed Rein, and the ever-loyal Sebastian, head butler and silent guardian.
Knight Captain Kael entered with a grave expression.
And lastly, with hurried steps, came Alex Reacher—Arthur's combat instructor, eyes wide with disbelief.
They all stopped upon seeing the wreckage.
And the mutated golem that lay in ruins.
A Rank 1 combat golem—undefeated by any Rank 0 in history.
Now defeated by a single swordsman… who hadn't even broken through.
"He… did this?" Alex whispered, voice dry.
Sebastian bowed his head. "There is no mistake. He fought that… alone."
The silence was heavy.
Alaric looked down at his son, lying quietly on the medical bed that had been summoned into the chamber.
For the first time in years, the Duke's clenched fist trembled.
"You reckless boy…"
He didn't know where the anger should go.
To the Valhalla Temple, for designing such a monster?
To the system, for allowing it to be created?
Or to his own son, for challenging it alone?
No… not anger. It was something deeper.
"I will make Valhalla Temple pay for this."
His voice was cold.
He knew they hadn't done anything illegal.
But that didn't matter.
They endangered Arthur. That was enough.
Rubina stood beside him.
"He's stable now. But keep this quiet."
Alaric nodded.
He looked to the others—Kael, Sebastian, Rein, and Alex.
"Not a word of this leaves this chamber. This incident is to be buried. Is that understood?"
They all nodded, grave expressions on their faces.
Then, slowly, gently, they carried Arthur back to his private quarters in the central wing of House Valerian.
A room warded, sealed, and protected by layers of ancient magic.
There, in peaceful silence—Arthur slept.
Unaware that his quiet training duel had already begun to echo in the halls of the Empire.
And that the world was beginning to see the second coming of something far more terrifying than genius—
A true monster in the making.
......
In the heart of Elyndor's imperial palace — a place where even the stars outside bowed to its majesty — a single communication crystal lit up with a pulse of divine light.
The figure seated in the center of the Grand Strategium Chamber, surrounded by golden glyphs and projections of the empire's borders, was none other than Emperor of Elydrion.
His eyes, a deep gold laced with threads of starlight, flickered as the face of an old comrade appeared on the screen.
Count Alaric Valerian. Peak Rank 8
Blade of the North.
But today, he looked like neither noble nor general. Just… a father.
"You look older than me, Alaric," the Emperor said with a gentle smile, voice carrying both the warmth of a grandfather and the weight of a god.
Alaric exhaled, trying to keep his tone level.
"It's Arthur."
The Emperor's smile faded only slightly — replaced by a quiet, thoughtful stillness.
"I wanted to speak of the Dark Order's recent stirrings near the northern stretches."
"But now, seeing your face… I think there's a more important matter."
Alaric nodded slowly.
"He challenged the mutated golem."
The Emperor's eyebrows rose, ever so slightly.
"The Rank 1 designed for the final phase? The one laced with anti-magic alloy and regenerative cores?"
"Yes," Alaric said, his jaw tight. "As a Rank 0. Alone. Without telling anyone. Won — barely. Rubina had to stabilize him with Rank 7 healing."
A long silence followed.
And then, the Emperor… smiled.
Not the grin of amusement. But the quiet pride of a warrior who had walked through fire — and now saw the same fire in another.
"So the flame burns in him too."
Alaric remained quiet.
"You're angry," the Emperor observed.
"I am," Alaric admitted. "But I don't know if it's at him… or myself."
The Emperor leaned forward, his expression soft now, almost like that of a father who had once made the same mistake.
"Let him fall, Alaric. Let him bleed. He's not your shadow. He's your legacy. And perhaps this world's last hope against what lies beneath."
He paused, then added with a softer voice:
"Send him to me."
Alaric's eyes flickered with surprise.
"To…?"
"The palace. Not as a soldier. As my guest. Let me speak to him — not as Emperor… but as a grandson"
Alaric lowered his gaze. Then, slowly, bowed his head.
"Yes… Your Majesty."
The screen faded to black.
And in the quiet of the Grand Strategium, Emperor stood and turned toward the great map of the empire.
"The stars shift. The dark awakens. And yet…"
He smiled once more, placing a marker over Arthur Valerian's name.
"Perhaps this generation will surprise even the heavens."
........
Two days had passed since the brutal battle against the mutated golem.
Within his private chamber, Arthur Valerian sat quietly beneath the soft glow of a floating mana lamp. The room was serene, the silence broken only by the occasional flick of a page. In his hands was an ancient tome — thick, leather-bound, and laced with golden thread.
"Core Formation: A Treatise on the Soul's Foundation."
Arthur's gaze sharpened as he read.
"Cores are the soul's crystallization of potential… Bronze, Silver, Gold, Crystal, and Divine. Each representing not just power, but the scope of your path forward."
He had already made his decision.
Crystal Core.
It was the highest he could realistically aim for. Divine Core? Impossible. The book was clear: Divine Cores were forged only by the touch of gods… or through forbidden means like soul sacrifice — something Arthur refused to consider.
He leaned back in thought, rubbing his temples.
Even if I somehow found a method… forming a Divine Core in three weeks? Out of the question. Even I can't break that wall so easily.
But a Crystal Core — that, he could chase. A foundation capable of reaching Rank 9, just like his father and the continent's legends.
Yet, even that wasn't easy.
"Cores can't be changed later — at least not by mortals."
Only gods could recast their fate. For Arthur, this formation had to be flawless.
He turned the page again, absorbing the next section.
⸻
"The Nature of Rank 1."
A change beyond numbers. A metamorphosis.
Before, Arthur could manipulate mana — transfer it into his body, his blade, or activate skills through affinity. But without skills, even elemental manipulation was impossible. His power, while monstrous by human standards, was bound to limits.
If he used all his strength, maybe he could flatten a building — maybe crush a dozen trees in one blow.
But Rank 1 was a different world.
It was the realm of true mages and warriors.
"You gain the ability to form free-floating mana spheres — raw, refined essence. Your body's evolution begins. Your stamina, strength, and healing factor nearly double overnight."
Arthur nodded.
A Bronze Core might let you create a 0.5 cm mana sphere — and even that was hard-earned. But a Crystal Core?
He closed his eyes, visualizing.
A 10-centimeter sphere of perfect mana — raw, lethal, and controlled.
Not just that. Mana capacity would explode, skill control would heighten, and even unrefined mana could be wielded as a weapon.
⸻
Yet, Rank 1 wasn't true freedom.
Unlike Rank 2, you couldn't yet shape mana freely into anything — wings, blades, waves. That mastery came later.
Rank 1 was about refining mana, shaping your inner pool into its most potent form. And once refined enough, one could begin preparations for Rank 2 — where the true manipulation began, and a second core layer was formed.
Arthur closed the book.
"The foundation… of everything."
He placed the tome down gently.
And whispered, "Time to begin."
Now, he rose from his bed, eyes sharper than ever — not with fury, but quiet resolve.
As he stepped out of his chamber, a tall figure in a sharp butler uniform matched his pace without a word.
Arthur glanced sideways.
"Rein?"
The butler gave a small nod, hands behind his back.
"On Count Alaric's orders. You're not allowed to move unsupervised until further notice."
Arthur groaned softly.
"Because I almost died once?"
"Because you nearly got yourself killed fighting a mutated Rank 1 golem alone," Rein replied flatly. "There's a difference."
Arthur sighed but didn't argue. He understood the concern — and this wasn't the time to rebel. Not yet.
They reached the heavy doors of Arthur's private training chamber, built beneath the Valerian estate and layered with advanced enchantments. Arthur looked at Rein.
"I'm forming my core today. Stay outside the boundary and don't interfere. But watch."
Rein bowed slightly.
"Understood, Young Master."
⸻
The doors slid open with a resonating hum. The moment Arthur stepped inside, the ambient mana of the chamber adjusted to his presence — reacting to his bloodline like it was welcoming an old friend.
Arthur walked to the center and sat down, legs crossed, eyes closed.
He had just started to channel his breath when—
"Oye, boy."
Arthur's brows twitched.
The familiar voice echoed through the chamber as another figure stepped in, cloaked in casual robes, carrying a mug of steaming tea like he owned the place.
"Teacher Alex," Arthur muttered, opening one eye.
Alex Reacher, Arthur's personal Sword and theory instructor.
Arthur stood up and bowed with respect.
"You're here early."
Alex took a long sip and nodded.
"Figured you'd try something reckless alone again. Heard you're forming your core, so I came to keep you alive."
"I'm not going to die forming a core."
"Yeah, well. That's what you said before fighting that golem."
Arthur exhaled slowly and returned to his seated position.
"Fine. Watch all you want."
Alex chuckled and leaned back against a mana-resistant pillar.
"Good. Now let's see what the genius of House Valerian can do."
⸻
Arthur closed his eyes and began.
The world went quiet. No footsteps. No breaths. No pulse — only mana.
He felt it swirl around his body, warm and vibrant, as if recognizing the coming of something sacred.
First, locate the First Mana Circuit…
He focused inward.
A thin stream of light traced from his heart to his right shoulder — Mana Circuit One, the path of Stability.
Found it.
He breathed in.
Mana surged, flowing along the circuit, tracing the delicate path as Arthur gradually began to illuminate his inner network.
Now… the second.
Another light emerged — Mana Circuit Two, behind his spine — the path of Endurance.
Arthur's breathing deepened, sweat beginning to form on his brow.
From the outside, Alex's eyes gleamed slightly.
"Good. He's fast… he's practiced this before."
Rein, watching from a distance, said nothing — but his grip on his gloves tightened slightly. The sheer mana fluctuation was starting to make the room feel heavier.
Arthur continued.
Third Circuit — the path of Focus, just below the navel.
Fourth — Adaptability, spreading through both arms.
Fifth — Agility, coursing through his legs.
Sixth — Resilience, looping around his lungs.
Seventh — Clarity, wrapping around the temples.
Eighth — Control, between the brows.
And finally…
Ninth Circuit — the deepest one, embedded in the core of his chest. The Path of Potential.