Two weeks had passed since Arthur formed his Divine Core.
The manor had returned to a calm rhythm, but beneath its quiet walls, Arthur's chamber pulsed with movement. Not the idle kind—but the echo of sweat, steel, and silent resolve.
Clang—Swish—
Inside the training hall, Arthur's blade danced. No music played, no audience watched. But each strike, each motion, was orchestrated like a symphony he alone could hear.
His golden eyes narrowed, muscles coiling and releasing with perfect timing.
"—Heaven Breaker."
The sword cut through the air with a thunderous boom, a phantom arc trailing behind it. The pillar before him cracked from pressure alone.
Arthur exhaled deeply.
"Fifty percent… Still not enough."
Before his core breakthrough, Arthur had barely scratched the surface of mastering his three A-rank sword skills. Even after seven years, they'd only reached 10 percent mastery. Most knights and adventurers would call that a miracle—it takes a decade or more to master even one A-rank skill to that level.
But now…?
In just two weeks, he had pushed Heaven Breaker, Gale Speed, and Storm Requiem to 50 percent mastery.
Each of these skills, feared across battlefields, now bowed slightly to his will.
Still, Arthur wasn't satisfied.
He shifted his stance, blades flickering in his hand again.
"—Black Lotus Strike."
Zzt!
His body blurred into the shadows.
In that instant, the atmosphere dropped into stillness—no footsteps, no gusts of mana—just a faint flicker of movement.
The offensive skill—Black Lotus Strike—unfolded like a silent bloom of darkness.
Arthur vanished from sight, reappearing behind the speeding training dummy. A black lotus briefly pulsed beneath its feet as if the ground itself had betrayed it.
The next moment, the dummy's upper half slid cleanly off, severed without a sound.
There was no clash, no flare of power. Only the soft hum of air filling the void where Arthur had just passed.
"The strike doesn't come from the blade…" he whispered, exhaling slowly, "…it comes from the darkness that surrounds everything."
Then—
Frostfang Spiral."
As the words left Arthur's lips, a chilling hum resonated through the air.
His blade shimmered with an icy light—not just cold, but ancient, hungry.
With a single sweeping motion, a spiral of frost burst forth from the tip of his sword, whirling outward like a predator unleashed.
The ground groaned beneath the frost's advance as jagged ice fangs erupted in a circular path, freezing everything in their wake—stone, metal, even the air itself.
The spiral didn't just freeze—it carved, it tore.
Anything caught within the radius was impaled by crystalline shards, each shard sharp enough to split steel, each movement precise like a dance of blades woven from winter itself.
Frost clung to the air, lingering like breath on glass.
"This isn't just cold…" Arthur murmured, eyes glowing faintly, "…this is the will of winter given form."
And finally—
"—Void Rush."
The world blinked.
Arthur's body dissolved into a ripple of shadows, consumed by a surge of compressed darkness.
In an instant, space seemed to warp around him. There was no buildup, no sound—just a snap of stillness.
The next heartbeat, he reappeared dozens of meters ahead—cutting through the air like a phantom.
Not teleportation. Not flight.
It was the folding of space through darkness itself.
Where his feet once stood, the ground cracked and smoked, marred by the vacuum left behind.
A line of pure destruction marked his path—silent and absolute.
These three new A-rank skills, one each from darkness, ice, and movement, had now reached 25 percent mastery.
Arthur paused.
He could feel the difference—not just in control, but in how the mana responded to him. As if his sword… understood him.
And the rest?
B-rank skills: 90% mastered
C-rank skills: Perfected now
D- rank skill Perfected now
E-rank and F-rank: Perfected—years ago
Arthur quietly sheathed his blade. Sweat dripped down his brow, but his breath was steady.
"This isn't the end," he muttered. "I've only just reached the starting line."
His Divine Core pulsed softly in his solar plexus, as if agreeing.
The door creaked open behind him.
Rein, his loyal butler, entered with a fresh towel. "Training again, young master?"
Arthur caught the towel and wiped his face. "I've rested enough."
Rein smiled faintly. "And yet the training hall echoes like a battlefield."
"Why are you here?"
"I came because Lord Count is calling you," Rein said, his tone polite yet firm
"I'll come after washing."
Should I send the maids to assist you, young master?"
Arthur looked at him dryly. "Just get out."
Rein nodded with a faint, respectful smile. "As you wish, young master." He turned and walked out with the grace only a butler of high standing could muster.
The door clicked shut.
Arthur didn't speak immediately. He just stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, then let out a quiet sigh.
"I haven't seen my parents for two weeks… I guess continuous training like this really might be dangerous." He stretched his arms and muttered to himself, "Let's go a bit easy this week. Less training, more sleep… good food… maybe even a movie in the palace theatre."
Just as the thought brought a faint smile to his face—
"Master, I am a girl too, you know. Should I watch you when you bathe?"
The voice echoed in his mind like a whisper tickling his ear. Feminine, teasing.
Arthur flushed slightly and groaned, rubbing his temples. "Shut up, Elaris."
"Yes, master."
Her voice held the faintest trace of laughter.
Arthur exhaled, already regretting giving his ultimate skill a personality. "Did you check Rein's stats?"
"I did. Would you like me to show them now?"
"Yeah."
A small blue window flickered into view before his eyes—his Appraisal Archive, now integrated with Elaris, his ultimate skill assistant.
⸻
Status: Rein Albrecht
Butler of House Valerian
Rank: Beginner Rank 5
Affiliation: House Valerian
Loyalty to Arthur Valerian: 80%
Main
• Observation Mastery
• Tea Brewing
Can't see more because of host Rank
⸻
Arthur blinked. "Eighty percent, huh…"
"That's considered very high, especially for someone trained to resist loyalty charms," Elaris chimed in.
Arthur gave a soft smile. "Yeah… Rein's been with the family since I was a kid. Guess he really does care."
He stepped toward the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt, and muttered, "Now no peeking."
"I make no promises, master," Elaris replied, her voice fading with a mischievous giggle.
Arthur rolled his eyes and walked in.
But for a moment, as the hot water hit his back and the steam rose, a thought lingered:
Despite everything—the training, the pressure, the politics—he still had people he could trust.
And in this world of blades and blood, that was more valuable than any skill.
...….
As Arthur stepped out of the bath, the cool air met his skin. He slipped into his carefully chosen outfit—black, tailored pants with golden accents that fit loosely but perfectly, paired with a light, sleek black shirt that fluttered just slightly as he moved. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, outlining his lean frame.
Standing at 178 centimeters, Arthur wasn't short—but there was still a softness to his face, a hint of youth that hadn't yet been chiseled away by battle or time. His skin held a healthy glow, his posture calm yet firm. He combed his hair from a side part, strands of jet-black hair falling neatly in place. Even in loose clothes, he carried a grace that made him look effortlessly handsome—elegance without arrogance.
He glanced at himself in the mirror. "Still look like a damn kid," he muttered with a small grin, shaking his head.
As he stepped out of the room, Rein was already waiting with a bow. But even the loyal butler took a moment longer than usual to speak—eyes flickering with a trace of admiration.
They began walking.
"Did you take care of what I asked?" Arthur asked calmly, eyes forward.
"Yes, young master," Rein replied with quiet pride. "Everything is in motion. We can begin after lunch. I've arranged the meeting as you requested."
Arthur nodded, slow and controlled. "Good."
The hallway stretched out before them, lined with tapestries and the golden glow of morning.
"Good morning, Father. Mother," Arthur greeted as he stepped into the grand dining hall.
Count Alaric Valerian merely nodded, eyes still fixed on the newspaper he was reading. Clad in a crisp black suit, with a neat black beard, matching eyes, and hair that looked like flowing obsidian, he resembled a man in his late twenties—despite being far older. His aura was calm yet firm, much like a sealed sword resting within reach.
On the other side sat Lady Rubina, graceful in her emerald-embroidered black gown, her posture as perfect as the golden-eyed gaze she turned to her son. She offered a warm smile. "Good morning, son. Come, sit."
Arthur walked forward, his boots making soft contact with the polished floor as Rein respectfully pulled the chair for him. He took his seat with a small nod.
Breakfast began quietly.
Arthur started with a nutrient-rich shake—designed to fortify the physique and speed up internal recovery. The taste was bitter, but the effect, he knew, was worth it.
Count Alaric set the newspaper aside, picked up his porcelain teacup, and spoke in a casual tone, "We'll be leaving for the capital two days before the third round begins."
Arthur, mid-sip, placed the empty glass down and reached for a salad of grilled chicken and mana-enriched vegetables. He blinked, puzzled. "Why? We can reach the capital in six hours, even without the warp gates."
In this world—far more advanced than Earth—magic and technology coexisted in harmony. Warp gates were restricted to certain regions, but high-speed aircraft and the Nexus railway system connected even the furthest noble territories. From Valerian County to the capital was a long distance, but six hours by flight at most.
His father sipped his tea, then calmly said, "The Emperor wants to meet you."
Arthur froze for a second, fork hovering over his salad. Rubina's eyes narrowed immediately.
"…What?" Arthur's voice was soft but filled with disbelief. Why the hell would the Emperor want to meet someone like me?
Count Alaric smiled slightly, noting his son's reaction. "Don't worry. His Majesty is not the kind to cause harm without reason."
Rubina frowned. "Even so, Alaric, you could at least tell us why."
"I told him about Arthur defeating a Rank 1 golem while still at Rank 0," Alaric replied. "He became… curious."
That seemed to calm Rubina down a little. She folded her hands and nodded slowly. "If that's all, then I understand."
Before she could add more, Alaric raised a hand. "Rubina, I know you're only trying to protect him. But if His Majesty truly intended to harm House Valerian, he wouldn't need to resort to tricks."
Rubina sighed softly. "You're right. I apologize for overreacting."
Alaric gave her a brief glance before turning back to Arthur. "So? Do you want to meet him?"
Arthur looked at his father for a quiet moment. His eyes didn't waver. "…I will."
"Good," Alaric said with approval. "Finish what you need to in the remaining time. I heard you're recruiting aides now."
Arthur shot a look at Rein.
The butler shook his head quickly. "I didn't tell him, young master."
Alaric let out a short, amused laugh. "Don't worry. I have my ways of knowing. Just make sure you recruit only those you—and the Valerian family—can trust."
Arthur gave a light nod. "Understood, Father."
Rubina chuckled softly and added, "I'll send some money through the accountant to support your recruitment. Do use it wisely."
Arthur offered a rare, brief smile.
"Thank you, Mother."
......…..
n the heart of Valerian County, nestled between noble estates and merchant towers, stood one of the region's most prestigious restaurants—"Crimson Hearth."
It was run by the Voss family, a powerful Marquis House from the Eastern Region, renowned not just for their influence but for the excellence of their cuisine. Crimson Hearth had many branches throughout the Elydrion Empire, each one drawing lines of eager patrons every day. Though online reservations were available, nothing matched the in-person experience—elegant service, perfectionist chefs, and dishes so refined they had become legends.
The Valerian branch was no exception.
On the top floor—the fifth—behind a finely crafted wooden door, was a luxurious private chamber. It was spacious enough to host twenty nobles and still leave ample room to walk freely. Silk-draped windows offered a sweeping view of the city below, while chandeliers hummed softly with embedded mana crystals.
Inside the room, two teenagers sat quietly.
The girl had black hair tied back casually and sharp black eyes that seemed older than her fifteen years. Her mature figure, shaped through rigorous physical training, showed even beneath her casual attire: fitted jeans, a loose tee, and a soft-cut jacket tailored for movement. She radiated confidence—elegant, yet capable.
Beside her sat a boy with dark eyes and messy hair tinged red, as though dyed. He wore a relaxed fit—slightly worn jeans, a plain shirt, and a striking crimson jacket that gave off a cool, almost rebellious energy. Like her, he too was fifteen, yet both carried themselves with a calmness earned through experience.
They were not just anyone.
They were Leona and Drake, members of Team 12.
A soft knock echoed on the door.
Both of them stood without a word, their gazes turning toward the entrance with quiet anticipation.
The door opened.
In stepped a boy who looked younger than either of them—shorter, his face still bearing the traces of adolescence. But neither of them dared underestimate him. They knew better.
Arthur Valerian.
His presence filled the room more than his size should've allowed. Cool black and gold attire, brushed hair parted to the side, and eyes that shimmered with a mix of calm and unreadable depth.
"Hello, Drake. Leona," Arthur said casually.
Leona offered a faint smile. "Arthur."
Drake nodded once. "Yo. Took your time."
Arthur stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. He walked over calmly and took his seat opposite them, folding his hands as he glanced between the two.
The private meeting had begun.