Lucien frowned. "Unknown?"
Garron narrowed his eyes. "Your family... they've always kept secrets. This estate—those mines—your grandfather's disappearance. Maybe the reason they never spoke of the bloodline's awakening is because no one fully understood it."
Lucien flexed his fingers. "Or because they were afraid of what it might bring."
He turned back to the training post—an old oak log reinforced with steel bands—and struck again, this time intentionally guiding the aura through his body.
His punch landed with an impact that split the metal rings. A second strike shattered the core of the log completely. It didn't explode outward like raw force—it collapsed, as if something had unraveled it from within.
Even Garron stepped back.
He looked at Lucien in shock and something else. He seemed to reminisce,
"Finally, I see it
Lucien stood in the drifting splinters, chest heaving slightly. Sweat clung to his brow, but his eyes burned with understanding.
"This isn't just strength," he murmured. "This is inheritance. My family's real legacy. Not wealth, not lands… but something ancient in our blood."
He turned to Garron. "And it's waking up."
Garron gave a slow, respectful nod. "Then let it wake. But be careful, my lord. Not all things buried in blood are meant to rise."
Lucien looked up at the stars above the estate, sky vast and uncaring.
"Let them rise anyway."
He remembered the Aureville clan's starting point
House Aureville was not a name whispered in the annals of ancient nobility, nor did it carry the weight of centuries-old legacy. It was a house forged in ambition and blood, barely a hundred years old—a flicker of time compared to the great dynasties that ruled the realm. Its founder, my grandfather Guarin d'Aureville, had been little more than a footnote in the chronicles of minor nobility before fate took a sharp turn in his favor.
Born into a forgotten house with dwindling influence, Guarin had nothing but a sharp mind, a sword, and the desperate cunning of a man with everything to prove.
When civil war erupted, splitting the kingdom between rival claimants to the throne, he gambled everything on the then Third Prince, a shrewd but underestimated contender. While other nobles hedged their bets or backed stronger rivals, Guarin threw himself into the fray with relentless loyalty.
It was not just skill that carried him through the war—it was luck. Luck that his blade intercepted the assassin's dagger meant for the prince's heart. Luck that he survived the butchery of the Battle of the Black Fields, where so many better men had fallen. And luck, most of all, that the Third Prince emerged victorious, crowned King Theodric the Resolute.
Rewards followed swiftly. Guarin was granted the title of Marquess of the Maraquet Ranges, a vast and rugged domain nestled between jagged peaks and mist-laden valleys. On the surface, it seemed a hollow prize—a land of rock and wind, where only shepherds and outlaws dared to dwell. The old nobility sneered, assuming the new marquess had been given a gilded wasteland.
They were wrong.
Beneath the mountains lay riches beyond imagining.
It started with silver and gems. These already drew eyes as people started focusing on the territory. When Gold was discovered everyone was basically foaming at the bit
When they discovered magicite, that was when all hell broke loose. Contenders appeared from all over the realm.
it was said that on that day
The plains outside the Verdant Hollow had never known the crush of so many boots. From every corner of the fractured realm, banners flew—red griffins, black lions, golden roses. War drums pounded like thunder, and siege towers rolled forward, drawn by groaning beasts and desperation. The riches buried within the Hollow—veins of star-silver and vaults of untouched treasure—had summoned kings, warlords, and mercenary hosts alike.
But none had breached its border.
They all stopped at the edge. Not because of walls—there were none—but because of him.
High atop a solitary obsidian spire stood the Warden of Verdant Hollow, cloaked in wind and shadow. His name was whispered with wonder—Guarin Aureville. There was some derision, others wondering what he planned to do by his lonesome, did he think he was a Warbringer, able to stop an army by himself?
He raised his hand.
It was not a gesture of welcome.
In an instant, the skies darkened. Not from clouds, but from ash. The sun disappeared behind a veil of flame. A murmur swept the front ranks of the armies as soldiers raised shields and peered upward.
Then came the roar.
Fire cascaded from the heavens, not natural flame but a molten torrent laced with golden arcs of power. It did not trickle—it devoured. The vanguard of the Eastern Legions was the first to vanish, their polished armor melting like wax in the inferno. War elephants bellowed in agony before collapsing into steaming piles of flesh and bone.
Arrows flew in retaliation, volleys blackening the air—but none struck their mark. They crumbled mid-flight, turning to dust inches from Kael's form. With a simple motion, he swept his hand across the horizon, and the earth responded. Spears of stone erupted beneath siege towers, hurling them into the air like children's toys. Ballista crews screamed as the ground buckled, opening chasms that swallowed men and machine whole.
The army of the Rose Banner turned to flee.
Guarin descended.
He did not fall. He glided—borne on a current of burning air and silver lightning. His boots touched the grass before the western front, where ten thousand stood with steel drawn.
"Leave," he said.
His voice was not loud, but it echoed. Through skulls. Through souls.
They dropped their weapons.
A nobleman clad in golden armor stepped forward, trembling. "We only sought a portion of the wealth—"
Guarin's eyes flared. The noble disintegrated where he stood, reduced to ashes that scattered in the wind.
Silence. Then panic.
Within minutes, the siege was gone—armies broken and routed without a single blow exchanged in melee. The Hollow stood untouched.
Atop his black spire once more, Guarin watched the smoke drift into the distance.
The riches would remain.
And so would he.