Upon the resonant call of his name, a young boy with a cascade of raven-black hair elegantly rose from his designated seat in the second row of the elevated platform. His youthful countenance, approximately six years of age, was aglow with eager anticipation.
" Please select a bell from the table and venture into the enchanting 'sword garden'," declared the master of the ceremony, his voice reverberating with authority.
Descending the platform's steps, the boy named Alex received a beckoning gesture from the officiant, directing his attention towards the small yet ornate bells adorning the tables. Responding with a deferential nod, Alex chose one of the finely crafted bells before embarking on a purposeful journey towards the vast and captivating garden, where a thousand swords stood erect, akin to solemnly planted gravestones.
Standing amidst this awe-inspiring array of weaponry, the master of ceremonies signaled for him to initiate the bell's sonorous chime.
**CLING!**
The melodious ring of the bell permeated the garden, its ethereal notes weaving through the air. As if stirred by this mystical cadence, approximately forty of the swords impaled in the ground began to quiver in unison. To the astonishment of the onlookers, thirty-five of these resplendent blades levitated gracefully from their terrestrial confines.
A radiant red light effloresced from the bell, shrouding the thirty-five suspended swords in an incandescent embrace. A vivid and formidable fire sprung forth from their hilts, imbuing them with an almost ethereal vigor.
"Ooh, thirty-five swords! Astounding!"
"It's Fire! It's Fire! Young master Alex possesses an affinity with one of the 'great elements'!"
"Judging by the uniformity of the swords' illumination, the quality of his mana must be nothing short of exceptional!"
"This talent truly befits the offspring of Lord Raoul!"
"Congratulations!"
In response to this remarkable display, a cacophony of applause and jubilation erupted from the collateral members standing below the platform, their exuberance clearly directed towards the middle-aged gentleman seated next to Alex.
Roman Lionhart, a paragon of the family's martial tradition, acknowledged the feat with a benevolent nod. "Your attribute is tailor-made for a swordsman. Now, select your weapon."
"Yes, Grandfather," responded Alex with an infectious beam of delight. His nimble finger, guided by a sense of destiny, singled out one of the thirty-five levitating swords. This choice caused a slender longsword to gracefully detach from the air and gently nestle into his waiting arms. Subsequently, the other swords descended gracefully to their original positions in the garden, reminiscent of solemn tombstones returning to the earth.
"Exquisite choice, young master!"
"What a formidable blade!"
Concluding this segment of the ceremony, the officiant signaled Alex to return to his designated seat, where he rejoined his father, the distinguished figure known as Lord Raoul Lionhart. The admiring gazes of the crowd followed his every step.
Next in line, a voice resonated through the audience, introducing a representative from the vassal family of Margot—Sarah Margot.
Like the nobility serving the King, the vassal families serving House Lionhart were great families in the North.
With a mane of fiery red hair cascading around her, Sarah Margot stood up from her designated seat, positioned at the far-right edge of the platform. In a manner as graceful as her auburn tresses, she reached for one of the elegant bells resting on the tables and strode toward the garden of swords, her cerulean eyes exuding an air of serene determination.
With utmost composure, she grasped the chosen bell and initiated the ceremonial chime.
**Cling!**
The melodious tone resonated through the surroundings, and in response, nearly forty swords anchored firmly in the earth commenced a synchronized trembling, reminiscent of the crescendo of a symphony. Much like Alex's feat, thirty-five of these swords broke free from their terrestrial confines and levitated into the air.
As the bell's radiant light touched these magnificent blades, a silvery brilliance, akin to molten moonlight, burst forth from their tips. However, it did not cease there, instead extending along the hilt of each sword, shrouding them in a delicate, shimmering frost.
"Frost? And this phenomenon spans the entirety of all thirty-five swords!"
"Does her aptitude match that of young Master Alex?"
"It seems the Margot lineage has birthed yet another prodigious talent!"
Despite the evident skill and majesty of Sarah's feat, the ensuing applause and accolades did not reach the same resounding crescendo as Alex's. It became apparent that a competitive spirit existed between the vassal families and the collateral lineage.
With a voice filled with wisdom, Roman Lionhart offered his commendation to Sarah. "Your attribute lends itself admirably to the path of a swordsman. Now, select your weapon."
"Yes, my Lord," Sarah replied with unassuming humility. Her finger extended toward one of the sapphire-hued swords suspended in the air, summoning it to her grasp. Graceful as a feline, she returned to her designated seat, bowing to the assembled crowd before her.
The ceremonial procession continued, with twelve more participants, representing the direct lineage, collateral members, and vassal families, each selecting a bell and shaking it before the garden of swords. Yet, none could match the aptitude demonstrated by Alex and Sarah, with the most adept among them managing to levitate a mere fifteen swords.
Amidst this backdrop of trials and tribulations, Klaus watched intently. He used this opportunity to discern the distinctions between excellence and mediocrity in the realm of sword affinity. His keen observation yielded enlightening insights.
In the realm of mana purity, it became apparent that the distance traveled by the illuminating light from the blade denoted its quality. Meanwhile, the nature of the mana attribute was made evident through the luster of the hilt. As for sword affinity, it became clear that the number of swords levitated signaled the degree of affinity.
***
The ceremony reached its climactic finale with the introduction of the last participant, Klaus Lionhart. He rose to his feet, selected a bell, and embarked on a solemn procession towards the enchanting garden of swords. In the midst of this contemplative journey, he found himself standing amidst an astonishing array of a thousand swords, each one radiating an aura of reverence.
Klaus harbored a sense of trepidation. Given his lingering affliction, even with the enhancement provided by the Ten Eyes Mantra, he questioned his ability to impress in the same manner as the previous participants.
With a harmonious echo, he shook the bell, its resonant chime rippling through the garden like a fleeting serenade. However, despite his best efforts, the swords remained unmoved. An echoing laughter permeated the surroundings.
"Already finished?"
"Not a single sword budged!"
"How amusing! This is a first for us, indeed."
"He possesses neither affinity nor attribute—what a pitiable outcome."
"It appears he's distinguished only by his appearance."
"As anticipated, the God of War seems uninterested in the progeny of a failed Swordsman."
The onlookers from the direct lineage bore expressions of disdain, while the collateral members openly displayed their derision.
Roman Lionhart, their stern patriarch, intervened with a voice that cut through the mockery like a blade.
"Change your bell and try once more."
Klaus complied without protest, exchanging the bell for another, hoping that this would resolve the issue.
'Phew'
'Now let's try while opening my two eyes of the Ten Eyes Mantra.'
With renewed resolve, Klaus inhaled deeply, his breath steady, and extended his hand toward the resolute garden of swords. This time, his determination was underscored by the opening of his two inner eyes within the mental realm, a crucial aspect of the Ten Eyes Mantra.
As he was about to shake the bell for a second time, an unfamiliar sensation coursed through his being. It was akin to a pebble's gentle ripple as it descended into a tranquil pond. A subtle tremor emanated from his chest, rippling outward and encompassing his entire form.
The cryptic message materialized before his eyes as if it were etched into the very fabric of reality:
**DING**
[You are cultivating the Ten Eyes Mantra (Two-Eyes).]
[The second Eye is resonating with the essence of the one thousand and six swords.]
[The Gluttony Trait has been Unlocked.]
Though perplexed by the enigmatic message, Klaus did not waver. He shook the bell with an unwavering resolve that reverberated throughout the garden. This time, the sound carried a potent resonance that seemed to penetrate the very souls of those present.
The effect was nothing short of astonishing. A profound transformation took place, one that defied the expectations of all witnesses. The one thousand or so swords grounded in the garden began to tremble, almost as if responding to an ancient call, they collectively defied gravity and ascended into the air, suspended in eerie harmony.
Both darkness and light erupted from the bell in Klaus's grip. These ethereal lights coursed through the suspended swords, which now numbered a staggering one thousand, as if partaking in a celestial ballet.
The entire assembly fell into a stunned silence. Eyes widened in awe, mouths agape in astonishment, and minds unable to fathom the magnitude of the spectacle before them.
Even Roman Lionhart, the revered patriarch, remained uncharacteristically silent, unable to find words to capture the extraordinary event that had unfolded.
Klaus himself was no exception to this overwhelming experience, his composure momentarily shaken by the grandeur of the moment.
Amidst the hushed astonishment, a few murmurs began to circulate among the spectators:
"All one thousand swords in the garden are aloft!"
"Is this reality or a dream?"
"He is the first since our founding ancestor!"
"How could a failure like Ludovic sire such a prodigious child?"
"He even possesses two great attributes"
Roman Lionhart cleared his throat, and the entire audience closed their mouths.
"You have dual attributes, light, and the dark element. Despite your constitution, your potential is infinite. Now, pick a sword."
Klaus just nodded at Roman and looked at the one-thousand-sword floating in the air, shining like stars in the sky.
DING
[The trait Gluttony is resonating with one fragment of 'Greed.']
[Connection established.]
{Choose me}, one of the swords that was shining with an intense black light said.
'Ah, a sword that can talk?'
{Choose me}.
Klaus pointed his finger at the black sword that was talking to him. The beautiful black sword flew and gently rested in Klaus's arms.
"AH, he even chose the Founding Ancestor's sword!"
"Even if his potential is infinite, he is not a member of the direct line of House Lionhart; does he truly deserve that sword?"
"Indeed, his fate may mirror his father's—a shattered core."
Klaus, accustomed to both praise and scorn from his past life, remained impassive. He was resolute in his determination to extract what he could from House Lionhart and depart without entanglement in familial affairs. Even though he was cherished by Elisabeth and the maids, his emotions had long been suppressed, replaced by a steely resolve.
However, an unexpected sense of satisfaction washed over him as he beheld the expressions of those who had once ridiculed Ludovic, Elisabeth, and himself. In their stupefied gazes and speechless awe, Klaus found a vindication that transcended words.
"This concludes the Sword Selection Ceremony. Everyone is to depart," declared Roman Lionhart, his voice cutting through the hushed reverence that hung in the air.
"My lord?" a member of the direct lineage hesitantly questioned, eyes lingering on the sword of their esteemed founding ancestor now cradled in Klaus's arms.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
"All are dismissed."
As Raoul Lionhart—Roman's second son—rose to leave, those assembled surreptitiously cast glances at Klaus and Ludovic before departing. Muttered curses were no longer their refrain, replaced instead by the collective wonder and disbelief at the extraordinary events that had unfolded.
In less than five minutes, the once-filled audience chamber was reduced to a mere two occupants: Roman Lionhart, the venerable patriarch of House Lionhart, and his tenth son, Raphael.
That was a truly remarkable sight," Raphael commented.
Roman nodded serenely as he continued to gaze upon the thousand swords impaled in the garden.
"Klaus Lionhart..."
Roman spoke softly, his thoughts lingering on the extraordinary event that had unfolded when Klaus shook the bell.
"He will undoubtedly leave his mark on the history of this continent."