As the rhythmic clopping of hooves filled Luke's ears and the scorching desert wind whipped sand against his face, his mind couldn't help but drift away from the monotonous march. The news of his inclusion in the war party had spread like wildfire through the baron's lands, igniting a mix of skepticism and hushed respect. Whispers followed him—"the prodigy knight," some called him, while others muttered about "unnatural talent."
While a part of him craved to prove his worth, another harbored a nagging uncertainty. His progress had been phenomenal. In a mere year, he had transcended from a scrawny office worker to a Tier 2 knight, exceeding even the most optimistic expectations. Yet, a nagging suspicion lingered. Why him? What allowed him to grasp complex aura techniques with such ease?
His gaze drifted down to his clenched fist. He could almost feel it – a faint hum, a presence nestled within his very being. The mysterious stele, embedded somewhere in his consciousness, remained an enigma. It wasn't just any artifact; it was a relic passed down through generations of the baron's ancestors. Legends spoke of its connection to a forgotten civilization, its true purpose shrouded in the mists of time.
The stele had become a part of Luke when his predecessor, the previous Adam, gathered his aura for the first time during the Awakening ceremony. The ritual, a closely guarded secret, involved the transference of not just aura, but also a fragment of the baron's lineage – the stele. In Adam's case, the stele remained inert, a dull weight within his being. But when Adam tragically perished, and Luke, through an unknown twist of fate, transmigrated into his body, the stele stirred. It reacted to Luke's inherent potential, awakening with a faint hum that only he could sense.
Frustration gnawed at him. This unseen entity held the key to his potential, yet it remained frustratingly silent. Was it a forgotten artifact of a lost civilization, a dormant power waiting to be unleashed, or a ticking time bomb shrouded in mystery?
A gruff voice broke through his thoughts. "Deep in thought, young one?"
Luke looked up to see Master Morris, his weathered face etched with concern as he surveyed the arid landscape stretching before them. A flicker of something akin to recognition, a fleeting spark in the old knight's single, sharp eye, passed unnoticed by Luke.
"Just pondering on the road ahead, Master," Luke replied, a hint of his turmoil spilling into his voice.
The old knight grunted. "War is a crucible, Luke. It forges heroes and breaks the weak. But fear not, for you have the makings of a fine knight." He paused, a flicker of something akin to respect gracing his one good eye. "Your progress has been remarkable, even uncanny. Keep pushing your limits, hone your skills, and remember, true strength lies not just in power, but in discipline and a clear mind."
Master Morris's words resonated with Luke. He couldn't rely on a mysterious entity to fight his battles. He needed to focus on his training, master his aura control, and become a knight worthy of the Baron's trust. Perhaps, he thought, with a glimmer of hope, achieving the rank of Silver Knight, a legendary tier steeped in the secrets of the kingdom's past, might finally unlock the secrets of the stele. Maybe then, he could establish some form of communication, unlock its potential, and understand the true reason for his accelerated progress and the awakening of the ancestral relic within him.
With renewed determination, Luke straightened his back and gripped his sword tighter. The journey to becoming a true knight, a hero of the Aurora Kingdom, was paved with challenges. The war against the Rubik forces was just the first test, and he wouldn't falter. He would face it head-on, not just for the glory and the kingdom, but to unravel the mystery that resided within him and the secrets held by the awakening stele.