The courtyard of Solvance Castle was a quiet place, with little activity save for the occasional patrols of guards who scarcely paid attention to their supposed master. Eirik Solvaris had been a shadow of his siblings, known for his idleness and lack of discipline. The soldiers, the maids, even the gardeners—they all expected the same lazy young lord they had grown accustomed to. But today, that expectation shattered.
The morning sun filtered through the gray clouds as Eirik strode into the training grounds. His expression was unreadable, his piercing golden eyes carrying a weight that none could quite place. The guards stationed nearby straightened at the sight, exchanging uncertain glances.
"What is he doing here?" one of them murmured.
"Probably wandered out after another night of drinking," another guard whispered back, smirking.
However, their whispers died when they saw Eirik's purposeful stride. The young man who had once been a disgrace to the Solvaris name now walked with the presence of someone far greater—a presence honed over countless lifetimes of struggle, war, and conquest.
Standing by the edge of the training ground was Serina, Eirik's personal maid. She was a 7-star swordsman, a silent sentinel who had served him without question despite his shortcomings. Today, however, her usually composed expression faltered as she observed him.
"Young master," she called, her voice careful, "what brings you here so early?"
Eirik stopped in front of her, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "Serina, bring me a training sword."
The request stunned her. For years, she had seen him squander his potential, ignoring his lineage and the expectations placed upon him. To hear him speak with such determination now felt almost surreal.
"A training sword?" she repeated, studying his face for any hint of sarcasm or jest. Finding none, she nodded slowly. "As you wish."
Moments later, she returned with a dull iron sword, handing it to him with measured grace. Eirik accepted it without a word, gripping the hilt firmly. As he stepped onto the training field, all eyes turned toward him—guards, servants, and even the castle steward, who had been passing by.
Eirik closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath. The aura of this world was overwhelming compared to the martial world he once ruled. Unlike the sparse energy he had been forced to cultivate painstakingly in his past life, this world teemed with life force, as if the air itself thrummed with power. It was intoxicating.
He swung the sword experimentally, feeling the weight and balance. Memories of his past life surged through him—techniques he had created, battles he had fought, victories he had claimed. The Valerian of old had been a master of martial arts, a pioneer who had invented secret techniques that none could replicate. One such technique came to mind now.
"Shadow Veil Strike," he muttered under his breath. It was a technique designed to mask one's movements, turning the user into a blur of deadly precision. In his old world, it had been revolutionary. Here, in a world brimming with aura, its potential was limitless.
Eirik planted his feet firmly, channeling his energy—or rather, the aura of this world—into his body. At first, it resisted him, sluggish and unfamiliar. But as he concentrated, his natural talent began to shine. Aura flowed through his veins, awakening dormant strength.
He moved.
To the onlookers, it was as if he had vanished. One moment he stood still, and the next, the air around him shimmered with the force of his strike. The training dummy before him exploded into splinters, the impact reverberating through the courtyard.
Gasps erupted from the soldiers and servants alike.
"Did… did he just do that?" one guard stammered.
"That's impossible! The young master barely knows how to hold a sword!" another exclaimed.
Serina's eyes widened, her usual composure cracking for the first time. She stepped forward, her voice hesitant. "Young master… how did you—"
Eirik turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Serina," he said evenly, "what rank do you believe I should be at this age?"
She hesitated. "Given your lineage, by eighteen, you should have reached at least the third star. But…" She trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought aloud.
"But I am only at the first star," Eirik finished for her, his tone cold. "Because I squandered my time. Because I was a fool."
Serina flinched at his words, guilt flashing across her face. She had always believed in his potential, but even she had begun to lose hope after years of watching him waste away. Now, seeing this transformation, she felt a spark of something she hadn't felt in years—faith.
"That changes today," Eirik declared, his voice carrying an authority that silenced the murmurs around him. "I may have been weak, but I am not weak anymore. I will rise. I will surpass the expectations of this family—and this world."
He turned back to the training field, gripping the sword tightly. Each movement he made was deliberate, each strike precise. Sweat dripped down his brow, but he didn't falter. The soldiers watched in stunned silence, unable to tear their eyes away from the scene.
By the time Eirik finally stopped, the training dummies had been reduced to ruins. He stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving but his eyes alight with determination.
Serina stepped forward cautiously, bowing her head. "Young master," she said softly, "I was wrong to doubt you. If you continue on this path, there is nothing you cannot achieve."
Eirik met her gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Good," he said simply. "Because I will need your help, Serina. The road ahead is long, and I cannot walk it alone."
She straightened, her expression firm. "You have my loyalty, as always."
As the sun set over Solvance Castle, whispers spread among the servants and soldiers. The loafer young master was no more. In his place stood a man who carried himself like a king—a man who was just beginning to reclaim his throne.