The next six months were a blur of pain, exhaustion, and revelation. The Aura he had manifested, once a fragile, flickering light, was now a constant, burning fire. Eldrin's training was a brutal, merciless master. He taught Liam not to control his Aura, but to become it. He taught him to be a weapon.
The training began with a simple lesson: the Aura of a warrior is a reflection of their will. Eldrin, a man whose will was as unyielding as the mountains, taught Liam to use his Aura to command the world around him. He made him stand in a raging storm, a silent figure in a whirlwind of wind and rain, and he taught him to use his Aura to calm the storm, to make it a gentle breeze. He made him stand in the heart of a raging fire, a calm and collected figure in a maelstrom of flames, and he taught him to use his Aura to extinguish the fire, to make it a gentle warmth.
Eldrin taught him to use his Aura to manifest his will, to make it a tangible force in the world. He taught him to use his Aura to command his sword, to make it an extension of his own will, to make it a weapon that could not be broken. He taught him to use his Aura to manifest his will, to make it a tangible force in the world. He taught him to use his Aura to command his sword, to make it an extension of his own will, to make it a weapon that could not be broken.
The lessons were a brutal, merciless master. Liam pushed his body to its limits, his mind to its breaking point. He ran for miles, his Aura a silent, shimmering golden light that guided him through the darkness. He sparred for hours, his Aura a silent, shimmering golden light that deflected his opponent's strikes. He fought with his Aura, he defended with his Aura, he lived with his Aura. It was a part of him now, a constant, burning fire.
The Aura was no longer a fleeting, shimmering thing. It was a tangible, living force. A force that could be used to protect, to defend, to kill. It was a part of him now, a constant, burning fire. A fire that could be used to protect, to defend, to kill. It was a part of him now, a constant, burning fire.
He also worked on his draconic powers. The Obsidian Scales became a second skin, a cool, dark armor that absorbed even the most powerful blows. The Adamantine Claws became a weapon of unparalleled ferocity, tearing through even the most durable materials. His Dragonheart Vigor was no longer a simple mana-fueled power-up. It was a source of raw, unrefined power, a raging storm that he could summon at will.
The Aura was no longer a fleeting, shimmering thing. It was a tangible, living force. A force that could be used to protect, to defend, to kill. It was a part of him now, a constant, burning fire. A fire that could be used to protect, to defend, to kill. It was a part of him now, a constant, burning fire.
The final month of his training was a blur of exhaustion, pain, and revelation. Eldrin taught him to use his Aura to command his sword. He made him stand in a raging storm, a silent figure in a whirlwind of wind and rain, and he taught him to use his Aura to calm the storm, to make it a gentle breeze. He made him stand in the heart of a raging fire, a calm and collected figure in a maelstrom of flames, and he taught him to use his Aura to extinguish the fire, to make it a gentle warmth.
He was ready. He was a weapon. A weapon for his own purpose. A weapon for his own legacy. He had learned to use his Aura to command his sword, to make it an extension of his own will, to make it a weapon that could not be broken. He had learned to use his Aura to manifest his will, to make it a tangible force in the world. He had learned to use his Aura to command his sword, to make it an extension of his own will, to make it a weapon that could not be broken.
He was ready. He was a weapon. A weapon for his own purpose. A weapon for his own legacy.
The final trial of his training was a single, brutal duel. He was to face a man who was rumored to be Eldrin's most promising disciple, a man who was rumored to be the next Sword Saint. A man whose name was a legend in the Oulbeck family. A man whose name was a legend in the Oulbeck family.
He was ready. He was a weapon. A weapon for his own purpose. A weapon for his own legacy. He had learned to use his Aura to command his sword, to make it an extension of his own will, to make it a weapon that could not be broken. He had learned to use his Aura to manifest his will, to make it a tangible force in the world. He had learned to use his Aura to command his sword, to make it an extension of his own will, to make it a weapon that could not be broken.
The training was over. He was ready.
Liam stood in the training arena, a single figure in a maelstrom of wind and rain. He held his sword, Crimson Fang, a silent, shimmering golden light that guided him through the darkness. Across from him stood a man whose name was a legend in the Oulbeck family. A man whose name was a legend in the Oulbeck family.
"Begin," Eldrin's voice boomed.
The man, a silent figure in a maelstrom of wind and rain, lunged. His sword was a blur of motion, a vortex of strikes that seemed to come from every conceivable angle. Liam met him with a quiet, steady resolve. He didn't fight the storm. He became it. He let the man's sword wash over him, a burning tide, and he met it with his own golden light, a calm, controlled river that slowly, inexorably, began to extinguish the flame.
The man was surprised. He had expected Liam to cower, to retreat, to be crushed by the sheer force of his sword. But Liam, the dragon, stood his ground, a silent, unyielding monument to his own will. The man roared in frustration. He pushed more mana into his sword, forcing it to burn hotter, to lash out with more ferocity.
Liam met him with a quiet, steady resolve. He didn't fight the man's rage. He absorbed it. He let the man's sword wash over him, a burning tide, and he met it with his own golden light, a calm, controlled river that slowly, inexorably, began to extinguish the flame.
The man, for all his raw power, was losing. His sword was a chaotic, unrefined beast, a burning fire with no direction. Liam's sword was a masterfully controlled force, a quiet, unyielding power that knew exactly what it wanted. It was a matter of time.
The man, seeing his own defeat, felt a strange emotion. A kind of awe. He had never seen anyone with so much control, so much power. He had always believed that power was a raw, untamed thing. But Liam had shown him something else entirely. Power was not a beast to be feared. It was a force to be wielded.
The man felt his rage ebb. His sword, the burning red torrent, flickered and died. He was defeated. He had lost. He looked at Liam, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of awe and respect. He had lost, but he had also won something else entirely. He had won a teacher.
"I… I yield," the man said, his voice raw with defeat.
Liam, his sword a steady, shimmering light, nodded. He had won. He had won the final trial. He had won the right to stand before the Sword Sovereign Eldrin.
Grandmaster Orin, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of awe and pride, came forward. He placed a hand on Liam's shoulder. "You have succeeded, young Lithian. You have passed the final trial. You have shown me a will that is not to be broken. You are ready."
The words were a quiet, powerful echo. Liam felt them in his bones. He had done it.
The next day, Liam stood before the most powerful man he had ever met. Sword Sovereign Eldrin, his face a map of ancient battles, his eyes like chips of ancient ice. The training grounds were silent. There was only the two of them.
Eldrin spoke, his voice a low rumble. "You have shown me a will of diamond, boy. A spirit that can face annihilation and not break. I have seen the darkness in your soul. I have seen the rage. But I have also seen the unyielding determination to forge a new path. That is what I seek. A will that can be tempered into steel. A soul that can be forged into a weapon."
He paused, his gaze piercing. "I will not teach you how to be a hero. I will not teach you how to be a king. I will teach you how to be a weapon. A weapon for your own purpose. A weapon for your own legacy. Do you accept?"
Liam looked at him. He saw the cold, hard truth in the Sword Sovereign's eyes. This was not a fairytale. This was not a story of a boy who becomes a hero. This was the story of a boy who becomes a monster. A monster that can fight other monsters.
"I accept," Liam said, his voice quiet but firm.
"Good," Eldrin said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "Then let us begin. The first lesson is this: Aura is not a mirror of your soul. It is a part of your soul. A part that you can use to manifest your will. Now, manifest your Aura. And show me what you will use it for."
Liam closed his eyes. He felt his Aura. A golden, shimmering light with a faint, dark, spectral shimmer, a ghostly echo of his Obsidian Scales, a hint of the Dragonheart Vigor. He had done it. He had manifested his Aura. He had become the dragon.
"Good," Eldrin said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "Then let us begin. The path of a champion is never easy. And the path of a Sword Sovereign's apprentice is a path of thorns and fire. Many will try to exploit this. Many will seek to use you. And I fear, with every fiber of my being, that this will make you a target. The greatest target of all."
He returned to his desk and sat heavily. He took a deep breath. "But the potential rewards… they are too great to ignore. We will send a formal acceptance to House Oulbeck. You will return in one month to begin your training. But hear me, Liam. You will be accompanied by Sir Lucas and the Black Knights at all times. You will not leave their sight. Not for a moment. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father."
Baren offered a small, weary smile. "Go now. I have much to discuss with Sir Lucas. And perhaps… you should get some rest. A bath. You smell of sweat and victory."
With a nod, Liam left the study. He walked down the silent corridor, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He had his father's permission. He was on his way to his destiny. But he was also being watched. The path ahead was treacherous.
Meanwhile, in his own separate keep, Vorian Lithian sat in his study, a glass of fine wine trembling in his hand. A messenger, dripping with rainwater from a sudden storm, stood before him, his head bowed.
"So the whelp won," Vorian snarled, his voice a low growl of pure, unadulterated fury. "He has brought shame upon our family, made an enemy of a Prince, and now he has caught the eye of a Sword Sovereign. The little rat is getting bolder every day."
He slammed his glass down, its contents sloshing onto the table. "He is a problem. A growing threat. We cannot let him continue his pathetic quest for vengeance." He looked at his servant. "Send a coded message to the Whisper Guild. I want a new plan of action. Something more… subtle. He has proven to be an adept fighter. We will not use brute force this time. We will use his emotions against him. Find his weakness." Vorian's eyes gleamed with a chilling malice. "Find something… or someone… he holds dear."