The dimly lit office was illuminated only by the flickering light of a lone candle. Vitra Kael sat behind his desk, quietly processing a stack of documents. In the wavering glow, his face looked as though it had aged thirty years in just a few days. Ever since the incident with his first wife, a heavy shadow had hung over him.
Although he had called for a renowned healer from the Holy Alliance, Sofia had not spoken a word to anyone in the household since that day.
Haa… Vitra exhaled a long, heavy breath.
What should I do? While he had been buried in external affairs, his family had fallen into disarray. Whatever had happened to Sofia remained a mystery—and her condition showed no signs of improving.
And then there was his second son… Vern. The boy spoke only when absolutely necessary, his expression unreadable. Vitra prided himself on being able to read people—ever since he was a child, he could guess what someone was thinking just by looking at their face. But with Vern… nothing.
His eyes were like those of a dead man—yet when he was with his late mother or that girl, they seemed almost… human.
Another sigh escaped him. Truthfully, every member of his family was peculiar in their own way. His first wife's obsession with power had brought her to her current state, and Elena… She was always scheming something.
The children were all talented, except for Vern, who possessed only a mid-grade mana core. Even so, each had vastly different personalities. Dave was gifted but ill-mannered; Ronan, the ideal son any parent could hope for. But Vern… Vitra still couldn't understand what sort of child he was.
Should I send him away for a few years so he can learn the value of family? He had considered it many times before, but always dismissed the thought—it would likely only make things worse.
Perhaps I should seriously consider the engagement offer from House Draken…?
But Elena had told him Vern refused, saying he was "still immature." For most boys his age, such an answer would have been shy embarrassment, but Vern had spoken it as though the matter was utterly uninteresting to him.
Haa… Another sigh.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound broke his thoughts.
"You may enter," Vitra said.
Robwin stepped in, bowing respectfully. "Patriarch, the second young master is here."
"What?" Vitra's eyes widened. He had not expected Vern to come to him on his own.
Robwin said nothing.
"Ahem…" Vitra coughed into his fist, steadying his breath. "Tell him to enter."
"Yes, my lord." Robwin bowed once more before leaving.
Moments later, the door opened again—this time, Robwin returned with a boy in tow. Around twelve or thirteen years old, his presence drew the eye instantly. Even among a hundred people, his features would stand out.
Long black hair flowed smoothly down to his waist, catching the candlelight with each step. His proud, crescent-moon-shaped nose and pale, lifeless eyes made for an unsettling combination. Unlike others in the household, he did not bow when entering. He simply stood there, back straight, gaze flat and unblinking.
This was Vern Kael.
"So, what brings you here?" Vitra asked, his voice measured as he regarded his second son. He knew well the boy's temperament, yet those eyes… every time he looked into them, a faint shiver ran down his spine, as though the hair on his arms stood on end.
Vern's expression remained unchanged. "As you're aware, I reached the First Severance recently. My mana core has… evolved into what could be considered high-grade."
Vitra froze, his brows knitting together. "Wh–what?" The disbelief in his voice was raw and unfiltered. It was impossible—mana cores did not simply evolve.
And yet, Vern's eyes didn't flicker, as though he were speaking of something as mundane as the weather.
"I… is it the truth?" Vitra asked, his voice trembling.
"Yes," Vern replied with a straight face, giving a small nod.
"How? How can someone's mana core change? That's impossible! I've never heard of anyone evolving their mana core after it's been opened." Vitra's words tumbled out in disbelief. This was something he had never heard —yet now, it had happened right before him… and to his own son.
In his eyes, joy, excitement, and disbelief mingled together. He had always worried that his quiet second son would live an ordinary life, but if this was true… everything could change.
"C… can I check?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes."
Vern extended his hand toward him.
"Let me see." Vitra took Vern's hand, closed his eyes, and sent a thin thread of his own mana into his son's core to examine it.
"Haha… it's really high-grade? No—almost high-grade. No one would be able to tell the difference." Vitra let out a hollow laugh, still trying to process what he had just felt.
Robwin, on the other hand, stood frozen, staring in pure disbelief.
"Can you tell me how you evolved your mana core?" Vitra asked curiously.
"When I was cultivating and trying to break through the wall of First Severance, the mana I had was insufficient, so I tried gathering mana through breathing—"
"What?" Vitra cut him off mid-sentence, his voice sharp. "You're saying you tried to gather mana while breaking through? Your mana core could have been destroyed!"
"…" Vern stayed silent.
"Alright… continue," Vitra said after a pause.
"When I gathered more mana, my core started cracking."
Vitra inhaled sharply—it was something that could easily have been fatal.
"I tried to stop gathering mana," Vern continued, "but the cracks spread. So I took a gamble—I used the mana I had gathered to peel off the outer layer of my core. Once it was gone… my mana core evolved."
He finished without so much as blinking.
"Haa…" Vitra let out a shaky sigh, his eyes wavering. "So you're saying you evolved your mana core just like that?"
"Yes."
"If what you're saying is true… then it might even be possible to reach a supreme-grade mana core—a myth throughout all of history!" Vitra's voice brimmed with excitement.
"I wouldn't recommend it," Vern said flatly.
"Why?"
"I got lucky. Controlling the mana takes absolute priority. From what I experienced, it can only be done before reaching First Severance."
"So… you're saying it takes extreme mana control, and it's impossible once someone's already at First Severance or beyond?" Vitra confirmed.
"Yes," Vern replied without hesitation.
"Hmm… now that you have a high-grade mana core, you should be able to reach Third Severance with some effort," Vitra murmured thoughtfully.
"…" Vern remained silent, his expression unreadable.
"Oh, right—was there something you needed?" Vitra asked, noticing that Vern seemed to have something on his mind.
"Yes. I want a real sword for training and use. The gymnasium only has wooden practice swords," Vern said plainly.
"A real sword, huh?" Vitra repeated, as if confirming.
He paused, rubbing his chin. "We have plenty in the treasury… but most of them have wills of their own." His eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the matter.
"Alright, let's see." He gestured for Vern to follow. "Come with me."
Without another word, Vern fell into step behind him.
Robwin, who had been standing by the door, quickly opened it for them. He waited until Vitra and Vern stepped out, then closed it quietly and followed a few paces behind.
They walked for a few minutes before the large gate of the audience chamber came into view. Vitra pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
"As you know, our treasury is located within the audience chamber, right?" he asked, attempting to start a conversation.
"…" Vern didn't respond.
Vitra didn't press the matter. Instead, he drew a knife from the scabbard at his waist and cut his finger. A few drops of blood fell to the ground, and the moment they touched it, a brilliant light flared to life. Space itself seemed to tear open before them.
"Follow me," Vitra said.
Vern trailed quietly behind.
"Huh?" Vern's eyes widened as he suddenly noticed something strange—his body felt almost weightless.
"So you've felt it?" Vitra glanced back at him before continuing, "That's because in this space, gravity is twice as weak—at least for the one who enters with the current patriarch. Without the patriarch's presence, gravity becomes ten times stronger."
"Hmm." Vern replied with a short hum.
As they walked further, Vitra gestured toward a wall where at least twenty swords were mounted in neat rows.
"Try to draw one," he instructed. "Each of these swords has a will of its own. If you can draw it, you can keep it."
"Let me give you the names of these swords first," Vitra said, his voice tinged with excitement.
"Hmm," Vern hummed in acknowledgment.
"That one," Vitra began, pointing to the sword hanging furthest to the right, "is called Gandhiv. It can only be wielded by someone with a pure heart and an unwavering sense of justice. Throughout history, no one but the Second Sword Saint has ever managed to claim it. They say that whoever wields this blade cannot be defeated—no matter the era."
He moved on, gesturing toward the next weapon. "This is Leapser. It is known for…" He continued down the line, naming each sword in turn, his words painting vivid pictures of their legends.
Finally, his hand rested on a massive blade at the far end. "And this last one—Everest. Renowned for its sheer destructive power."
One by one, he described each sword's strengths and weaknesses, his tone brimming with pride, as though these weapons were treasures not just of the clan, but of his very soul.
Step, step.
Vern stopped before the sword hanging at the center of the wall. Its presence tugged at him—quiet, insistent.
It's calling to me. Is it a demonic sword? he wondered, eyes fixed on the blade. "Is it… demonic?" he asked Vitra without looking away.
"Hm?" Vitra studied the weapon, then shook his head. "Try drawing it. It isn't a demonic sword—but no one has managed to draw it since it was brought here." He paused, voice lowering. "It was wielded by the First Sword Saint. No one knows what it requires. If it's calling to you, you might be the one."
Vern hummed in reply. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the hilt.
Rumble.
The sword shivered, a deep tremor running through the metal. Mana spilled into the chamber—neither bright nor bleak, neither virtuous nor vile. It hovered perfectly between, like a scale at rest, a breath held at the center of balance.