In the swirling darkness, Ace stood still.
Then, slowly… his eyes opened.
Cold. Unblinking. Furious.
"How dare an object try to use me."
His voice rang out like a blade drawn across stone.
With a roar of defiance, Ace let his mana erupt, flowing through his arms and into the sword.
The miasma shrieked.
The whispers flinched.
The blade trembled — not from resistance, but submission.
Ace's presence crushed the will within the sword, stamping it beneath his own. The blade's glow faded slightly, then steadied — not brighter, but tamed.
His mana swirled around the weapon now, anchoring it.
And the miasma that had tried to corrupt him?
It didn't vanish.
It flowed deeper into him… and was absorbed.
Instead, it flowed inward, drawn like liquid shadow into the depths of his body.
Into his mana core.
That core — a crystalline, ever-spinning structure of refined mana deep within his soul — shuddered the moment the miasma reached it.
Taint would normally shatter it, Cripple most mages. Warp most warriors.
But not this time.
Not with the potion already flowing through his system.
The alchemical mixture — designed to grant accelerated growth and unnatural vitality for one year — responded to the invasive force.
Instead of repelling the miasma, it embraced it.
The two conflicting energies merged.
For a moment, Ace gritted his teeth — not in pain, but from the sheer pressure.
It was like his mana core had been submerged in fire and ice at once. It pulsed rapidly, absorbing the corrupted essence and compressing it into something new — denser, darker, and more potent.
The growth effect extended.Refined.Strengthened.
A year?
Not anymore.
The potion, fueled by the rich dark miasma, began cycling anew — not resetting the clock, but expanding its timeline, while intensifying its effect.
Ace could feel it in his blood — his veins thrummed with force, his limbs lighter, breath deeper, thoughts sharper.
His mana core now carried a trace of miasma, but it did not control him.
He controlled it.
"Useful," he muttered to himself, smirking. "What was meant to corrupt me has only made me stronger."
And he meant it.
He gripped the blade tightly.
"You belong to me now."
No whispers returned.
Only silence — respectful, coiled silence — like a predator that had recognized a superior one.
Ace re-sheathed the sword, and the chamber quieted.
The Dungeon Core pulsed behind him.
But he didn't spare it a second glance.
He turned… and walked out of the hidden chamber, blade in hand.
Outside, the two Master-ranked warriors straightened as he emerged — though they said nothing, their eyes widened at the aura now clinging to him like smoke.
He gave them a single nod.
"We're done here."
On the Road – Journey Back to Thornevale
The sky was a rolling canvas of cloud and sun as Ace flew across the countryside on his black-winged mount, flanked by the two Master-ranked warriors.
But they didn't fly straight.
Every time they passed near a forest or spotted signs of a monster trail, Ace descended.
He went on a hunting streak, testing his new gained power.
Goblin nests, orcs even ogres.
none stood a chance.
Each battle was swift. Efficient. Clean.
His blade absorbed and transferred miasma with each kill but it was all refined by his core, increasing his strength.
In the novel, after hero gave this sword to lucy, she was later corrupted by it and the hero killed her without batting an eye as there was no shortage of beauties around him and she was no longer useful after destroying the Thornevale family.
So, the hero just discarded her.
By the time they returned to Thornevale, a day had passed.
For the couple of days, Ace trained with his new sword. Unlike the hero's, it doesn't have a memory function, so he has to rely on his own effort to improve.
After seven days.
The manor bustled with activity. Servants were preparing trunks, uniforms, enchanted supplies. The stables had been cleared, and the carriages polished to royal condition.
As Ace stepped through the tall front gates, his presence sent a visible ripple through the staff.
Whispers died.
Backs straightened.
He made his way into the main hall, where the Head Butler was already waiting, hands folded neatly behind his back.
Despite his calm appearance, there was tension behind the old man's eyes.
Ace spoke first.
"Preparations?"
The butler nodded. "Completed. Lady Lucy is ready as well. Your uniforms and official crest have arrived from the capital."
Ace nodded, satisfied.
But the butler hesitated… then glanced at the sword on Ace's belt. His voice dropped slightly.
"My lord… if I may."
Ace raised an eyebrow. "Speak."
The butler's eyes lingered on the black scabbard, then met his master's eyes.
"That sword… it radiates a kind of mana not commonly seen. I've known warriors who've used demonic weapons before. It is not forbidden — but it is... frowned upon. There are those who will see it as a mark of corruption, or instability."
He paused.
"They may question your right to wield it. Or worse, whisper treason."
Ace didn't blink.
He stepped forward, casting a long shadow across the polished floor.
His voice was quiet.
"Let them whisper."
He drew the sword slightly — just enough for the crimson edge to catch the candlelight.
The miasma didn't hiss. It coiled, tamed.
"They don't have guts to say it to my face."
He locked eyes with the butler.
"And if they fear the weapon… perhaps they should learn to fear the one holding it."
The butler exhaled, gaze lowering.
There was nothing to refute.
"…Understood, Young Lord."
Ace sheathed the sword again and turned toward the grand staircase to his room.
The golden rays of morning spilled across the grand estate as the convoy assembled at the gates.
Two sleek flying mounts hovered above as aerial scouts. A dozen armored carriages lined the courtyard, polished until they reflected the sky. The Thornevale banner — black with a blue clawed crest — flew proudly from each one.
At the heart of it all were two carriages: one carrying Ace Thornevale, the other his sister, Lucy.
As the final preparations were completed, the massive iron gates of Thornevale swung open.
The convoy departed.
The journey had begun.
After a week of measured travel through lush valleys, riverlands, and fog-covered hills, the road finally split around a towering wall of stone and Silverwood.
There, nestled just an hour's ride from the Imperial Capital, stood the prestigious Imperial Academy.
Built across a vast plateau surrounded by cliffs and dense, enchanted forests, the Academy overlooked the Empire's heartlands like a silent sentinel. High towers rose beyond the trees, with banners of blue and gold fluttering from every spire.
Rings of defensive enchantments shimmered faintly in the air, visible only to those sensitive to mana. Dozens of guards patrolled the perimeter — far more than would be expected for an academy.
Even from inside his carriage, Ace noticed.
He lifted the curtain with a gloved hand, peering out with a cool gaze.
"Too many guards," he muttered. "Same as the novel."
He leaned back, resting an arm over the seat.
"So they're worried about the Hero. "
It wasn't hard to piece together. The Empire had chosen to enroll its divine pawn here — and with him also came his future team, all girls of course, if the novel's memory served him correctly.
He remembered their titles: the elven princes, the Saint also princess of this empire, beast kin that would enroll next year, an assassin and couple more.
The Hero's harem. Loyal, powerful… naive.
The carriages continued their slow descent down the paved road, guards now stationed at every turn. The majestic front gates of the Academy came into view — engraved with gold and mana circuits, tall enough to allow a giant to pass.
The convoy slowed.
At the gate, a contingent of imperial guards stood in ceremonial armor, faces stoic and backs straight.
When Ace's carriage stopped, a senior officer stepped forward and saluted.
"By order of His Majesty, Emperor Aurelius Solarian, only the enrolled student may pass beyond this point. All guards, retainers, and carriages must return to the capital."
The words echoed like a slap.
The surrounding noble envoys watched from the sides, smirking in silence. No other student had such restrictions. This was punishment.
The master-ranked warriors tensed, their hands shifting subtly toward their weapons. But Ace simply raised one hand.
"Return," he ordered calmly, stepping down from his carriage.
They hesitated only a second — then obeyed.
With slow steps, Ace walked forward alone, the crimson-sheathed blade on his back casting an oppressive shadow.
Even as they tried to isolate him, he refused to look weak.
The Escort
Waiting just beyond the gate was a single maid in the Academy's uniform — white and blue, with silver lining and a faint enchantment sewn into the collar.
She bowed. "Lord Thornevale. I have been instructed to escort you to your assigned dormitory."
Ace said nothing.
He merely followed, silent, each footstep measured.
The path curved around the main plaza of the Academy, where other students milled about in excited clusters. Some noticed him and backed away instinctively. Others just stared, wide-eyed.
Alone. No guards. No retinue.But his aura spoke louder than a parade of banners.
The Dormitory
The maid led him to a side building — smaller than the main noble towers.
It was plain, two stories tall, made of grey stone with faded gold trim. The maid opened the door and gestured him inside.
His room was on the second floor.
When he entered, Ace paused.
It was… modest.
A single bed. A small desk. A wooden dresser. One window. No mana-activated lighting, no thermal runes, no warding glyphs. There wasn't even a personal servant bell.
"This," he muttered, "is fit for a baron's bastard. Not a Thornevale."
The maid bowed again, her voice meek. "I apologize, Lord Ace. This was the arrangement made by the Emperor himself."
But Ace only smiled.
Not the kind of smile that showed warmth — the kind that made one uncomfortable, the kind that made others forget how to breathe.
In the quiet study of Thornevale Manor, under the roaring shadow of dragon-head candelabras, the Head Butler held a single opened letter in his gloved hands.
He read it once.
Then a second time.
His eyes darkened with each line.
"Isolated?"
"Living quarters below standard?"
The letter was sent by Ace's escort warriors that learned this through Lucy's guards.
This is Empire's way to break the pride of Thornevales.
A mistake.
A grave one.
The butler snapped his fingers sharply.
Within moments, five of his aides appeared in formation, each in grey-black uniform bearing the clawed crest of Thornevale.
"Send word to every Thornevale unit deployed in other noble territories. Inform them to return immediately. No exceptions."
The aides blinked. "Even Lord Berand's request for reinforcement against the—"
"All of them," the butler snapped, his voice as precise as a blade. "Say it is due to inadequate living conditions for our heir. If we cannot maintain our own, we cannot lend hands to others."
Gasps were audible — but none spoke.
The butler continued, lips tight with fury.
"And another thing… Cut all financial aid we have been supplying to noble houses. Not a single copper shall leave Thornevale's coffers. If they ask why, tell them the funds are being reallocated to ensure Master Ace's comfort."
Silence.
Until an aide asked quietly, "Won't this cause political backlash? Some rely on our aid more than the empire's."
The butler looked up, eyes sharp as obsidian glass.
"Let it."
"Let every noble, every official, every peasant hear: Thornevale protects its own.Even if the sky must burn, we do not let wolves starve while sheep dine on gold."
He stood.
"Do it now."
The aides bowed deeply, then vanished like shadows scattering across the halls.