Every decade, the Alostrio clan held its most sacred event: the **Generational Star Gathering.** It was not merely a contest of skill—it was a crucible of legacy. Strength, perception, and willpower were tested in front of the entire family. Resources, recognition, and the chance to touch upon the clan's hidden foundations were awarded to the victors.
This year's gathering was unlike any other.
The patriarch, **Hannas Alostrio** himself, had declared:
> "The one who stands at the peak shall earn the right to step onto the path of the **Ancestral Treasury.**"
The estate buzzed like a hive. The air itself seemed charged with anticipation. Servants whispered of glory, elders murmured about bloodlines, and arrogant heirs sharpened their blades.
For most, this gathering was a chance to shine.
For **Ryner Alostrio**, it was the perfect stage to begin the long path of repaying debts.
---
**Round One – Sword Strike Power Analysis**
The first trial was simple: contestants would strike a testing pillar enchanted to measure the combined force of **strength, aura flow, and precision.**
The average noble youth hit around *3,000 marks.* Talented heirs broke into *5,000–7,000.* The rare prodigy occasionally crossed *8,000.*
When Ryner's name was called, laughter rippled through the crowd.
"Trash boy actually dares to step forward?"
"He'll barely scratch the pillar."
"Watch closely. This will be over in one swing."
Ryner ignored them all. His gaze remained calm as he approached the pillar. The wooden practice sword in his hand felt weightless, an extension of his will. He exhaled once, suppressing the storm that lay coiled within him. For a moment, he looked utterly dull. Forgettable.
Then—
He let a fragment of **Temporal Darkness** flow into the blade. Shadows twisted. The air bent. Time itself seemed to blur for a fraction of a breath.
**BANG!**
The pillar flared with dazzling light.
**9,800 marks.**
Gasps tore through the arena. Conversations died instantly.
Even elders of the clan exchanged wide-eyed glances. Only the patriarch and the most senior figures remained outwardly composed, though their gazes sharpened.
Ryner simply stepped back, wooden sword lowered, his face calm as still water.
As if this result were trivial.
---
**Round Two – Technique Comprehension**
Next, each contestant was handed a scroll containing a **basic clan sword technique**: *Flowing Moon Slash.*
The task was to comprehend and execute it. It was not about raw talent, but perception and understanding. Most heirs required three to five hours to mimic its form properly.
Ryner accepted his scroll without expression.
Others sweated and strained, aura clashing against the unfamiliar rhythm. But Ryner's **Crown Vessel body** was different. His mana, aura, and life force flowed in harmony, weaving pathways instinctively. The technique unfolded in his mind like a book he had already read.
Within half an hour, he stood.
He drew his blade.
*Whoosh!*
The sword carved through the air, fluid and precise, the form flawless, the aura ripple identical to the scroll's intent.
The elders leaned forward. Even Hannas Alostrio's brows twitched, though he quickly smoothed his expression.
"Perfect form," murmured an elder.
"Impossible. No one comprehends that fast."
Ryner bowed slightly, then sat down again. His face betrayed no pride, no arrogance. Only silence.
---
**Round Three – Duel by Blade**
The real trial: combat. Contestants were paired in one-on-one duels. Victory was granted not by force alone, but by adaptability, technique, and presence.
Ryner's first opponent was none other than **Darian**, one of Hannas's favored sons. The same Darian who had mocked him for years, calling him "trash born of a cursed core."
Darian sneered as he raised his gleaming sword.
"This won't take long."
The duel began.
Steel rang. Sparks flew. But to the spectators, something strange unfolded.
Darian's strikes, once lightning-fast, seemed sluggish against Ryner. Each blow was parried with uncanny precision, each thrust diverted by the faintest movement of Ryner's blade.
The truth was invisible to all but Ryner: he had wrapped the field in a sliver of **Temporal Darkness.** Every strike Darian made crawled through slowed time, while Ryner moved unshackled.
To the audience, it simply looked like the discarded boy had become a master of calm counters.
**Clang!** Darian's sword flew from his grasp.
A sharp edge touched his throat.
Gasps exploded.
Ryner's voice was low, quiet enough for only Darian to hear:
"You still swing like a child."
Darian's face burned crimson with humiliation.
The crowd buzzed with disbelief.
---
### **Round Four – The Patriarch's Trial**
The final trial was cruel by design. The last four contestants would face the patriarch himself. Not to win, but to survive—to prove they could withstand the weight of leadership.
Hannas Alostrio was a man of towering presence. His aura alone pressed down like a mountain. One by one, the clan's brightest heirs were flattened beneath his strikes, their swords trembling, their wills broken.
Then came Ryner.
The whispers in the crowd were sharp as knives.
"He dares to step up?"
"Patriarch will crush him."
"He'll be back to trash in seconds."
But Ryner's gaze was steady. Inside, hatred coiled. To face Hannas was not merely a trial—it was a step upon the path of vengeance.
Hannas narrowed his eyes, regarding the boy. "Show me, Ryner. Show me if you have risen beyond mediocrity."
Ryner lifted his sword. Shadows danced faintly along its edge, too subtle for most to see.
*Father,* he thought coldly, *tonight, before your eyes, I'll show you what your discarded son has become.*
The air between them trembled.
The duel began.
**(Chapter End)**