My father's gaze was like a physical weight. He stood silhouetted against the torchlight of the corridor, his shadow stretching long and imposing into the chamber where I had been reborn. For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes sweeping over the scene—my calm, upright posture, a stark contrast to the trembling boy who had left his study a month ago, and the neat pile of gravel that had once been a solid granite boulder.
His expression was unreadable, a mask of stone I knew all too well. This wasn't a father welcoming home a long-lost son. This was a commander inspecting a new, unproven weapon.
"You have been busy," he said, his voice a low rumble that didn't echo in the Aether-dampening chamber. It was a statement, not a question.
"I have been productive," I corrected him, my own voice clear and steady. The Two-Heart Cadence, which had become as natural as breathing over the last week, kept me grounded, a calm rhythm against the storm of his presence.
The Count took a single step into the chamber, the heavy door still open behind him. The air grew thick, the passive pressure of his Grandmaster's aura a reminder of the chasm in power that lay between us. The simple gap in Aether quality and quantity between his Tier 6 and my Tier 2 was immense. No amount of sophistication on my part could bridge that.
"Destruction is easy," he said, his voice as cold and hard as the stone around us. "Any fool with a bit of power can break a rock. That is not the mark of a warrior. The mark of a warrior is control."
He reached into a leather pouch at his belt and produced a single, silver coin. It glinted in the faint light spilling in from the corridor. "The wall behind you is carved with reinforcement runes five centuries old. They are, for all intents and purposes, priceless."
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the coin. It sailed through the air in a high, lazy arc, landing on the floor about twenty feet in front of me with a soft tink, a tiny, gleaming speck in the oppressive darkness.
"Your test is simple," my father stated. "Destroy the coin. Do not touch the wall."
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cavern's temperature. It was a vicious, brilliant test. A test of precision, not power. A chaotic explosion of mana, the kind I was prone to a month ago, would vaporize the coin but would also undoubtedly scar the ancient wall behind it. To succeed, I needed to deliver a blow with enough focused force to obliterate a small metal target, but with absolutely zero excess energy. He was asking me to perform with the control of an Artisan or even an Expert. He didn't expect me to succeed. He wanted to see how I would fail.
I took a breath. Inhale on the thump. Exhale on the THUMP. The cadence settled my nerves. I didn't need to be an Expert. I just needed to trust the Path.
I walked forward until I stood about five feet from the coin. I didn't assume a dramatic martial stance. I just stood, relaxed, and closed my eyes, focusing inward. I visualized the entire sequence. The flow of mana, the pulse of the infusion, the resonant wave traveling from my fist, striking the target, and then collapsing in on itself perfectly.
I opened my eyes, my gaze fixed on the glint of silver. I drew the mana from my heart, a smooth, effortless river of power, and let it flow down my right arm. I pulled my fist back to my hip, gathering the energy on the deep thump…
And released it on the sharp THUMP.
My punch shot forward, not at the coin, but at the empty air a foot in front of it. There was no sound, no flash of light. For a heart-stopping second, I thought I had failed. But I hadn't aimed a physical blow. I had aimed a concept—a focused, invisible pulse of Rhythmic Infusion.
A high-pitched ping, sharp and clear as a tiny bell, echoed in the chamber.
The silver coin vanished. It didn't fly off or shatter. One moment it was there, and the next, it was gone, replaced by a puff of glittering, metallic dust that hung in the air for a second before settling. The wall behind it was pristine. Not a single scratch. Not a scorch mark.
I held my breath, turning to face my father.
The Count's stony expression hadn't changed, but his eyes—those cold, grey eyes—held a new, sharp intensity. He stared at the spot where the coin had been, then back at me. He had expected an explosion. He had received a whisper.
He gave a single, sharp nod. It was more praise than I had ever received from him in my entire life.
"The household guard begins morning drills at dawn," he said, turning his back to me. "You will be there. Do not be late."
And then he was gone.
As I stepped out of the Voidstone Chamber, blinking in the torchlight, I saw another man standing beside my father down the corridor. He was tall and elegantly dressed in the fine silks of a courtier, a stark contrast to the martial austerity of the fortress. He had a warm, fatherly smile and kind eyes. Lord Valerius. My father's oldest friend, his most trusted advisor, and the steward of the County's finances.
A bolt of pure, ice-cold dread shot through me. I knew that face. I knew it from a single, full-page illustration in the tragic, final act of The Crimson Dragon's Lament. An image of my father, impaled on a black, crystalline spear, with this man's smiling face looking down at him.
Valerius was the snake in the garden. A high-ranking priest of the Void Cult, and the man who would, in the original timeline, betray and murder my father to destabilize the entire Western front.
"Lancelot, my boy!" Valerius said, his voice a smooth, comforting baritone. He clasped my shoulder warmly. "Magnificent! Your father is a man of few words, but I can tell you, he is immensely proud. We all are."
His touch felt like a spider crawling on my skin. The urge to recoil, to scream a warning, was so overwhelming I had to lock my knees to keep from shaking. But what could I do? I was a Tier 2 Adept. He was… I didn't know his exact rank from the book, but he was a high-ranking Void Priest, powerful enough to kill a Grandmaster. I had no evidence, no allies, nothing but the memories of a book from another world. An accusation now would see me branded a lunatic and likely locked away.
I forced a smile, the muscles in my face feeling stiff and alien. "Thank you, Lord Valerius. I merely did my duty to the family."
I excused myself and walked away, feeling his and my father's eyes on my back. The joy of my success had turned to ash in my mouth. My first true enemy wasn't some distant monster. He was right here, at the heart of my home, wearing the face of a friend.
When I finally returned to my rooms, the door opened before I could touch it. My mother and Seraphina stood there, their faces etched with a month's worth of worry. My mother's embrace was immediate and fierce.
"You're alright," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You're truly alright."
Seraphina was already bustling, her practical nature taking over. "You're too pale. And thin. I'll have the kitchens prepare a proper meal immediately. You can't live on training rations." Her fussing was a comforting balm on my frayed nerves, a small pocket of genuine warmth in a world that had suddenly become very cold.
It was in that moment of respite, of safety, that a commotion was heard from the main courtyard—the sound of horses and sharp commands. A servant appeared at the door a few moments later, bowing low.
"My lady, my lord," the servant announced. "Lord Elias has returned from the capital."
I felt Seraphina stiffen beside me. My mother's expression tightened. Elias. My second brother. He wasn't due back for another two weeks.
A minute later, he strode into the room. Elias was handsome in a sharp, predatory way, dressed in the fine, tailored clothes of the capital. He was a Tier 3 Artisan, and he wore his power like a cloak of casual arrogance. His eyes, a lighter grey than our father's, scanned the room before landing on me. The polite smile on his face vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, undisguised disbelief, which quickly curdled into a familiar sneer.
"Well, well," Elias said, his voice dripping with condescension as he looked me up and down. "Look what the dungeon spat back out. I heard you found some power. Don't tell me you actually learned how to use it."