Arden woke to insistent knocking.
"Lord Arden. The Duke requests your presence immediately."
He groaned, checking the time.
Dawn. Barely.
"Tell my father I'll be there after breakfast."
A pause.
"The Duke was... quite insistent, my lord. He said immediately."
Of course he did.
Arden dressed quickly, noting with mild amusement that servants had already laid out formal attire.
They're taking this ceremony very seriously.
He made his way to his father's study, where Duke Vareth sat reviewing documents with the kind of intense focus that promised complications.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Sit." Vareth didn't look up. "Your coming-of-age ceremony begins tomorrow evening."
"I'm aware."
"Are you also aware that the King has decided to expand the event into a three-day celebration? With representatives from other noble houses. And several foreign dignitaries."
Arden's eyes narrowed. "Three days?"
"His Majesty wishes to showcase the kingdom's rising talents. You, specifically." Vareth finally looked up. "He's invited noble families from across the realm. Many of them have daughters of marriageable age."
Oh no.
Oh hell no.
"Father—"
"I didn't arrange this. The King did. Apparently, your achievements in the north have attracted... significant attention." Vareth's expression was carefully neutral. "Several noble houses have expressed interest in forming marriage alliances."
"I'm sixteen."
"Old enough for betrothals. Not uncommon among nobility." Vareth steepled his fingers. "I'm not saying you must choose someone. But you will attend all three days. You will be polite. You will not embarrass House Valekrest."
"I have work in the north—"
"The north will survive without you for three days. This is not negotiable, Arden. You are my heir. You have responsibilities beyond monster hunting."
Vareth's tone softened slightly—barely perceptible, but there.
"Besides. The King specifically requested your presence. Roland doesn't make such requests lightly."
Roland. Father called him Roland. Not 'His Majesty.' Not even 'the King.'
They're friends. Real friends.
"How long have you and the King known each other?"
Vareth's expression shifted almost imperceptibly—what might have been nostalgia on anyone else's face.
"Since we were younger than you are now. We fought together. Bled together. Climbed to heights few ever reach." A pause. "He's... gregarious. I'm not. Somehow, we've worked together for decades without killing each other."
"You balance each other."
"In a manner of speaking." Vareth returned to his documents, the brief moment of openness closing like a door. "Roland wants to meet you privately before the ceremony begins. Tomorrow morning. Don't be late."
-----
Arden was escorted through the palace by royal guards.
Not to a throne room or formal chamber.
But to what appeared to be... a study? A private office?
The door opened to reveal a surprisingly casual space.
Books everywhere. Maps on the walls. Half-empty wine bottles on a side table. A strange board game set up on a desk.
And King Roland, standing by a window, looking out over the capital.
He turned as Arden entered, and that infectious grin spread across his face.
"Arden Valekrest! Finally! Come in, come in! Close the door behind you."
Arden did so, suddenly alone with one of the most powerful men in the kingdom.
Roland was even more imposing in person than he'd seemed from a distance.
Tall—over six feet easily. Powerfully built, with broad shoulders and the kind of physique that spoke of constant physical activity. Golden hair swept back, slightly messy in a way that suggested he didn't care about perfect grooming. Golden eyes that sparkled with energy and intelligence. Handsome in a rugged way, with laugh lines around his eyes.
He wore casual clothing—just a fine shirt and pants—but somehow still radiated authority.
This man is dangerous. Not in an obvious way. But dangerous.
"Stop standing there like you're about to be executed," Roland laughed, his voice booming and warm. "I'm not going to bite. Probably. Come, sit! We have much to discuss."
He gestured to a pair of comfortable chairs, already pouring two glasses of wine.
"I don't usually—"
"Drink in the morning? Neither do I. But this is a special occasion." Roland handed him the glass anyway, then immediately started talking before Arden could protest. "Your father's told me a lot about you. But I wanted to meet you myself. See what you're really like. He tends to undersell people—did you know that? Very stoic. Very restrained. Makes it hard to get real information out of him sometimes."
Roland sat down, gesturing for Arden to do the same.
"So! Tell me! How's the north treating you? Cold enough? I visited once, decades ago. Froze my ass off. Couldn't feel my toes for a week. But beautiful! Harsh and beautiful."
The conversational whiplash was intentional, Arden realized.
"The north is... challenging, Your Majesty. But rewarding."
"Challenging! Ha! That's one word for it. I've read your reports—well, some of them. Vareth shows me the interesting ones. Berserker clans! Dwarven alliances! Monster combat innovations! You've been busy."
Roland leaned forward, his golden eyes sharp despite the casual demeanor.
"But enough pleasantries. Let me look at you properly."
Something shifted in the air.
Pressure.
Immense, overwhelming pressure.
Not hostile. Not threatening.
But absolute.
Like standing before a mountain. An ocean. A force of nature too vast to comprehend.
Sixth Stage.
This is what Sixth Stage feels like.
Arden's breath caught, but he didn't break eye contact with those golden eyes.
And then—
Everything changed.
Arden found himself staring into those golden depths, and suddenly he wasn't in the study anymore.
He stood in darkness.
Infinite darkness.
Before him rose a throne.
Massive. Impossibly massive.
Carved from stone that seemed to drink in light itself. So enormous that even a giant—a true giant, like the ancient ones from legend—would struggle to fill it.
And sitting upon that throne—
Oh god.
A figure.
Towering. Colossal. Draped in armor that gleamed like molten gold.
A hundred meters tall. Maybe more. Maybe infinite.
The armor was intricate beyond comprehension—every plate, every joint, every surface covered in patterns that hurt to look at directly. Like staring at the concept of kingship itself given physical form.
The helmet was crowned, but the face beneath was shadowed.
Unreadable.
Unknowable.
This was power.
Pure, absolute, transcendent power.
The figure didn't move. Didn't speak.
It simply existed.
And that existence alone was enough to make Arden feel infinitely small.
This is Sixth Stage. This is what it means to transcend.
This is what Father and the King have reached.
This is what waits at the peak.
The pressure intensified—not crushing, but testing.
Can you stand before this?
Can you maintain yourself in the face of absolute power?
Will you break?
Arden's cultivation flared instinctively—Peak Fourth Stage, pushing back.
Not to resist.
Just to exist.
To maintain his sense of self against that overwhelming presence.
I won't bow.
I won't break.
I'll stand.
Reality snapped back.
Arden gasped, suddenly back in the study, meeting Roland's golden eyes.
The King was grinning.
"There it is! That look! You saw it, didn't you?"
The pressure vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Arden breathing hard.
"What... what was that?"
"That was me. My true self. The culmination of everything I've built over decades." Roland leaned back, looking pleased. "Most people can't hold their consciousness together long enough to see it. They just feel the pressure and collapse. But you? You stood firm. You even pushed back! Excellent!"
Arden's hands were shaking slightly.
That was... that was beyond anything I've ever felt. Beyond the Overlord. Beyond any monster.
That was a human who'd reached the absolute peak of power.
"Most Fourth Stage cultivators would have buckled immediately," Roland continued, his tone shifting to something more instructional. "You held steady. Good core. Good foundation. More importantly—good will. You didn't try to fight it. You just refused to be crushed by it. That's the right instinct."
He stood, pacing with barely contained energy.
"You're on the right path, boy. Peak Fourth Stage at sixteen. That's exceptional! And you've touched something beyond normal cultivation. Something higher."
"Your Majesty?"
"When you fought that Overlord. The berserker chieftain." Roland's golden eyes were intense but warm. "You touched the edge of transcendence. Just for a moment. Just a glimpse. Didn't you?"
Arden hesitated, then nodded.
"Yes. For a moment. Everything... slowed down. I saw patterns I'd never noticed before. Moved without thinking. It was like I was watching myself from outside my body, but also more present than I'd ever been."
"That's it! That's the threshold!" Roland's enthusiasm was genuine. "Fifth Stage isn't about power—well, it is, but not JUST power. It's about understanding. Transcending your limitations. Your physical body becomes less of a cage and more of a tool you wield with absolute precision."
He stopped, turning to face Arden directly.
"Keep training. Keep fighting. Keep pushing your limits. And you'll break through. Probably within a few year if you maintain your current pace."
"How can you be certain?"
"Because I've walked that path! Because your father walked that path! Because I've seen dozens of cultivators over my lifetime and I recognize the signs." Roland's grin returned. "You're ready. You just need the right trigger. The right battle. The right moment of clarity."
Then, impossibly, Roland's voice echoed in Arden's mind.
Not spoken. Not audible.
Telepathic.
Let me ask you something, boy.
Arden's eyes widened.
Telepathy. Sixth Stage ability. Complete mastery of internal and external energy.
Roland's expression didn't change, but his mental voice continued—warm, powerful, undeniable.
What am I to you? To the kingdom? To history?
I was born to House Lionheart. Noble blood. Expected to follow in my father's footsteps. But I climbed higher than anyone expected. I fought in wars that nearly destroyed the kingdom. I pioneered new techniques. I unified fractured territories. I brought peace where there was only chaos.
But you probably know me best by a different word.
The word... "King."
Arden swallowed, his mind racing.
He's demonstrating complete mastery. Showing me the gap between Fourth Stage and Sixth Stage.
But before I was King—before I was anything—I was just Roland. A boy who wanted to see how far he could go. How high he could climb.
Don't lose that curiosity, Arden Valekrest. Don't let duty strangle ambition. Don't let responsibility kill wonder.
Roland smiled, and his voice returned to normal speech—as if the telepathic demonstration had never happened.
"You remind me of your father at your age. Serious. Focused. Too absorbed in goals to see the journey." He sat back down. "Vareth was insufferable when he was young. Still is, sometimes. But he's the best friend I've ever had. The one person who tells me when I'm being an idiot."
"And you're the one who makes him remember he's human?"
"Exactly! Someone has to! The man would work himself to death if I didn't drag him out for drinks occasionally." Roland laughed. "He hates it. Complains the entire time. Then shows up the next time I invite him. We've been doing this dance for thirty years."
Roland stood, his expression growing more serious—though warmth remained underneath.
"Three days. Day one is your formal presentation and the banquet. Day two is cultural exhibitions and more social interactions. Day three culminates with the Academy exhibition matches, which should be entertaining."
"Three full days of politics."
"Three full days of showing the realm what House Valekrest has produced!" Roland corrected enthusiastically. "Your father and I agreed—you've been hiding in the north long enough. Time for the kingdom to see you properly."
"And the marriage arrangements?"
"Ah. Yes. That." Roland didn't look remotely apologetic. "Several noble houses have expressed interest. Some foreign dignitaries as well. It's natural—you're young, accomplished, heir to a powerful house."
He raised a hand before Arden could protest.
"You'll meet them. Be polite. Give them a fair chance. But—and this is important—I'm not forcing you to choose anyone. If someone catches your interest, wonderful! If not? No harm done. You're sixteen. You have time."
It wasn't a command, but it wasn't optional either.
"I understand, Your Majesty."
"Excellent! Now, your father is waiting outside. We're having breakfast together—the three of us."
-----
The three of them sat together—King, Duke, and heir.
Breakfast was elaborate but somehow felt casual with Roland's presence.
Roland told stories with dramatic flair. Vareth provided dry corrections when Roland's enthusiasm overtook accuracy.
"—and then Vareth, completely deadpan, tells the enemy commander that surrendering would be 'optimal'—"
"Because it was."
"While covered in blood! Looking like death itself! And he says it would be 'strategically optimal'!" Roland laughed. "The man surrendered on the spot."
Arden found himself relaxing slightly.
This is what Sixth Stage looks like. Not just power. But mastery of self. Confidence.
After breakfast, Roland left to oversee preparations, and Vareth escorted Arden back to prepare for the ceremony.
----
The preparation was exhausting. Servants fussing over every detail.
When Arden finally stood before the grand entrance to the hall, he could hear hundreds of voices on the other side.
The herald cleared his throat.
Here we go.
The herald's voice boomed, magically amplified:
"HONORED GUESTS! NOBLES AND CITIZENS OF THE REALM! I PRESENT TO YOU—"
The massive doors began to open.
"—THE HEIR OF HOUSE VALEKREST! DEFENDER OF THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES! VICTOR OVER THE BERSERKER CLANS! FORGE-FRIEND OF THE DWARVEN HOLDS! ARCHITECT OF MODERN MONSTER COMBAT THEORY! THE NORTHERN PRODIGY!"
The doors opened fully.
"LORD ARDEN VALEKREST!"
Arden stepped forward into the light.