The transformation from "broken child" to "prodigy" had been completed in the crucibles of pain and silence. Two years had carved the softness from Alaric Silverlane's face, leaving behind the chilling symmetry of a weapon.
At seven years old, he stood taller than most boys his age, his frame lean and corded with the kind of functional muscle that only comes from thousands of hours under Bram Thorne relentless training.
His physical transformation was the most striking change. His hair, once a standard noble white hue, had undergone a startling metamorphosis during a particularly brutal month of mana-overload training.
Now, it fell to his shoulders in heavy, straight locks of shimmering, moonlight white—a stark contrast to the vivid, ruby-red of his eyes. To his mother, it was a beautiful, ethereal change to Silas, it looked like the frost that precedes a killing winter.
Standing in the center of the training grove, Alaric closed his eyes and felt the world breathe. The air felt different now—thicker, more vibrant. He wasn't just observing the world. he was sensing the friction of the mana currents within it.
"System," he thought. "Show me the status.
A violet screen, sharper and more detailed than ever before, appeared before his eyes .
[ Name: Alaric Silverlane ]
[ Race: Human ]
[ Age: 7 / Soul: 37 ]
[ Class: Heir of Destruction (EX) ]
[ Rank: Intermediate (Mid) ]
[ Strength: 70 ]
[ Agility: 80 ]
[ Endurance: 82 ]
[ Intelligence: 50 ]
[ Willpower: 68 ]
[ Destruction Essence Purity: 2.15% ]
[ Mana: 2,450 / 2,450 ]
Skills
[ PASSIVE SKILLS ]
[ Appraisal = Allows host to view target name and ranks ]
[ Mana Regeneration (Intermediate) = Restores 2% of Max Mana every 10 seconds ]
[ Physical Resistance (Intermediate) =
Reduces physical damage and pain perception by 5% ]
[ Mental Fortitude (Intermediate) = Immunity to expert rank mental interference High resistance to Expert level Auras ]
[ ACTIVE SKILLS ]
[ Mana Veil (Advanced) = Can hide host aura and rank. at current rank effects limited to grandmaster rank ]
[ Erosion (Novice) = The fundamental art of destruction. By channeling the destruction essence, the Host can decompose physical matter or magical constructs. At current rank effects limited to 5 meter radius]
[ Destruction Aura (intermediate) = by consuming mana a passive pressure exerted on all living things. Causes fear, or paralysis depending on the target's Willpower. At current rank effects are limited to 15 meter radius ]
[Sword Art: Vanguard's Shadow (Intermediate) =Increases lethality and strike speed by 25% ]
The journey to Intermediate (Mid) rank had not been a steady climb. it had been a series of violent snaps and repairs.
Alaric remembered the night his Mana Regeneration had finally awakened. It was months ago, during a 48-hour survival drill in the jagged ravines of the forest.
Bram had left him with nothing but a blunt iron knife and the clothes on his back, telling him that "if he couldn't find his own mana, the mountains would find his bones." By the thirty-sixth hour, Alaric's mana pool was a dry well. His vision had tunneled, and his heart was stuttering. The Destruction Essence had begun to claw at his internal organs, sensing the lack of mana to way its corrosive nature.
In that moment of absolute vacuum, Alaric had stopped trying to generate mana and instead tried to invite it.
He stopped fighting the cold and the hunger. He opened his pores to the world, and for the first time, he felt the ambient mana of the planet—thin, wild, and ancient—flood into his body to fill the void. The sensation was like drinking liquid juice.
It was that night his hair had fully turned.
The sheer strain of filtering wild mana while containing the Destruction Essence had bleached his locks white as bone. He had returned to the estate three days later, his white hair matted with mud, his ruby eyes glowing with a terrifying new clarity.
Bram had looked at him and, for the first time, didn't give an order. He simply handed him a cloak and nodded.
The Silverlane dining hall was a cavern of flickering orange light. Despite the warmth of the hearth, the atmosphere was thick with the unsaid. Silas sat at the head of the table, his face older, deeper lines etched around his mouth. Gram Hilson sat to his right, a silent guardian whose presence usually lightened the room, but tonight he was as somber as a stone.
Elara sat opposite Alaric. She barely touched her food. She spent the entire meal watching her son—his white hair catching the candlelight, his movements precise and devoid of any childish wasted energy.
"You look so much like the legends, Alaric," Elara whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
"The stories of the first Kings of the North. They say they had hair like moonlight and eyes like the blood of the earth. But those stories always end in war."
Alaric set his fork down with a quiet clink. "The legends say they fought so their children wouldn't have to, Mother. I am only doing the same."
Silas cleared his throat, the sound heavy in the room. "The boy isn't a child anymore, Elara.
"He is a Silverlane. And the Black Sun Empire is no longer the sanctuary it was when we were young.
"The Church of Life is pushing into our southern trade routes, and the Shattered Forest... the reports say the demon activity there has tripled."
Gram Hilson leaned forward, his massive hands clasped on the table. "The barrier is weakening, Silas. I've seen the scouts' reports. General-rank demons are being spotted in broad daylight. If Alaric is to survive the coming years, he needs more than a grove. He needs to see what a demon actually looks like when it's trying to eat your throat."
Silas turned his gaze fully onto Alaric. The father's pride was visible, but beneath it was a raw, aching vulnerability.
"Tomorrow, Alaric, you leave. Bram is taking you to musk city. It is a fortress-city on the edge of the Shattered Forest. It is not a place for noble play. It is a place of blood, iron, and death."
Elara's breath hitched, a soft, wounded sound. Alaric reached across the table, taking her hand. His skin was cool, his grip firm.
"I must go, Mother. If I stay here, I am just a bird in a cage. In musk city, I can finally see the world as it truly is."
"I am sending you to hunt," Silas said, his voice dropping to a low, commanding register.
"Bram will oversee you, but you will be expected to contribute. You will track, you will scout, and you will kill. You need to know that a sword isn't just for forms—it's for ending lives."
After the meal, Silas gestured for Alaric to follow him into the private study. The room smelled of old parchment and expensive tobacco. Silas walked to a massive map of the empire, pointing to a dark, jagged smudge on the south eastern border.
"musk city exists for one reason," Silas explained. "To be the shield that keeps the Shattered Forest from swallowing the capital. The forest is a wound on Myhria, Alaric. It's where the mana is corrupted. The plants there hunt you. The water is poison. And the demons... they don't just kill. They infest."
He looked at his son, his expression grave. "The Church claims the forest is a punishment for our sins. They use it as an excuse to keep us under their thumb, promising 'Light' to ward off the darkness.
"But the Black Sun doesn't rely on prayers. We rely on the men and women of musk city. I want you to see the people there. I want you to see the soldiers who reach expert rank through nothing but sheer grit, without a single blessing from a Seer."
Alaric looked at the map, his ruby eyes scanning the terrain. In his mind, he was already calculating. The Shattered Forest was a place of chaos. the perfect environment to test the true limits of Erosion and Destruction Aura.
In the Silverlane estate, he had to hide every spark of his power. In the forest, the only witness would be the trees and the dead.
"I understand, Father," Alaric said. "You want me to see the cost of the Empire's survival."
"No," Silas replied, placing a heavy hand on Alaric's shoulder. "I want you to learn how to lead people who have nothing left but their duty. A King rules through law, but a Sovereign rules through presence. Musk city will teach you which one you are."
As Alaric returned to his room to pack his gear, he found Gram waiting by the door. The big man was holding a long bundle wrapped in oiled leather.
"Your father gave you the lecture," Gram grunted, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "I'm here to give you the tool."
He unwrapped the bundle. Inside was a short-sword. its blade forged from dark, matte-grey steel that seemed to absorb the light of the room. The crossguard was simple iron, and the pommel was a smooth piece of obsidian.
"It's an Enchanted-grade blade," Gram said.
"Forged by the Dwarves of the Iron forge empire. It doesn't have any flashy spells. It doesn't glow, and it doesn't hum.
But it's remarkably heavy, and it holds an edge better than anything in our armory. I call it The Quiet Soul."
Alaric took the hilt. The balance was perfect. It felt like an extension of his own arm. He could feel the sword's capacity to channel mana—it was wide and stable.
"Thank you, Uncle Gram," Alaric said, his voice soft.
"Don't thank me yet, lad," Gram said, his eyes turning serious. "Musk city changes people. You're going there as a boy with white hair and red eyes.
You'll come back as something else. Just... try to keep that promise you made. Remember your mother's face.
Gram turned and walked away, his heavy boots echoing in the hall. Alaric stood in the center of his room, the moon-white hair falling over his shoulders, the dark blade in his hand.
He felt the Mana Regeneration pulsing in his chest, the Destruction Essence humming in his veins.
He was seven years old, an Intermediate (Mid) rank warrior with the soul of a man who had already seen the end of one world. He looked at his reflection in the dark window—the white hair, the crimson eyes—and for the first time, he didn't see a child.
He saw the beginning of the destruction.
"Let them come," Alaric whispered to the night. "Let the demons, the Church, and the world see what happens when the 'empty' vessel finally overflows."