Chapter 5: About the World
Three and a half years had passed since the young prince received his name. Now five years old, Lucen de Vermithorne had grown beyond mere noble blood — he was a silent observer, a patient learner, and a quiet collector of secrets about the world he had been reborn into.
He shifted slightly in his heavy ceremonial robes, the dark velvet brushing softly against his skin. His crimson eyes tracked the flickering torches along the cold stone walls, their light bending and weaving like restless spirits.
During these years, Lucen learned that this world had no absolute ruler. Kingdoms rose and fell, power shifted in the shadows, and no single throne commanded the world's will. In this realm, strength defined destiny — whether drawn from the ancient art of magic or the disciplined path of the sword.
Sword aura was the foundation of the Vermithorne legacy, a path forged by relentless trials and iron discipline. Lucen understood its five stages:
The first was the Sword Trainer. Warriors here forged their bodies with endless physical training, learning to sense the subtle currents of mana flowing through all living things. Lucen often watched older soldiers in the courtyard — their sweat glistening on sun-darkened skin, the steady clack of wooden practice swords echoing in early dawn.
The second stage was the Mana Aquirer. Here, a warrior opened the hidden dome of their mana core within their body, drawing in the world's power and choosing their elemental affinity — one of the eight great elements:
Fire
Water
Wind
Earth
Lightning
Darkness
Time
Space
Beyond these primal forces lay countless sub-elements, secret threads woven into the fabric of the world. Lucen remembered tracing elemental symbols in dusty tomes, feeling the weight of history press down on every page. Strengthening the mana within the core was the first step toward forging a power worthy of legend.
The third stage was Acquire Sword Aura. With a filled and strengthened mana core, a warrior forged their unique sword aura — a manifestation of soul and bloodline. Its color reflected their very essence. Some, like Malzareth Vermithorne — Lucen's father — awakened powers bending the laws of nature itself, manipulating time to slow or quicken the world. Others found raw force in their aura — enough to earn the name of warrior.
Lucen's small hand flexed at his side. He could almost feel the pulse of power in the air around him — an echo from a distant realm of warriors and legends.
The fourth stage was the Domain Realm. A warrior's soul became a forge. Before breaking through, one created a mind realm — a microcosm of thought and will. Once ready, it could manifest as a domain: an absolute field shaped by element, ability, and soul. Without mastery, a domain could consume its wielder in a heartbeat. Lucen sometimes wondered what his own mind realm would look like — a question that sent a thrill through his chest.
The fifth and final stage was Transcendence — where mind and world became one. Here, a warrior's mind realm was no longer a reflection but a living, breathing reality. Lucen knew this was where his father stood — a peak few could hope to reach.
Alongside the sword's path, Lucen learned of the magicians — those who formed nine circles around their hearts to store mana and shape spells. At the seventh circle, even they created mind realms. But magic remained shrouded in secrecy, and Lucen found only fragments of knowledge. The ancient feud between sword and spell still burned bright in every corner of the land.
Yet not all truths Lucen learned were about the world beyond. Some lay within the Vermithorne family itself. He paused at a doorway, adjusting the ceremonial robe that felt too large for his small shoulders.
The elder council, he thought with quiet disdain. Fucking headaches. Seriously, they support each of my brothers like building their own kingdoms. Oh… and my brothers' mother was my father's late wife. After her death, my father married my mother, Cristiyana. They love each other. My mother even loves the twins. So no problems there.
He caught sight of his reflection in a polished silver plate — a fleeting glimpse of crimson eyes and dark hair. In this family, affection was both weapon and secret. Each week, they gathered — father, mother, children — sharing warmth that vanished the moment the meal ended. In this house of shadows and power, Lucen learned early: bonds could be twisted, used against them by watchers in the dark.
Also, he mused, smoothing a wrinkle in his sleeve, once an heir turns eight, they leave the house under a false identity to build their own forces. That's why my brothers left right after my second birthday. They'll return at fifteen… stronger and ready to claim their place.
And always, Lunaria was there. Chosen by Lucen when he was only a year and a half old, she had become his silent shadow — a constant presence, always just behind him, never speaking. She never answered questions with words, only shook her head gently, as if the weight of her silence was all she could give. Lucen could not remember a time without her by his side.
I think she carries some kind of trauma, he thought, crimson eyes flickering with patient resolve. Well… let's wait and see.
On this day — the day of his formal sword training — the air was thick with incense and ancient expectation. Flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the cold stone walls. Lucen shifted his weight, feeling the heavy air settle around him like a cloak.
His nanny entered, voice calm and composed. "Young master," she said softly, "It's time for your sword training."
Lucen let out a soft breath, expression calm and resigned. "Okay," he said, small voice steady. "Let's go, nanny."
(This is going to suck.)
Yet as he stepped into the cold corridor, his small fists clenched and relaxed in quiet rhythm. In this world of eight great elements and endless ambition — with Lunaria's silent shadow always behind him — Lucen de Vermithorne would carve his path: one stage at a time, one breath at a time.