In the Ashelthan Empire, every child who turns ten must participate in the Great Mistellin Ceremony, a sacred event named after the very world they live in — Mistellin.
Held once every decade, this grand tradition serves one purpose: to discover the talented and nurture them. The ceremony has the power to crown a pauper as a prodigy and strip a noble of all expectations. It is a celebration of potential — and a brutal awakening.
To ensure fairness, the ceremony is governed by the Great Mistel Alliance, a council of impartial evaluators selected from across the empire. Their mission: no child overlooked. And to protect them, the legendary Rotsgards stand vigilant, bound by oath since the time of the First King Julian Althan — a king whose respect for talent over birthright laid the foundation of the modern empire.
For days, the ceremony moves from city to village, castle to countryside — not even the remotest regions are ignored. Such is the reverence for the first king's will.
Ashen Era, Year 574.
Shane Noah CrimsonBlade, age ten.
His crimson-red eyes gleam, not too large, not too small — bright, inquisitive, alert. Silver-white hair, slightly unkempt, brushes against his cheeks. Dressed in a tailored black ceremonial suit, he looked every bit the noble's son — striking, proud... and still, just a child.
As the son of the Count of CrimsonBlade, tradition dictates that he begins the ceremony in his region.
At the heart of the ceremonial platform stood Raphael — a Rank-1 artifact, its crystaline form humming faintly with arcane symbols. Named after the great magician who forged it, Raphael is renowned for its accuracy. One drop of blood is all it takes to scan a person's core and reveal their talent, elemental affinity, and path forward.
"Shane Noah CrimsonBlade, come forth!" called one of the officials.
"Yes." Shane responded with confidence, stepping forward.
He pricked his finger with a small pin, flinching slightly as a drop of blood fell onto Raphael's core. It sizzled softly — then the artifact began to glow.
Blood is a bridge — from flesh to soul, from soul to core. It reveals the nature of a person's ability to wield World Energy:
Aura: Channeled by warriors to strengthen their body and sharpen blades.
Mana: Used by magicians to cast spells and bend the laws of reality.
Kai: The flow of life energy, used by healers to accelerate regeneration and purify sickness.
The entire crowd — nobles, knights, servants, and guests — held their breath. As the Count's firstborn, much was expected from Shane. His appearance was radiant. Surely, his gifts would be just as bright.
Then, Raphael displayed the result:
Name: Shane Noah CrimsonBladeWorld Energy Sensitivity: 0%Core: Aura: ✘ | Mana: ✘ | Kai: ✘Physique: Innate Energy Refining Physique (Not Attained)Potential: None.
A suffocating silence filled the court.
Then, came the whispers.
"Zero potential... Is he really our young lord?""So that's why the Count shouldn't have married that woman of unknown origin.""Maybe he's not even the Count's son..."
Shane's small shoulders stiffened. He didn't fully understand the implications, but he could feel it — the weight of eyes, the sting of judgment.
The same people who bowed to him with warmth yesterday now looked at him like he was a blemish on a noble line.
Desperate for comfort, Shane searched the crowd for his father.
Noah CrimsonBlade, the feared and respected Count, stood in silence. His gaze carried no malice… but it wasn't pride either. Disappointment, maybe. Or sorrow buried too deep to show.
It hurt more than any insult.
That day, Shane lost something irretrievable.
He wept.
In the quiet of his chambers, with his ceremonial suit wrinkled and wet with tears, Melissa, his loyal maid, held him through the sobs until he fell asleep. His beautiful crimson eyes were red and puffy. His fingers clenched his bedsheet like a child gripping the last thread of dignity.
Later that night, little William peeked into the room.
He didn't understand much — only that his older brother was hurting.
Without a word, he climbed onto the bed, curled beside Shane, and held his arm. He didn't let go all night.
Shane woke up at midnight, his stomach grumbling. Even then, he hated himself for feeling hungry — "Is that what weak people feel like?", he wondered.
Melissa stirred awake, sensing his need like always.
Melissa: "Oh, my lord! You're awake. I brought some cookies. Eat, please."
Shane: "I'm not hungry."
His stomach betrayed him with a loud growl.
Melissa: "Eat, my lord."
Without argument, Shane began nibbling on the cookies. Only then did he notice Will, still sleeping beside him. Holding his hand.
Tears welled again, but this time, he fought them back.
"I'll never be the chain that holds back those I love."
In the following weeks, Shane tried to train like others. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't sense World Energy. Not aura. Not mana. Not kai.
So, he forged a different path.
Daytime: Physical training.Nighttime: Studying theory, history, and tactics.
By age eleven, he could defeat grown men with precision, prediction, and technique alone. But it wasn't enough. Those who awakened aura could break his defenses with brute force. Mages could bind him before he moved. Healers ignored exhaustion he couldn't recover from.
No matter what he did, he was always a step behind.
Thus, the title followed him like a curse:
"The Trash of CrimsonBlade County."
But Shane? He never stopped walking.
Because he had a little brother who believed in him.
Because the blood of Alex CrimsonBlade still ran through his veins.
And because, somewhere deep inside, something forgotten was stirring.
Something waiting to awaken.