Vaeris stirred in his bed as the warm rays of the morning sun filtered through the curtains.
"Young lord, Master is calling for you." A maid called out to him with a polite knock on the door.
"I'll be there soon," he groaned, sitting up.
He dragged himself to the bathroom, cleaned up quickly, and slipped into a pair of black pants and a clean white shirt. He paused at the mirror, combing fingers through his silver-gold hair.
"Yep. Handsome enough. Wonder why everyone's so scared of me," he muttered.
Who would tell him? It wasn't his looks.
It was his strength—completely absurd for his age. At just six years of age, Vaeris was already a peak Third Circle Disciple. Most kids his age barely scratched mid Initiate, while those reaching early Adept were seen as prodigies, even monsters.
As he moved toward his father's office, the maids and butlers greeted him with polite bows. Their voices carried awe and genuine respect. Vaeris returned their nods with quiet acknowledgment, his steps swift and purposeful.
His father's office was vast. Bookshelves lined the walls, adorned with antique vases and paintings. Warm light glowed from enchanted lamps around the room. At its center, seated behind a large desk, was Alaric, buried in paperwork.
Vaeris stood quietly, waiting.
After a moment, Alaric looked up and smiled warmly. "Good morning, son."
Vaeris smiled in return. "Good morning, father."
"Seems like you're close to a breakthrough again. You'll need equipment soon." Alaric put his pen down and stood up with a grin.
"Come. Let's get you a weapon kiddo."
He moved to a bookshelf on the right and began pulling books in a specific order. With a soft rumble, the shelf slid aside to reveal a staircase leading downward.
They descended in silence, passing Alaric's private training chamber before arriving at a massive door—the vault of the family treasury. Alaric placed his palm on the cold metal and channeled his mana into the door. With a faint hum, it slid open noiselessly.
"Choose anything you want," he said.
Inside, gems and jewelry rested behind glass, gold packed into ornate chests at the center of the room. Along the walls were weapons, armor, and artifacts of all ranks inside enchanted glass cabinets—each designed to contain and suppress their unique auras.
At the far end, elixirs and herbs filled tall shelves, their essences shimmering faintly within runic vials that preserved their potency.
Vaeris ignored the gold and jewels.
His gaze locked on the weapons—his footsteps slow, reverent. None of the weapons and armor, even those of Mythical rank, caught his interest, not like he could use them anyway.
Then he saw them.
A katana and a spear, hanging side by side on the far wall. Both weapons were obsidian-black, their edges gleaming like starlight. The moment his eyes landed on them, his heartbeat quickened.
It was as if they were calling out to him.
Compelled, he reached for the katana's hilt—and the instant his fingers touched it, his consciousness was pulled into the blade.
When he opened his eyes, he was floating in space.
A cataclysmic blast of energy struck him—but he stood untouched. Around him, beings of titanic might clashed with world-ending force. Yet this was no war—it was a one sided slaughter, a massacre.
A strange army moved with inhuman grace—cloaked in unsettling grey robes, their forms eerily fluid, as if reality bent around them. Every attack aimed at them missed by mere inches—no, not missed. Predicted. As if they anticipated each strike before it happened.
Billions. Dead. The robed army's losses? Barely in the millions.
Then it changed.
Seven figures arrived—each radiating unthinkable power. Their presence alone shifted the battlefield.
With godlike might, they turned the tide. The robed figures fell one after another, crushed like ants. But then, three stepped forward—three from the cloaked army—and the air grew still.
The battlefield paused.
Vaeris saw them clash. Blades shattered stars. Space warped. Reality cracked.
Among the seven stood one man unlike the others. In his right hand, a black katana. In his left, a dark spear. Their edges shimmered under cosmic starlight.
Just before impact, that man turned—and smiled directly at Vaeris.
Then it was gone.
Vaeris blinked , standing once again in the vault. The sword and spear were in his hands. Not even a second had passed.
He stood there in silence, breath slow as he tried to steady his racing heart.
The memory—vision, illusion, whatever it was—lingered in his mind. Overwhelming. But he pushed down the emotion, steadying his breath.
These weapons were the same as those wielded by that man... but they felt... weak. Infinitely weaker than what he saw.
He turned and walked out of the treasury.
Alaric raised an eyebrow at the weapons in his son's hands.
"Are you sure you want those?"
Vaeris nodded firmly. "I'll call the katana Kusabimaru. And the spear Tonbokiri."
Alaric sighed, but smiled."And the katana needs a sheath. Normally, a spatial ring would do—but these things? For some reason, they refuse to be stored in a spatial ring."
He vanished briefly, returning with an ancient black sheath.
"We don't know where this came from. Like the weapons, it has no known rank."
He handed it to Vaeris, who sheathed the katana. The fit was perfect. Almost too perfect.
Alaric nodded. "Looks like it was made for it."
He placed a hand on Vaeris's shoulder.
"Alright. Time for breakfast."
In a blink, they vanished from the treasury, stepping once again into his office.
Author note:
The main story arcs will begin with the Training camp. The chapter progression will be paced according to the plot, but I'll do my best to keep things exciting and fun throughout. New chapters will be released once or twice a week.