The dim torchlight flickered against the cold stone walls of the Varian dungeon. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and something deeper—fear. Shackled figures knelt before him, their faces obscured by thick cloth gags, their wrists bound in heavy iron chains. Some shivered violently, their muffled cries barely audible beneath their restraints. Others sat still, their shoulders slumped in resignation.
Leon stood in the center of the room, his fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his katana. His father, Garrick Varian, stood beside him, arms crossed, his golden eyes sharp and unreadable.
"This is your next trial," Garrick said, his voice as steady as iron. "You've fought beasts, you've learned the way of the blade—but this… this is different."
Leon swallowed. He had known this was coming. The Varian family was not just another vassal house; they were the executioners of House Novaris, the enforcers of their will. Killing monsters was one thing, but humans? He had seen death before, but to be the one delivering it…
He exhaled, steadying himself. This is necessary.
"You hesitate," his father observed. "
Garrick's golden eyes bore into him, measuring, judging. "Hesitation is weakness, Leon. A blade that wavers is a broken blade. And we, the Varians, do not wield broken blades."
Leon took another breath, steadying the weight of the katana in his grip. The blade felt heavier than before—not in physical weight, but in meaning.
"You've fought monsters, yes," Garrick continued, stepping forward, his boots echoing in the chamber. "But beasts kill out of instinct. Humans… they plead, they beg, they manipulate. You will hear them cry for mercy. You will see their eyes, filled with terror. And yet, your duty remains unchanged."
Leon's gaze shifted toward the prisoners. Some of them had stilled, their heads slowly turning toward him as if sensing his hesitation. One man, thin and ragged, trembled violently, his muffled sobs shaking his shoulders.
Leon tightened his grip.
They are criminals.
They deserve this.
Garrick stepped aside, gesturing toward them. "Choose one."
Leon's fingers twitched on the hilt. He forced himself to step forward. Each prisoner bore a mark on their neck—the insignia of a condemned soul. These were not innocents. Traitors. Spies. Enemies of Novaris.
He stopped before a man in his late thirties, his hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. His breathing was erratic, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts.
Leon met his gaze.
The man's body stilled. His eyes widened. He shook his head violently, thrashing against the chains. Muffled cries broke through the cloth tied around his mouth, his desperation evident even without words.
He doesn't want to die.
Leon felt his heart pound in his chest. Would he be the same in his position? Pleading for a chance to live?
But that was the difference. Leon was not in chains. He was the one holding the blade.
"Strike cleanly," Garrick commanded. "Do not make a mess of it. One stroke, and it ends."
Leon raised the katana. His arms felt heavier now, as if unseen weights pulled at them. The man beneath him trembled harder. Leon could see it now—the pure, undiluted terror of someone facing death.
His breathing slowed.
This is my duty.
With a sharp exhale, he swung.
A flash of silver. The air parted.
The body slumped, the head rolling to the side, blood pooling against the cold floor. The scent of iron filled his nose.
Silence.
For a moment, Leon only stared at the body. His mind was blank. He expected something—a feeling of guilt, of revulsion. Instead, there was only a strange hollowness in his chest.
It was easier than I thought.
Garrick nodded in approval. "Good. Again."
Leon swallowed but obeyed.
He stepped toward the next prisoner.
And raised his blade once more.
Hours passed, and by the end, Leon stood amid the bodies. His blade dripped crimson, blood covered his face and clothes, his boots soaked in the lifeblood of the condemned.
He breathed in deeply, feeling something settle within him. He had hesitated before. That hesitation was now gone.
Garrick finally stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You've taken your first step, Leon. You are no longer a boy swinging a sword—you are now a blade in the service of Novaris."
Leon wiped the blood off his katana, his silver eyes unreadable. This is the path I must walk.
The cold, dimly lit chamber smelled of iron and death. It was familiar now. The scent no longer made Leon hesitate—it was just another part of his training.
Before him, a new line of prisoners knelt in chains, their faces a mixture of silent resignation and unrestrained terror. The floor, once pristine, was stained with the remnants of those who came before them.
Garrick Varian stood beside him, arms crossed. His golden eyes watched with the patience of a sculptor refining his craft. "You're improving, but you're still too stiff. Killing should be as natural as breathing, Leon. Hesitation will cost you in a real battle."
Leon gave a slow nod, gripping the katana in his hands. His previous executions had been mechanical—swing, kill, move on. But now, his strikes were sharper, cleaner. He had learned how to cut efficiently.
"Again," his father ordered.
Leon stepped forward, locking eyes with his next target. The prisoner flinched, attempting to shuffle backward, but the chains bound him in place.
Leon didn't wait for any more resistance. He swung.
The head fell, rolling across the ground as blood sprayed outward. He did not blink. He was getting used to this.
One after another, the condemned were executed. Some fought, some screamed into their gags, others simply knelt with closed eyes, accepting their fate. None of it mattered.
By the end of the session, Leon stood among the fallen, his once-pristine training clothes splattered with red. His breathing was even, his heartbeat steady. He had changed.
Garrick stepped forward, gripping his shoulder. "Now you're ready."
Leon wiped the blood from his blade. He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a statement of fact. Either way, he knew one thing—he would never hesitate again.
The night of his tenth birthday was a stark contrast to the cold chambers of training. Warm golden lights filled the Varian estate's grand hall, the scent of roasted meats and fine wine filling the air. The celebration was not a grand affair, but rather an intimate gathering of the Varian family and a few trusted retainers. Even as a vassal family they also had their own subordinates.
Leon sat at the head of a long table beside his mother and father. Selene Varian smiled warmly at him, her usual sharp demeanor softened for the occasion. "My little boy is growing up," she murmured, brushing a hand through his black hair.
Garrick gave a short nod. "You've trained well these past years. Today, we recognize your progress."
Leon looked at the table. A variety of wrapped gifts were set before him. But he knew better than to expect anything frivolous—everything here had a purpose.
One by one, his gifts were presented.
The first was from his father—[Green-Rank] Blade Technique:Flowing Fang. "You have learned the basics. This will refine your movements further."
His mother gifted him [Blue-Rank] Movement Skill:Phantom Step, emphasizing the importance of mobility in battle. "A strong warrior must never be rooted to the ground," she told him. "Footwork is just as important as the blade."
His uncle, a man of fewer words, presented [Purple-Rank] Breathing Technique:Iron Tempest Breathing. "You will need endurance," was all he said.
And finally, the last gift was from the Varian Family Head himself, an elder man with a strong presence. He handed Leon a [Red-Rank] Swordplay Technique: Crimson Fang Execution. "This is a technique for lethal efficiency. Use it well."
"Leon, your talent has exceeded our expectations. As a member of House Varian, and now a retainer of House Novaris, it is only fitting that you be equipped properly." He gestured, and a servant stepped forward, carrying a black case lined with intricate golden etchings. "These are gifts to aid your growth."
The case was placed before Leon, and as he unlatched it, his breath caught.
Inside, laid upon dark velvet, were three carefully selected artifacts:
[Epic-Rank] Azure Veil Pendant ,[Rare-Rank] Obsidian Core earrings.
The first one was a defensive artifact that could take hits from a D-rank awakened while the second one was an artifact that could help in increasing mana absorption.
Then he focused on the last one. A katana. Leon ran his fingers over the blade's hilt, feeling the cold steel beneath his touch. His heart pounded.
[Epic-Rank] Midnight Fang.
"That was my gift little one." His teacher, Lyra, said from the side.
Leon gave her a quick bow before swinging the blade getting a feel for his new weapon. It felt right.
Leon sheathed his new weapon and gave a quick bow to the others in the room.
Selene smiled at his reaction. "House Varian expects you to wield these well, my son. Do not disappoint us."
Leon bowed his head. "I will not."
Garrick chuckled, his sharp gaze resting on him. "Good. Because tomorrow, you begin learning how to truly use them."
As the evening continued, Leon sat quietly, his mind already focused on the road ahead. These treasures weren't just gifts—they were expectations forged into steel and mana. He would not squander them.