Chapter 29: The Path of Strength
The grand halls of the Everhart estate stood silent under the moon's gentle glow. The remnants of Leonhardt's tenth birthday celebration had long since faded, leaving only the flickering candlelight and the cool stillness of the night.
Leonhardt Valerian Everhart sat in his private study, his fiery red eyes scanning the ancient tome before him. His fingers traced the aged parchment, absorbing the knowledge written in a forgotten language.
This was a book of ancient magic—one that no one else in the estate even knew existed.
By day, he was the perfect heir: disciplined, composed, and ever the genius. By night, he walked the path no one else could see.
The path of breaking the seal.
His thoughts wandered briefly to the ball. The nobles had watched him with admiration, some with greed. Their daughters had gazed at him with hopeful eyes, but he had no interest in their affection.
Love? Affection? Friendship?
None of that mattered.
Not when she was still bound.
Not when the gods still reigned above, unaware that their days of supremacy were numbered.
Leonhardt's gaze darkened.
He needed more power.
His father was one of the five swordmasters in the world, a warrior who stood at the peak of humanity's martial strength. His mother, the only 9th-class magician in the world, commanded spells that could rewrite landscapes.
And yet, even they were not enough.
Leonhardt closed the tome with a soft thud. He had to surpass them.
No.
He would surpass them.
Rising from his chair, he walked toward the open balcony, his gaze lifting to the sky. The moon hung high above, glowing with a familiar light.
Are you watching, Aetheria?
Somewhere beyond the stars, beyond the chains that bound her, she was waiting.
And he would not keep her waiting for long.
The Training Ground at Dawn
The first rays of morning light painted the Everhart estate in hues of gold and crimson. The private training grounds, reserved only for the Grand Duke's family, stood empty except for two figures.
Leonhardt faced his father, Grand Duke Aldric Everhart, their swords drawn.
His father's steel-gray eyes regarded him with quiet intensity. "You're improving," he remarked, his voice steady as always. "But it's not enough."
Leonhardt didn't respond. He knew that already.
With a sharp exhale, he lunged. His sword cut through the air with precision, his movements fluid and controlled. The weight of his training, of years of relentless practice, was evident in every strike.
But Aldric blocked each blow with ease.
Leonhardt gritted his teeth, pivoting to the side as he tried to break through his father's defenses. His feet barely touched the ground before he launched another attack.
Faster.
Stronger.
Not enough.
Aldric's sword struck back with measured force, knocking Leonhardt off balance. Before he could recover, the blade was at his throat.
Silence.
Leonhardt clenched his jaw. He hated this feeling—this overwhelming gap in power.
Aldric sheathed his sword, watching his son carefully. "You're strong, Leonhardt. No one your age could match you. But strength alone won't win battles."
Leonhardt exhaled, stepping back. He had heard these words before. "I know."
His father's gaze remained unreadable. "Then show me that you understand."
Leonhardt nodded once, gripping his sword tighter.
He would not stop.
He would never stop.
Later That Evening
After hours of sword training and lessons in modern magic, Leonhardt finally found himself alone.
The estate was quiet, the noble guests from the ball long gone. He walked through the halls with practiced ease, his steps leading him toward his mother's private library.
There, she was waiting.
Grand Duchess Selene Everhart, the strongest magician in the world.
His mother stood near a towering bookshelf, flipping through a tome with an expression of quiet contemplation. As he entered, she glanced up, her sharp golden eyes meeting his.
"You're late," she said, her voice calm.
Leonhardt said nothing, simply approaching the chair where she had left an open book for him. He recognized the text immediately—a study on magical constructs.
Selene sat across from him, watching as he skimmed through the pages. "Your progress in modern magic is impressive," she admitted. "But you're hiding something."
Leonhardt didn't react. "What do you mean?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if studying him. "Your magic… there's something different about it. Something ancient."
Leonhardt turned a page. "Is that so?"
A faint smirk crossed her lips. "You can fool the world, Leonhardt. But you can't fool me."
His grip on the book tightened for just a moment.
His mother was dangerous in a way few understood. She saw through things that others missed.
But she would never know the full truth.
Never.
Selene closed her own book, standing up. "If you want to surpass me one day, you'll have to stop holding back."
Leonhardt met her gaze, his expression unreadable.
"I'll surpass you," he said simply.
She smiled. "Good."
As she left the room, Leonhardt exhaled slowly.
He had to be careful.
His secret training, his growing strength, his true goal—no one could find out.
Not yet.
A Silent Oath
Late that night, Leonhardt once again stood beneath the open sky. His hands were covered in faint traces of magic, his body still sore from the day's relentless training.
The moon above seemed to watch him, cold and distant.
His red eyes gleamed with an unwavering determination.
Just a little longer.
He would grow stronger.
He would break the seal.
He would reach her.
No matter what it took.
No matter who stood in his way.
With that silent oath, he disappeared into the night—his path set, his destiny unchangeable.