By his third birthday, Lucien Arkanveil no longer crawled the halls of the estate—he glided through them, quiet and assured. His golden hair had grown longer, tousled but elegant, and his red eyes gleamed like twin embers whenever they caught the light.
The entire estate celebrated his birthday with warmth and laughter. There were glowing pastries from the Light Bakery in the capital, enchanted balloons that floated like gentle wraiths, and puppet shows performed by mana-woven constructs. His youngest sister squealed with joy. Elric's sister climbed onto his lap and smeared frosting on his cheek.
Lucien laughed along.
But when the festivities ended, and the stars took their places in the quiet sky, he turned to his father and asked calmly, "Can I have a wooden sword, Father?"
The request was so sudden, so serious, that it silenced the room.
Aleron raised a brow. "You want a sword already, little one?"
Lucien nodded. "Please. Just a wooden one. I want to be like Brother."
There was no tantrum. No whining. Just firm, clear resolve behind childish innocence.
His father looked at him for a long moment, then smiled.
---
The next day, a custom-forged wooden sword was delivered to Lucien's quarters. Light enough for his small arms, but weighted to teach balance. Runes etched faintly across the surface made it resonate faintly with mana, aiding in instinctual flow.
Lucien held it in both hands. It didn't feel like a toy. It felt like destiny.
---
"Want to train with me?" Aleron asked with a grin that was equal parts amusement and curiosity.
Lucien nodded again.
"Alright then. Dawn."
And so it began.
---
The first day was brutal. Lucien's tiny arms trembled under basic stances. He stumbled when forced to lunge. His sword shook after every block. But he didn't complain. He didn't cry. And he never stopped watching.
He mimicked Aleron's breathing patterns, memorized the weight distribution during parries, and adjusted his stance after every mistake. He accepted corrections with a nod, and deliberately made minor mistakes the first few days—just enough to appear like a gifted child, not a monster in disguise.
When he returned to his room, he collapsed on his bed only for show. When the hallways fell silent, he stood in the dark and repeated every movement in perfect silence.
He began sparring with shadows—constructs of intent and imagined rhythm, matching Aleron's style beat for beat.
---
> [Swordplay - Lv 4 (1890/2000)]
[Skill Evolved: Swordplay → Advanced Sword Form - Lv 1 (0/500)]
[Mana Circulation - Lv 5 (991/2000)]
[Physical Endurance - Lv 3 (1100/2000)]
[Skill Acquired: Shadow Sparring - Lv 1 (21/100)]
---
Aleron began to take him seriously by the end of the first month.
"He copies me too well," Aleron murmured one morning as he watched Lucien adjust his grip mid-swing without being told. "Too well for instinct."
Their father chuckled. "Perhaps it's in the blood. Or maybe... fate gave him something more."
Lucien, breathing heavily a short distance away, heard them both. He bent over and let out a strained groan, making it seem like he was near his limit.
He was only at sixty percent.
---
Every morning was spent with Aleron in the courtyard. Every evening was dedicated to spell theory and mana flow. And every night—when the world rested—Lucien meditated alone beneath the moonlight, refining both body and spirit.
> [Meditation - Lv 2 (432/1000)]
[Breath Control - Lv 3 (802/2000)]
[Mana Vein Conditioning - Lv 1 (98/100)]
The Proficiency Panel was his greatest ally.
Every effort had meaning. Every repetition brought growth.
Unlike others, whose systems awakened at 14, his had been active since birth.
It was a silent miracle.
A divine secret.
And no one could know.
---
His family sang praises at dinners.
"A prodigy!" his aunt exclaimed. "The gods have truly blessed us."
"A genius child," whispered a guest noble. "Surely destined for greatness."
Even his grandfather, who rarely gave compliments, placed a hand on Lucien's shoulder and said, "Keep walking this path, boy. But walk it wisely."
Lucien smiled at them all. He laughed when he needed to, played with his siblings when expected, and never pushed too hard in public.
His mask was perfect.
---
But beneath it, the soul of a seasoned warrior and cunning strategist worked without rest.
The original villain—this body's original future—had been proud, jealous, and blind to the tides around him. A child who grew into a tyrant, isolated and hated, falling not by power, but by folly.
Lucien would never let that be his fate.
This time, he would earn his family's love.
He would support his brother, cherish his siblings, and protect the name Arkanveil with pride.
But to his enemies?
He would be a shadow in daylight.
Kindness to kin. Cruelty to foes.
---
That night, after a sparring session with Aleron where he managed to deflect three full strikes in a row—a feat impossible for his age—he bowed respectfully.
Aleron ruffled his hair with a proud grin.
"You'll surpass me one day, little brother."
Lucien looked up at him, eyes shining.
"I hope so," he replied softly.
But in his mind, the words were different.
I must. Because the storm is coming.
The original protagonist of the novel—the hero—was out there. Somewhere. Still innocent. Still unaware.
But the day they met again, Lucien would not be a stepping stone in anyone's journey.
He would be a mountain.
---
As he went to sleep, the Proficiency Panel shimmered.
> [Advanced Sword Form - Lv 1 (154/500)]
[Mana Circulation - Lv 5 (1999/2000)]
[Skill Evolved: Mana Circulation → Mana Flow Mastery - Lv 1 (0/1000)]
And so, the prodigy's mask remained intact.
But behind the golden hair and red eyes...
A legend began to sharpen.