My great-grandfather, Udrik Segundo, was remembered as an imposing commander - a warrior who, by luck or fate, rose to the rank of Battle Master at the age of 80. A rare feat... but a slow one. He lived for two hundred years, carrying his name as a symbol of authority and discipline. A respected pillar of Udrik history, but still... it wasn't enough for me.
Then came Rillen, my father. The man who became a Battle Master at the age of twenty. No one in the history of the family - perhaps not even in the whole province - had reached that level with such speed. He surpassed the founder. He surpassed the commander. He became the foundation of a new era for the Udrik. I grew up hearing about his achievements, his superhuman strength, his sharp mind, his mastery of the battlefield. But I... I never wanted to be like him. I wanted more.
The first gave birth.
The second laid the foundations.
The third created a foundation.
And now, as the fourth heir... I wanted to ascend.
But the Battle Master was the limit. The top. The end of the ladder. To surpass him, I would have to reach that same level before I was twenty. And even then, it wouldn't be enough. I needed to make my mark in other areas: politics, strategy, culture. Where my father saw only the sword, I saw the map. Where he saw power in muscles, I saw power in information.
I wasn't like him. I was different.
From an early age, I realized that my mind was my sharpest weapon. Not that I was physically weak - not at all - but my advantage was different: I thought, I planned, I saw further. That's why I drew up a plan. A cycle of silent domination. A firm, stable, calculated foundation.
But there was something that could speed up my advance - a ritual that only existed among nobles: the Implementation of the Light of Life.
The Light of Life... mysterious, almost sacred energy that lay dormant in the human body, waiting to be awakened through exhausting training, extreme physical suffering, cruel discipline. A slow process. Painful. Incomplete at times.
But my grandfather - Udrik Segundo - discovered secrets. Lost methods. Fragments of knowledge gleaned from battles, forbidden libraries and reprehensible experiments. And among these secrets was a ritual passed down from father to son. A pact of blood and risk: to channel his own light of life into the body of his heir.
But the ritual was cruel.
A third of those who attempted it died.
The chance of success was a coin tossed in the wind. If he survived, the heir would awaken the light of life from an early age, and with it, monstrous potential. The energy would take deep root, growing with the body, shaping bones, muscles and senses. An adult with this advantage would have a body beyond average, superhuman endurance, reflexes that defied logic. And if that light was dense enough... it could even alter destiny.
I was only seven when I accepted the risk. I didn't hesitate. I didn't tremble. I just looked my father firmly in the eye and said: "I'm ready."
That night, lying in a chamber surrounded by ancient runes and silent guards, I felt my body being pierced by an energy that felt like fire and ice at the same time. My heart almost stopped. My vision went dark. The blood roared like thunder in my ears. For a moment, I thought I would die. And maybe I really did - a weak version of me, at least.
None of my ancestors went through the Light of Life ritual when they were young. Not my grandfather, not my great-grandfather. Not even my father, the man who became a Combat Master at the age of twenty and cemented his legend before many even understood their own potential. As I studied every step of my lineage, I realized with clarity: this was my gap. The chance to surpass them.
If I wanted to reach the level of a Combat Master before the age of twenty - and I did - I would need to start before them. More than that: I had to be willing to sacrifice everything. And that began by subjecting my body to the ritual while I was still a child. A cruel, uncertain process, but one that, if successful, would give me the basis to overcome even my father's shadow.
Fortunately, Udrick Segundo, my grandfather, had a sudden fascination with knowledge in his later years. When he had had enough of battles and conquests, he immersed himself in old books and records, obsessively studying everything to do with the Light of Life. It was he who documented every transfer attempt in detail - the failures, the deaths, the rare successes. Thanks to him, I learned that the minimum age to receive this ancestral energy was seven. And if I survived, I would spend three years immersed in the pain of rehabilitation. Only at ten would I finally be ready to begin my real training.
In the eyes of others, it might have seemed too early. But to me, it seemed late.
- Can you say when? - I asked in a calm tone, trying to hide the anxiety that was stirring in my chest.
It wasn't the pain that scared me. It was failure. It was the idea of being just another link in the chain of my lineage - strong, perhaps respected, but still bound by the limits imposed by those who came before. I couldn't bear that idea. I wasn't born to repeat anyone's story. I was born to write my own.
- The baron wants to keep that a secret," replied the man in front of me. His eyes didn't lie; he looked tense. - He notified me earlier today.
I nodded slowly. Of course my father would keep it a secret. He was always careful, even too meticulous. Before I became a Combat Master and could protect myself, he wouldn't allow my true strength to be revealed. He was prudent. Cruel, but prudent.
He believed - with good reason - that if the neighboring families discovered that I was an anomaly, a prodigy in the making, they wouldn't hesitate to eliminate me before I posed a real threat. For them, an overly precocious nobleman was a risk. A risk that had to be erased before I matured. So, until then, I should look ordinary. Just any child, harmless, invisible.
And it worked. No one in the castle suspected a thing. Not Benta, my governess, nor my three stepmothers. Not even my brothers. Everyone thought I was just... me. The fourth son. Quiet, observant, average. That's exactly what the baron wanted them to believe.
But behind the walls, there was a plan. A plan drawn up by my grandfather and refined by my father - a project that would last twenty years. Twenty long years until the ascension. And I was the core of that project.
The ritual itself was an ordeal. An aggressive process that reorganized veins, muscles, even bones. My body would be torn apart and rebuilt from the inside out. For three years, I would live like a sick person, bedridden, in pain that would make any warrior cry. But if I resisted... when the light finally took root in me, when the pain ceased, I would be reborn. My body would be new. Perfect. Without deficiencies, without limits. A vessel worthy of the Light of Life.