The Arkanveil estate was a kingdom in itself—a haven of might and magic nestled amidst rolling emerald hills, defended by enchantments older than most nations. Its walls, engraved with protective runes, shimmered under sunlight. Its halls echoed with footsteps of titans-in-training. But beneath the glamour, it was a crucible. A place where strength was not just nurtured—it was demanded.
And Lucien Arkanveil was its most peculiar secret.
By day, he was a giggling toddler with chubby cheeks and curious eyes. By night, he was a machine of learning, driven by purpose few would comprehend.
---
He often sat by the tall eastern window, legs too short to dangle off the cushion, watching his eldest brother, Aleron, practice in the lower courtyard. Aleron, heir to the Arkanveil name, was a storm in human form. His sword sang with lightning. His movements left trails of flame where his boots touched stone.
Lucien watched it all—memorizing every arc, every pivot, every breath before an explosive strike.
> [Skill Acquired: Sword Style Observation - Lv 1 (43/100)]
[Progress: Basic Swordsmanship - Lv 2 (278/500)]
One afternoon, he mimicked Aleron's overhead cleave using a wooden stick nearly as long as his entire body. He stumbled and fell, face-first into a rose bush.
The gardeners panicked.
His siblings rushed.
Lucien simply grinned, blood and petals on his cheeks, and whispered, "Again."
The next night, he performed the move without error.
---
But it wasn't just swordsmanship that fascinated him.
Magic—arcane, elusive, boundless—called to something deep in his soul.
His mother, Lysandra Arkanveil, was once a revered High Priestess of the Sanctum of Light. Though she retired to raise her children, the power still radiated from her like soft moonlight.
Lucien followed her everywhere.
To the ritual halls etched with crystal glyphs.
To the healing gardens where mana-infused herbs glowed in moonlight.
To the sanctum library where ancient grimoires lined shelves that hummed with containment magic.
She thought he just liked her stories.
She was wrong.
---
"Mother," he asked once, "why do the runes shimmer differently at night?"
Lysandra blinked. "What shimmer, little moon?"
He pointed, tiny fingers tracing a glyph mid-air. "There. The blue line in the third tier glows faster during moonrise. I think it's reacting to silver mana."
She dropped the grimoire.
No child should see that.
No child could see that.
She told herself it was imagination. Coincidence.
But that night, she began tracking his behavior.
And found nothing unusual.
Just a sweet child, asking odd questions, staring too long at old spell formations.
---
> [Skill Acquired: Rune Deciphering - Lv 1 (92/100)]
[Skill: Mana Sense - Lv 2 (992/1000)]
[Skill Evolved: Mana Sense → Mana Perception - Lv 1 (0/500)]
A rush of clarity surged through Lucien's core. At that moment, magic wasn't just something outside him—it became part of his breath, his skin, his thoughts.
He could feel the subtle weavings in every flame his mother conjured.
He could sense the healing aura she used to soothe scraped knees.
And he began to copy them—silently, carefully—when no one was watching.
Tracing invisible sigils in the dark.
Mouthing chants he wasn't supposed to understand.
---
His Proficiency Panel bloomed.
> [Elemental Logic - Lv 3 (689/2000)]
[Light Affinity Recognition - Lv 2 (212/1000)]
[Healing Theory - Lv 1 (37/100)]
He didn't have formal lessons. He didn't need them.
He simply watched.
And practiced.
---
The estate's servants thought him whimsical, perhaps a bit strange, when they saw him waving fingers in the air like he was painting invisible birds.
"Master Lucien's playing again," one said fondly.
In truth, he was practicing rune-threading—an advanced concept in spellcasting that allowed seamless spell chaining.
> [Skill Acquired: Spell Weaving - Lv 1 (9/100)]
---
Despite his progress, Lucien never got greedy.
He advanced slowly. Patiently.
After all, power was nothing without foundation.
It was a lesson he had learned in his past life—after watching geniuses fall to their own arrogance.
Now, in this world, he had a second chance.
He wouldn't waste it.
---
One day, during an estate feast, Lucien found himself seated beside his older sister, Seraphina—the one who laughed the loudest and burned the brightest.
She had already begun training in fire magic. Her mana was raw and wild, like her spirit. She ruffled his hair mid-meal.
"Don't grow up too fast, Little Flame," she teased. "Leave some glory for the rest of us."
He grinned, leaning into the touch.
But inwardly, he was already calculating which fire spellbook would benefit her most. The Lotus Flame Codex, perhaps. It was hidden in the vault beneath the east tower.
He would fetch it for her.
One day.
After all, he loved his family.
They weren't pawns. They were his.
---
On his fourth birthday, his grandfather gave him a toy sword. The old man's hands were scarred from decades of battle, but his smile was soft.
"Every Arkanveil must learn the blade," he said. "Even the smallest."
Lucien took the gift with wide eyes and bowed with perfect etiquette.
His family cooed and laughed.
None saw the silent message in his eyes.
This blade… is only the beginning.
---
By then, Lucien had already learned how to balance his magical core and strengthen his physical body in harmony—a technique many knights spent years mastering.
> [Dual Flow Harmony - Lv 1 (33/100)]
It was the first step to becoming what his family called the "Dual Vein"—a warrior-mage.
The rarest path.
The deadliest.
---
His father, watching him from across the garden, sipped his wine and murmured, "That boy… will surpass me."
Aleron, ever proud, simply smirked.
"I'll make sure he does," the eldest son said. "When he's ready."
---
Lucien smiled beneath the moonlight that night, clutching his toy sword in one hand, and sketching a tier-1 fire rune in the air with the other.
He was the bridge between steel and sorcery.
Mageblood and Swordsteel.
And the world had no idea what was coming.