The training yard was empty at dawn. Fog rolled low, clinging to stone and steel.
Lucien stood beside his grandfather, the great Arkanveil sentinel. Once a warlord. Now an aging shadow of that legend.
But even shadows held weight.
The old man's hands trembled—not from weakness, but from memory.
He had fought beasts with names older than empires. Stared down traitor kings. Buried too many friends. His aura still pulsed with power, but it was… sealed. Not lost. Sealed behind wounds that time couldn't heal.
And Lucien had brought the key.
He knelt, reaching into his system storage. With care, he withdrew a vial wrapped in runes and ancient silk.
Within it, curled like a sleeping dragon root, was the 100,000-year Blood Ginseng.
It glowed crimson, veins of living mana dancing beneath its skin.
Lucien stood and pressed it into his grandfather's palm.
> "For the blade that never rusted."
The old man blinked. Then laughed—a deep, hoarse sound. His fingers closed around the root.
"I remember when your father was born," he said. "I was still strong then. Too strong. I thought nothing could touch me."
He looked down at the Ginseng.
"Then came the curse blade. The black flame. The wound that never healed…"
Lucien nodded once.
"Time to heal it."
---
The Ginseng dissolved as he ate it—flesh melting into fire, heat rushing through marrow.
The old man dropped to one knee, growling. Muscles twitched. Veins lit up like molten rivers. His mana erupted in waves that cracked the cobblestones around them.
Lucien stood still, watching.
He didn't flinch.
A storm wasn't something to fear when you were its heir.
Then the aura calmed… and the old man rose.
Straight. Tall. No tremble.
His back no longer bowed. His eyes no longer dimmed.
The sentinel had returned.
---
> [SYSTEM UPDATE: STATUS PANEL – ARKANVEIL, GARRICK]
Name: Garrick Arkanveil
Age: 94
Rank: Level 99
Class: Guardian Warlord
Bloodline: Arkanveil (High Human – Tier 3)
[TRAITS]
– Iron Will (SS)
– Battle Insight (S+)
– Stormstep (S)
– Grand Marshal's Command (SS+)
[TITLES]
– The Unyielding Blade
– Sentinel of the East Wall
– Bloodline Keeper
[MANA CORE]
– State: Full Recovery
– Quality: Diamond-Tier
– Flow Control: Perfected
[CONDITION]
– Lifespan Extended: +120 Years
– Combat Functionality: 100%
– Debuffs Removed: All
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: Ginseng-induced restoration successful. No instability detected.]
---
Lucien exhaled. Slowly.
The numbers weren't surprising. He had expected this much.
But seeing it… knowing the last Arkanveil of the old era now stood ready for the wars to come?
It settled something in his chest.
His grandfather rolled his shoulders, and the wind itself seemed to tense.
"I feel like I could cleave a mountain again," he muttered.
Lucien smirked. "Try it on something smaller. Like my brother."
"Ha! That pup would break before I drew breath."
Then Garrick paused. His eyes turned serious.
"…This wasn't just a gift."
Lucien met his gaze.
"No. It was an investment."
---
They stood in silence for a while. Then Garrick spoke, softer this time.
"I've seen a thousand prodigies. A thousand golden sons with sharp swords and sharper pride."
"But you…" He turned to Lucien. "You don't carry your father's arrogance."
Lucien raised a brow. "Insulting him or praising me?"
"Both."
Another pause. Then:
"You're building something," Garrick said. "Not just training. Not just rising. You're shaping."
Lucien didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The old warrior nodded.
"Well, grandson. I've got a few battles left in me. Just point me where you want the ground to break."
---
Later that day, the training yard filled with gasps and whispers.
Garrick Arkanveil stepped into the arena. Fully armored. Sword in hand.
The younger knights—those who had never seen him fight—watched in awe as the air bent around his strikes.
He sparred five elites at once. And didn't lose ground.
---
Lucien watched from a balcony, arms folded.
Beside him, Aleron—his eldest brother—whistled low.
"Is this your doing?"
Lucien didn't look away. "Just cleared the dust."
"Remind me never to fall behind in your plans, little brother."
"You won't," Lucien said. "You'll lead them."
Aleron smirked, but his eyes were thoughtful.
Below, Garrick roared, sword flashing. The arena shook.
The Arkanveil family was waking up.
And Lucien was lighting the torches.