The chaos of the garden incident had finally subsided.
Trisha was pacified with a mountain of sweets and a personal promise from Lucien to rebuild her "flower fortress" bigger, brighter, and indestructible. She had even stopped glaring at him with those wide, accusing eyes, though her pout remained firmly in place as she methodically devoured her third honey cake. The servants would whisper for weeks about the little girl who had nearly brought the compound to its knees with her tantrum—and the peculiar young master who had transformed an entire garden into an elaborate castle of flowers and vines, only to have it collapse spectacularly during what was supposed to be a simple demonstration of growth magic.
Now, in the inner courtyard beneath the moonlight, Lucien stood before his towering grandfather—Dorian Arkanveil, the Steel Colossus of the family. The full moon cast everything in silver, highlighting the jagged scars that mapped Dorian's weathered face like a testament to battles won through sheer, brutal force.
The man was clad in a simple training gi, yet his very presence bent the wind. His sword—more like a slab of iron the size of a carriage—rested on his back, its edge catching moonlight and reflecting it as if the metal itself was alive. At first glance, he looked more like a titan in disguise than a human. Even the stones beneath his feet seemed to groan under his weight, as if the earth itself acknowledged the burden of supporting such concentrated power.
"So," Dorian's voice rumbled, "you've been causing trouble again."
Lucien's mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. "Depends on your definition of trouble, Grandfather."
"Hmph. Always with the clever words." Dorian folded his arms across his chest, each muscle shifting like plates of armor. "Your father was the same at your age. Never a straight answer."
The comparison to his father caused Lucien's eyes to flash with something—pride, perhaps, or determination. He extended a sealed jade box to him, its surface etched with ancient runes that pulsed with subtle energy. The box itself was clearly an artifact of power, designed to contain something extraordinary.
"Grandfather, this herb is called Mytherion Root. A hundred thousand years old. It holds the essence of metallic laws and time-forged might." Lucien's voice carried unusual reverence. "I acquired it from a... let's just say a very reluctant former owner."
Dorian raised a single brow, uncharacteristically silent as he took the box. His calloused fingers—each one capable of crushing stone—handled the jade container with surprising delicacy. He studied the runes, recognition dawning in his eyes.
"These markings... Cultivation Treasury script. Last saw this in the Elder Wastes." His eyes narrowed. "Where did you really get this, boy?"
Lucien merely smiled. "Consider it payment for all those bruises you gave me during training."
The old warrior grunted, then opened the lid with ritual-like precision.
The moment the metallic-golden root inside touched air, his entire body reacted. Muscles twitched. Veins glowed with internal light that traced patterns beneath his skin like molten rivers. His battle-hardened instincts screamed in delight, and the air around them grew heavy with pressure—as if reality itself strained under the anticipation of what was to come.
Without hesitation, he devoured it raw, the ancient root disappearing between his teeth with a crunch that echoed like breaking steel.
What followed could only be described as... tectonic.
A shockwave of pure force emanated from Dorian's frame, cracking the stone courtyard in a perfect circle around him. The great sword on his back trembled, as if awakening to its master's evolution. His body hunched forward, not in pain but in concentration, containing the surge of power that threatened to erupt outward.
Lucien stepped back, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Careful, old man. Wouldn't want you breaking the compound before dinner."
Dorian didn't respond. Couldn't respond. His focus turned entirely inward as he wrestled with the primal energy flooding his system.
---
[SYSTEM INTERFACE – ACCESS GRANTED]
Name: Dorian Arkanveil
Race: Human (Iron-Blooded Titanline)
Age: 73 Years
Rank: Peak SSS+ Ranker (Level 99)
---
Traits:
• [Iron Reign – SSS Grade] (Evolved)
• [Titan's Breath – SS+ Grade]
• [Unbreakable Focus – SS Grade]
---
Skills:
• Colossal Sword Mastery – Lv. 10 [Max Proficiency]
• Titanstep – Lv. 9 (884/1000)
• Steel Vein Flow – Lv. 8 (777/900)
• Aura Compression – Lv. 7 (412/800)
• Pressure Zone – Lv. 6
• Iron Will – Lv. 9 (902/1000)
---
Storage Capacity: 1000 Cubic Meters
(Bound Items: Ironforged Greatblade "Gorehowl", Ancestral Arkanveil Armor, Titan Sigil, 3x Mythic-Class Forging Pills)
---
System Note:
→ Trait [Iron Reign] grants control over weight, mass, and kinetic flow of any weapon wielded.
→ Amplifies destructive power with exponential force during high momentum swings.
→ Resistance to spiritual and elemental suppression increased by 70%.
→ Passive aura suppresses targets under SS rank.
--[UPDATING]--
→ Trait [Iron Reign] evolving to [Sovereign Iron Domain] - SSS+ Grade
→ Unlocking hidden potential: Metal Manipulation extends beyond wielded weapons to surrounding environment
→ New ability: Gravitational Anchor - Can manipulate weight fields in a 30-meter radius
→ Body reinforcement increased by 120%
→ Lifespan extended by 50 years
---
Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the occasional rumble of stone as Dorian's power fluctuated. Lucien watched with analytical eyes, mentally tracking the changes in his grandfather's aura. The old man's energy signature was transforming—becoming denser, more refined, yet paradoxically more expansive.
Finally, Dorian's eyes opened. They gleamed with metallic luster, as if liquid steel had replaced his irises.
Dorian's body gleamed with veins of metallic essence running just beneath his skin like silver rivers. His back straightened, adding what seemed like inches to his already imposing height. His blade groaned under new pressure, the metal singing in response to its master's evolution.
He gave a deep, guttural laugh that seemed to vibrate the very air.
"Hoh? You trying to kill me with excitement, boy?"
Lucien smirked, completely unintimidated by the display that would have sent lesser men fleeing.
"Not yet. There's more."
"More?" Dorian flexed his hand, watching as the skin rippled with newfound strength. "This root alone... it's done something to my Iron Reign trait. I can feel it changing, expanding." He looked up sharply. "Where did you truly find such a treasure? Not even the Arkanveil vaults hold anything of this caliber."
Lucien casually adjusted his sleeve, revealing a brief glimpse of a strange, pulsing mark on his wrist before covering it again.
"Let's just say I have my methods. The Mytherion Root is just the beginning, Grandfather. The family will need your strength for what's coming."
Dorian's expression sobered. "You know something. Something you're not telling the rest of us."
"I know many things," Lucien replied with practiced nonchalance. "Most importantly, I know the Arkanveil bloodline must reach its peak. All of us."
Without warning, Dorian's massive hand shot out, gripping Lucien's shoulder with enough force to shatter ordinary bones. But Lucien didn't flinch, didn't even wince.
"You've changed since that expedition to the Ancient Spire," Dorian said, eyes narrowing. "Your father notices it too. This... calculation in your eyes. This certainty."
Lucien met his grandfather's gaze without wavering. "Everything changes, Grandfather. Even mountains wear down or rise higher. The question is whether we control that change or are controlled by it."
Dorian released his grip, then nodded slowly. "We will speak of this again. Soon." He reached back, unsheathing his monstrous blade with newfound ease. "But first, I need to test what this root has done to me. Care for a spar, grandson?"
Lucien's eyes gleamed with something between excitement and mischief. "Not today. I need to remain in one piece for what I have planned next." He bowed slightly. "Enjoy your gift, Grandfather. I look forward to seeing the full extent of what you become."
As Lucien turned to leave, Dorian called after him. "Boy."
Lucien paused.
"Thank you," Dorian said gruffly, the words clearly unfamiliar on his tongue.
Lucien simply nodded, then disappeared into the shadows of the compound.
Behind him, the sound of Dorian's blade singing through the air with impossible speed echoed through the night—a metal typhoon unleashed in exhilaration.
---
Later that evening, in a serene corner of the Arkanveil estate, Lucien approached his grandmother—Evelyne Arkanveil, healer and saintess of the battlefield. Her quarters were filled with the gentle aroma of medicinal herbs and flowering plants, a stark contrast to the metal and stone that dominated much of the compound.
She was tending to injured mana foxes, her hands glowing with soft green energy as she healed their wounded paws. Three of the small creatures—likely casualties from territorial disputes in the nearby forest—lay on cushions before her, their multiple tails twitching as her restorative magic flowed through them.
Evelyne wore simple white robes, her silver hair braided intricately down her back. Despite her age, her face retained a timeless beauty, marred only by the worry lines around her eyes—testament to decades spent healing the wounds of warriors and innocents alike.
She looked up as Lucien entered, her smile gentle but knowing. "I felt your gift to your grandfather from across the compound. Quite the tremor he caused." Her voice carried the soft lilt of the Eastern Provinces, never quite lost despite her many years away from her homeland. "Should I be preparing healing salves for the aftermath?"
Lucien chuckled, taking a seat across from her. "He has remarkable restraint—for a titan in human skin."
"That he does," she agreed, finishing her work on the last fox. The creature yipped gratefully before curling into a ball, its aura now stable and bright. "So, what brings you to my sanctuary, little storm? More mischief?"
"Gifts, Grandmother. Specifically, this." He placed a dark-purple tome in her lap, its cover bound in what appeared to be leather but felt like nothing of this world. Symbols in an ancient script crawled across its surface, occasionally shifting position as if alive.
"The Forbidden Codex of Vivire. It once belonged to the Witch Healer of the Abyss. But I thought it would suit you more."
Evelyne's hands froze over the book, her expression transforming from gentle amusement to genuine shock. "The Witch Healer's...? Lucien, this is impossible. Her codex was destroyed in the Ashen Calamity centuries ago."
"So the records claim," Lucien agreed smoothly. "Yet here it is."
She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the cover. "Forbidden?"
Lucien just nodded, his eyes serious now. "But it heals like nothing else ever could. It contains techniques that transcend the boundaries between life and death. Techniques that could save those beyond conventional healing."
Her eyes flashed with understanding. "You're thinking of your uncle. Of what happened to him in the Northern Campaign."
"Among others," he admitted. "The family will need every advantage in the coming days."
Evelyne studied him carefully. "You speak as if war approaches our doorstep."
"Not war," Lucien said quietly. "Something far worse."
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. Decision made, she opened the tome, her trained eyes immediately beginning to decipher its contents.
"Stay a while," she said, patting the space beside her. "Tell me stories while I read."
Lucien smiled—a genuine smile, rare in its simplicity—and began recounting tales of his recent travels, carefully edited versions that omitted the darker truths he'd encountered. As he spoke, Evelyne began reading, occasionally gasping or murmuring in astonishment at what she found within the pages.
Hours passed. The mana foxes awoke, played around their feet, then slept again. Servants came and went, bringing tea that grew cold untouched. Throughout it all, Evelyne read with increasing fascination, her aura gradually shifting, taking on new depths and hues as the forbidden knowledge entered her consciousness.
By dawn, the tome dissolved into her hands—melding into her soul like ink upon silk. The physical book became strands of purple light that sank beneath her skin, leaving behind only the scent of ancient herbs and storm winds.
Lucien, who had fallen silent hours ago, watched with satisfaction as the transformation completed.
---
[SYSTEM INTERFACE – ACCESS GRANTED]
Name: Evelyne Arkanveil
Race: Human (Ancestral Mageblood – Arkanveil Line)
Age: 71 Years
Rank: High SSS- Ranker (Level 92)
---
Traits:
• [Healing Resonance – SS Grade]
• [Calm Core – S Grade]
• [Life's Embrace – SS- Grade]
---
Skills:
• Soul Reweave – Lv. 8
• Mass Restoration – Lv. 7
• Absolute Purge – Lv. 6
• Healing Aura – Lv. 10 [Max Proficiency]
• Essence Transfer – Lv. 6
• Vital Thread – Lv. 5
---
--[UPDATING]--
→ Trait [Life's Embrace] evolving to [Abyssal Renewal – SSS Grade]
→ New Skill Unlocked: Death Reversal – Lv. 1 (0/100)
→ New Skill Unlocked: Corruption Purification – Lv. 1 (0/100)
→ Healing Aura range increased by 200%
→ Soul Reweave effectiveness increased by 150%
System Note:
→ Trait [Abyssal Renewal] allows restoration of life force, limb regeneration, and disease reversal at cost of mana essence.
→ Forbidden healing draws from both life and death energy—reversible flow.
→ Highly effective in corrupted zones or curse-laden areas.
→ WARNING: Extended use may result in spiritual contamination. Practitioner requires balanced heart to prevent corruption.
---
Evelyne closed her eyes, basking in the newfound magic swirling inside her. The knowledge of the Witch Healer now coursed through her veins, ancient and potent. She experimentally raised her hand, watching as dual energies—one radiant white, one deep violet—danced across her fingertips, intertwining without conflict.
"This is..." she whispered, "beyond anything I've ever known. The integration of death essence with healing magic... it's revolutionary." She looked at her hands in wonder. "I could save those on the brink now. Perhaps even those who've just crossed over."
She turned to Lucien with a gentle smile, her eyes now bearing the faintest purple sheen beneath their natural color.
Then without a word, she hugged him.
And kept hugging him.
"Such a good boy," she whispered, petting his golden hair lovingly. "My little miracle."
Lucien, for once, didn't say anything back. He just stood there—content in this rare moment of vulnerability. His grandmother's embrace carried the comforting scent of healing herbs and home, a stark contrast to the dangerous paths he'd been walking.
"I worry about you," she said softly, still holding him. "The darkness you're gathering around yourself... the secrets you keep... they come at a price, Lucien."
He tensed slightly in her arms, but she continued stroking his hair.
"I won't ask how you obtained these treasures. I won't ask what drove you to seek such power for our family so suddenly." Her voice remained gentle, but firm. "But remember who you are beneath it all. Remember the boy who used to bring injured birds to me for healing. The one who cried when we couldn't save that old mare during the lightning storm."
Lucien's throat tightened unexpectedly. "That was a lifetime ago, Grandmother."
"No," she said, finally releasing him to look into his eyes. "It was you. Still is you, beneath whatever burdens you've taken on."
For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face—a glimpse of uncertainty, of the child he once was. Then his composed mask returned, though softer than before.
"The family will need your skills soon," he said quietly. "Uncle Mavron's condition, Father's old war wound that never properly healed, even Cousin Elara's curse—you can heal them all now."
Evelyne nodded. "I will need to practice with these new abilities. Learn their limitations." She touched his cheek softly. "But first, you need rest. Your aura is frayed at the edges—signs of pushing too hard, giving too much."
Lucien started to protest, but she silenced him with a look that generations of Arkanveils had learned not to challenge.
"Even vessels of power require maintenance, young master," she said, her healer's authority returning. "Sleep. Real sleep, not those meditation techniques you think I don't notice you using to avoid proper rest."
He sighed, the weight of many sleepless nights suddenly pressing down on him. "Perhaps just for a few hours."
"Eight," she countered. "Minimum."
"Four," he negotiated.
"Six, and I'll make those almond cakes you pretend not to crave."
A genuine smile tugged at his lips. "You play dirty, Grandmother."
"I learned from watching you, dear." She shooed him toward the door. "Now go. Your grandfather will be occupied with his new powers for days, and whatever schemes you're plotting can wait a few hours."
As Lucien left, Evelyne turned to her small shrine in the corner of the room. The mana foxes watched curiously as she lit a stick of incense, its blue smoke curling upward.
"Watch over him," she whispered to the images of ancestors long passed. "The path he walks grows darker, and I fear what waits at its end."
Outside her sanctuary, Lucien paused, his enhanced senses catching her quiet prayer. His hand unconsciously moved to his wrist, where the strange mark pulsed with hidden purpose. His eyes hardened with determination.
"It's already begun," he whispered to himself. "And there's no turning back now."