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Steelborn Legacy

Saini_Raman
21
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The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 21 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Some wield spells. Others carve truth from steel. In a world where continents stretch beyond stars and power takes countless forms, the mighty Solaran Imperium rules a realm of magic, runes, spirits, and warrior traditions—each with their own path to power. Among them stands the time-honored way of the knight: relentless, refined, and absolute. Arthur Vaelstrom, heir to one of the empire’s most feared and respected ducal houses, was never marked by divine favor or mystical mutation. What sets him apart is not his birthright—but how far he’s pushed it. Tempered through ruthless training, steeped in forgotten martial rites, and raised beneath the iron gaze of his legendary father, Arthur walks Knight’s Path in an age of chaotic power. As ancient legacies awaken and ambitions fracture the unity of the empire, Arthur will be tested Knighthood is no gift. It is the art of standing alone—until others fall in behind you. First of all it's my first novel which I'm translating to English using A.i so forgive me. I'm learning English so I can write in English.
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: Trial Beneath the Stormspire

The rain had started at dawn, soft and cold, more mist than storm. Yet by the time Arthur stood at the Trial Ring, the clouds above Stormgrave had blackened to slate, and the air stank faintly of ozone and steel.

He stood alone in the center of the ring—bare stone carved from the mountain itself, ringed with high parapets, watching banners, and soldiers in still formation. He did not look up to where his father stood. He didn't need to.

Every son of House Vaelstrom knew the feeling of being watched by Arcturus Vaelstrom, the Iron Sovereign. It was not warmth. It was not pride.

It was weight.

> "Your ancestors forged this ring," Arthur remembered the Warden saying that morning. "They broke ten thousand swords to shape it. Spill your blood on it, and it may accept you. Spill another's, and it will remember you."

He wasn't afraid. Not quite. But beneath his skin, his aura flickered—like a breath held too long—waiting.

A bell rang once. The gates creaked open.

The beast that emerged wasn't large. That surprised him.

Steelborn. Clawed, hunched, its flesh braided with copper strands and runic scars. Its snout—a forged plate. Its limbs distorted by grafted bone. No eyes. One arm ended in a sword-like blade. A living weapon bred for trials.

It didn't roar. It didn't pace.

It tilted its head.

And charged.

Arthur moved—not back, but sideways, boots skidding over wet stone. The Steelborn's clawed foot cracked the arena floor where he'd stood a moment earlier. The sound was not bestial—it was mechanical. A hiss of pressure. A low growl from a metal throat.

Its blade-arm cleaved downward.

Arthur raised his sword. Steel met steel.

The impact rattled his bones.

He staggered but didn't fall.

The Steelborn loomed above him, flexing its aura-forged limbs. Its presence pressed in—measured, hunting, calculating.

It attacked again.

This time, Arthur struck back.

He dashed in low, blade horizontal. The Steelborn swept to counter—but Arthur dropped his shoulder, pivoted beneath, and slid past its guard, slicing across its thigh.

Sparks danced. The wound was shallow—but clean.

Above, murmurs stirred the air. Not cheers. Recognition.

Arthur breathed out. His aura leveled—tight, silent, precise. The instinct of countless drills guided his limbs. He didn't need rage. Only clarity.

The Steelborn reeled back. Its stance shifted. Its attacks grew smarter—slashes at odd angles, sudden kicks, deceptive lunges.

Arthur absorbed a blow, rolled with it, redirected the force—and struck again.

Blade met arm. He carved beneath the elbow, cleaving through tendons.

The beast spun, roaring, desperate.

Arthur used its spin.

He stepped into its blind side, reversed his grip, and drove his blade upward—clean through the ribs and into its chest.

Aura surged with it.

A sound cracked through the arena—like thunder smothered beneath water.

And the beast fell.

---

Silence.

Then breath. Then voices. Only then did Arthur look up.

Arcturus Vaelstrom hadn't moved. But beside him, the steward leaned in and whispered. The Duke gave a nod so faint it could've been the wind.

Arthur turned before he could see more.

> "He's ready," said Warden Rila softly.

> "The Vault will open," murmured Ser Rhogar. "Or remember what it locked away."

And high above, behind stone doors untouched for over a century, something stirred.

Its presence was not like steel.

It was like thunder remembering war.