Klaus Sev trudged through the shattered streets of Eldwick, the morning sun casting jagged shadows over broken cobblestones and smoldering ruins.
The air reeked of charred wood and fear, a bitter reminder of the cosmic battle that had torn the sky two nights ago. Gods, demons, or archangels—whatever they were—had left Eldwick in ashes and Klaus changed.
The Mark of Ascendancy had awakened in him, its glowing runes and cold voice branding his soul: Seek the path, Unbowed. Power awaits the resolute. Those words burned brighter than the shame of his father's scorn or the townsfolk's whispers of "lazy lord."
Klaus was done being a joke. He'd make the world kneel, and Elder Marin, the old wanderer who'd hinted at cultivation, was his first step.
His fine blue cloak, now torn and caked with mud, dragged in the dirt. His hands, raw from crawling through the chaos, throbbed as he flexed them.
The Sev manor loomed behind him, its scarred walls a symbol of his father's fading power and his brother's infuriating perfection. Klaus didn't care about their approval anymore. He cared about power—real power, the kind that could rival the creatures he'd seen in the sky.
Eldwick was just a speck in the Kingdom of Lionheart, and Lionheart, he'd heard, was but one of many lands in a world far vaster than he'd ever bothered to imagine. If he was going to rise, he'd need to understand that world.
The town square was quieter than yesterday, but not lifeless. Townsfolk sifted through rubble, salvaging scraps of wood or cloth. A baker swept ash from his shop's steps, muttering curses. A group of children huddled near a well, their eyes wide with stories of gods and monsters.
Klaus ignored them, his green eyes scanning for Marin. The old man had vanished after their talk in the square, but his words echoed: Come find me when you're ready to bleed for it.
Marin wasn't in Eldwick's heart—he'd be somewhere quiet, away from the chaos. The northern woods, maybe.
As Klaus headed toward the gate, he passed a group of knights in dented armor, their faces weary but sharp. They were his father's men, loyal to Baron Alric Sev, not to Klaus.
One, a grizzled veteran named Garen, stepped forward, his spear resting on his shoulder. "Young lord," he said, his voice rough.
"Your father wants you at the manor. The duke's men are coming to assess the damage."
Klaus didn't slow. "Tell him I'm busy."
The duke, lord of Lionheart's western province, was just another noble who'd mocked the Sevs as small-time. Klaus had no time for his games.
Garen's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a request, boy. Lord Varn's coming too. You'd best not embarrass your family."
Klaus stopped, his jaw tightening. Lord Varn—Cedric's father, a powerful noble who owned half the lands north of Eldwick. The Varns were everything the Sevs weren't: rich, influential, favored by the king.
Klaus forced a smirk. "Let Varn come. He'll see what I'm worth soon enough."
Garen snorted but didn't argue. Klaus was still a noble, even if the knights called him lazy behind his back. Let them whisper. He'd silence them all.
Near the northern gate, Klaus spotted Lila, the maid who'd caught his eye. She was hauling a heavy bucket of water to a group of wounded townsfolk, her brown hair tied back, her simple dress torn at the hem. Her hazel eyes were focused, her hands steady despite the weight.
Most servants would be weeping or hiding, but Lila worked with a quiet strength that stood out. Klaus watched her for a moment, his mind calculating. She wasn't just a maid—she could be an ally, someone loyal in a world full of liars.
"Lila," he called, his voice sharp but not harsh. She turned, nearly spilling the bucket, and wiped her hands on her apron.
"My lord," she said, her voice steady but cautious.
"What do you need?"
Klaus stepped closer, his green eyes studying her.
"You don't break under pressure. Why?"
Lila hesitated, then met his gaze. "My family died when I was a girl, my lord. Bandits from the Ashen Plains, beyond Lionheart's borders. I learned crying doesn't fix anything. You keep going, or you die."
Klaus raised an eyebrow. The Ashen Plains—he'd heard of them, a barren land to the north, ruled by warlords and beast tribes, not kings. Lila's story was new, and it made her more interesting.
"Good," he said. "I need people who don't break. Stay close to me, Lila. The world's bigger than Eldwick, and I'm going to claim it."
Her eyes widened, but she nodded. "Yes, my lord."
There was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze, maybe even trust. Klaus turned away, a faint smile on his lips. Lila could be his first true ally—loyal, steady, and tougher than she looked. He'd need people like her to rise.
The northern gate was half-collapsed, its iron bars twisted from the cosmic battle's shockwaves. Beyond it, a dirt path wound into the Eldwick woods, where Marin was likely hiding.
Klaus stepped over a fallen beam and headed out, the town's smoke fading behind him. The woods were thick, their gnarled trees casting long shadows over mossy ground. The air was cool, smelling of pine and damp earth. Klaus's boots crunched on fallen leaves as he searched for signs of the old man—a footprint, a broken branch, anything.
After an hour, he found a clearing. A small campfire crackled, its smoke curling upward. Marin sat on a log, his tattered cloak draped over his thin frame, his white beard catching the sunlight. His gnarled staff leaned against a tree, and his hawk-like eyes fixed on Klaus before he spoke.
"You're persistent, Sev boy," Marin said, his voice rough but steady. "Most would've stayed in their fancy manor, licking their wounds."
Klaus stopped, his chest tightening. Marin's gaze was sharp, like he saw through him—through the arrogance, the laziness, the shame.
"You said strength is earned," Klaus said, keeping his voice firm. "I'm here to earn it. Teach me."
Marin chuckled, a dry, rasping sound.
"Teach you? You think power's a gift you can buy with your noble name?"
Klaus's jaw clenched. He was done with mockery. "I saw the sky break. Gods, demons—whatever they were—fought above us. I felt something in me. A voice. It called me Unbowed. You called it the Mark of Ascendancy. Tell me what it is."
Marin's eyes narrowed, and the clearing felt colder. "You've been touched, boy," he said softly.
"The Mark's a spark of the divine—or the demonic. Maybe both. Those beings in the sky left a piece of their power in you. It'll guide you, push you, but it won't make it easy. Power never is."
Klaus's heart raced. So the voice was real, tied to the cosmic battle.
"Guide me how? To what?" He asked
Marin leaned forward, his staff creaking. "To cultivation. To strength beyond swords or gold. Beyond Lionheart's borders, in lands like the Ashen Plains or the Crystal Dominion, cultivators wield magic that can shatter mountains. But it's not a game, boy. You'll bleed, you'll break, and you might lose yourself. Are you ready?"
Klaus didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Marin studied him, then nodded.
"Good. We start now. Sit."
Klaus sat on the dirt, his cloak pooling around him. Marin tossed a small stone at his feet, smooth and black, etched with faint runes that shimmered in the firelight.
"Hold it," Marin said. "Feel it. Cultivation begins with the body, but the mind's the key. Focus."
Klaus picked up the stone, its surface cool against his palm. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, but his mind wandered—to his father's scorn, Torren's perfection, the burning sky. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate.
The stone grew warm, then hot, and a faint hum vibrated through his fingers. His chest burned, and his vision blurred. Golden runes glowed in his mind, sharp and commanding. A voice echoed, cold and clear:
[The First Spark ignites: The Path of the Unbowed advances.]
Klaus gasped, nearly dropping the stone. His hands shook, but he felt… different. Stronger, if only a little. His muscles ached less, his breathing steadied.
"What was that?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Marin's eyes gleamed. "The beginning. The Mark's waking your body's potential. That stone's a catalyst, tied to old magic from beyond Lionheart—maybe from the Starlit Empire, where cultivators forge their souls in starfire. You've sparked the First Flame, the start of the Iron Body stage."
Klaus stared at the stone, his heart pounding. Iron Body. The words carried weight, like a promise of power. He'd heard tales of cultivators—warriors who could crush stone with a fist, run faster than horses, wield magic like a storm. He wanted that, all of it.
Marin sat again, his voice low.
"This is just the start, boy. Cultivation takes years—decades, maybe. Pain, discipline, will. The Mark gives you an edge, but it won't carry you. You have to carry it."
"I will." Klaus nodded, his green eyes burning.
Before Marin could reply, a rustle came from the trees. Klaus tensed, his hand moving to the dagger at his belt. A figure stepped into the clearing—a young man, maybe twenty, with blond hair and a fine red cloak. His armor gleamed, polished despite the chaos, and a sword hung at his hip, its hilt studded with rubies.
Behind him stood two guards, their spears glinting, their faces hard. Klaus knew him instantly: Cedric Varn, son of Lord Varn, the noble who'd mocked the Sevs for years.
"Well, well," Cedric said, his voice smooth but dripping with scorn. "The lazy Sev boy, playing in the dirt with an old beggar."
Klaus stood, his jaw tight. Cedric was everything he hated: smug, rich, and adored by Lionheart's court.
"What do you want, Varn?" Klaus said, his tone sharp.
Cedric smirked, stepping closer.
"I heard Eldwick burned. My father sent me to see the damage. And here you are, hiding in the woods instead of helping your people. Typical."
Klaus's hands clenched, the cuts stinging.
"I'm not hiding. And I don't answer to you."
Cedric laughed, his guards chuckling behind him.
"Oh, but you will. My father's taking control of Eldwick's recovery. The duke's orders. Your father's too weak to lead, and you? You're nothing."
Klaus felt the heat in his chest flare, sharp and fierce. His vision blurred, and runes glowed. The voice spoke:
[The Unbowed faces a rival: Power silences scorn.]
He blinked, the words sinking in. Cedric was a threat, but also a chance. If Klaus could prove himself here, in front of Marin, it would be a step toward his goal.
"Draw your sword," Klaus said, his voice low.
"Let's see if you're as good as you think."
Cedric raised an eyebrow, then laughed.
"You? Fight me? You've never won a sparring match in your life. Stick to your wine and maids, Sev."
Klaus's dagger was in his hand before he thought about it. He wasn't trained like Cedric, wasn't strong yet, but the Mark's words burned in him. He wouldn't back down.
"Try me," he said.
Marin stood, his staff thumping the ground.
"No blood here," he said, his voice hard.
"This is my camp, boys. Take your fight elsewhere."
Cedric's smirk faded, but he didn't move.
"You're that wanderer, aren't you? Spouting nonsense about gods and strength. Stay out of this, old man."
Klaus stepped forward, his dagger steady. "You talk big, Varn. But you're just a spoiled brat with a fancy sword. Come on."
Cedric's hand rested on his sword, his eyes narrowing. For a moment, Klaus thought he'd draw. But then Cedric stepped back, his smirk returning.
"Not worth my time, Sev. You'll crawl back to your manor soon enough. When you do, tell your father to bow to mine." He turned, his guards following, and vanished into the trees.
Klaus's hand shook as he sheathed his dagger. He wanted to chase Cedric, to carve that smirk off his face, but Marin's words stopped him. Strength was earned, not given. He wasn't ready. Not yet.
"Sit," Marin said, his tone softer now. "Anger's a fire, but it burns you if you let it. Focus on the stone."
Klaus sat, picking up the black stone again. His hands trembled, but he forced himself to breathe, to focus. The stone warmed, its hum steady. Hours passed, the sun climbing higher, then sinking toward dusk. Sweat dripped down Klaus's face, his muscles ached, but he felt something—a spark, deep inside, growing stronger. His cuts hurt less, his body felt lighter.
Marin watched, his eyes unreadable. "You're stubborn," he said finally.
"That's good. You'll need it."
Klaus didn't reply. He was focused on the stone, on the heat in his chest, on the path ahead. Cedric Varn was a problem, but not the only one. His father, Torren, the duke, the king—they'd all mocked him for too long. And beyond Lionheart? Lila had mentioned the Ashen Plains, and Marin had spoken of the Crystal Dominion and the Starlit Empire.
The world was vast, full of warlords, cultivators, and gods. Klaus would conquer it all.
As the sun set, casting the clearing in orange light, the stone pulsed. Klaus's vision blurred, and the runes returned, brighter than before. The voice spoke, clear and commanding:
[The First Spark grows: The Unbowed's will is forged.]
His body felt stronger, his cuts nearly healed. He wasn't powerful yet, but he was closer.
Marin nodded, a faint smile on his lips.
"You've begun, boy. But this is just the first step. Tomorrow, we go deeper—into the woods, where the old magic lies. Be ready."
Klaus stood, the stone warm in his hand. He looked toward Eldwick, where smoke still rose. Cedric, his father, the world—they were all waiting. But so was power. He'd find it, no matter the cost.