Chapter 12 – The Patriarch's Shadow
The Luther Clan's ancestral fortress stood atop Halcyon Crest, where clouds bent around the mountaintop and the wind never stopped screaming.
Jean hadn't returned since the day she left for the Academy.
Now she walked through its iron gates not as a student or daughter—but as an Envoy Knight candidate, an Emissary, and a threat.
The guards recognized her. They said nothing, only bowed with rigid formality.
Inside, the halls were as she remembered: cold stone, high ceilings, portraits of warriors with eyes that seemed to follow her. But everything felt quieter. Tighter. A castle bracing for war.
She didn't have to wait long.
He was waiting for her in the Hall of Blades.
Charles Luther.
Her grandfather.
The Iron Fang of the Luther Clan.
Transcendent Master. Veteran of three world wars. Patriarch in all but name.
His white hair was short and stiff like a lion's mane, and his face was a map of scars. He wore no armor—he was the armor.
"You returned," he said, voice like gravel wrapped in steel.
Jean didn't bow.
"I needed your guidance."
Charles stood slowly. "You need more than that. You've touched the dragon's shadow, haven't you?"
Jean didn't flinch. "Yes."
"Then you have no time left."
He stepped down from the dais and tossed her a wooden training sword.
Jean caught it with one hand. "What is this?"
"A test," Charles said, lifting his own. "Before I share with you what Martin left behind, you'll earn it."
She took her stance. "Martin Luther's sword techniques?"
"No." He smiled grimly. "His legacy. The path beyond Transcendence."
Jean's heart pounded.
Charles lunged first. Despite the wooden blade, it struck with the weight of thunder. Jean blocked—barely—her arms trembling.
The next strike came low—then high—then feinted—
She was outmatched.
But she didn't step back.
The old man's aura cracked the floor. Jean matched it, her divine light flaring.
"Good," he grunted. "Show me you're not just a child of prophecy. Show me you're worthy of your blood."
Jean screamed and struck.
Their wooden blades clashed—splinters and light flying—
Then silence.
Charles stepped back. His blade cracked.
Jean's did not.
He looked at her, and for the first time… he nodded.
"Come with me," he said. "It's time you see what your ancestors sealed beneath this mountain."
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