The manor's garden basked in the tender embrace of morning light. Dew clung to the blades of grass like scattered jewels, while the fountain's steady trickle sang a calm prelude to the storm that awaited.
Lionel sat in the middle of it all, his posture straight but his mind a whirlwind. Today marked the Ceremonial of Swords—the very stage where, in his past life, his shame had been sealed for all to see. Yet this time, the air felt… different.
He inhaled deeply, filling his chest with the crisp morning air. I will not repeat the mistakes of before.
And then it happened.
A sound—not of this world—rang in his ears. Not a bell, not a bird, but a crystalline chime, sharp and resonant, as though struck upon the strings of reality itself.
Before his eyes, translucent light stitched itself into form, weaving glowing letters in midair.
[The System is introducing itself to you.]
Lionel blinked. His breath hitched. "What—?" He rubbed his eyes furiously, but the words remained, suspended before him like a holy decree.
Lionel stared at the luminous script hovering in the air, his breath uneven. "A… system?"
The words reshaped themselves with quiet authority.
[Yes. I was bestowed upon you by a God.]
Lionel's brows furrowed, suspicion sharpening his tone. "What god? Who would grant me such a thing?"
The letters glimmered, their glow steady, unwavering.
[I cannot reveal that name. But know this—the God who chose you may be trusted without question. Accept me, and what you once lacked shall be mended. Your strength, your spirit, your very foundation will be tempered. Skills that slumbered within you shall awaken anew, not as they once were, but as instruments woven to a greater purpose.]
Lionel's eyes narrowed, his heart stirring with disbelief. "…So you are saying… I will be given strength?"
The answer came at once, like a steady toll of a bell.
[Yes. Not boundless might, nor instant mastery. But the measure you need to walk the path before you—to endure the trials to come, to forge yourself into more than what you were.]
Lionel lowered his gaze, his hands trembling faintly. In his mind flashed the memories of ridicule, of weakness, of Lilia's lifeless eyes. The ache in his chest deepened.
Strength—not to conquer in arrogance, but to survive, to protect, to finally stand.
The screen brightened, words blazing in finality:
[Do you accept this gift?]
"I accept," Lionel whispered.
In that instant, brilliance engulfed him. A flare of light roared to life, radiant and overwhelming, like the heavens themselves had turned their gaze upon him. It lasted only a breath—then was gone, vanishing as though it had never been, leaving Lionel standing in silence, his shadow long across the garden.
He lifted his hand slowly, staring at it as though it belonged to another. His veins pulsed with unfamiliar warmth, not strength enough to tear down walls, but something steadier, quieter… a seed meant to endure the storms yet to come.
Before his eyes, the translucent screen shimmered once more, its letters shifting like runes carved from starlight. Lionel blinked, his voice faltering as he muttered, "Wait… is this truly mine now?"
The screen glowed faintly in response, neither confirming nor denying—yet somehow, he knew.
For the first time, Lionel felt as though the chains of his past life had loosened, and that somewhere ahead, a different path—his path—had begun.
Back in the present, Lionel's gaze sharpened as he muttered under his breath.
"The first skill I honed in my past life… born from the one spark of talent I recognized in myself. I poured everything into it—years of toil, sleepless nights, bleeding hands—all to aid the very one who, in the end, betrayed me."
His jaw clenched, voice trembling between rage and resolve.
"But now… that same skill has been touched by the divinity of the god I follow. What was once mine alone has been transcended."
Lionel's left hand gripped the short sword tightly, holding it upright before him. His right hand pressed firmly against the flat of the blade, pushing downward with steady force.
At first, the steel resisted. Then, a tremor ran through the weapon as a radiant emerald glow erupted from its edge, swelling brighter with every heartbeat. The light coursed like living veins across the blade, humming with a resonance that seemed to shake the air itself.
Lionel's eyes blazed with conviction as his palm pressed against the tip, and with a voice that thundered across the arena, he roared:
"Show me your true form!"
The short sword screamed in response—light bursting outward like a storm unleashed—before its shape began to change.
Lionel's right hand gripped firmly upon the pommel of the short sword, the steel trembling as it began to glow with a deep emerald radiance. Slowly, his hand ascended the hilt, and as his palm slid upward, the weapon itself responded—its shape elongating, narrowing, the crude short sword shedding its disguise.
Before the eyes of all, the blade stretched forth, refined and slender, until at last its true form emerged: a longsword of breathtaking grace. Its edge shimmered like polished crystal, and its hue had shifted into a brilliant sea-blue, a color that carried a tranquil majesty, as though one were gazing upon the calm of the endless ocean.
Lionel lifted it with poise, the weapon moving in his hands as if it were an extension of his own spirit. Its every gleam spoke of serenity and hidden might, and for a brief moment, even the crowd fell into silence, as if awed by the birth of something sacred.
Then, the voice of the system resonated within him:
["You have awakened the sword's true form. Yet I must warn you—the mana required was greater than anticipated. The weapon you hold… bears the rank of Grade (C)."]
Lionel's brows knit, his breath steady despite the faint drain he felt gnawing within him. He muttered under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Grade C, is it? Hm… more costly than I imagined. Still, this blade accepts the flow of mana. That alone makes it worthwhile. I may not have much to pour into it yet… but what I do possess will suffice."
With that, he steadied his stance, the sea-blue blade glistening beneath the light, a serene tempest waiting to be unleashed.
"Where are you looking, half-wit?" Arthur shouted, his sword arcing downward toward Lionel.
But Lionel was already moving, sidestepping with fluid grace, his body flowing like water past the lethal strike.
Arthur adjusted his stance, glaring with frustration, and launched another attack—this time aiming for Lionel's side. But Lionel wove through the strike effortlessly, every movement precise, as though he could read the young lord's intent before it fully formed.
Arthur's eyes blazed with anger. He gripped his sword tighter, pouring raw mana into the blade. Flames erupted instantly, roaring along the steel like a living torrent. "If I cannot slice you… I will burn you to ash!" he bellowed.
"Flame Rend!"
The air roared as Arthur's blazing strike cut through the arena, leaving a trail of scorching heat.
But Lionel's sea-blue blade moved as if alive. With a single, graceful swing, the flames were cleaved cleanly in half. The sound of steel cutting through air was sharp, almost musical.
Lionel tilted his head, a small, satisfied smile crossing his face. "Amazing, isn't it? This… I shall call you Blue Wind."
The blade glimmered in his hands, serene yet deadly, the calm after a storm—and Arthur could only stare, wide-eyed, as his flames were effortlessly undone.
"No! I'm not done yet!" Arthur bellowed, flames roaring along his sword. "My flames are hotter than anything! They can never be extinguished!"
He swung in a wide cross slash, sending a wall of fire surging toward Lionel.
Lionel's lips curled into a sly grin. "What the hell are you saying—extinguish? Hotter? If your flames cannot be quenched by a mere drop of water…"
He sprinted straight into the inferno. Holding Blue Wind before his face, he closed his eyes and lifted the blade. With a single fluid slash, the sword cut through the raging fire. The flames hissed and vanished instantly, as if they had never existed.
Lionel didn't pause. He crouched slightly, then began to spin mid-air, rising gracefully. Water droplets gathered around him, orbiting as he twirled like a living water wheel, glinting in the sunlight as they formed a shimmering aura around his body.
"Deep Sea… Cleave!" he whispered, his voice calm yet filled with deadly intent.
In an instant, the spinning droplets fused into Blue Wind itself, transforming the blade into a colossal torrent of water and steel. Lionel brought it down in a single, unstoppable strike. The force of the cleave smashed into Arthur, crushing him under the weight of water and steel, sending him sprawling across the arena.
The crowd froze, stunned at the overwhelming display of skill and power. Water droplets rained down like glimmering pearls, and Blue Wind gleamed serenely in Lionel's hands. He landed lightly, his gaze cold and unyielding, locked on the defeated Arthur.
"Did I pour too much water on you?" Lionel called lightly, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. "You look like you're soaking wet from embarrassment."
He walked past Arthur, Blue Wind now dissipating into tiny, sparkling fragments as the crowd's whispers grew into awed murmurs.
Cairos' voice echoed through the arena, clear and commanding. "Winner of the opening match of the Ceremonial of Swords… Young Lord Lionel Corvandrelis!"
As the applause and astonished gasps filled the stands, a faint, ethereal whisper echoed in Lionel's mind.
[Blue Wind saved. Weapon Awakening data recorded. True form successfully revealed. Use this as a template for future weapon awakenings.]
Lionel's lips curved into a quiet, satisfied smile. This was only the beginning.
In the shadows, Arthur's mother glared down at her son, his face flushed with defeat and humiliation. Her lips curled into a thin, cold line as she whispered, "Do it. I never want to see that child's face here again." With that, she melted back into the shadows, disappearing from view.
Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Lionel sat calmly, the remnants of Blue Wind having vanished into sparkling fragments, leaving only a faint memory of its brilliance.
Lilia practically bounced over, eyes wide and sparkling. "Young Lord! Amazingggg! How… how in the world did you manage to do that?! That display… it was so majestic!"
Her excitement only grew as she gestured wildly. "I mean—pow pow! And then splashh! Can you believe it? You even made the flames vanish like they never existed! My lord, you're incredible!"
Lionel let out a small, amused smile, shaking his head quietly at her uncontainable enthusiasm.
"I'm really glad that I'm the maid who serves you, my lord!" Lilia exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement.
Lionel felt a blush rise to his cheeks, his nose twitching slightly as a smile tugged at his lips. "That's good, Lilia. Don't worry—the prize of the Ceremonial of Swords is ours to claim! Mwahahaha!" He raised a fist in mock triumph, pride sparkling in his eyes.
From somewhere nearby, a soft girl's voice chimed, teasing, "You've really become proud of yourself, just by defeating that… Bullthur."
Lilia's brows shot up. "Bullthur?"
Lionel leaned close to her ear, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "She means Arthur. He… well, when he gets mad, he stomps around like a raging bull. That's why she calls him Bullthur."
Lilia's eyes widened, a mix of shock and amusement flickering across her face. "Ohhh… that makes sense now!" She giggled, bouncing slightly on her heels.
"Don't get too proud of yourself," the soft but sharp voice called as the girl walked past. "The Ceremonial of Swords lasts a week. Maybe two, or three days at most before we face each other in the ring. You better be serious, or you'll die before you even notice."
Lionel watched her leave, muttering quietly in his thoughts. Geez… she's still as formidable as ever. That must be Ruvia, the second daughter of the Third Duchess.
She excels with dual knives, wields magic with precision, and even handles spears with deadly skill. And… well, she's not just talented—her beauty commands attention too. No wonder they call her The Icy Lily.
A chill of anticipation ran down his spine. The Ceremonial had only just begun, and already the stakes were rising.
A gentle voice called from behind Lionel, making him pivot sharply. There, standing taller than him, was a boy with a shy expression, eyes brimming with sincerity.
"I… I apologize for my sister's rude behavior," the boy said softly. "I hope you can forgive her."
Lionel's heart skipped a beat. That voice… that look… so pure… "Wait… this can't be… Ronald!? Ruvia's older brother?!"
The boy's gaze dropped for a moment before he nodded nervously. "Y-yes… that's me. I am Ronald, son of the Third Duchess Evelisse."
Lionel blinked, a mix of surprise and cautious curiosity stirring within him. Even in a world of nobles, duels, and ambitions, there were still faces untouched by pride and schemes.
"I-it's… okay," Lionel replied, waving his hand gently. "Don't worry about it."
Ronald bowed respectfully before running back toward Ruvia, his steps quick and careful, like a knight hurrying to shield his lady.
Lionel's eyes followed them for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his lips. If Ruvia were a flower… she'd be a rose, beautiful yet armed with thorns. Sharp, elegant, and deadly in her own way.
He paused, glancing toward Ronald. As for her brother… hmm. Based on what I remember from my past life, all I can see is someone who can flip the switch at any moment. Calm, composed… but capable of becoming something else entirely if pushed.
As Lionel stretched his back, he observed the arena with a discerning gaze. Only a few of us—the true sons of the Patriarch—will genuinely participate. The rest? They're here merely to parade their children before the Patriarch or to flaunt their skills in a bid to win favor with my other sisters.
"Thank you for waiting," Cairos' voice echoed through the arena. "Let us continue. The second duel of the Ceremonial of Swords shall commence."
He gestured to his right. "On this side stands Young Lady Ruvia, daughter of the Third Duchess and the Patriarch."
Then, sweeping his hand to the left, he continued, "And on this side, representing a noble family eager to test the mettle of the Patriarch's heirs, the House of Liobellios."
The crowd stirred with anticipation, noble whispers weaving through the air as the combatants prepared themselves, the weight of prestige and reputation hanging over every heartbeat.
The boy gave a courteous bow to Ruvia. "It is an honor to meet you, Young Lady Ruvia. I must admit, your presence has truly piqued my interest. Should you wish, perhaps we could—"
Ruvia's icy gaze cut him off, her voice sharp and unyielding. "Will you stand in your stance, or shall I knock you out right here? You chatter too much for a duel, and I have no patience for nonsense."
The boy's cheeks flushed slightly, caught between embarrassment and determination, while the crowd murmured at Ruvia's commanding presence. Lionel, watching from the sidelines, let out a quiet smirk. The Icy Lily hasn't lost a step.