The Lanceheart Great Hall wasn't just a room — it was a declaration of supremacy.
A thousand candles burned in golden chandeliers, their flames dancing over banners woven with lion sigils. The walls were carved with the history of the Lanceheart bloodline: wars won, monsters slain, crusades that shaped the continent. Every inch whispered of a legacy built through violence and glory.
And today, another legacy would be judged.
Luice Lanceheart, sixth son of the house, walked through the aisle with a pace too controlled for his age of fifteen.
No rushing.
No hesitation.
No trembling.
His dark hair fell naturally over calm, observant eyes. It was the kind of gaze that absorbed everything without revealing anything. Even the knights lining the hall noticed — their expressions flickered with irritation.
People hated what they couldn't read.
The hall was packed. Nobles filled the balconies, leaning forward with curiosity. The servants stood along the walls, whispering behind hands.
"Is that the sixth son?"
"He doesn't look nervous at all."
"I heard he spends more time in the old library than in the training yard."
"That explains it. Probably expecting a scholar-type ability."
"Shame. In a knight family? That's worthless."
Luice heard every word, but not a single one pierced him.
People enjoy evaluating others based on rumors, he thought.
They forget how often rumors come from idiots.
Ahead of him, at the far end of the hall, the throne-like seats of the Lanceheart family dominated the room.
Duke Alistair Lanceheart sat at the center — armor-polished shoulders broad enough to support the kingdom's military reputation. His aura alone could crush a lesser knight.
To his right sat the duchess, elegant and unreadable, her posture perfect and distant.
Arrayed beside them were Luice's siblings:
The Five Elder Brothers
Each one a prodigy.
Leonhardt, the heir, known as the Thunder Lion.
Reinhard, wielder of the Crimson Blade.
Cedric, called the Iron Wall.
Damon, the Storm Rider.
Rowan, the youngest of the five, a dual-wield genius rumored to have slain a wyvern at age twelve.
They watched Luice with thinly veiled boredom.
The Three Sisters
Beautiful, gifted, terrifying:
Seraphina, whose healing ability made her beloved by the people.
Marienne, a tactical genius.
Alira, the youngest, yet already able to outduel elite knights.
They whispered among themselves without sparing more than a glance at their brother walking toward the altar.
To them, Luice was… background noise.
Not an enemy.
Not a rival.
Just… forgettable.
He accepted that. Being underestimated was often more valuable than being feared.
---
The Altar
At the center of the hall, the Appraisal Altar floated gently above a raised dais. An ancient artifact from the early era of magic, crafted by the first generation of Spiritheart priests.
The orb hovering above it glowed faintly, responding to Luice's presence.
Blue runes spread across the floor, reacting to his footsteps. The magic hummed like a distant storm.
Luice stepped onto the marked circle and felt a familiar coldness crawl across his skin — the sensation of the orb reading the depth of one's soul.
The duke raised his hand.
"Begin the appraisal."
The hall quieted instantly.
The orb brightened.
The runes blazed.
Magic surged like a living creature, wrapping around Luice.
But Luice didn't flinch.
His heartbeat remained steady.
The appraisal was meant to be overwhelming — some fainted, others screamed, a few even convulsed. But Luice's expression didn't change.
Even the duchess took note.
He doesn't react…? This child…
---
The Magic Intensifies
Light gathered inside the orb, swirling violently, compressing into a core brighter than the sun. The spectators shielded their eyes; the brightness was unbearable for many.
A ripple of raw mana traveled through the hall, rattling the chandeliers.
Knights were startled. This reaction was far greater than expected from a supposedly weak son.
"Is the orb overreacting?"
"No way."
"Maybe he awakened something rare?"
"That would be ironic."
A few of Luice's siblings leaned forward, intrigued for the first time.
Luice remained still.
Not impressed.
Not hopeful.
Just analytical.
The reaction is too intense. Something unusual is coming.
---
The Reveal
With a loud chime, the orb shot a pillar of light upward.
Golden letters formed slowly in the air, as if carved by invisible hands.
The scribe gulped loudly.
"By the authority of the appraisal system, I announce—"
The letters solidified.
The hall froze.
[UNIQUE ABILITY: ROYAL PASS]
The silence afterward was not peaceful. It was the silence of disbelief.
Then it shattered.
"What?"
"Royal… pass?"
"Is that a joke?"
"I've never heard of it."
"It doesn't sound like combat at all."
"Maybe he can… pass royal documents?"
Laughter spread.
Some tried to hide it.
Others didn't bother.
Luice's brothers smirked openly.
His sisters looked away, pretending he wasn't related to them.
His father's face hardened.
The duke spoke like a judge delivering a death sentence.
"…A non-combat ability. Worthless to our lineage."
Luice lifted his eyes to the glowing letters.
His expression remained calm.
But inside—behind that collected demeanor—his thoughts sharpened like blades.
So this is my ability. Strange name. Ambiguous. But anything ambiguous holds potential.
And potential is worth more than the strongest sword.
The orb dimmed.
The hall's judgement had already been passed.
But the world's judgement?
That would come later.
And Luice was already planning how to overturn it.