Kael collapsed to one knee inside the dungeon's deepest chamber.
Blood dripped from his forearm, soaking into the cracked stone floor. His breathing was ragged, his mana nearly depleted—but his eyes were still burning.
Not with hope.
With refusal.
> I won't fall behind.
I won't be forgotten.
The moment that thought crossed his mind, his heartbeat changed.
It slowed.
Then—thundered.
---
THE WORLD SHATTERS
The dungeon vanished.
Stone, monsters, pain—gone.
Kael found himself standing on a battlefield dyed crimson, the sky torn apart by black clouds. Corpses littered the ground—armored soldiers, beasts, things that were barely recognizable as living beings.
And at the center of it all—
A throne of broken blades.
Upon it sat a man clad in shattered crimson armor, a massive sword resting against his shoulder. His presence alone crushed the air.
> "So," the man spoke, voice heavy as war drums.
"Another bearer crawls out of despair."
Kael tried to move.
His body refused.
> SYSTEM NOTICE:
Bloodline Memory Fully Accessed
Status: Forced Synchronization
Kael swallowed.
"Who are you?"
The man rose.
Each step cracked the battlefield beneath his feet.
> "I am what you will become," the figure replied.
"If you survive."
---
BLOODLINE TRIAL
Without warning, the figure moved.
No stance.
No preparation.
No mercy.
Kael barely raised his sword before the impact sent him flying across the battlefield. Bones screamed. Vision blurred.
> "Too slow," the sovereign said calmly.
"Too hesitant."
Kael coughed blood and forced himself upright.
"I won't—"
The next strike split the ground itself.
Kael barely dodged, rolling through mud and blood, instincts screaming.
> "Your mistake," the voice continued,
"is thinking swordsmanship is about beauty."
The sovereign raised his blade.
> "It is about authority."
---
THE MEMORY TEACHES
The battlefield froze.
Time bent inward.
Kael felt something pour into him—not words, not instructions, but experience.
How to step forward even when wounded
How to swing without caring about defense
How to let killing intent move the blade
Every motion carved itself into his muscles.
> Don't think.
Declare.
The sovereign demonstrated a single slash.
The world split.
> "This," he said,
"is the Crimson Sovereign Art."
---
INHERITED FORMS
Kael's body moved on its own.
He stepped forward.
His sword descended.
Not fast.
Not elegant.
But inevitable.
> First Form — Crimson Declaration
The pressure alone made the battlefield tremble.
Kael felt his bloodline roar in approval.
Again.
> Second Form — Tyrant's Advance
He ignored pain. Ignored balance. Ignored fear.
Each step forward felt like a throne being claimed.
Again.
> Third Form — Blood Crown Descent
The air screamed as gravity itself bent toward the blade.
Kael collapsed to one knee—but he was smiling.
"I feel it," he whispered. "This… this is mine."
---
THE WARNING
The sovereign loomed over him.
One massive hand pressed against Kael's chest.
> "Remember this, child."
The pressure was overwhelming.
> "This power does not ask if you are right."
"It only asks if you are willing."
The battlefield cracked.
> "Use it too often," the voice darkened,
"and you will forget why you fight."
The throne shattered.
The sky collapsed.
---
RETURN
Kael gasped as he snapped back into the dungeon chamber, collapsing forward onto his hands.
Bloodline heat surged through him—controlled, but dangerous.
> SYSTEM NOTICE:
Sword Style Acquired
Crimson Sovereign Art (Incomplete)
Synchronization Rate: 18%
Warning: Mental Stability Required
Kael pushed himself up slowly.
His sword felt heavier.
No—
It felt obedient.
He looked at his reflection in the blade.
His eyes were sharper.
Colder.
And far more dangerous than before.
> "Lucien…" Kael whispered, tightening his grip.
"I won't lose."
Behind him, the dungeon walls trembled—as if acknowledging a king still in the making.
---