Absolute Cheater

Asher reached into his coat and pulled out a small, black token etched with golden runes—its surface glowing faintly with old Magnus family authority.

The guard's eyes widened as the token floated gently into the air between them, the runes activating on their own.

"By the ancestral right of direct lineage," the token intoned in an ancient voice, "Asher Magnus, bloodborn of the Third heir, son of Selene Magnus, is recognized and honored. Identity confirmed."

The guard stiffened as the words echoed across the old training ground. For a moment, silence reigned.

Then his knees buckled, and he dropped to one knee, bowing his head low.

"Young Master Asher…" he breathed, disbelief still coloring his voice. "It's true… The lost son of Lady Selene has returned…"

He raised his head, eyes trembling with a mix of awe and reverence. "You were the most gifted of your generation. They said you vanished. Many believed you dead. But you've come back…"

Asher stepped forward calmly, retrieving the token as it floated back into his hand.

"I'm home," he said quietly. "Take me to the estate."

The guard nodded quickly and gestured toward the sky-lift pad. "Of course. I'll escort you personally. The path is clear."

Asher turned to Valeris and Veyra, his voice even. "These two are with me."

Valeris gave a half-smile, her silver hair brushing across her shoulder. Veyra simply gave a polite nod, crimson eyes steady.

"They are my wives."

The guard didn't dare question it. He bowed once more. "Then they will be treated with full respect due to the main bloodline."

The lift disc shimmered to life beneath their feet, and Asher stepped onto it, followed closely by the women. The guard activated the path sequence, then joined them on the far edge of the disc.

A gust of force magic surged beneath them, lifting the platform smoothly into the sky.

As they ascended, strange shadows flickered briefly through the clouds—massive flying beasts, territorial monsters often seen drifting near the estate borders. One began to approach, wings outstretched.

The guard reacted instantly, preparing a warning rune—but Asher raised a hand.

A pulse of pressure radiated from him—silent but absolute.

The flying beast froze in the air, whimpered, and quickly veered away, fleeing back into the clouds.

The guard swallowed hard, staring at Asher out of the corner of his eye.

"Not even the warded beasts would dare challenge him…" he muttered under his breath. "What did he become out there?"

Asher didn't answer. His eyes were fixed ahead—on the rising peaks of the Magnus estate.

The place where it had all started.

And the place where, at last, it would continue.

"I wonder how Mother Emily is doing," Asher mumbled to himself.

He no longer hesitated calling her that. To him, Emily was his true mother. The one who raised him, cared for him, guided him like a child should be guided. Not the woman who gave birth to him only to see him as a tool—an object of revenge, not a son.

That part of his life was closed.

Now, he was going home. And no one could stop him.

The sky-lift reached the grand terrace of the Magnus main estate, its runic platform easing gently onto marble steps. The place hadn't changed much—massive towers of crimson jade and white stone stood tall, veiled in flowing mana curtains. The banners of the Magnus line still flapped in the high wind, and the same old scent of charged aether lingered in the air.

Standing at the base of the stairs was a familiar face—older, sterner, but unmistakably her.

Amyra.

The head maid of the Magnus household. Once Legendary-ranked, now Saint-ranked by the feel of her aura. The years had only sharpened her presence.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes, arms folded.

There was no warm smile. No greeting.

Just a long, heavy stare.

But Asher didn't flinch. Valeris and Veyra stood on either side of him, silent, letting the moment unfold.

Finally, Amyra spoke. Her voice was cold, clipped, and entirely professional.

"…Welcome back."

Her eyes flicked to the women behind him, then back to Asher.

"Your… family is waiting for you in the main hall."

But inwardly, Amyra's mind churned.

'So this is the newest one,' she thought. 'Same face. Same voice. Same aura. He even brought women with him, like the others did. Let's see if this one can pass the Magnus Chalice.'

Over the years, many had claimed to be Asher. Dozens came with forged auras, mimicked memories, even falsified blood. Some fooled servants. Some fooled elders. But none of them passed the Chalice of Truth—the Magnus family's sacred test, bound directly to the bloodline soulmark. Every fake had been exposed. Some were executed immediately. Others disappeared, never to be seen again.

It had happened so many times that eventually… they stopped believing anyone could be the real Asher.

Amyra kept her face unreadable, but her heart was already preparing for another disappointment.

'He even carries himself like him. But I'll believe it when I see it. When the Chalice lights up…'

She stepped aside without another word.

Asher led Valeris and Veyra forward, past the tall ceremonial archway carved with runes of the family's founding. The inner courtyard was quiet—too quiet. No children training. No staff bustling. Everyone had been pulled back.

They were all waiting in the Grand Hall.

And as the doors opened for him, Asher paused for just a moment.

"Is something major going on?" he asked, his voice calm, but his tone unreadable.

It wasn't that he expected celebration. But he had returned home—after years, after being presumed dead—and still, no one was here to greet him. Not even her… the woman who had given birth to him but had never once come searching. Not once.

Amyra didn't meet his eyes. She merely nodded toward the open hall. "They are waiting for you. In the Grand Hall."

Valeris and Veyra, upon hearing this, felt a surge of anger. They knew how much Asher had longed to return home—how deeply he had hoped for warmth, recognition, even the smallest sign that he was still remembered. And yet, he was being treated like a stranger. Like someone who didn't belong.