OmniClass Awakener: Rebirth to Power

Chapter 29: Shadows of Alliance and Winds of Fate

In the depths of the Ling Family’s ancestral manor, buried beneath centuries of enchantments and protective glyphs, a chamber pulsed faintly with arcane energy. The walls, carved from ancient stone, glimmered with embedded runes—wards that had stood for generations. Dim lanterns burned with witchflame, casting flickering shadows that danced like spirits across the cold surfaces.

At the chamber's center sat a round obsidian table, smooth and silent, etched with the sigil of the Ling Clan—a coiling dragon clutching five interconnected rings, each representing a different element. It was a symbol that represented the family’s ancient knowledge and dominance over elemental forces... yet in that moment, it felt more like a cage.

Eight figures sat in silence around it. The air was heavy, saturated with unspoken tension.

At the table's head sat Ling Zhejiang, the current patriarch of the Ling Clan and Ling Mei's father. Broad-shouldered and upright, his presence commanded attention without effort. His angular features were weathered but dignified—sharp cheekbones, a neatly trimmed mustache, and cold ice-blue eyes that had once seen battlefields and courtrooms alike. His black hair was tied back, not a strand astray.

Beside him, seated not lower but as an equal, was Ling Qingyao, his wife, Ling Mei's mother—and the clan's matriarch in all but title. Her beauty was legendary, though it was the kind that unsettled rather than comforted. Her emerald eyes shimmered with slit pupils, reminiscent of the forest serpents said to dwell in the Deepwoods. Her long green hair trailed down like enchanted ivy, and her posture—graceful, effortless—suggested power not just earned, but inherited.

Though silent, her aura was undeniable.

The others remained still, each watching, waiting. Until finally, it was Ling Tao—a man with a bald head, big beard, and a monocle on his left eye, giving him a sophisticated, elegant air—who broke the silence. Seated third to the right, he was the clan’s chief tactician.

“Hmm... hmm...” He cleared his throat with a soft cough.

“It seems the Masaru Clan is truly serious about the alliance,” he said, voice calm, measured, almost emotionless. His fingers tapped gently against the obsidian table. “They’ve put forward the name of their heir.”

“Masaru Genji,” Ling Zhejiang replied, his tone neutral but heavy. “They’ve asked for our Ling Mei in return.”

A subtle stir passed through the room. No one gasped. No voices rose. But the shift in energy was palpable—like a ripple through still water after a stone drops.

Ling Baogui, the eldest among them, cleared his throat. He had grey hair, long white eyebrows, and deep black eyes. His long white beard trembled slightly as he spoke.

“The boy is said to have inherited his grandfather’s gift. The Fireblood. He wields the old flame magic of their line… and commands a Salamander.”

“Yes,” Ling Tao nodded. “The Masaru are not what they once were, but their blood still burns hot. They’re rebuilding. And they want us.”

Ling Zhejiang’s knuckles tightened against the armrest.

“We hold the keys to the northern trade route,” Ling Tao continued. “And the last surviving glyphsmith from the Eastern Pandemic is under our protection. They need enchantments. Power. Prestige. “But they have something we don’t,” Ling Tao murmured. “Bodies. Trained ones. After the Eastern Pandemic and our losses last winter, we can’t afford another loss. They can.”

“And in return?” The voice came from Ling Fang, a handsome middle-aged man with shiny brown eyes and dark brown hair. He had a muscular physique and well-trimmed beard. His arms were folded across his chest, his tone flat, unamused. “We give them our child?”

“Not just any child,” said Ling Huo, a man with a lean physique and red hair, his ruby eyes narrowing. A flame danced across his fingertips unconsciously as he leaned forward. “Ling Mei is a prodigy. Her affinity with wind is beyond anything we’ve seen in three generations. She could soar. Or… she could cement a bloodline that rules both North and East.”

“She’s sixteen,” Ling Zhejiang said, voice low. Controlled.

“Exactly,” Huo answered. “She’s impressionable. Malleable. They’ll raise her as their own. But she’ll still be one of us. With the right bindings in the marriage contract—”, Ling Tao said.

“That’s enough,” Ling Qingyao said, her voice like silk dragged across a blade.

The room fell silent again.

From the far left, Ling Xian’er, a quiet woman with ink-stained fingers, hawk-like eyes, and long black braided hair, spoke next.

“Have we asked her what she wants?”

A pause.

It was a question that didn’t belong in war rooms or council halls—but it belonged in this chamber.

“No,” Ling Zhejiang admitted.

Ling Qingyao’s gaze did not leave the center of the table, but her fingers lightly traced the edge of the sigil. “We do not always choose our roles, Sister Xian’er. Some are given to us... shaped for us, long before we ever speak our first words.”

A scoff echoed softly. Ling Aurea, the youngest elder, seductive and ambitious, with blond hair and piercing yellow eyes—barely past thirty—leaned back with a faint smile on her cherry lips.

“The Masaru are desperate. We could name our price~,” she said in an enchanting voice.

“And they’d pay it?” Ling Fang asked flatly.

“They would. If not gold, then land. If not land, then titles. They want legitimacy again,” Aurea said with a heart-stopping smile.

Ling Zhejiang’s voice finally cut through again, firm as stone. “This isn’t just politics. It’s war.”

Eyes turned toward him.

“We may not be fighting yet,” he continued, “but the treaty binding the Big Five families in neutrality is failing. The other families have already broken ranks. The Big Five are no longer under the same hierarchy. Stability is weakening. If the Masaru ally with the Xue Family instead…”

He paused. “The Xue Family is also powerful. They are not only mages but warriors with rare talents. I heard their young miss, Xue Lan, awakened a rare magic class that allows her to wield both ice and fire. She’s also a swordsman—and a top beauty. Masaru Genji wouldn’t mind marrying her...”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

It wasn’t just about marriage. It was about survival. Position. Power. Peace, if they were lucky. The tides were shifting.

Ling Qingyao’s voice came softer this time. “Ling Mei will not understand. Not now. But she may thank us when she’s grown.”

“She may hate us,” Ling Xian’er whispered.

“She may,” Ling Qingyao agreed.

Once again, silence.

A silent storm raged within the Ling Family… a storm that wore the name Ling Mei.

---

Elsewhere, deep within the Ling Family’s Main Library…

Dust motes danced like lazy fireflies in the dim golden glow of arcane lanterns. The air here was different—older, as though the walls themselves breathed knowledge long forgotten.

Ling Mei walked carefully behind Eira, her self-proclaimed elder sister and mentor, the faint sound of their footfalls muffled by the thick carpet beneath them. Towering bookshelves stood like ancient sentinels in rigid lines, stretching toward a ceiling swallowed in shadow. Scrolls and tomes whispered secrets, hidden within the bindings of time.

It felt like a maze—a labyrinth of knowledge.

“Are you sure this is the right path?” Ling Mei asked, her emerald eyes narrowing in mild suspicion.

Eira said nothing, walking until her steps finally came to a stop before a shelf completely secluded from the rest. Unlike the others, this one bore no label, no glowing tags of elemental affinity or grade. Instead, dust blanketed its surface like a funeral shroud, and cobwebs stretched across the top like faded curtains.

Ling Mei tilted her head. “What is this?”

Eira turned slightly, her tone flat. “This is where the abandoned skill books are kept.”

Ling Mei blinked, stunned. “Wait... did I hear you right?”

“Yes, you did, silly girl,” Eira said, a small grin curving her lips.

“I thought you were helping me find a skill book... why would you bring me here of all places?” Ling Mei frowned, placing her hands on her hips.

“Calm down,” Eira chuckled, golden eyes gleaming. “Have you ever stopped to wonder why these techniques were abandoned in the first place?”

Ling Mei opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her expression shifted from irritation to intrigue. “...No. Not really.”

“Exactly,” Eira said, brushing her fingers across the shelf. “These aren’t trash, Mei. They’re ancient arts. Forgotten spells. Some are too powerful to grade, some even capable of upgrading... they hold potential so vast, the Awakeners of today can’t comprehend them.”

Ling Mei’s jaw dropped slightly. “Then... why are they kept here? Why abandoned?”

Eira’s smile faded, her tone serious. “Because the knowledge to practice them has long been lost. Without a guide, trying to learn these is like trying to find a star in a sky without a moon. It’s nearly impossible.”

“Then why show me this when it's impossible to learn?” Ling Mei asked softly. “Why bother?”

Eira looked at her, eyes glowing faintly with affection. “Because I said nearly. Not completely. And... I believe in you, Mei.”

Those words struck like thunder. Ling Mei’s heart fluttered—her mentor’s faith burning brighter than any lantern in the room.

“...Sister,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her emerald eyes shimmering.

Eira turned and reached high on the shelf, her fingers brushing past dozens of untouched books until she pulled one from the very top. The tome was thick, coated in layers of dust and thin strands of silk-like webs. She drew a swift circle in the air, her fingers glowing with mana. In a flash of blinding light, the dust vanished like smoke, revealing the book’s cover—a smooth white leather adorned with glowing green veins.

Three bold words gleamed on its surface:

Book of Aeromancy.

“W-Woah...” Ling Mei whispered in awe, reaching out slowly.

“Here,” Eira said, handing it to her. Ling Mei grasped the book reverently and tried to store it in her spatial ring—

Thud.

It didn’t vanish.

Instead, the book floated a few inches off the ground, suspended in the air as though the earth itself dared not contain it.

“What?!”

Eira laughed. “Ancient books cannot be stored in spatial rings. Nor can they be destroyed. They exist on a different level.”

Ling Mei knelt, carefully cradling the book in her arms, a strange warmth pulsing from its core.

“Alright,” Eira said after a moment, “now come. I’ll take you to another section—you’ll need more practical skills while you study this one. Pick three that resonate with you.”

---

Moments later...

They stood before a shelf marked:

[Advanced Techniques – Wind Magic Skills]

The shelf was brimming with high-grade skill books, each radiating a faint glow—like beasts waiting to be awakened.

Ling Mei’s eyes scanned the titles:

Gale Crescent Palm – A technique that unleashes sharp, compressed arcs of wind with a sweep of the hand. Fast, silent, deadly.

Stormstep Dance – A movement technique using wind essence to enhance speed and fluidity, allowing the user to glide through battle like a breeze.

Wind’s Blessing – Grants the blessing of the wind, enhancing speed, agility, and reflexes.

Whispering Tempest – A support technique that manipulates wind to carry sound or mask movements—ideal for espionage and infiltration.

Tempest Fury – Unleashes a maelstrom of turbulent winds, battering enemies with relentless force

Turbulent Vortex – Unleashes a churning vortex of air, dealing damage and controlling enemy movements.

Ling Mei’s hand hovered over the Gale Crescent Palm and other skill books, but shifted. Her fingers moved, drawn by instinct, and stopped at three tomes.

They were Wind blessing, Turbulent Vortex, and Tempest Fury

“These three,” she said firmly, her eyes gleaming with resolve.

Eira nodded, satisfied. “Good choices. One for movement, the other for offense. They’ll serve you well... and in time, so will the Book of Aeromancy.”

Ling Mei hugged the four books close, her heart thundering.

Far away, in the cold chambers of politics and silence, her fate was being decided.

But here, within the quiet storm of forgotten knowledge, Ling Mei was preparing to write a different future—

One spell at a time.