The Crest of Ruin

The western gardens of the Velentis estate were bursting with early blooms. A rare sight, considering the heavy air of competition blanketing the mansion.

Lucien sat under the shade of the ivory tree, lazily floating pebbles in the air using telekinesis. Across from him, Aria laughed, trying to knock them down with flicks of her fingers infused with tiny bursts of mana.

"You're cheating again, Lucien!"

"I'm just using the tools available to me," he replied with a mock shrug.

Before Aria could argue back, a voice interrupted them.

"Still playing with pebbles, young master?"

Lucien's expression immediately dulled. Aria turned her head politely.

Standing not far off was Lord Ruvan Drell, head of House Drell—a vassal mage family known for their skill in barrier magic. He was dressed richly, his robes lined with symbols of antiquity. His hair had grayed, but not from age—it had always been pale, like frost.

He approached with a cordial smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I remember when you used to follow your father around, boy. Now look at you—already preparing for the Assembly."

Lucien rose, brushing off his trousers.

"Lord Drell."

There was a beat of silence.

Ruvan's eyes flicked to Aria, who stood watching with open curiosity, then back to Lucien.

"You've grown. Just like your father."

Lucien gave a tight smile. "Thankyou."

Ruvan gave a soft chuckle, but his eyes sharpened just slightly.

"It's a good time to show your strength. The Assembly… well, it reveals everything. Power, Loyalty, strength and who is the one fit to lead."

"Haha, just kidding young master...ofcourse who can rival a prodigy like you."

Lucien didn't flinch. But something flashed behind his eyes.

He remembered.

In his past life, Ruvan Drell had quietly supported a faction to push for power when the Velentis name began to falter. After Duke Kael's brief disappearance during the warfront, Ruvan had tried to seize control—claiming he was the "only suitable patriarch" to prevent collapse.

Back then… I thought he was just being cautious. I didn't realize he was lusting for the title my father held.

Lucien's voice stayed calm. "Let's hope no one embarrasses themselves then."

Ruvan raised a brow. "Of course. Excuse me."

As he walked off, Lucien sat back down.

Aria tilted her head. "He's weird."

Lucien smirked. "Nahh...just a feather in a flock ."

Later that night, the estate's eastern wing was quieter.

Only one room was active—the old council hall. It wasn't used much anymore, except for meetings that weren't meant to be seen.

Lucien entered through a side corridor, silent, cloaked. The velvet-black fabric on his shoulders didn't reflect a hint of moonlight. It was enchanted with layered concealment—a gift from his father when he turned eleven.

No magical signature. No sound. Unless you were a Sixth Circle mage, you wouldn't even sense him standing right next to you.

He stepped behind a narrow balcony that overlooked the chamber. Below, five family heads were seated at an oval table: Drell, Veran, Mirell, Halcor, and Tarth. Each had brought one child, all dressed in formal robes. Most of the kids looked older than him—some nearing fourteen. All of them stood stiffly behind their parents.

He watched.

So… the heir is officially participating?" Lord Halcor asked, swirling the wine in his goblet.

"He is," replied Lord Veran, "though I wonder if it's more for show than merit."

"Second Circle," Lady Tarth said with a forced smile. "At eleven. Quite the prodigy."

Lady Mirell smirked. "Children advance fast these days. Let's see how long they last."

Lord Drell gave a short laugh. "I give it until the second round. He's still a boy. A strong wind will knock him out."

Lucien raised an eyebrow in the shadows.

Second Circle? That's what they're basing this on?

He leaned back against the stone, letting them talk.

Idiots.

Lucien raised an eyebrow in the shadows.

"So that's all they plan...cowards, sending their kids to fullfill their ambitions and act all high and might"

Idiots.

They think just reaching Second Circle at eleven is impressive enough to challenge me. They don't know I'm already halfway through it — not just barely stepping in. I reached Second Circle three months before my eleventh birthday.

He watched Lord Veran, who looked especially pleased with himself.

Even Father reached Second Circle at twelve. I've already surpassed that — quietly. And that's exactly how I wanted it.

Down below, the conversation shifted.

"They say the boy barely leaves the west wing," Veran said. "Barely speaks. Kael's hiding him like a jewel."

"Or like a mistake," Mirell murmured.

Halcor raised his hand. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Even Kael knows the Assembly matters. If his heir fails—"

"He won't step in," Veran interrupted. "He'll let the boy stand on his own. That's the game. Kael's testing us as much as him."

Lady Tarth adjusted her rings. "And what if one of ours proves better? Will the Duke bend?"

"Of course not," Veran said. "But it opens a door. A slow one."

Lady Mirell's voice was cool. "Let's not pretend. All of us want the same thing. We've served this House for too long without movement. If the boy crumbles under pressure, it weakens the line. Then we act."

Lucien kept still, unseen, as the nobles continued to talk.

I let them believe I'm just a prodigy. That was enough to gain recognition, not enough to trigger suspicion. Father never exposed my full progress either. He knows why.

Admiration brings applause. But too much of it? That brings enemies.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk.

And these fools think their over-polished, over-coached children can defeat me? Just because I'm quiet? Just because I'm younger?

They can't defeat my father… so they're thinking of defeating me instead?

He scoffed under his breath.

Stupid cowards. Weak men with loud mouths. That's all they are.

Fine. Let them try.

I'll show them exactly that a cub of lion is also a lion and foxes can never replace the King.

His expression didn't change, but a cold satisfaction curled in his chest.

It'll be interesting to see their faces... when they realize just how stupid they were.

He turned and walked silently back through the concealed corridor, the folds of his black cloak whispering behind him.

By the time he reached his private quarters, he was already rolling back his sleeves.

Lucien stepped into the main combat chamber of House Velentis — a facility every noble vassal wished they had access to, but few were ever allowed to enter.

The hall wasn't hidden.

Everyone knew it existed.

And everyone knew it cost more to maintain than the entire annual budget of some baronies.

The chamber's air shimmered faintly with residual mana. Every stone tile beneath his boots was inscribed with layered runes — for stability, shock absorption, silence, environmental control. It could simulate terrain shifts, mana storms, pressure zones, and high-tier magical resistance. Mages trained here when they were preparing for real battlefields — or for war.

Lucien paused at the center.

This was where real power was tested.

Not the polished dueling rings the vassals used.

Here, mistakes could break bones. Here, holding back wasn't an option.

He took off his outer coat, laid it neatly on a bench, and approached the command circle.

With a flick of his hand, he activated the arena.

Five elite training dummies emerged from the ground — humanoid constructs forged from reinforced alchemic alloys, each bearing complex enchantments to mimic spells, weight, even tactical response.

He raised his hand.

"Mana Reserve: Unseal."

The glyph on the back of his neck shimmered faintly. His mana surged — rich, fluid, and dense. Not wild like in his early days — it was controlled now. Hardened. Trained.

The first dummy moved.

Lucien didn't hesitate.

"Ignis Lance."

The fire spear flew instantly, striking it in the center and throwing it across the room in a burst of heat and sparks. The second charged him with surprising speed, swinging a weighted axe.

Lucien ducked, skidded under the blow, then pulsed his mana outward.

"Pulse Break."

The shockwave blasted the dummy backward into the wall with a screech of metal.

The third and fourth moved in formation — both ranged types. One used a conjured longbow, the other mimicked an Elementalist, calling frost shards into the air.

Lucien weaved between the attacks, letting mana gather in his palms. He wasn't just dodging anymore — he was testing limits.

"Flame Fang. Dual Spiral."

The spinning arcs of fire slammed into both targets, burning away the bow and cracking the frost spells before they could fully form.

Smoke filled the edges of the room.

One dummy left.

The largest.

It stepped forward with heavy thuds, bearing a thick mana shield and a broadsword longer than Lucien's height. Its movements were slow, but each step radiated lethal power.

Lucien didn't hold back.

He charged head-on, deflecting the first blow with a mana-coated palm strike that cracked the outer layer of his shield. His eyes flashed violet as he gathered energy again.

"Mana Drill."

A concentrated beam erupted from his hands — thin, rotating, violently pressurized. It pierced the dummy's core and sent it collapsing backward in pieces.

Lucien stood silently in the Velentis training hall, his breathing calm, the mana in his veins gradually cooling. The last dummy lay dismantled near the far wall, pieces of metal and scorched leather still twitching from residual enchantment.

He glanced toward the overhead meter again — 78.2% casting efficiency.

Getting better. Steadier.

He pulled off his gloves and flexed his fingers.

At this pace… four, maybe five months to reach the final stage of Second Circle. I'll hit a wall after that — just like before.

His brow furrowed slightly.

That wall… took me over a year to break through last time.

He sat on the edge of the stone bench, slowly rotating his shoulders, deep in thought.

Unless I get that item.

Not the treasury relic. Not the Assembly prize. That's for something else.

His expression darkened, remembering.

In my last life… one of the vassal-state heirs — Eron Feric, I think — came across a relic during the envoy's journey to the Imperial Capital. Said it was by accident. It wasn't.

That bastard's uncle arranged the route to "conveniently" pass by an ancient ley site. A shattered ruin hiding a mana core fragment — unstable, but perfect for pushing through into Third Circle. They covered it up, of course. But I knew. I saw what it did for him but that time I didn't spoke because I was too much of a coward and didn't wanted to creat any problem.

Lucien's violet eyes narrowed.

This time, it won't be Eron who finds it.

It's going to be me.

Every detail I remember… I'll exploit. Every mistake they made, I'll use. This second chance… it's not for being kind. It's for winning.

His jaw tightened, and an unmistakable chill and a fantic smile drifted into his expression.

Just then, a young maid walked into the hallway from the side door — she had come to check the arena's cooling array, unaware he was still here.

She stopped instantly when she saw him.

He turned.

A young maid stood near the cooling unit with a report crystal in hand. Wide brown eyes stared at him like she'd seen a ghost. Her hands gripped the clipboard tightly.

He blinked.

"…You're still here?"

She flinched. "I-I didn't mean to interrupt, Young Master! I was just—"

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

Her gaze darted to the burned remains of the dummies, then back to him. "You… You looked different. Not like before. You were smiling. But… not in a good way."

Lucien tilted his head. "Smiling?"

She nodded rapidly. "Just a little sca...r..r...y."

There was a pause.

Lucien blinked, then snorted softly. "You've got quite the imagination."

"I-I apologize!" she said quickly, bowing so hard she nearly dropped the crystal.

He waved a hand. "Don't worry..It's alright."

The girl nodded frantically.

Lucien turned back toward the platform. "Tell the steward to reset the dummies. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Yes, Young Master!" she squeaked.

As she hurried off, Lucien muttered under his breath.

I smiled, huh?

A faint grin tugged at his lips.

Maybe I did. After all, this time… it's all going to be mine.