The bell rang.
Its sound rolled across the ceremonial venue of Solum, deep and heavy, silencing every whisper, every footstep, every restless breath.
Dong—
Dong—
The moment everyone had been waiting for had arrived.
The wide ceremonial gate slowly opened.
And he entered.
A boy stepped into the open space, alone.
Bright silver hair reflected the sunlight like polished steel, smooth and unbound, falling naturally behind his shoulders. His red eyes were calm—too calm for a child standing before dukes, Magic Towers, and the highest nobles of the empire.
He wore black ceremonial attire bearing the Blackthorne sigil, tailored simply, without excess decoration. It did not shine. It did not try to stand out.
Yet the moment he appeared—
Every gaze locked onto him.
A ripple moved through the venue.
"That's… him?"
"He's younger than I imagined."
"No… look at his eyes."
Young noblewomen froze where they stood.
Some forgot to blink.
Others gripped their sleeves unconsciously, hearts beating faster as their eyes followed his every movement.
"So handsome…"
"That silver hair…"
"Red eyes… like a predator."
Not admiration alone—
A strange pull.
Among the young noble men, expressions darkened.
"Tch."
"He's just a kid."
"Why does he look so composed?"
Jealousy spread quietly, mixed with discomfort.
Because none of them saw nervousness.
None of them saw hesitation.
The boy walked forward—not hurried, not slow—each step steady, measured, and deliberate.
It did not feel like he was approaching the stage.
It felt like the space itself was opening for him.
---
From the raised platform, Magic Tower representatives stiffened.
Mana-sensitive archmages narrowed their eyes.
Something felt wrong.
No—different.
One of the Silver Tower mages whispered sharply,
"…Do you feel that?"
Another mage swallowed.
"Yes. His mana flow is already stabilized."
A third mage's fingers trembled slightly.
"This density… it's not a beginner's."
They did not speak loudly.
They didn't need to.
Their expressions alone drew attention.
---
POV: Elena von Solvaris
Elena stood beside her father, Duke Chris von Solvaris.
Her eyes followed the boy without realizing it.
"…So that's Aurelian von Blackthorne."
She had expected intimidation.
She had expected pressure.
But what she felt instead was something unfamiliar.
'He's calm…'
Not forced calm.
Not practiced composure.
It was the calm of someone who knew where he belonged.
Her gaze lingered on his silver hair, the way the sunlight caught it, then shifted to his red eyes—sharp, steady, unflinching.
'He's beautiful…'
The thought startled her.
Elena quickly looked away—then looked back again.
'No… not beautiful.'
'Dangerous.'
For the first time that day, her heart beat faster.
---
POV: Lucian von Lionheart
Lucian watched in silence.
His posture remained disciplined, but his jaw tightened slightly.
"So that's him…"
He had completed his own Age Ceremony months ago.
He knew what pressure felt like.
He knew how heavy expectations could be.
But this boy—
'He's not carrying pressure.'
Lucian's eyes sharpened.
'He's standing above it.'
A strange sensation settled in his chest.
Not fear.
Competition.
---
Aurelian continued forward.
The murmurs followed him like waves crashing against stone.
"Is he really ten?"
"Look at his posture…"
"Blackthorne blood…"
Then—
Several mages stiffened at the same time.
Mana surged subtly around them.
One of the White Tower mages stood abruptly.
"…Three."
The word slipped out before he could stop himself.
Another mage turned sharply.
"You sensed it too?"
"Yes."
A third mage whispered, disbelief clear in his voice.
"Three magic circles. Fully formed."
The information spread instantly.
Not through announcements.
Through reactions.
Sharp breaths.
Widened eyes.
Uncontrolled mana fluctuations.
Elena's eyes widened.
Lucian's pupils constricted.
Duke Chris inhaled slowly.
Duke Ragnar's lips curled upward.
---
POV: Duke Chris von Solvaris
"…Three circles."
Chris kept his expression controlled, but his thoughts raced.
'At this age…'
His gaze flicked briefly to Elena.
'No. He's already beyond her current level.'
The realization sent a quiet chill through him.
This was no prodigy.
This was a future disaster—or pillar.
---
POV: Duke Ragnar von Lionheart
Ragnar let out a low laugh.
"Ha…"
He crossed his arms, eyes burning with interest.
"So that's Alaric's son."
His grin widened.
"A real monster."
There was no mockery in his voice.
Only recognition.
---
Aurelian did not slow.
He did not react to the murmurs, the shock, or the attention.
He walked straight toward the Blackthorne section.
Straight toward his family.
Leonhart von Blackthorne rose from his seat.
The venue fell silent again.
The retired Sword Emperor stood tall despite his age, his presence alone commanding respect.
Aurelian stopped before him and bowed deeply.
"Grandfather."
Leonhart studied him for a long moment.
Then his stern expression softened.
A hand—old, scarred, and powerful—rested gently atop Aurelian's head.
"Well done," Leonhart said quietly.
His smile was small.
But genuine.
Many nobles felt chills.
---
Alaric stepped forward.
His voice was calm, steady.
"This is my son," he said.
"Aurelian von Blackthorne."
He turned slightly.
"Duke Ragnar von Lionheart."
Aurelian bowed politely.
"I greet the Lionheart Duke."
Ragnar laughed loudly.
"Straight to the point. I like that."
Next—
"Duke Chris von Solvaris."
Aurelian turned.
"I greet the Solvaris Duke."
Chris nodded slowly, studying him.
"You don't look nervous," he said.
Aurelian replied evenly,
"There is nothing to fear."
A brief silence followed.
Chris smiled faintly.
---
The dukes began to speak, not as rivals—but as veterans.
"You remember the Abyss front?" Ragnar said.
"Third demon king's army."
Alaric nodded.
"I remember dragging you out half-dead."
Ragnar laughed.
"You were worse."
Leonhart chuckled quietly.
Their conversation flowed naturally—old warriors reminiscing about battles, scars, and losses.
Aurelian listened silently.
When Ragnar turned toward him, smirking,
"You plan to fight demons too, boy?"
Aurelian answered calmly,
"If they stand in my way."
The laughter stopped.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
Ragnar stared—then laughed again, louder.
"Good."
---
Around them, nobles whispered.
"This isn't a ceremony anymore…"
"It's a declaration."
"He doesn't act like a child."
Magic Tower representatives exchanged uneasy glances.
One thing was clear.
The Blackthorne heir was not awakening.
He had already arrived.
And as Aurelian von Blackthorne stood among dukes, Sword Emperors, and archmages—without shrinking—
The world silently acknowledged a truth it could no longer deny.
The bell had rung.
And something unstoppable had stepped forward.