The Harrier family castle lood over the vast landscape, its towering walls stretching for dozens of kiloters. A relic of the once-glorious Valthorn Kingdom, it stood as a testant to the wealth and power amassed by the Harrier bloodline over generations.
King Roosevelt Harrier had poured the accumulated riches of his ancestors into its construction, ensuring it would endure as an indomitable fortress.
As Damien walked through the grand corridors, his fingers traced the intricate engravings carved into the pristine white stone.
Each etching told a story of conquest and legacy, a silent whisper of the past. A flickering torch cast long shadows that danced along the engravings, bringing them to life in a surreal waltz.
He sighed, his thoughts drifting to his past life. Back then, after clawing his way to success in the underworld, he had dread of building a sanctuary of luxury for himself—sothing akin to this very castle. Yet fate had denied him that dream, snatching him away in an untily death.
But now...
A small smirk played on his lips. In this life, his wish had been granted.
Lost in thought, Damien soon arrived at a grand hall. A massive wooden table dominated the center, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of the colossal chandelier suspended from the high ceiling. Golden candlelight flickered across the vast chamber, casting a regal ambiance.
Three figures were already present.
Seated at the far end was Roan, clad in a simple yet elegant white robe. He exuded a quiet confidence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he smiled at Damien, gesturing for him to join. Opposite him sat Devrok, his expression distant, troubled thoughts swirling behind his dark eyes.
Standing beside them was a woman—a vision of poise and maturity, her curves accentuated by a black maid's dress adorned with delicate white frills.
"Amyra..."
Damien murmured her na, a nearly imperceptible smile curving his lips. The mories of his predecessor surfaced—this maid and the forr Damien had shared a history, one filled with veiled interactions and unspoken tension.
Sensing his presence, all eyes turned to him.
Damien nodded slightly before taking his seat beside his uncle. The air was filled with an unspoken weight, though no one acknowledged it aloud.
Amyra, moving with practiced grace, began serving the al. As she leaned over to place his plate, the faint scent of lavender and sothing undeniably feminine filled Damien's senses. Her fingers, cool yet deliberate, brushed against his shoulder—whether intentional or not, he couldn't say.
Damien's gaze flickered to the al before him. A steaming bowl of porridge, thick with chunks of at sourced from the Apocalypse Beasts that road the nearby forests. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, urging him to take a bite.
The mont the soup touched his tongue, his expression twisted.
Bland. Flavorless. The texture was akin to boiled leather swimming in lukewarm water. It took every ounce of willpower not to spit it out. Swallowing the spoonful, he set the utensil down with a muted sigh, resisting the urge to curse.
His eyes flickered to Devrok, who ate in silence, seemingly unbothered by the taste. Even Roan appeared to be enjoying his al. Damien narrowed his gaze slightly—was it just him, or had his taste buds beco overly refined?
A sudden shift in the atmosphere pulled his attention back. Devrok, having finished his al, spoke in a low voice.
"The number of Apocalypse Beasts near the city has increased... A beast tide is coming."
Roan stiffened, the weight of the news pressing down like a heavy stone.
"How is this possible?! It hasn't even been a year since the last one!"
Damien, anwhile, silently celebrated. The urgent discussion gave him the perfect excuse to abandon the horrendous al without offending anyone.
Yet, amid the tension, a sharp gaze bore into him.
His instincts flared as he turned his head slightly, eting Amyra's piercing stare. Her erald eyes glinted like polished jade, filled with barely concealed irritation.
"Sothing wrong?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
The room fell silent for a mont as both Roan and Devrok turned to observe the exchange.
Amyra quickly schooled her expression, shaking her head. "Nothing, Crown Prince. Nothing at all."
Internally, however, she fud.
"Damn this brat! How dare he treat my cooking with such disdain?! Does he not realize how many people would kill just to watch cook?!"
Damien rely shook his head, dismissing her irritation as unimportant.
No one paid much mind to Amyra's casual speech—after all, for the two princes, she was practically family.
The montary distraction faded as Devrok cleared his throat, drawing everyone's focus back to him.
"I've decided to give up on the True Path."
His voice, though steady, carried the weight of surrender. As soon as the words left his mouth, his shoulders relaxed, as if an imnse burden had been lifted.
Roan let out a weary sigh, his expression tinged with both understanding and regret.
A few years ago, if soone had asked whether Devrok would awaken, Roan would have answered with unwavering certainty. Devrok had always been the most promising among them. Yet now, even he had been forced to abandon the True Path.
"Have you decided which Apocalypse Beast you'll use to open your spiritual space?" Roan asked after a brief silence.
Devrok gave a firm nod.
Damien's interest piqued.
Long ago, this world had been a beacon of civilization, its empires stretching across solar systems. But then the Abyssal Invasion ca, drowning the world in chaos. Entire civilizations crumbled under the relentless assault, snuffed out like dying embers.
Amidst the destruction, the first Awakener erged. Wielding unfathomable abilities, they beca humanity's last hope, reclaiming a semblance of order.
Yet their numbers were too few.
In desperation, an alternative was discovered—a path for those who failed to Awaken.
The False Path.
Amyra, who had been fuming minutes ago, now watched Devrok with a hint of sympathy. The Harrier bloodline had birthed one of the most formidable Awakeners—Roosevelt Harrier himself. And yet, both of his sons had failed to inherit his gift.
She wondered how Roosevelt would react when he learned his youngest son had also failed.
Then, a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes.
"Hehehe..." she grinned internally. "Perhaps I should accept that little lass as my disciple—it would be a fine way to repay a favor."
While Amyra entertained her thoughts, Devrok finally spoke.
"I've chosen the Stone-Hearted Knight."
The declaration sent a shockwave through the room.
Roan's face darkened instantly, his chair scraping against the floor as he shot to his feet, fury burning in his gaze.
"Are you out of your mind, Devrok?!"
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