The sharp cry of a horse pierced the pale dawn, echoing through the silent fields that blanketed the kingdom. Its hooves pounded against the ancient stone road leading to the heart of the land—the Kingdom of Valekoris. Sitting proudly at the very center of the known world, Valekoris once stood as the crown among the Five Great Clans, shining in strength and influence.
Yet times had changed. With the fall of the Alderman Clan, the kingdom's once impenetrable defenses now leaned heavily on the Family of the Ruthwilfers and the Fafners. The absence of the Aldermans, once the dominant powerhouse, left a silent void in the air—an unspoken tension that gnawed at the foundation of the realm.
The morning mist swirled as the kingdom gates creaked open. A lone rider galloped through the main streets of Valekoris, the kingdom's banners rippling in the cold wind. Guards stepped aside, their armor clinking faintly as the messenger urged his steed toward the towering castle of King Raoul Kain.
Within the grand hall, beneath towering stained-glass windows casting colored light upon the marble floors, the messenger dropped to one knee before the throne. King Raoul, a figure of regal bearing clad in a cloak of deep crimson and gold embroidery, leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze piercing through the room.
"Speak. What news do you bring?" the king's voice resonated with quiet authority.
The messenger, still kneeling, bowed his head lower. "Your Majesty, the rumors are true. Sightings of demons have been confirmed in the forests within demi-human territories."
The hall seemed to grow colder. King Raoul's brow furrowed in thought, his fingers lightly drumming the armrest of his throne.
"Hmm... could it be," Raoul mused aloud, "that the demi-humans' lands are rich in mana... a perfect cradle for demons to rise once more?"
He rose from his throne with a sweeping motion. His decision was swift. This news must not reach the ears of the common folk. Fear would tear the kingdom apart faster than any enemy.
A month passed in uneasy silence.
Within the thick stone walls of Ruthwilfer Castle, Diana Ruthwilfer sat beside Dante, diligently peeling back the bandages from his wounds. The scent of healing salves filled the small room, mixing with the faint aroma of aged wood and parchment. Morning sunlight streamed weakly through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor.
"Ouch! Would it kill you to use water first?" Dante grumbled, wincing as Diana ripped off another strip of cloth with deliberate harshness.
"Honestly, I don't care," Diana shot back, smirking mischievously. "Consider this payback."
The heavy door creaked open, and Zhurong burst in with a bright grin, her fiery red hair trailing behind her.
"Hey, Dante!" she called, skipping over to his bedside with childlike excitement.
"Zhurong? What are you doing here?" Dante asked, arching a skeptical brow.
"Came to see you, of course!" she said playfully.
Dante rolled his eyes in disbelief. Zhurong climbed onto his bed without hesitation, sitting beside him with casual ease. Her expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious.
"I'm leaving today. There's much to do back in the Dragon Clan Realm, now that the demons are stirring again," she said.
She paused, digging into the folds of her cloak before pulling out a small, gleaming sigil—the crest of the Dragon Clan.
"In case you ever visit," Zhurong said, pressing it into Dante's hand. Her fingers lingered against his palm, warm and steady.
"And one last thing," she added, taking Dante's hand and guiding it up to her horns.
Across the room, Diana and Fina both gasped, jaws dropping in shock. Dante blinked in confusion, uncertain.
"See ya, Dante," Zhurong giggled, her voice laced with mischievous innocence. "I can't wait to meet you again... in battle."
With a wink, she hopped off the bed and exited the chamber, leaving a trail of stunned silence behind her.
Diana finally broke the stillness with a teasing grin. "My, my. When did you get so close to the princess of the Dragon Clan, huh?"
"What? What does that even mean?" Dante demanded, flustered.
Diana folded her arms and shook her head. "It means... if a female dragon lets a male touch her horns, it's basically... well, it's a bond. A really deep one. You'll figure it out when you're older."
But Dante already knew. Reborn with memories of another life, he understood the weight of that gesture all too well.
"Oh no..." he muttered under his breath.
Two months later, the Ruthwilfers—Will, Diana, Fina, Evan, and Dante—stood proudly in the Empire's great hall, summoned for a royal commendation. High banners swayed gently overhead, and the grand chandelier bathed the assembly in a warm, golden glow.
King Raoul, dressed in full ceremonial regalia, addressed the crowd.
"For their valor during the demon incursion, the Ruthwilfer family, along with the Fafners, are hereby recognized!"
Cheers echoed through the vast hall.
Dante was called forward alone. Kneeling before the king, he lowered his gaze respectfully. King Raoul unsheathed his royal sword and gently tapped it on Dante's shoulders.
"Dante Ruthwilfer," he intoned, his voice carrying through the silence. "For your bravery and strategic brilliance, your name shall be etched into the Hall of Heroes. From this day forth, your deeds will inspire generations to come."
The hall erupted in thunderous applause.
"And lastly," King Raoul added, "you are awarded ten thousand gold pieces for your contribution against the demon, Lustia."
As the ceremony ended, rumors began to ripple quietly across the kingdom. Stories about the demons resurfaced, whispered in churches, shrines, and taverns. Old legends merged with new fears. Few knew the truth—that the God Clan, once protectors and were traitors of the world, had long vanished into the annals of forgotten history.
A year drifted by.
Dante turned ten years old, taller now, sharper in gaze, though a permanent sense of cautious wisdom still lingered in his movements. He entrusted his fortune to Lady Diana for safekeeping in the Vault of Valekoris.
The children of Ruthwilfer Castle transitioned into formal education, assigned to schools specializing in magic, crafting, and alchemy.
In one such school, a vast hall filled with the hopeful murmurs of young students, an instructor stood beside a towering mana crystal.
"Each of you will touch the crystal," the instructor said. "Its glow will reveal your affinity. Green for wind, blue for water, red for fire, brown for earth, yellow for light, and purple for dark."
The hall buzzed with excitement, anxiety thick in the air like a storm about to break.
"What if someone has no mana?" a small voice asked from the crowd.
The instructor smiled gently. "Then they shall be assigned to craftsmanship or potion-making."
Some children exchanged worried glances. Others smirked confidently, certain of their strength.
Dante, standing near the back, watched without much emotion. His mind wandered, plotting and planning quietly, already thinking far beyond the petty competitions of youth.
"Going to run away, coward?" sneered Taka Ruthwilfer from the side.
"Grow up," Dante muttered under his breath.
The examination began. Names were called one after another. Children touched the crystal, and colored lights bloomed like fireflies. Cheers rang out for those blessed with fire. Muted sighs followed those who drew earth or dark.
Taka swaggered forward when called, pressing his hand proudly to the crystal. A brilliant red glow engulfed his arm.
"Yes!" he shouted, pumping his fist.
The hall buzzed with admiration.
Then came a lull. A single name was called.
"Dante Ruthwilfer."
Whispers rippled through the hall like an invisible current.
"Is that the Dante?"
"The one who fought a demon?"
"He was at the ball, right?"
All eyes turned toward him as Dante stepped forward. He pressed his hand lightly against the crystal.
Nothing happened.
A murmur stirred the room.
"Try again, child," said the instructor, frowning slightly.
Dante obliged, pressing harder this time.
A sudden surge.
The crystal darkened unnaturally. Black tendrils spiraled inside it, threaded with faint streams of blood-red light. A low hum vibrated through the air. Cracks webbed across the crystal's surface, spidering out faster than the eye could follow.
With a deafening crack, the crystal exploded into a burst of light and fragments, throwing the hall into chaos.
Gasps filled the room.
"What in God's name..." the instructor whispered, staring in disbelief at Dante, who simply stood there amid the falling shards, unflinching.
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Chapter 10 — End.