The chamber was carved from the mountain itself—its walls ribbed with ancient stone, its air thick with the scent of iron and smoldering ash. Portraits of Vasco ancestors glared down from the shadows, their painted eyes following Aden as he approached the trio seated at the room's heart.
His father, Ed Vasco, sat motionless as a statue, his gauntleted hands resting on the pommel of a sheathed greatsword.
Rudeus leaned against the hearth, arms crossed, his scarred face unreadable. But it was Zwalter who dominated the space, his presence a gravitational pull. The patriarch's milky eye gleamed in the firelight, his gaze sharper than any blade.
Aden knelt, fist pressed to his chest in the Vasco salute. "Father. Grandfather. Uncle."
"Rise," Zwalter commanded, his voice a rumble of distant thunder.
Aden obeyed, settling into the chair facing them. The fire popped, its heat doing nothing to thaw the ice in his veins.
Ed spoke first, his voice low and controlled. "Your men are dead."
Aden kept his spine straight, his tone measured. "They fought with honor."
"Honor doesn't burn corpses to cinders," Rudeus said, tossing a charred scrap of armor onto the table. The Vasco crest—a phoenix wreathed in flame—was melted beyond recognition.
Aden's throat tightened. I guess the news does travel faster than ever.
Zwalter's cane struck the floor, the crack echoing like a gunshot. "Speak plainly, boy. What happened in Dahaka?"
Aden clasped his hands to hide their tremor. "Egmund… took control. I could not stop him."
Ed's jaw twitched. "Could not? Or did not?"
The accusation hung in the air, heavier than the mountain above them.
"I tried everything in my power to take back control, but i couldn't"
Silence fell, thick and suffocating.
The fire crackled, its light guttering as shadows clawed at the chamber's stone walls. Aden kept his head bowed, his hands clenched beneath the table to hide their trembling. Zwalter's milky eye bored into him, unblinking.
"Show me your hands," the former patriarch commanded.
Aden obeyed, placing his palms upward on the table. The skin was mottled, veins blackened like ink spilled beneath parchment.
Zwalter's gnarled fingers clamped around his wrist. A surge of foreign mana—cold and corrosive—flooded Aden's channels. He bit back a scream as the patriarch's power scraped through his ruined pathways, probing, dissecting.
Third-tier. Second-tier. First-tier.
In this world, power was measured in tiers—a ladder of carnage. Third-tier knights were mainly trainees; Second-tier knight is from where you can join knight orders. First-tier is the rank where one can manifest aura into blade.
Beyond lay Masters: Peak-tier most of them command armies, Black-knight is considered the absolute rank where swordsmen of this rank can take on around ten Peak-tier knights and still claim victory, Gladiators who are a sheer force of nature to be reckoned with. , Genesis knight which is the last stage before one ascends to the realm of Swordsmaster, the difference between a Gladiator and a Genesis knight is that of between Heaven and Earth.
The Vasco family sat higher still—Swordsmasters, whose blades could turn tides in the ocean. And above them, myths whispered of Evolutionary souls and Transcendants who touched divinity.
Zwalter Vasco was a Swordsmaster. So were Ed and Rudeus.
Aden? His mana now pooled weakly in his veins, barely Second-tier.
Zwalter released him with a scoff. "Eighty percent gone. You're a shadow of what you were."
Rudeus leaned forward, his scarred lip curling. "Who patched you up? These channels…" He tapped Aden's blackened wrist. "…they're shattered, but stitched together neatly. Like someone poured molten gold into the cracks."
Aden kept his voice steady. "I don't know. When I awoke after Dahaka… they were healed."
Lie. The Apostle's voice echoed in his memory: "Soon the King will call upon you"
'I can't reveal any more of my cards to them, especially not about the KING'
Ed crossed his arms, his greatsword leaning against his chair like a slumbering beast. "Egmund... Maybe he did it on the fear of losing his Host."
Zwalter shook his head. "Demons don't heal... They consume. That this boy breathes at all… is a miracle. Or a curse."
The fire popped. Ash drifted onto the table.
Moments passed and the conversation till continued.
Zwalter steepled his fingers. "What will you do now? Hide here, a broken knight?"
Aden met his gaze. "I'll rebuild. Get stronger."
"Why?"
The word hung in the air, sharp as a whetstone.
'I need to get stronger to withstand what the future holds for me'
The people sitting infront of him did not know at the time what terrible future awaits the Vasco Family and the Empire.
Aden's fists tightened. "To protect what's left. I won't… I won't let another battlefield burn because of my weakness."
For a heartbeat, the room stilled. Then—
Zwalter smirked. "Ed. Rudeus. Take him to the Argent Sanctum."
Aden's breath caught. The Argent Sanctum. In the original novel, it was a place of torment and transcendence—a forge where Vasco elites gathered. A place which did not tolerate failure. Any mission taken by the Argent Sanctum was carried out in perfection.
Ed rose, his armor clanking. "You'll regret that wish, Son."
Rudeus grinned, all teeth. "Ohh Boy..."
As they left, Zwalter's voice followed Aden into the corridor:
"One last question."
Aden turned.
The patriarch's crimson eye gleamed. "Why did Egmund really save you?"
"I don't know," Aden lied.
Zwalter chuckled. "We'll carve the truth from you. In time."
Zwalter rose, his shadow swallowing the firelight. "Don't think of this as if i have spared you, you need to work so that you can overcome this.. if you cannot…"
He gripped Aden's shoulder, his fingers digging into the still-healing wounds beneath his tunic.
"…we will carve the weakness from our bloodline. Slowly. Thoroughly."