Blade fortress
In the western region of the Helion Empire, overlooking a valley of silver forests and river lines, stood a fortress of stone and steel.
Though the empire was known for its academies, dueling grounds, and order of knights, few estates commanded as much quiet respect as this one — the Blade Fortress.
Every generation and branch of the Arcblade family held estates of their own — castles, fortresses, or palaces — each named according to the will of its master.
Blade Fortress was simply the domain of one such branch.
Its structure was compact compared to imperial palaces, but no less formidable.
High walls traced the outer ring, squared battlements layered for archers, and a central keep rose like a blade driven into the earth.
It was built for defense first, appearance second — yet the austerity gave it a dignity no gilded mansion could imitate.
Inside, order thrived.
Servants moved swiftly through stone corridors.
Knights polished armor in the courtyard.
The scent of ink, parchment, metal and oil lingered, each hinting at duties never quite finished.
Through the citadel wing, past doors carved with sword motifs, a private study sat in stillness.
Sunlight crossed the chamber in quiet lines.
Bookshelves curved against the walls; a map of the Helion Empire occupied the space behind a mahogany desk.
Inside the study, A women sat behind an ornate desk of dark cedar, its surface polished enough to show faint reflections.
Serilda Arcblade,Mother of Ruan and mistress of Blade fortress.
A thin line formed between her brows as she tapped a lacquered finger against the table's edge—slow, rhythmic, impatient.
Krone remained on one knee, head bowed, shoulders rigid. A faint tremor ran along his clasped hands.
Serilda finally spoke, voice soft but edged.
"You should have killed him in the arena, Krone."
Krone swallowed before answering.
"I apologize, Madam. But Sir Lucifer intervened and..."
Serilda's jaw tightened. Her lips curled in annoyance before a sharp click of her tongue broke the silence.
"Tch."
Her eyes narrowed. "Such disgrace."
Krone kept his head lowered.
"The blame lies with me."
Serilda leaned back, draping an arm on the chair's handle.
"That Lucifer…" she muttered, almost to herself. "He swore never to join the succession battle. And now he interferes like some hero."
Her features hardened.
"Because of him, the nobles and other heirs will laugh at us! "
Krone dared a glance upward. Serilda caught it, and he quickly lowered his gaze again.
She asked, "Krone, answer me. How could Ruan lose to that… illegitimate child? Explain that."
Krone hesitated—more out of disbelief than fear.
"I… cannot fully understand it myself, Madam."
He drew in a breath.
"But Young Master Ruan could not match him. Even with training. Even with elixirs."
A pause.
"He is stronger than the Young Master. Clearly."
Serilda's composure faltered for a moment; her eyebrows twitched as if the words themselves were offensive.
"I underestimated that brat," she admitted quietly.
"I should never have sent Ruan."
She looked toward the window, eyes reflecting a sliver of grey sky.
"He is already the weakest among the heirs—whether main branch or side branch."
Her voice dropped, threaded with frustration.
"It's difficult enough to make him patriarch. Everything requires patience. Influence. And now…"
Her gaze snapped back to Krone.
"Now we face another obstacle."
Then She shifted focus.
"What about other heirs from other
Castles....What about those children from Tempest Castle? What are those twins doing?"
Krone straightened slightly, his tone hesitant.
"They advance… frighteningly fast, Madam."
Serilda tilted her head. "How so?"
"The boy," Krone said,"has already mastered
the basics of Tempest Swordsmanship."
A pause as he allowed the information to settle.
"And just recently, he won the Arcus Sword Tournament—hosted by Count Arcus.
Nobles from three territories witnessed it.He defeated Children from prestigious noble familes at the age of five."
Serilda blinked, but said nothing.
"And the other twin,the girl?" she asked.
"That one has caused even greater noise."
Krone's voice carried reluctant awe.
"She has earned fame within the mage society.She mastered Dual casting,
deciphering fourth-circle spell structures… and she even crafted her own spell."
He continued,
"It was witnessed by the Tower Master of the Blue Magic Tower and the chief advisor of the Mage Association. Since then, she receives invitations—endlessly—from Magic towers alike."
Serilda exhaled through her nose, fatigued amusement in her eyes.
"True prodigies. If Ruan possessed even a fraction of it.Those both have already surpassed him...One of them might even crush Ruan in the succession battle..."
Her hand waved the thought away.
She refocused.
"And the illegitimate boy. Leon, was it?"
Krone lowered his head, voice thick with shame.
"Yes. That brat. He's talented. More than expected.Without a master, he defeated Young Master Ruan—whom we raised on elixirs and guidance."
Serilda's palm struck the table—short, controlled. The wood shuddered beneath it. Krone flinched, instinctively bowing even deeper.
He rushed to reassure her.
"B-but worry not, Madam. I've already taken measures. I hired mercenaries to deal with him."
Serilda's gaze cooled instantly.
"Mercenaries?"
The single word froze the air.
She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk, hands interlocked.
"I heard the brat has an exclusive knight," she said. "A swordmaster."
Sweat gathered near Krone's temple.
"I've planned for that too…"
Serilda's eyes sharpened further.
"And what did you plan, Krone?"
"I instructed the mercenaries to lure him by Money and fame. If he were to join us—"
Serilda cut him off, voice calm but heavy.
"'Join us'?"
Krone inhaled softly, choosing his next words with caution.
"If he were to join us…" he said, voice low, "we would grow stronger—far stronger than we are now. Our influence would expand."
Serilda raised her chin, listening without interruption.
Krone continued, his tone shifting into the logic of politics.
"There are only twenty-five Swordmasters in all of Elarion. Only twenty-five," he repeated, letting the number hang.
"And above them—only seventeen who have surpassed that realm."
Serilda's eyes flickered, a brief spark of interest breaking through her irritation.
Krone pressed on, as though tasting confidence for the first time.
"A person of that caliber joining our faction… would shift the balance. Exponentially."
He paused, then added:
"Our status within the Arcblade family would ascend. Rapidly. And even those bastards from Tempest Castle would think twice before mocking us."
Serilda's fingers, resting atop her folded hands, relaxed slightly. A thin smile—cold and deliberate—tugged at the corner of her lips.
"A tempting outcome," she murmured.
Her emerald eyes shone with calculation rather than warmth.
Serilda leaned back in her ornate chair, tapping a fingernail against its armrest.
Her voice dropped into something quieter—curious rather than angry.
"One more thing…" she said.
"Why did that illegitimate brat ask for Eruk Mountain and the surrounding territory as his reward for that duel?"
Her brows furrowed slightly.
"That mountain is barren. Nothing grows there. The surrounding land is cold and desolate. It has no mines, no villages, no mana veins… nothing."
She paused, her eyes narrowing with thought.
"But… Wasn't there an legend about it or something..."
A faint whisper, almost to herself. " was it The Legend Of...Valkor?."
Krone lowered his head, as though dusting through memories.
"Yes… the Eruk Mountain… The Mountain of Valkor."
The name carried a weight that not even time erased.
Serilda noticed the shift in his silence.
"What was the legend again...? " she said.
Krone exhaled.
"In the old chronicles, they say Eruk housed a Primordial Dragon. A being named Valkor."
Serilda's expression did not change, but the light in her eyes sharpened—interest wrapped in caution.
Krone went on, posture stiff, tone more deliberate.
"According to the myths, Hero Lucas—the leader of the heroes party and founder of Arcblade family—sealed Valkor beneath that mountain during his era."
He paused.
"But the seal did not last."
Serilda tilted her head. "Go on."
"One day a dragon slayer—name lost to time—broke the seal."
"He is said to have fought the beast… and tamed it."
A strange hush settled between them, as though even the room wished to listen.
"And then," Krone continued, "The dragon merged with his heart. Not only in body—but in power and life. They say the Dragon's heart beat within his chest as if it were his own."
Serilda blinked once. Slowly.
"A man with a dragon's heart…"
"He fought Hero Lucas to a standstill," Krone said.
"At equal footing."
It was impossible to tell whether Serilda was impressed or simply weighing the information.
"But the Church of Sun,which worshipped the Sun God,one of the seven Gods in Elarion— declared him blasphemous. A threat. In their chronicles, they call him the Betrayer of Light."
Krone's face darkened.
"In the end, he was executed. And when his heart ceased, the dragon left his body and returned to Eruk, sealing itself once more."
Silence trailed his last words like dust in the air.
Serilda finally spoke—
"So the legend claims Valkor waits for a successor."
Krone nodded. "That… is what the myth suggests."
Serilda placed a hand beneath her chin.
"Even so… for that brat to know such a tale?"
Her tone wasn't dismissive. It was calculating now.
"He should not," she said. "Most nobles know nothing of Valkor. Even scholars in the Imperial Library consider it folklore."
Krone hesitated before replying.
"For a child without status or education to demand that mountain… is peculiar, Madam."
"…A primordial dragon sealed by a hero," she murmured, lips curving.
"And a dragon slayer who merged with its heart…"
She leaned back against the chair, one leg crossing over the other.
"Krone, this is the kind of tale nursemaids use to put children to sleep. Bards embellish it to make coin in taverns. Scholars dismiss it as fragmented folklore."
Krone lowered his gaze, unsure whether to agree or remain silent.
Serilda shook her head.
"It's true that dragons are present till now,but primordial Dragons which are said to be Dragon Gods have not appeared in thousands of years. Valkor, Hero Lucas, sinners fighting heroes— all of it sounds Adventurous. Convenient. But reality does not tolerate such fantasies."
Her tone sharpened.
"Especially not in succession politics."
Krone finally spoke.
"Of course, Madam. But… even if it is only a tale, it is strange for him to request such a useless mountain."
Serilda waved a hand, dismissing both legend and concern.
"He could have demanded territory rich in ore, or farmland, or a Castle. Even a minor merchant town would provide more value than a barren mountain in the north."
Her lip curled.
"What good does a pile of rocks do for an illegitimate child?"
The question hung in the air.
Krone swallowed. "We do not know, Madam."
"No," Serilda agreed softly, "we do not. But the fact remains—he gained nothing of worth. If he believes fairy tales about dragons will change his fate, then let him chase myths."
She let out a small breath that was almost a laugh.
"In the end, reality always wins."
Krone hesitated, then risked it.
"Still… I fear the brat may not be as simple as we thought."
Serilda's eyes narrowed at him, and the amusement vanished.
"Krone," she said with clipped elegance, "you've seen too many stories in your deployments. Do not tell me you've begun believing that ghosts of the past still walk."
Krone bowed his head immediately.
"…Of course not, Madam."
"Good."
Her voice softened again. "Dragons, spirits, chosen successors—such things make fine legends. But true power… is built with politics, coin, and blood."
She stood from her chair, the hem of her black dress rustling lightly across the marble.
"As long as those remain real, fairy tales will stay dead."
Krone's expression suddenly tightened as if he had just remembered a particularly troublesome detail.
"Uhm… Madam, one more thing."
Serilda's brows drew together. "…What now?"
Krone cleared his throat once, twice—loudly.
"Well… during the duel… when they made the wager… Leon actually asked for two things and— well— Eruk Mountain and its surrounding territory was only one out of the two."
Serilda stared at him for a heartbeat.
"…Two?"
Her voice carried an unmistakable note of exhaustion.
She pressed her fingers to her temple and exhaled slowly.
"What am I supposed to do with that child…"
she muttered, more to herself than to Krone. "Very well. And the other? What did he demand?"
Krone almost flinched at the question.
He dropped his gaze to the floor, shoulders curling inward.
"That… That is…"
He swallowed—hard.
"Speak clearly," Serilda snapped. "I do not enjoy guessing games."
Krone straightened, trembling slightly.
And then—blurted out at full volume:
"He… He asked for EIGHT MILLION GOLD!"
Serilda blinked once.
Then twice.
"…Eight… million?" she repeated, as if verifying that her ears had not betrayed her.
Krone nodded furiously.
"Y-Yes, Madam! Eight million gold coins! He said it with a straight face!"
The silence that followed was thick enough to feel.
Serilda leaned forward slightly, green eyes narrowing to thin slits.
"…That brat wants to bleed us dry," she whispered.
Krone could not tell if she was amused, furious, or on the verge of fainting—possibly all three.
"Eight million gold…" she continued under her breath. "Does he believe we operate a treasury?!"
Krone, wisely, did not provide input.
Serilda clenched her jaw, elegant composure cracking.
"A mountain with a dragon that does not exist, and eight million in gold…" She let out a humorless laugh. "Is this boy building an empire?"
She clicked her tongue sharply.
"To demand such sums without shame—he is truly a Noble."
Then krone gave a grin.
"Yes...i think so..."
Then suddenly her expression changed into more serious.
"Eight… million… gold—" she hissed through clenched teeth.
Her composure broke.
Bang!
Her palm slammed into the wooden wall beside her desk. The loud crack echoed throughout the office, and a thin line splintered across the polished surface.
"Eight million gold! That crazy bastard!!!"
Krone flinched so hard his knee nearly slipped on the polished floor. He dared not breathe too loudly.
He wasn't sure if Serilda wanted to throttle Leon or simply scream into a pillow until evening.
Before the storm could worsen—
Knock, knock.
Serilda's irritated gaze snapped toward the door.
"What!?" she snapped. "Come in!"
The door opened just a sliver. A young maid stepped inside, eyes lowered, posture stiff with fear. She could sense the atmosphere was lethal.
"M-Madam Serilda," she began, voice soft and shaky. "There is… an unexpected visitor."
Serilda closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. "I am in no mood for guests. Tell them to leave and return later."
The maid hesitated.
Serilda's lashes twitched. "what?"
The maid swallowed, gathering courage. "The visitor is… Leon von Arcblade."
The room froze.
Krone's head snapped up. Serilda's eyes widened, shock rippling across her face like lightning over water.
"…What did you say?" Serilda asked quietly—too quietly.
The maid said the name again, slower, as if delivering a death sentence.
"Leon von Arcblade… is waiting at the entrance."
Krone immediately went pale.
Serilda rose from her seat, the legs of her chair scraping against the floor with a low, ominous groan.
"That boy…" she whispered. "Came here. Alone?"
The maid nodded with tiny, terrified movements.
Krone's face contorted between disbelief and panic.
"Is he insane?" he muttered. "Does he have a death wish? Coming here after— after everything he has done!?"