Fourteen years passed in the blink of an eye.
To the Alostrio family and the nobles of the realm, Ryner Alostrio was the embodiment of mediocrity. His cultivation speed was decent, his swordsmanship acceptable, and his aura refinement… serviceable. Enough to stand among the average noble youth, but far from a genius.
When compared to Hannas's other children, who flaunted their brilliance like banners on a battlefield, Ryner seemed unremarkable. He was never the brightest star at gatherings, never the focus of admiration, never the child Hannas boasted about in the halls of nobility.
And that was exactly how he wanted it.
---
At the training grounds, servants whispered as Ryner practiced.
"Fourteen years old and only at this level?" one murmured, watching him swing his sword with the rhythm of mediocrity.
"Not bad, but not exceptional either," another replied.
"Still, at least he isn't the trash he once was."
Their words reached Ryner's ears, but he only smirked inwardly as his blade cut through the air with deliberate imperfection.
*Average, huh? Perfect.*
Every stumble, every pause, every unnecessary breath—carefully woven into his performance. He let his brothers outshine him in sparring matches, let them taste victory, let them feel superior.
All the while, no one noticed how steady his stance truly was, how his grip betrayed none of the tension of a struggling novice. His act of mediocrity was the perfect disguise.
---
At night, however, when silence wrapped the world, Ryner shed his mask.
Within his chamber, he sat cross-legged, breath steady, his body resonating with the **Destiny Vessel Sutra.** Mana surged through his blood, aura laced his bones, and life force pulsed in every heartbeat. He was not like the others, who divided themselves between paths of magic, martial arts, and vitality.
He was all of them at once. A vessel of the whole.
His soul cultivated in secret, weaving the **sword map** Rune had branded into his essence, and Lucas's refined teachings guided the threads of fate that coiled within his core. Every night, he walked a path no one could comprehend.
Sometimes Ming Zing's thunderous voice echoed in his dreams:
"Hide if you must. But when the time comes, unleash judgment. Do not hold back."
And Luis's childish laughter followed, sharp and mischievous:
"Average? Boring? Hahaha! I love it! They'll never see you coming!"
Each voice was a reminder of the burden—and the power—he carried.
---
One evening, as dusk painted the courtyard in crimson light, Ryner's half-brothers approached him.
"Still crawling at the same pace, Ryner?" one sneered, his blade twirling arrogantly in hand.
"At this rate, even peasants will surpass you," the other added with a smirk.
"Maybe he'll be useful as a servant when we inherit the house," the first laughed, loud enough for the servants to hear.
The gathered attendants chuckled softly, careful not to offend the sons of Hannas.
From the sidelines, Alia watched with clenched fists, her knuckles pale. Her lips pressed shut, for she could do nothing. To speak would only paint a larger target on Ryner's back.
Ryner only smiled faintly. His eyes—calm, steady, unreadable—hid the abyss within.
*Laugh while you can. Every insult you carve into me, I'll return a thousandfold.*
With unshaken poise, he let their words pass. He bowed his head, as if ashamed, before walking away in silence. To them, it was proof of weakness. To him, it was another stone added to the mountain of debts he would one day collect.
---
Years of mediocrity became his shield. The nobles looked past him. Hannas ignored him. His brothers mocked him. And all the while, Ryner cultivated unseen, sharpening his soul like a blade hidden beneath rags.
No one feared the "average" son of Alostrio.
No one expected greatness.
No one prepared for the storm quietly growing behind his mask.
And when the time came to shed that mask—
The world itself would tremble.
**(Chapter End)**