Overwhelming Firepower

Lucen was once again called to his father’s study. Unlike before, however, he stood before Duke Vardon without unease.

The man’s presence, once a crushing weight that filled every inch of the study like iron in the air, felt less suffocating now.

The silence between them no longer carried the sharp tension of unspoken expectations but something calmer, mutual understanding forged through countless quiet conversations and unyielding stares that spoke more than words ever could.

”Do you remember what I said about the academy?”

”Yes, Father. The Academy Tournament, which they hold every two years. When you told me about it the time before the next tournament was one and a half years.”

”That one and a half years has come to pass. The tournament will be happening a month from now.”

Lucen straightened. ”Then, when do I leave?”

”Tomorrow,” Vardon said. ”You’ll head to the capital with a few from Thornefang. I’ll also be sending Sir Thalos with you.”

Lucen blinked. ”Sir Thalos? Isn’t Thornefang enough for bodyguards?”

Vardon’s expression hardened slightly. ”As you’ve heard, the Kingdom of Inevir has been making... Questionable moves as of late. And within Norvaegard itself, some nobles have begun stirring in the shadows.” His voice lowered, heavy with warning. ”I sense a storm coming, Lucen. Until it passes, I want the strongest knight under me by your side.”

”I see... Understood, Father, I will make the preparations for my travel to the Capital. Is there anything else?”

Vardon was silent for a moment, his gaze steady and sharp.

”As you know, the reason you’ve been allowed to skip formal attendance at the Academy was a special favor. Still, since you’ll be participating in this tournament, where every noble heir of your generation is set to gather, I expect you to show them what it means to bear the name Thornehart.”

Lucen gave a knight’s salute by placing his fist on his heart and bowing a little. ”I shall, Father. As I always have, I will come back with victory in my hands.”

For a fleeting instant, something softened in Vardon’s eyes, gone as quickly as it came. ”You may go.”

Lucen bowed his head a little before leaving the room.

***

The following morning broke cold and pale. Snow fell in thin veils over Ironhold’s courtyards, coating the stone paths and metal railings in a thin, shimmering white.

The fortress stirred slowly, soldiers stamping the cold from their boots, stable hands loading supplies into wagons, the distant clang of steel echoing like a heartbeat beneath the winter air.

Amid that rhythm of preparation, Lucen stood beside his horse, tightening his gloves and taking in the sight of his people—his companions.

Harlik, his ever-reliable right hand, moved with the efficiency of a man who had built his life around battlefields.

His breath came out in white puffs as he checked each strap, buckle, and saddle, testing the weight of the gear by instinct alone. Not a single movement was wasted.

Nothing escaped his eye, not even the way the wheels of the carriage creaked under the cold.

Daniel, on the other hand, looked half-dead before the sun even rose. His trench coat hung loosely from one shoulder, his scarf barely wrapped, and his expression screamed I regret ever waking up.

The man yawned so hard it looked like his soul was trying to escape, muttering curses toward the sun, at needing to wake up, basically anything that made him move. He sat on a crate, continuing to yawn, his messy hair sticking out like he had just rolled out of bed.

”Why do I have to go?...” He grumbled. ”The capital’s too loud, the trip’s too long, and I didn’t even finish breakfast. Aren’t there others better suited for this?”

Despite his constant complaints and laziness, Lucen knew, if he ever actually tried, Daniel could outperform almost anyone in Thornefang. This guy was the type of character who was good at anything he tried.

Thrall was acting the complete opposite. The young barbarian stood bare-armed despite the northern chill, fur draped loosely across his shoulders beneath the standard Thornefang trench coat.

His muscles rippled with every motion, raw power coiled beneath skin hardened by northern winters.

Each punch cracked the air with a faint whistle, scattering snowflakes in chaotic flurries. His excitement was almost tangible, his grin wide and sharp, like a wolf barely leashed.

”I’ve never been to the capital before,” Thrall said, grinning widely. ”I know there’s going to be a lot of strong people there. I wonder if I could challenge them.”

”Don’t do that.” Harlik smacked Thrall’s head a little. ”We’ll be going to the Capital as the little leader’s bodyguards. We can’t act recklessly, or do anything that would shame our name, Thornefang, or shame our little leader’s name of Thornehart.”

”Tch, that sounds boring... But fine, I’ll do as I’m told.”

Thrall, who had been with Thornefang for nearly two years now, had learned how to restrain himself. He was no longer as reckless as he was before.

Robert had also joined this trip since he knew that the old man Thelwin would be looking for him. He also packed a few vials and brought a few more monster materials to show the old man.

Finally, there was Milos, who wasn’t supposed to come at all. He had asked Lucen if he could join this journey. He wanted to see with his own eyes the Academy Tournament that he had only heard stories about.

As he was from a commoner family and had no special abilities or money, he was not able to go to the Academy.

So this was his chance to see the tournament in person. Lucen agreed, seeing as he had some interest in Milos’s growth, especially since his backstory matches a few protagonist types.

There were also Lucen’s family members present to see him off. There stood in the back, stoic with a powerful presence, was his Father, Vardon. Beside his Father was his equally stoic younger brother Cael, and the head butler Vahn.

A man who was doing a one-finger handstand push-up was Sir Thalos. ”Are you ready to go?” He asked as he continued training.

”Yes,” Lucen replied.

Thalos lowered himself from his one-finger handstand with an effortless twist, landing upright as if gravity itself obeyed him. He dusted his palms together, eyeing Lucen’s group with faint amusement.

”Good, then let us set off immediately.”

Daniel groaned. ”Can’t we just not go? I could be back home taking a nap instead of freezing out here.”

None of them bothered to even listen to Daniel’s complaining, as they were already used to it.

”Big Brother, I know you’ll win,” Cael spoke with certainty in his voice.

Lucen crouched a little, resting a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

”Of course, victory is always by my side,” Lucen responded with confidence. Cael nodded once. There was not a single thought of his Big Brother ever losing; he could not even imagine it.

When Lucen rose, his gaze met his Father’s. Vardon’s expression remained composed, yet something subtle had changed, an almost imperceptible weight in his stare, like a silent promise he wouldn’t say aloud.

”Don’t let your guard down.”

Lucen simply nodded his head in response. He then mounted his horse. ”Everyone, mount up. We move.”

Harlik immediately began organizing the group, his voice steady and calm. Thrall’s grin widened as he leapt onto his horse.

Milos fumbled with the buttons of his coat, his fingers trembling, not from the cold, but from excitement he couldn’t quite suppress.

He had never left the North before, never seen the capital city of the kingdom he was in. He wanted to see if Caelhart was as beautiful as the stories say.

Daniel dragged himself up last, still complaining. He had no motivation to go on this journey, but he was given no choice in the matter.

Thalos climbed onto his horse with the same fluid grace he showed in combat. His armor gleamed faintly under the morning light.

The cold northern wind swept across the courtyard, carrying with it the scent of snow and iron.

Lucen took one last glance at his family, at Vardon’s unbending figure, at Cael’s determined eyes, at Vahn’s quiet nod of respect.

The heavy gates of Ironhold groaned open, their sound echoing through the stone walls like the toll of a bell. The banners of Thornefang fluttered against the wind.

The caravan moved toward Caelhart, the capital that gleamed far beyond the northern horizon.

Smoke rose from the fortress chimneys behind them, fading into the white sky until it was swallowed by distance.

The Royal Academy Tournament awaited, a gathering of the Norvaegard’s finest of the younger generation. Even knowing what awaited him, Lucen felt certain of victory, especially when he looked at his Status Window.

[STATUS WINDOW]

Name: Lucen Thornehart

Age: 14

Class: Gun Mage

Level: 16

Health: 1915 / 1915

Mana: 460 / 460

Aura: Awakened (1st Mantle)

Mana Core: Second Circle

SKILLS

+ Bullet Creation – Active (Intermediate)

+ Gun Creation – Active (Intermediate)

+ Gun Knowledge – Passive (Intermediate)

+ Marksmanship – Passive (Intermediate)

+ Gun Kata – Passive (Intermediate)

+ Alchemy – Passive (Intermediate)

+ Battle Instinct – Passive (Intermediate)

+ Regeneration – Passive (Novice)

+ Flame Resistance – Passive (Intermediate)

+ Poison Resistance – Passive (Intermediate)

+ RELEASE – Active (Novice)

+ Ricochet – Active (Intermediate)

+ Blacksmithing – Passive (Intermediate)

+ Ice Resistance – Passive (Intermediate)

+ Elemental Bullet – Active (Intermediate)

+ Killing Zone – Passive (Novice)

+ Woodworking – Passive (Intermediate)

TRAITS

• Thornehart Lineage (Dormant)

• Foreign Soul (Unique)

+ Training Adept (Rare)

+ Grit (Normal)

+ Acting Adept (Rare)

+ Dragonkiller’s Resolve (Epic)

+ To the One Who Had Been Given To (Legendary)

BLESSINGS

+ Unyielding

It was completely different from the first time he had looked at it, when he first regained his past life’s memories. With his current level and skills, he was confident that victory was truly within his grasp.