Chapter 16: The Severance of Ties
It had been a year and three months since Diana awakened her Ice Vein. Now, in the first month of the new year—on the 27th day—Lucen's seventh birthday had arrived. His parents had arranged a small celebration in his honor, a day intended to bridge the silent chasm that had grown over the years. It was the first time in six years that Lucen and his father, Malzareth, would stand face-to-face—a meeting long overdue and burdened with unspoken truths.
The conspicuous absence of the Elder Council did not escape notice. Cristiyana, Lucen's mother, felt a prickle of unease at their omission, yet Lucen himself was quietly relieved. The absence of those meddlesome elders removed a significant obstacle from the confrontation he had meticulously prepared.
In the intervening years, Lucen's Black Moon Group had grown exponentially in power and influence. Bound by blood contracts, its members—comprised of enslaved elves, beastmen, vampires, and even a transcendent demon—remained unyieldingly loyal. Elves mastered the Plum Blossom Sword Style of Mount Hua; beastmen perfected the Rising Dragon Style of the Namgon family; vampires wielded the Heavenly Demon Sword Style. Armed with secrets from Murim and his Origin View system, Lucen forged the Black Moon into an unstoppable force: 200 warriors strong, boasting 80 third-realm sword masters, 5 grandmasters of the fourth realm, and one transcendent master leading them.
Yet, Lucen's deepest bitterness lay closer to home. He uncovered a devastating truth: his father had known the identity of the traitor who sealed Lucen's Dragon Heart—Uncle Hans, commander of the Vermithorn Family Black Dragon Army and youngest son of the 1st Elder—yet had chosen silence. Malzareth had placed the Vermithorn family's interests above those of his wife and newborn son, a betrayal Lucen would no longer tolerate.
When the time came for the ceremonial exchange of gifts, the party's atmosphere shifted to superficial gaiety. Cristiyana, radiant with maternal devotion, knelt before Lucen.
"Happy birthday, my little prince," she said warmly. "What gift would you like from your mother? I will grant any request—this is my promise."
Lucen met her gaze, voice cold and clear as winter ice.
"I have been waiting for you to say those words, Mother," he replied. "What I want is to leave this family and this land—and never return."
The hall fell into stunned silence. Murmurs rippled through the crowd like an icy wind. How much pain must a child endure to say such a thing? some whispered in disbelief.
Cristiyana's eyes widened in concern. "Lucen… what are you saying? Has someone threatened you?"
Lucen's eyes hardened as he lifted a trembling hand, pointing directly at his father.
"He does not love you or me," Lucen declared with unwavering conviction. "He chose Uncle Hans over us."
Cristiyana recoiled, voice barely a whisper. "What… what are you saying, Lucen?"
Malzareth's face paled. "Lucen, come here," he said, panic breaking through his measured facade. "What nonsense are you speaking?"
But Lucen would not relent.
"I know the truth, Father. I know you knew Uncle Hans sealed my Dragon Heart. That is why Mother was banished to that forsaken place—and you did nothing."
Cristiyana turned to Malzareth, eyes brimming with betrayal. "Malzareth… is it true?"
Malzareth's voice faltered. "Wait, Cris, I can explain—"
She shook her head, resolute. "I do not need your explanations. You have had seven years to speak the truth."
Gathering Lucen in her arms, she strode toward the grand hall's door. There, waiting like a bulwark of indomitable strength, stood her father—Malcnoh re Rebeka, Grand Martial King of the South and one of the five transcendent humans of the Fifth Realm. His presence alone bent the very air around him.
Malcnoh's aura surged—red and regal—pressing down on the garden like a mountain. His voice crackled with restrained fury.
"Malzareth," he said, each word a blade of judgment, "how dare you treat my daughter so callously? Did you forget the pitiful way you groveled for her hand in marriage? And now… ha! Cristiyana, do you wish to return home with me?"
Cristiyana's face tightened with resolve. "I do, Father. I will raise my child by my own hand. From this day forward, Lucen shall bear my name."
Malcnoh's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Excellent." His gaze swept the silent hall, daring any to challenge his decree. "Henceforth, I proclaim Lucen re Rebeka as Crown Prince of the Rebeka Empire. Any who lay a hand on him will face immediate execution."
His words fell like thunder, silencing even the boldest whispers.
Malcnoh extended a hand to his grandson. "Come, Lucen. Let us depart."
But Lucen stood firm, young features resolute.
"Wait, Grandfather," he said, voice unwavering. "Are you truly certain you can keep me safe until adulthood?"
Malcnoh's laughter rumbled, aura reasserting like a tidal wave.
"Of course I can, Lucen."
A steely glint entered Lucen's eyes.
"Then there is something I must do to sever these ties for good."
He stepped forward, mind a whirl of focus and fury.
System, extract the curse and unseal my Dragon Heart.
Acknowledged, the system responded.
Lucen seized a sword from a Rebeka Empire soldier, its steel hilt cold and resolute in his grasp. Power surged as his Dragon Heart's mana flooded the blade, overwhelming the constraints of his young body. Notifications flashed across his vision, but he ignored them—his purpose clear.
He invoked the culmination of his secret training: the Heavenly Moon Dragon Sword Style—a fusion of the Vermithorn family's dragon-form style and the esoteric Heavenly Moon Style. His voice cut through the tense air:
"Heavenly Moon Dragon First Style: Dragon-Creating Moon!"
A blazing red-and-black aura erupted from the blade, weaving an illusion of a coiling dragon and a cold, distant moon—locked in eternal collision. The sheer brilliance left even seasoned warriors breathless. Sword images were said to be the domain of only the Fourth Realm—an impossibility for a child of seven.
(Lucen's thoughts: What is happening now...)
Malzareth's face twisted in disbelief.
"You… you can wield sword aura? And that's—your Dragon Heart's resonance! How is this possible?"
Lucen's voice was quiet but final.
"You never truly knew me at all."
Malcnoh's laughter rumbled again—fierce and proud.
"My grandson is a prodigy—no, a genius without equal! He has shattered the record of the Great Vermithorn, set a millennium ago, by a three-year gap...!"
Turning to Malzareth with cold indifference, Malcnoh spoke his final words.
"I will take my daughter and grandson. Do as you will, Malzareth."
With that, Lucen's seventh birthday concluded—not in celebration, but exodus. As the doors of the Vermithorn estate closed behind him, Lucen's mind raced ahead—toward a new land, a new name, and the inexorable rise of a legacy that would not be denied.