Chapter 18: Questioning [1]

The moment the head butler’s announcement echoed across the vaulted dining hall, a subtle shift rippled through the gathered nobility.

The representatives of the vassal families subtly shifted in their seats, exchanging quick, veiled glances.

Among the five direct successors seated around the mahogany table, the reaction was immediate.

Three of his older brothers furrowed their brows, their eyes narrowing with cold, calculating hostility.

One of his elder sisters let a faint, amused smirk touch her lips, while the eldest brother maintained a completely blank, indifferent expression, continuing to cut his roasted lamb as if nothing had occurred.

Craig von Darkstar was the Seventh Young Master—the youngest of the direct bloodline, and the last unofficial candidate in line for the ducal throne.

He sat at the very bottom of the succession ladder, yet no one in House Darkstar was naive enough to dismiss him.

In the brutal politics of the warlord family, any direct successor who reached age fifteen became an immediate threat the moment the Succession War officially commenced.

Tomorrow’s Dragon’s Calling Ceremony was the true starting line.

Craig, along with four teenage prodigies selected from the vassal families, would enter the ancient, volcanic chambers of the Temple of Dragons.

There, they would face trials to awaken their mana cores and attempt to bond with a dragon.

It was an absolute truth across the Western Continent that dragons possessed a purity of mana far superior to standard abominations.

Though classified alongside Abominations due to their terrifying destruction, the mystical Dragon Race was revered as true Children of the Abyss.

Primordial beings whose existence could shatter a weak warrior’s mind or elevate a true prodigy to godhood.

Yet, despite the silent tension brewing among the siblings, not a single noble dared speak aloud.

In the suffocating presence of the Patriarch, absolute decorum was maintained.

Oscar von Darkstar’s sharp, handsome face relaxed slightly.

The terrifying aura of the Sword Demigod softened, and a faint, intrigued smile curled his lips.

"Oh? That child has finally arrived?" Oscar chuckled softly, his deep voice carrying a light, melodic ring.

"Bring him in, Edgar. Let us see how the young lord of Lucerion has grown."

Despite the Patriarch’s light tone, every person in the room understood the lethal reality of the coming dawn.

The Dragon’s Calling Ceremony was no children’s playground.

Any outsider lacking Darkstar blood who dared set foot inside the inner sanctum would be incinerated into ash by the monolithic mystical lizards..

Even within the bloodline, the weak were ruthlessly weeded out.

Over the decades, dozens of unworthy vassal offspring had lost their lives within the dark caverns, while others returned with shattered limbs and ruined cores.

No direct successor of the Darkstar bloodline had ever failed the ritual.

Except for Craig in his past timeline.

In that dark, forgotten life, poisoned by Arya’s insidious tea, Craig had entered the temple with ruined pathways.

He had failed to awaken his core, failed to claim a dragon, and earned the eternal title of the family’s ultimate disgrace—abandoned by his siblings, stripped of his rights, and discarded by his own father.

But this time, the wheel of fate had spun anew.

Head Butler Edgar bowed deeply to the Duke before stepping backward and exiting through the heavy double doors.

A single minute passed in absolute, pin-drop silence.

Then, the mahogany doors swung wide open once more.

Craig stepped into the grand dining hall.

He was dressed in a pristine crimson tunic trimmed with gold silk, his long crimson hair tied loosely behind his back, his golden eyes sweeping across the gathered family with cool, absolute composure.

The moment Craig crossed the threshold, the atmosphere inside the hall shattered.

BZZZZT!

Patriarch Oscar’s golden eyes instantly darkened, his pupils contracting into razor-thin slits.

He wasn’t the only one.

Every elder, every vassal head, and every successor candidate at the long table froze mid-bite, their faces twisting in utter, unadulterated shock.

Craig was not walking in as an unawakened youth awaiting a ritual.

He was radiating a dense, pristine, and unmistakably vibrant stream of pure crimson mana!

The energy thrummed around his body, humming against the air like a live current.

He had awakened his mana core before setting foot inside the Temple of Dragons.

In the century long recorded history of the Darkstarian Ducal Family, such an anomaly had never occurred a single time.

Every single direct bloodline candidate—including the current Patriarch himself—had relied on the volcanic purity of the dragon zones to ignite their mana core.

To awaken independently in a desolate, mana-barren outskirt barony like Lucerion was a feat that defied the fundamental laws of martial cultivation.

"How very... interesting," Oscar murmured, his deep voice dropping an octave as a dark, exhilarating laugh echoed from his chest.

Slowly, the Patriarch stood up from his obsidian throne.

BOOM!

The simple act of Oscar standing caused the structural magic of the fifty-bedroom palace to groan.

A suffocating, crushing wave of Sword Demigod pressure expanded outward, causing the crystal chandeliers to rattle violently and forcing several young vassal members to clutch their chests in agony.

Craig felt the massive, mountain-like weight slam onto his shoulders, but his newly awakened core pulsed, his Divine Draconic Physique naturally absorbing the brunt of the pressure.

He didn’t bend his knees.

He didn’t flinch.

’A Sword Demigod is truly a monster’ Craig smiled.

Craig simply stopped ten paces away, brought his right hand across his chest, and bowed his head with flawless aristocratic grace.

"Greetings, Lord Patriarch," Craig spoke, his voice calm, smooth, and echoing clearly across the frozen hall.

"Your son, Craig von Darkstar, has returned."

Oscar didn’t remain at the head of the table.

In the blink of an eye, bypassing space itself, his tall, imposing frame materialized right beside Craig.

The speed was so absolute that not even the Sword Master elders saw the movement.

Oscar stood beside his seventh son, looking down at the youth with a gaze that seemed to peel back Craig’s skin and read his very soul.

The Patriarch reached out his heavy, gauntleted hand, placing it firmly onto Craig’s shoulder.

The touch was heavy, carrying the weight of a god evaluating a mortal.

Oscar leaned in slightly, his dark golden eyes burning with a terrifying, unreadable light.

"Tell me the absolute truth, child," Oscar whispered, the words vibrating straight into Craig’s mind.

"How exactly did you awaken your core without the Dragon’s Grace?"