S: Transton Village

The night had settled over the village, its quiet streets illuminated only by the pale glow of the moon. Most of the villagers were inside their homes, either gathered around modest meals or already resting for the night. The air carried the distant scent of cooked meat and freshly baked bread, blending with the faint crackling of torches lining the village paths.

Inside the largest house—a two-story structure standing at the village's center—a family of four sat around a finely crafted wooden dining table, sharing their evening meal. The flickering candlelight danced across the polished surfaces of the room, casting soft shadows on the walls.

At one side of the table sat a young boy, his black hair neatly combed but slightly ruffled from his usual restless energy. His imperial-styled clothing, adorned with golden embroidery, gave him a noble presence despite his youth. Sarion Transton grinned as he took a bite of his meal, then closed his eyes in pure enjoyment, savoring the taste. It was a deliberate gesture, an exaggerated show of appreciation meant to signal to his parents that tonight's dinner was truly something special.

Sarion's mother smiled at his little performance, clearly amused by his attempt to signal his approval. However, her attention quickly shifted to the other side of the table, where his younger sister was too busy stuffing her face full of food to care about appearances.

With a sigh, their mother turned to her and spoke in a firm yet gentle tone. "You should behave as a lady of the House of Transton, dear. Eat properly, not like a little beast."

The five-year-old barely acknowledged the words, still chewing with her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

Their father, watching the exchange, merely chuckled. "Leave her be," he said, leaning back slightly. "She's still young. Let her enjoy her meal."

His wife frowned at him. "That's exactly why she should start learning now."

He ignored her argument, instead turning his attention to Sarion. "You, on the other hand, seem unusually pleased with dinner tonight." His eyes studied his son with curiosity. "It's not often you show such enthusiasm unless we've got something truly special on the table. And as good as tonight's meal is, it's nothing out of the ordinary. So, tell me, what's got you in such a good mood?"

Sarion gave a slight nod, a proud grin forming on his face. "I helped with tonight's dinner," he declared confidently. "And that, of course, means it's fantastic! I mean, I helped make it, right?"

His father raised an eyebrow, clearly astonished by the revelation. He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully before setting his utensils down. "Hmm… tastes just like usual," he mused before turning back to his son. "But still, for a first-time effort, that's quite impressive. Perhaps you have a talent for cooking, Sarion."

Hearing this, the young boy beamed with pride, his chest puffing out as he basked in the compliment. "Of course I do! Maybe I should start helping in the kitchen more often. Who knows? I might even become the best cook in the entire kingdom!"

His father laughed at that, a deep, amused chuckle escaping him. "The best cook in the entire kingdom, huh? That's quite the goal."

Sarion, still grinning, nodded eagerly. "Yeah! If I keep helping, I'll get even better. Maybe one day, people will come from all over just to eat my food!" His excitement was clear, his imagination running wild as he spoke.

His mother, watching the exchange, let out a small sigh but smiled nonetheless. "Cooking is a useful skill, but don't go neglecting your studies just because of a little praise."

Sarion huffed, crossing his arms. "I won't! But cooking is important too."

His father chuckled again, ruffling the boy's hair. "Well, I'll be looking forward to your next masterpiece then."

Sarion's little sister, Lilia Transton, sat across from him, dressed in an elegant lilac gown adorned with delicate silver embroidery. The dress had small puffed sleeves and a lace-trimmed collar, perfectly suited for a noble girl of her age. Her soft purple hair was neatly brushed and tied with a matching ribbon, completing the look of an innocent, well-mannered young lady—though at the moment, her expression was anything but sweet.

She pouted, her cheeks puffing slightly in irritation as she watched Sarion bask in their father's praise. It wasn't fair! Why was he getting all the attention?

Slowly, her narrowed eyes locked onto him.

Sarion felt the weight of her gaze and turned just in time to see the sharp glint in her eyes. His confidence wavered, his proud expression faltering as an unspoken message passed between them.

Don't you dare.

Lilia smirked. She ignored his silent plea, turned to their father, and opened her mouth.

"He's lying."

Sarion stiffened.

"He didn't do anything," she continued with a triumphant huff. "He just watched and even interrupted Clark when he was working!"

Sarion paled, his shoulders shrinking as he stared at her in pure betrayal. Meanwhile, their father raised an eyebrow, glancing back at him with newfound amusement.

Sarion's mouth opened and closed like a fish caught out of water. "Wha—Lilia!" he sputtered, shooting her a look of sheer betrayal.

Their father turned to him, amused. "Is that true, Sarion?"

The boy fidgeted in his seat, his confidence from earlier crumbling under his sister's smug gaze. "W-Well… I did help…" he muttered, poking at his food with his fork.

Lilia huffed, crossing her arms. "You just stood there and got in the way! Clark was actually cooking, but you kept talking about how the food should taste and messing with the ingredients!"

Sarion pouted, his cheeks puffing slightly in defiance. "That's helping!" he insisted. "I gave advice! That's important too!"

Their father chuckled, shaking his head. "So, what you're saying is… you may have exaggerated your role just a little?"

Sarion shrank slightly, avoiding eye contact. "M-Maybe…"

Lilia smirked victoriously, but before she could gloat further, their mother spoke up. "Well, at least you were in the kitchen, even if your 'help' was mostly talking," she said, giving him a pointed look. "But next time, if you truly want to help, you should actually listen to the chef instead of getting in the way."

Sarion slumped back in his seat, grumbling under his breath. Meanwhile, Lilia took a satisfied bite of her food, her expression smug as she chewed.

Their father watched as Sarion's earlier excitement faded, replaced by a sulky pout as he picked at his food. A tiny flicker of guilt settled in his chest. He hadn't meant to deflate the boy's enthusiasm completely.

Clearing his throat, he leaned back slightly and spoke in a warm, steady voice. "How about I tell you a story like usual?"

Sarion's head snapped up, his eyes lighting up instantly. "Really? You mean it?"

His father chuckled. "Of course. Would I ever break our tradition?"

Sarion shook his head vigorously, his earlier disappointment forgotten in an instant. Storytime was his favorite part of the day. Because his father ruled over the village, he was often busy from morning until night, caught up in matters of governance and ensuring the well-being of the people. The only times he truly spent with them were at meals—breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

But after dinner? That was special. His father always ate slowly, stretching the time as much as he could, talking with them, playing with them, making sure they never felt ignored or forgotten.

For Sarion, these moments meant everything.

Lilia, though still smug about exposing his exaggeration, perked up as well, eager to hear what kind of tale their father would weave tonight.

Their father glanced at Lilia, knowing full well that she didn't care much for real stories—she much preferred fairy tales filled with Arts, princesses, and heroic knights. But tonight, he hadn't offered to tell a story for her sake. He had done it for Sarion, to bring back the joy that had faded from his son's face.

So, he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table, and smiled. "Tonight, I'll tell you the story of your favorite battle… The Three Against One Duel."

Sarion's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Really? That one?!" He almost bounced in his seat, his previous sulking completely wiped away.

His father chuckled at his reaction. "Of course. You never seem to tire of it."

Lilia, however, groaned dramatically, slumping against the table. "Ugh, that one again?" she complained. "Why can't we have a nice story with a princess and a castle?"

"Because," Sarion shot back, grinning, "this one is way better."

Their father chuckled, shaking his head at their usual back-and-forth. Then, in a deep, steady voice, he began, "This duel took place during the Monster War."

Sarion's eyes widened, and he gripped the edge of the table, his excitement barely contained.

"The war happened a few years back," his father continued, "a time of chaos, when the greatest warriors and Arts Users clashed against monstrous foes. I, however, did not join the war."

Sarion already knew this part, but that didn't make it any less thrilling to hear. He bit his lip, holding back the urge to interrupt. He knew exactly where this was going. He wanted to jump ahead, to blurt out the next part himself—but no, what he enjoyed more than the story itself was hearing his father tell it.

His father leaned back slightly. "At the time, there were... complications within our family. A struggle over who would inherit leadership of the Transton household. Because of that, I stayed here. But my older brother—your uncle—he did join the war."

Sarion nodded rapidly, nearly bouncing in his seat. His fists clenched in excitement, his whole body tense with anticipation. His uncle wasn't just in the war—he had seen the Three Against One Duel firsthand. His father was about to get to that part.

Still, Sarion kept his mouth shut, pressing his lips together to stop himself from cutting in. He wanted to yell, I know! I know! But he didn't. He waited.

Their father's voice took on a more serious tone as he continued, "At the time, the Monster and Half-Animal Kingdoms rebelled. Their forces rose in defiance, threatening to overturn the balance of power. In response, the Kingdom of Al-Bark and our own, Decartium, had no choice but to set aside their differences and join hands to fight back."

Sarion's eyes gleamed as he listened, his small hands gripping his chair.

"The Monster War was not a brief conflict," his father went on. "For an entire year, the continent itself trembled. Battles raged on all fronts—armies clashed, cities burned, and heroes were forged in the fires of war."

Sarion swallowed hard. He had heard of these battles before, of warriors and Arts Users who stood against impossible odds.

"But one of the most important battles of all," his father said, his voice deepening, "was this one."

Sarion's breath caught in his throat.

"The reason?" His father leaned forward slightly. "Because this was the battle when our kingdom's strongest warrior became a legend—a name forever etched into the history of the continent."

Sarion barely blinked, his entire being focused on the next words.

"The warrior known as the King's Power..." His father paused for a moment, as if savoring the weight of the name.

Then, in a voice filled with respect, he spoke it:

"Klay Ronzborn."

Lilia, who had been only half-listening, let out a small huff. She wasn't particularly interested in wars or famous warriors—those kinds of stories always had too much fighting and not enough Arts, or princesses. Still, she stayed quiet, absently poking at her food with her fork, knowing that this was Sarion's favorite part of the night.

Their mother, on the other hand, listened with mild interest, though she had heard this tale many times before.

While she didn't mind historical accounts, she much preferred stories with deeper intrigue—ones about noble politics, betrayals, and the rise and fall of great houses. However, seeing the way Sarion's eyes sparkled with excitement, she simply smiled softly and let her husband continue.

She recalled a tea party she had attended not long ago, bringing Sarion along with her. The gathering had been hosted by one of her close friends, and as noble ladies often did, they chatted about their families and children's futures.

When the conversation turned to Sarion, one of the women had gently asked him, "And what will you become when you grow up, young lord?"

Without hesitation, Sarion had straightened his back and declared with full confidence, "I'll surpass the King's Power!"

For a moment, there had been silence—before the ladies all chuckled, exchanging amused glances as they praised him for being adorable. Their laughter, however, had made Sarion's expression twist in frustration. It was clear he hadn't been joking, and their dismissive reaction had only served to annoy him.

Even now, remembering how seriously he had meant those words, his mother's smile deepened as she glanced at her son.

Their father leaned forward slightly, his voice steady and deliberate as he continued the tale.

"The battlefield was set—on one side stood the warriors of Decartium, and on the other, the forces of the Half-Animal Kingdom. This fight wasn't just another skirmish; it was a struggle for control over a key village. But our forces were at a disadvantage. The Half-Animals had greater numbers, and their warriors were strong. Victory seemed out of reach."

Sarion straightened in his chair, his breath hitching with anticipation. He already knew what came next, but that didn't stop the excitement from bubbling up inside him.

"To avoid unnecessary bloodshed," his father continued, "The Half-Animals proposed a duel. Instead of a full-scale battle, they suggested that each side send out their strongest warrior. The outcome would decide the fate of the village."

Sarion could barely contain himself. His fingers twitched against the table as he leaned in, eyes locked onto his father.

"The Decartians agreed," their father said, his tone dropping to a near whisper, drawing them in further. "After all, we may not have had the numbers… but true strength isn't measured by how many stand on your side."

Their father's voice carried the weight of the moment as he continued,

"The Decartians chose Klay as their champion. At the time, he was a Rank 5 swordsman—not yet the legend we know today, but already a warrior whose name carried weight. Even back then, his skill was undeniable, and the Half-Animals knew it."

Sarion's hands clenched into small fists, his excitement barely contained as he listened.

"The Half-Animals understood they couldn't match him in a fair duel. Not one-on-one. So they proposed a change to the terms—a three-on-one battle. Their strongest warriors against Klay alone."

Sarion's face scrunched up in frustration, his small hands tightening into fists. "That's not fair!" he burst out. "Three against one? How could they even suggest that?"

His father gave a firm nod, his expression serious. "Exactly. It was a clear attempt to tilt the odds in their favor."

Even Lilia, who had barely been paying attention, frowned at the thought. "That does sound unfair," she admitted, though her interest in the story still wasn't as deep as her brother's.

Their father continued, his voice unwavering.

"Just like you feel now, the Decartians thought it was unfair. But the Half-Animals didn't care. They made their stance clear—either accept the duel or prepare for full-scale battle, where many would die. There was no real choice. The humans turned to Klay, expecting him to protest. But instead, he only smiled and said, 'Leave it to me.'"

Sarion clenched his fists, barely able to contain his excitement. His father's stories always made him feel like he was right there in the moment.

"His opponents were chosen—three warriors, all Rank 5 like him. None were Arts Users, just warriors, but their names alone carried great weight on the battlefield."

Their father leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to build anticipation.

"Their champions were the Lion King, the Monkey Staff, and the Silent Wolf."

Even Lilia, who had barely been listening, perked up at the mention of such renowned figures.

"The battle was tough on Klay. He was up against three warriors, all of them strong, all of them aiming to take him down. But Klay wasn't just any swordsman—he had developed something entirely new, a style of swordsmanship no one had ever seen before. The Raging Fire Style."

Sarion sat up straight, eyes shining with excitement. He knew a little about it, but hearing his father say the name sent a thrill through him.

"With this style, the fight turned in Klay's favor. He gained the upper hand, pushing back his foes one by one. Soon, he had the Lion King at his mercy, his sword ready to finish the battle for good."

Sarion held his breath. He already knew what happened, but that didn't make the moment any less thrilling.

"But before he could land the final strike," his father continued, "the Half-Animals screamed for him to stop. They chose to surrender the village—on one condition."

His father glanced between Sarion and Lilia.

"In return for their surrender, Klay was not to kill any of the three warriors."

Lilia tilted her head, confused. "But wasn't that against the rules? Weren't duels like this supposed to be to the death?"

Her father nodded. "Yes. It was frowned upon to interfere once a duel had begun. But the Half-Animals had made their decision, and the Decartians saw no reason to refuse. After all, they had already won. So, they accepted the surrender. And just like that, they took control of the village—without a single drop of blood falling to the ground."

Sarion grinned. "Not even Klay's?"

His father smirked. "Not even his. Just a few bruises, but no blood."

Their father's voice carried a sense of finality as he continued, "After this battle, Klay was given the highest honor a knight of Decartium could receive—he was bestowed the legendary sword of Aron the Knight."

Sarion's eyes widened in awe. Even Lilia, though uninterested in wars and battles, recognized the weight of the name.

"Aron the Knight," their father repeated, his tone filled with reverence. "One of the founders of our kingdom, four hundred years ago. His sword has only been passed down to those deemed worthy."

Sarion could barely contain himself, shifting where he sat, his hands clenched into fists. "That means—"

"That means Klay was recognized as the strongest warrior of our kingdom," his father corrected, shaking his head slightly. "But he was not like Aron in that regard."

Lilia, despite her usual disinterest, looked thoughtful.

Then, as if unable to stop himself, Sarion asked the question he already knew the answer to. "Are we… really connected to Aron?"

His father smiled and nodded. "Yes, we are."

He leaned back slightly, his voice calm yet firm as he continued, "The true descendants of Aron are the Ankstons. Their bloodline directly traces back to him. But we, the Transtons, are a branch family linked to Aron as well."

Sarion listened intently, hanging onto every word.

"In a way," his father went on, "we may not be pureblooded like the Ankstons, but his blood still runs through our veins. Our lineage carries his legacy, even if it's not as direct."

Sarion, filled with excitement, immediately tried to ask more questions. "Then—what about Klay? Did he ever meet the Ankstons? And Aron—was he stronger than the Vampire King? How did warriors back then compare to now?" His words spilled out one after another, barely giving his father a chance to answer.

Meanwhile, Lilia had lost interest in the conversation. She resumed stuffing her face with what remained of her meal, much to their mother's dismay. "Lilia," she sighed, reaching over to adjust the girl's posture. "Eat properly. A lady does not—"

"Mhm-mhm," Lilia mumbled through a mouthful of food, barely acknowledging the correction.

Their father, watching the two, leaned back in his chair, his expression turning thoughtful. His gaze lingered on Sarion for a moment before shifting toward the window. "Warriors like Klay had something that set them apart," he mused, his voice quieter now. "Instincts—sharpened through battle and experience. Letting them sense danger before it arrives."

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, his expression unreadable.

Their father suddenly stood up, the movement drawing the attention of the entire family. His wife opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but he raised a finger, silencing her before a single word could leave her lips. She hesitated, then nodded, understanding that something serious was happening.

Lilia, oblivious to the weight of the moment, simply watched, her curiosity piqued but saying nothing.

Sarion, however, felt a flicker of unease. He had never seen his father look this serious before.

Without a word, their father strode toward the yellowy curtains, gripping the fabric as he peeked through.

Then—he froze.

His body went stiff, unmoving.

From where they sat, his family couldn't see his expression, but the tension in the air grew unbearable. Even without understanding what he was seeing, they could all feel it.

Something was very, very wrong.

A sudden knock on the door shattered the heavy silence.

Sarion's heart pounded in reaction, his breath catching in his throat. His mother and sister turned toward the entrance, but his father remained still, his fingers still gripping the curtain.

The door creaked open.

Their chief of guards stepped inside, his expression grim as he excused himself. He barely had time to open his mouth before their father spoke first.

"I never thought they would come here," he said, his voice low, almost disbelieving. He finally turned away from the window, his face unreadable. "I heard about them attacking villages left and right… but just like everyone else, I never imagined I'd see the day they came for mine."

A cold chill settled over the room.

The chief of guards remained silent, as if waiting for his lord to finish the thought.

Then, their father finally said the words.

"The Black Tower is here."

—End of Chapter.