Chapter 10: Shadows of the Past

Chapter 10: Shadows of the Past**

The dawn had yet to break fully, but Leonhardt was already awake, his senses attuned to the quiet hum of magic in the air. The early hours were his favorite time for training—before the world awoke, before anyone could see the intensity of his dedication. The grand halls of Everhart Castle still echoed with silence, broken only by the distant call of morning birds. It was a rare moment of peace for the young heir.

Clad in his usual training tunic, his face was a mask of cold determination. He walked silently down the corridor, his footsteps muffled against the marble floor. His father, the Grand Duke, had left for a diplomatic meeting, leaving him to his own devices for the day. Leonhardt had no intention of spending it idly.

His path led him to a small, secluded courtyard behind the castle, hidden from the eyes of the castle's busy staff. It was here that he trained in secrecy, where the magic and swordsmanship he practiced went beyond what his family knew. His hands, strong yet graceful, wrapped around the hilt of his sword, the metal cool and familiar beneath his fingers. This was not the weapon of a child; it was a blade that had seen countless battles, albeit never in his own hands until now.

The sword's weight was something Leonhardt had long since become accustomed to. Every time he held it, he felt as though he was reaching back into time, as though this weapon had been wielded by another—a warrior he once was. This was no ordinary blade. It was imbued with ancient magic, the same magic that now ran through his veins.

He began with basic strikes, testing his form, the familiar rhythm of his swordplay almost automatic at this point. His movements were fluid, practiced, a dance of lethal precision. Yet even in the solitude of his training, there was a sense of unease in the air. The magic, the very essence of his existence, was pulsing, thrumming at the edges of his awareness.

It was subtle at first, like the faintest shift in the wind, but it was enough to make his instincts flare. He froze mid-strike, his sharp eyes scanning the courtyard. Nothing. There was no sound except the rustle of the wind through the trees and the faint chirp of birds in the distance.

His breath slowed, his body still, but his mind was alert.

"You're getting better."

The voice came from behind him, soft but commanding. Leonhardt didn't flinch, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. He didn't need to turn around. The voice was one he recognized instantly.

"Mother," he said, his tone colder than it should have been.

His mother, a woman who had given birth to him but never once allowed him the luxury of being a child, stepped from the shadows. Her presence was unmistakable—a powerful aura that felt like the very essence of magic itself. She was the strongest magician in the world, the only 9th-class magician. The head of the Magic Tower. And, as always, her gaze was keenly observant.

"Are you truly just practicing, Leonhardt?" Her voice was low but piercing, as though she could see through the facade he wore. "Or are you still trying to reach the depths of that magic of yours?"

Leonhardt's jaw clenched at her words, but he did not answer. His mother always knew, always understood. She saw through his every attempt to hide his secret. And yet, she said nothing about it. Perhaps, in some twisted way, she approved of his relentless pursuit. She had never asked about his strange obsession, and for that, Leonhardt was both grateful and wary.

"I'm not training for anyone's approval," he finally said, his voice sharp.

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips, though it was not one of warmth. It was the smile of someone who knew their child too well, someone who had watched their every move for years and understood what lay beneath the surface.

"I know," she said softly. "And I don't ask you to be anything other than what you are. Just don't let your obsession blind you to what's around you. You're not alone in this world, Leonhardt. Never forget that."

He met her gaze, the coldness in his eyes momentarily wavering. He didn't want to hear those words, not when they were spoken in such a way. They felt too much like a warning. A threat. But he said nothing. Instead, he merely nodded.

"I won't," he said quietly, though even to his own ears, the words felt hollow. They meant nothing. They were just words.

His mother didn't press him further. She simply stood there, watching him, her sharp eyes never leaving him. Her presence was both comforting and unsettling, like the calm before a storm. She was a pillar of strength, an embodiment of power that no one dared challenge. And Leonhardt, even in his desire to break free from his past, knew that he would always be a reflection of her in some way.

After a long moment, his mother turned to leave, her silken robes brushing against the stone floor with each step. "Remember, Leonhardt," she called over her shoulder, "there are things in this world more dangerous than magic and steel. Be careful what you seek."

The words echoed in his mind long after she had disappeared into the shadows. Leonhardt stood motionless for a while, his sword still gripped in his hand, his eyes distant. He had no intention of stopping his pursuit. No, he couldn't stop—not now. He had come too far. But somewhere deep within him, a flicker of doubt burned bright. What exactly was he risking?

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Later that day, as the sun dipped low in the sky, Leonhardt found himself alone in his study, surrounded by ancient texts and forbidden scrolls. This was his sanctuary—the place where he could lose himself in the pursuit of knowledge and power without the burden of others' expectations. The only sound was the quiet crackling of the fire in the hearth.

He spread out a map of ancient ruins across the table, his fingers brushing over the faded parchment. This was his latest obsession—locations rumored to contain ancient magic, relics of a time long past. It was here, in the forgotten corners of the world, that Leonhardt believed he could find what he was searching for. The key to breaking the seal.

His gaze hardened as he traced the route with his fingers, determination radiating from him. There were dangers, yes, but he had never feared danger. He had never feared anything.

And in that moment, Leonhardt Valerian Everhart made a silent vow.

No matter the cost, he would break the seal. He would find the power he needed. And nothing—no one—would stop him.

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