Unveiling Shadows

The dust motes in the library seemed to mock Liam's fruitless search. Hours yielded nothing on the black dragon, nor the source of his regression, nor even a whisper of "Dragonheart Vigor." It was as if these monumental events in his life were ghosts, invisible to the annals of history.

Frustration gnawed at him, but it was a cold, familiar ember now, not the raging fire of his past. He had faced worse odds. He would adapt.

He closed the last heavy tome, the scent of ancient parchment clinging to him. "If the past won't give me answers," he muttered, "then I'll forge them in the future."

Back in the quiet solitude of his chambers, Liam focused on the shimmering Status Window. The ten remaining stat points pulsed invitingly. His previous life had taught him the brutal efficiency of a well-rounded warrior, but also the devastating impact of specialized power.

Strength is vital for cleaving through armor, but Agility… Agility keeps you alive to land those blows. And Mana… Dragonheart Vigor is a hungry beast.

He allocated his points with deliberate precision:

+3 to Agility (Total 8): To dodge what he couldn't block, to move like the wind he once envied.

+3 to Strength (Total 12): To ensure his strikes had meaning, even with a common sword.

+4 to Mana (Total 201): Fuel for the dragon's heart. Every point was an investment in raw power.

A faint warmth spread through him as the changes took effect, a subtle hum of readiness.

The next morning, the training yard felt different. The air was still crisp, the scent of sawdust familiar, but Liam moved with a newfound fluidity. Sir Lucas watched, arms crossed, his hazel eyes narrowed to slits.

Liam's warm-up was no longer the labored effort of a novice. His stretches were deeper, his movements more economical. When he picked up the practice sword, it felt like an extension of his arm, not a burdensome weight.

"Vertical slashes. One hundred," Lucas commanded, his voice flat.

Liam began. But these were not the slashes of yesterday. There was a snap to his wrist, a coiled power in his stance that translated into faster, more precise cuts. He incorporated subtle footwork, shifting his weight, his body a flowing unit. These were techniques Lucas hadn't taught, techniques a fifteen-year-old shouldn't know.

After fifty slashes, Lucas held up a hand. "Enough of that. Show me the 'Falling Leaf' parry."

Liam blinked. The Falling Leaf was an intermediate defensive maneuver, meant to deflect a downward strike and create an opening. He hadn't been taught it in this life.

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Or has your newfound enthusiasm addled your memory of lessons you've supposedly yet to have?" Lucas's voice was laced with steel.

Liam met the knight's gaze. The old warrior wasn't just suspicious; he was testing, probing. To deny knowledge would be an obvious lie given his recent performance. To perform it perfectly would confirm Lucas's unvoiced accusations.

He took a breath. "As you wish, Sir Lucas."

He adopted the stance, sword held ready. Lucas moved with surprising speed for a man his age, his practice sword whistling down in a powerful arc. Liam's body reacted on instinct honed over a lifetime of battle. He didn't just execute the Falling Leaf; he refined it, a slight angling of the blade, a quicker counter-step that not only deflected but left Lucas momentarily overextended.

The practice swords clacked. Silence descended, broken only by their ragged breaths.

Lucas stared, not at Liam's sword, but into his eyes. "Where did you learn that?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

"I… I've been reading, Sir," Liam improvised, his mind racing. "Some old combat manuals from the library. I tried to practice the forms." It was a flimsy excuse, and they both knew it.

Lucas grunted, a sound deep in his chest. He didn't call Liam a liar. "Reading is one thing. Execution is another. Your 'reading' seems to have granted you the muscle memory of a veteran." He stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Continue with your diagonal slashes. And young lord… be wary of knowledge unearned. It can be a heavier burden than ignorance."

Liam nodded, a chill running down his spine despite the exertion. Lucas knew. He didn't know what, but he knew something profound had changed. The old knight was no fool.

That evening, at dinner, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken thoughts.

Liam, remembering the Vangoria family and the impending betrothal, decided to probe. "Father," he began, choosing his words carefully, "regarding the Vangoria reception… are they a prominent family? What are their strengths?"

Baren paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. He looked at Liam, a flicker of surprise in his steel-gray eyes before it was masked. "They are a respected house from the Southern Reaches. Lord Gareth Vangoria is a shrewd merchant, with significant influence in the coastal cities. Why the sudden interest in political alliances, Liam? Last I recall, you found such matters… tedious."

The subtle barb wasn't lost on Liam. "I merely wish to understand our allies better, Father. If I am to be engaged to Lady Narine, it seems prudent."

Maria smiled softly. "That's a very mature sentiment, dear. Lady Narine is said to be a kind and intelligent young woman. Their lands are fertile, and their trade routes prosperous. An alliance would benefit both our Houses."

"And their security, Father?" Liam pressed. "The journey from the Southern Reaches is long. Are there adequate provisions for their safety?"

Baren's brow furrowed. "Their own guard is capable. And I will, of course, send an honor guard to meet them at our borders. Why these questions about security, Liam? Do you know something I don't?"

Liam felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. He was walking a knife's edge. "No, Father. Just… concerns. The roads can be dangerous."

"Indeed," Baren said, his gaze lingering on Liam for a moment longer before he resumed his meal. "I will instruct Sir Lucas to double the patrol along the Old King's Road a week before their arrival."

Liam hid his relief. It wasn't a guarantee, but it was a start.

Later, as Sarah was tidying his room, Liam observed her. He remembered the 'Empathic Healing (Locked)' skill in her status.

She was replacing a burnt-out candle when the hot wax dripped onto her finger. She hissed, dropping the candle, which thankfully landed on the stone hearth.

"Blast!" she muttered, shaking her hand.

"Are you alright, Sarah?" Liam asked, rising.

"Yes, m'lord, just clumsy," she said, her face flushed. She quickly picked up the candle, her other hand instinctively covering the burn.

Liam watched her closely. There was no outward sign of any special healing, but he noticed something peculiar. The initial grimace of pain on her face faded almost instantly, replaced by a look of… resignation, perhaps? And the redness on her finger, while still present, seemed less inflamed than he would have expected from a fresh burn.

"Let me see," he said gently, stepping closer.

Sarah hesitated, then reluctantly showed him her finger. The burn was there, but it looked more like an old mark than a fresh injury.

"It doesn't seem too bad," Liam commented, his mind racing. Could the skill be passively mitigating pain or minor injuries even while locked? Or is it truly locked, and this is just her natural resilience?

"I'm tougher than I look, my lord," Sarah said with a small, almost forced smile, pulling her hand back. "Comes with the territory, I suppose."

He didn't press further. He couldn't reveal what he knew, or how. But the seed of an idea began to form. If her skill was locked, perhaps it needed a catalyst, a trigger. Or maybe… training? Could a non-combat skill even be trained?

The mystery of Sarah's potential was another thread in the complex tapestry of his new life.

That night, sleep eluded Liam. The Vangoria assassination plot weighed heavily on him. Doubling patrols was a good step, but assassins were cunning. He needed more information, more strength.

He focused on the System, specifically the Dragonheart Vigor skill. The three "???" entries beneath its description had bothered him since he first saw them. He concentrated, willing the System to reveal more.

Slowly, as if deciphering ancient runes, the first "???" began to shimmer and resolve into legible text:

• Dragonheart Refinement (Passive): As Mana is converted, a fraction of the draconic essence refines the user's own life force. Prolonged, controlled use of Dragonheart Vigor can lead to subtle, permanent enhancements to Vitality and Endurance over time. This effect is slow and requires consistent activation.

Liam's eyes widened. Permanent enhancements? This was monumental. Dragonheart Vigor wasn't just a temporary power boost; it was a path to true, lasting growth, beyond what normal training could offer.

A fierce grin spread across his face. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but the System, the Dragonheart, had given him tools.

"Vorian," he whispered into the darkness, his amber eyes glinting with cold fire. "You sought a legacy. I will build mine from the ashes of your betrayal, and it will be a fortress you can never breach."

He now had a new focus for his training: not just mastering swordsmanship, but cultivating the Dragonheart Vigor, pushing its limits, and unlocking its hidden depths. The Vangoria family would be his first true test. And he would not fail.