True Inheritance

Blood burst from Emeric's mouth as he collapsed to the floor with a hollow thud, his body convulsing before falling still. His eyes, once sharp with a mixture of fear and authority, now dulled, glazing over as the last vestiges of life slipped away. 

Above him stood Theon, looming like a shadow, his figure blocking out the harsh overhead lights. Emeric's fingers twitched, grasping at nothing. "Father…" The word bubbled past his lips, thick with blood and regret. "Forgive me. I failed."

His eyes—once bright with conviction, with the weight of a crown he never asked for—now dulled, the fire fading. Yet in those last seconds, his mind raced. But it wasn't his father's face that filled his dying thoughts.

Elara.

Her laughter—bright, reckless, the sound of home—flashed behind his eyelids. The memory of her small hands tugging at his sleeve, her voice pleading, "Tell me the story again, the one where we win." He had sworn to her. Sworn he would return. Sworn this war would not take him too.

A shuddering breath escaped him.

A lie.

It was all a lie.

A sob caught in his ruined lungs. "I can't."

He wanted to scream out, he wanted to fight but he just simply couldn't. All he could do—all he could do was apologise.

"I'm sorry."

Theon watched as Emeric's expression twisted, flashing between rage, sorrow, and—most unsettlingly—gratitude, before settling into a vacant stare, fixed on something beyond this world. The prince's fingers twitched, as if reaching for a hand that wasn't there. The crimson pool beneath him spread slowly, staining the floor a deep, unrelenting red. Emeric's breath came in weak gasps, until finally, there was nothing left. His chest stilled, his grip on life severed.

One last, shuddering breath.

Then—nothing.

No fanfare. No glory. Just a boy who had carried a kingdom on his back, dying alone on cold stone, his last words an apology.

And just like that—

Prince Emeric, the last hope of the Sylvian Empire, had fallen. 

Theon stood over him, silent and unmoved. With calculated efficiency, he cleaned the crystalline daggers of their bloody sheen. Each stroke of the cloth was measured, methodical, with slow, deliberate strokes, he wiped the crystal clean—erasing Emeric's life as easily as the gore staining the metal. 

Once done, he crouched down, stripping the corpse of its regal attire and slipping into the fine garments. They fit well—comfortable, durable, and a significant improvement from his own tattered clothes.

With one final glance at Emeric's lifeless body, the once-proud prince now reduced to a blood-soaked husk on the cold floor, Theon moved towards the treasury. 

The air inside hummed with latent energy, the scent of aged parchment and polished steel thick in the stillness. Techniques of the country adorned the shelves of the bookshelf—guarded secrets of Sylvan, ones they could not afford to sell, even as a last ditch effort, on the chance that the techniques were to land in the hands of the Nyxians. 

His fingers traced the spines of the primary formation manuals. Formation mastery had been one of Sylvan's greatest strengths, and now, with these techniques in hand, Theon could feel the power within his grasp.

Beyond the tomes stood the true prizes: the weapons of Sylvan's cryogenically preserved elites. Each artifact radiated an aura of dominance, their ranks etched into their very essence.

Artifacts followed the path of cultivation itself, their strength measured in Planes and Moon Phases. The lowest tier, Foundational, represented mere physical sharpness—a blade that cuts flesh and nothing more. Next came Resonant, where weapons hummed with their wielder's intent, forging a bond deeper than steel. Unified marked the stage where warrior and weapon moved as one, indistinguishable in battle. Beyond that lay Blasphemous, relics that defied natural law, and finally Ascended, where legends took physical form. Each stage also had two denominations, Low and High. 

Like the moon's eternal cycle, each stage was divided into phases. Null Moon and Crescent Moon signified lower completion, where power was raw and unrefined. Halved Moon was a transitional state, unstable yet potent, while Flowing Moon and Full Moon represented higher mastery—polished skill nearing perfection.

All the weapons that stood before him were High Foundational, Flowing Moon state.

[Lunar Whisper], the Queen's bow, had the properties of firing arrows silently and imbuing them with lunar properties, making them stronger at night. The King's sword [​​Lunarbane Cutlass] and the King's shield [Spectral Ebonward] sat side by side, gleaming with a dangerous tint. Nigel's dual axes did not have official names yet they stood out amongst all of the famed weapons, a certain gravity around them. The head butler's [Guardian's Reach] stood the tallest amongst all weapons, being two heads taller than a person. 

Yet what drew Theon's immediate attention were none of these famed weapons, but instead the two rings that stood at the center of the room, the heirlooms of the Sylvian Empire. 

The first ring was a spatial ring at High Foundational with a maximum capacity of 100 meters cubed! Unlike combat artifacts, spatial rings measured worth in sheer volume rather than moon phases, and this one dwarfed Theon's current storage a hundredfold. Momentarily stunned by the sheer size of this artifact. Theon quickly slid it onto his finger, letting the cold silver graze against his skin. Injecting his Spiritual Lu into the ring Theon watched the interface appear in front of his eyes. 

Inside, the space yawned vast and near-empty. Only two small piles of Lu crystals glimmered in the void: twenty Electric Lu Crystals, crackling with barely contained storms, and twenty Fire Lu Crystals, their cores burning like miniature suns. Their purity was undeniable—these were not the dull, lifeless stones he had seen from the spatial ring from under the throne. 

Accepting the reality of the somewhat lack-luster contents of the spatial ring, Theon placed his focus on the other ring, The Ouroboros ring. 

Crafted with exquisite precision, the ring exuded an aura of mystical power that resonated with the deep currents of time. The material of the Ouroboros ring was a lustrous, silvery alloy with faint traces of iridescence, giving it an otherworldly sheen. The serpent, coiled around his finger, its intricately detailed scales pulsating, gemstone eyes piercing any observers with an uncanny awareness.

The ring looped around Theon's finger with precision, its serpentine form wrapping around his hand so tightly that the ends were separated by mere millimeters. As soon as the ring settled, Theon felt an immediate surge—his basic abilities amplified in an instant. Willing Lu into the ring, he watched as it convulsed, then transformed, melting into a gooey, silver liquid. It spread across his hand like a living thing, slithering up his hand before solidifying once more. When the transformation was complete, Theon's hand was encased in a sleek silver glove, and sharp claws extended from his fingertips.

Each claw, as Theon knew from his research, functioned as a precise instrument, akin to a syringe, capable of intricate Lu manipulation—an invaluable tool for alchemy and formation formation.

According to the database the Ouroboros Ring had three additional abilities. 

First, [Devourer's Path]. The ring absorbed Lu from its surroundings, evolving faster in areas where the energy was denser. But more intriguingly, the Ouroboros Ring could merge with others of its kind. When two Ouroboros Rings came into contact, they would fuse, forming additional loops around the wearer's finger, increasing the ring's power both quantitatively and qualitatively. It was said that no one knew the exact number of Ouroboros Rings scattered across the universe, but each fusion led to exponential growth in the ring's potential. 

Through centuries of wear by the rulers of the Sylvian Empire, this ring had accumulated vast amounts of Lu. Though it began as a simple Low Foundational ranked treasure, over time it had evolved into a High Foundational artifact. Now, its growth was limited only by what its environment could endure, afterall a third planar object could not exist in a second planar world. The moment it entered a third planar environment and could evolve, its strength would skyrocket.

The other abilities were equally impressive.

Second, [Serpentine Nature], granted three specific functions. It rendered all poisons harmless to the wearer, transforming toxins into beneficial substances. Secondly, it created an affinity with snakes, making them friendly and subservient. Lastly, it bestowed the [Serpentine Insight], a subtle ability that warned the user of fatal threats and granted brief moments of foresight.

However, the true value of the Ouroboros Ring lay in its third ability, [Aetheric Mirage Ward]. This defensive mechanism enveloped the wearer in a shimmering, phantom-like shield, reflecting attacks as if they were mere illusions. The ward could block fatal blows from opponents up to nine tiers stronger than the ring itself, making it a near-impervious defense. After activating, the ward would enter a period of hibernation, proportional to the damage it had absorbed.

With the rings equipped and his body already adapting to their enhancements, Theon moved toward the bookshelf that lined the back of the room. He began sorting through its contents, carefully categorizing them: Weapon Techniques, Cultivation Techniques, and Secondary Skills, such as alchemy and formation formation.

Theon started with the cultivation techniques as they were the foundation of everything else he would do. He first read the ones that caught his immediate attention: [Thunderforge Resonance], [Luminal Spark Meditation], [Flame Serpent Dance Technique], [Solar Flare Radiance], [Sylvan Moonlight Connection], [Eternal Twilight Meditation] were to name a few amongst the many. 

Though the only affinity Theon could only guarantee himself to have was lightning and so that's where he started. Theon conducted a rapid assessment, his enhanced cognition parsing the texts with inhuman speed. A revelation struck him like lightning -

All of the cultivation techniques had the same fundamentals. 

Whether it be the philosophy, method or ideal they all focused on the understanding that the fundamental property of electricity was its fluidity and the pristine control required to control it. 

Though this might not seem so strange as fluidity was one of the main two parts of lightning, the fact that there was not a single text focusing on its destructiveness, combined with each technique having a near identical theoretical explanation….it was telling enough. 

As he reached the collection's end, his fingers brushed against an anomaly - a leather-bound notebook so old its title had faded into obscurity. Many pages within the book were incomprehensible, having been long washed by the turbulence of time, yet of what remained made Theon sure, this was the origin of all of the techniques he had seen. 

Curious, Theon decided to utilize the database. 

But as he searched, his fingers hesitated over the keys—the record didn't exist. The book had never been logged, never checked in or out, it was a phantom within the system without any record. A cold realization settled over him: this meant it had last been touched before the database was even created… millions of years ago.

Theon opened the notebook and started reading through it.