Chapter 16: The Severance of Ties

Chapter 16: The Severance of Ties

It had been a year and three months since Diana awakened her Ice Vein, and now, in the first month of the new year—on the 27th day—Lucen's seventh birthday had arrived. His parents had arranged a small celebration in his honor, a day they hoped would heal the silent chasm that had formed over the years. It was the first time in six years that Lucen and his father, Malzareth, would stand face-to-face—a meeting long overdue and burdened with unspoken truths.

The absence of the Elder Council did not go unnoticed. Cristiyana, Lucen's mother, felt a prickle of unease at their conspicuous omission, but Lucen himself was quietly relieved. The absence of those meddlesome elders meant one less obstacle to the confrontation he had meticulously prepared for.

In the intervening years, Lucen's Black Moon Group had grown exponentially in power and influence. Bound by blood contracts, its members—comprised of enslaved elves, beastmen, vampires, and even a transcendent demon—were unyieldingly loyal. Elves practiced the Plum Blossom Sword Style of Mount Hua; beastmen honed the Rising Dragon Style of the Namgon family; vampires embraced the Heavenly Demon Sword Style. With the secrets gleaned from the Murim and his Origin View system, Lucen had forged the Black Moon into an unstoppable force: 200 warriors strong, boasting 80 sword masters of the third realm, 5 grand masters of the fourth realm, and one transcendent master at its helm.

Yet Lucen's true source of bitterness lay closer to home. he had uncovered a devastating truth: his father had known the identity of the traitor who had sealed Lucen's dragonheart—Uncle Hans( the commander of vermithorn family black dragon army and 1st elder youngest son )—yet had chosen silence. Malzareth had placed the interests of the Vermithorn family above those of his wife and newborn son, a betrayal that Lucen would no longer tolerate.

When the time came for the ceremonial exchange of gifts, the party's mood shifted to one of superficial gaiety. Cristiyana, radiant in her maternal devotion, knelt before Lucen. "Happy birthday, my little prince," she said warmly. "What gift would you like from your mother? I will grant any request—this is my promise."

Lucen met her gaze, his voice as cold and clear as winter ice. "I have been waiting for you to say those words, Mother," he replied. "What I want is to leave this family and this land—and never return."

The hall fell into stunned silence. Murmurs rippled through the crowd like an icy wind. How much pain must a child endure to say such a thing? some whispered in disbelief.

Cristiyana's eyes widened with concern. "Lucen… what are you saying? Has someone threatened you?"

Lucen's eyes hardened, and he lifted a trembling hand to point at his father. "He does not love you or me," he declared with unwavering conviction. "He chose Uncle Hans over us."

Cristiyana recoiled, her voice barely a whisper. "What… what are you saying, Lucen?"

Malzareth's face paled. "Lucen, come here," he said, panic breaking through his measured facade. "What nonsense are you speaking?"

But Lucen would not relent. "I know the truth, Father. I know you knew that Uncle Hans sealed my dragonheart. That is why Mother was banished to that forsaken place—and you did nothing."

Cristiyana turned to Malzareth, her eyes brimming with betrayal. "Malzareth… is it true?"

Malzareth's voice faltered. "Wait, Cris, I can explain—"

She shook her head, her expression resolute. "I do not need your explanations. You have had seven years to speak the truth."

Gathering Lucen in her arms, she strode to the door of the grand hall. There, waiting like a bulwark of indomitable strength, stood her father—Malcnoh re Rebeka, the Grand Martial King of the South and one of the five transcendent humans of the Fifth Realm. His presence alone seemed to bend the very air around him.

Malcnoh's aura surged, red and regal, pressing down upon the garden like a mountain. His voice crackled with restrained fury. "Malzareth," he said, each word a blade of judgment, "how dare you treat my daughter so callously? Did you forget the pitiful way you groveled for her hand in marriage? And now… ha! Cristiyana, do you wish to return home with me?"

Cristiyana's face tightened with resolve. "I do, Father. I will raise my child by my own hand. From this day forward, Lucen shall bear my name."

Malcnoh's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Excellent." His gaze swept the silent hall, daring any to challenge his decree. "Henceforth, I proclaim Lucen re Rebeka as the Crown Prince of the Rebeka Empire. Any who lay a hand on him will face immediate execution."

The words fell like thunder, silencing even the boldest whispers.

Malcnoh extended a hand to his grandson. "Come, Lucen. Let us depart."

But Lucen stood firm, his young features resolute. "Wait, Grandfather," he said, his voice unwavering. "Are you truly certain you can keep me safe until I reach adulthood?"

Malcnoh's laughter rumbled, his aura reasserting itself like a tidal wave. "Of course I can, Lucen."

A steely glint entered Lucen's eyes. "Then there is something I must do to sever these ties for good."

He stepped forward, his mind a whirl of focus and fury. System, he commanded, extract the curse and unseal my dragonheart.

Acknowledged, the system responded.

Lucen seized a sword from a Rebeka Empire soldier, its steel hilt cold and resolute in his grasp. Power surged through him as his dragonheart's mana flooded the blade, overwhelming the constraints of his young body. Notifications flashed across his vision, but he ignored them, his purpose clear.

He invoked the culmination of his secret training: the Heavenly Moon Dragon Sword Style—a fusion of the Vermithorn family's dragon-form style and the esoteric Heavenly Moon Style. His voice cut through the tense air:

"Heavenly Moon Dragon First Style: Dragon-Creating Moon !"

A blazing red-and-black aura erupted from the blade, weaving an illusion of a coiling dragon and a cold, distant moon—each locked in an eternal collision. The sheer brilliance of the sword image left even the most seasoned warriors breathless. Sword images were said to be the domain of only the Fourth Realm—an impossibility for a child of seven.( lucen in his mind - what is happening now ...)

Malzareth's face twisted in disbelief. "You… you can wield sword aura? And that's—your dragonheart's resonance! How is this possible?"

Lucen's voice was quiet but final. "You never truly knew me at all."

Malcnoh's laughter rumbled again, fierce and proud. "My grandson is a prodigy—no, a genius without equal! He has shattered the record of the Great Vermithorn, set a millennium ago, by three years Gap ...!"

Turning back to Malzareth with cold indifference, Malcnoh spoke his final words. "I will take my daughter and grandson. Do as you will, Malzareth."

With that, Lucen's seventh birthday concluded not in celebration but in exodus. As the doors of the Vermithorn estate closed behind him, Lucen's mind was already racing ahead—toward a new land, a new name, and the inexorable rise of a legacy that would not be denied.