Three years had passed.
As Ronan grew older, fragments of understanding began to piece together about his family's origins and position in this world.
They lived within the Kingdom of Thalmeris, a western realm under the vast dominion of the Aetherion Empire. His father held the title of Duke, governing and protecting the far-western lands known as the Blackwood Territory, whose capital city—Ebonreach—served as both their seat of power and ancestral home.
In the morning,
The first rays of dawn spilled through the tall glass windows of the Blackwood family's main palace, illuminating a young boy training within a spacious chamber.
"I'm three years old now… and I've become considerably stronger," Ronan muttered, his small fists striking the air with precision as he tested the tension in his grip.
He exhaled, recalling the lavish celebration from the night before.
"The banquet for my birthday was too much. I even missed my training," he sighed with mild regret. But such extravagance was normal among nobles, and he had long accepted that this was part of the life he had been reborn into.
"in the last 3 years i have discovered something interesting—
"First, There's a strength hierarchy throughout the entire empire," he murmured to himself, pacing slowly while punching the air in rhythm.
"I think it goes something like this—
Ordinary → Adept → Advance → Elite → Rare → Heroic → Epic → Legendary → Mythical.
"There's an immense difference in physical power, mana control, and battle potential between each rank. That gap alone can decide the outcome of a fight."
His voice grew quieter as he continued his light exercises. Unlike before, he no longer needed to conceal his training—it was now considered admirable for a noble child to begin developing discipline early.
"Second, My mother…" His tone softened. "She's always been mysterious."
He frowned slightly, recalling her strange habits. "Her way of speaking always feels like she's hiding something. Once every month, she disappears—and when she returns, she's pale and exhausted. I don't know what she's going through, but…"
He clenched his fist.
"I need to become stronger. If she's suffering… I want to help her."
"Third is my status window—
A translucent screen of light appeared before his eyes, filled with intricate text and glowing runes.
[Status Window]
[Name: Ronan Blackwood]
[Age: 3 years]
[Level: adapt (middle)]
[Bloodline: Blackwood (Awakened Stage 2), Voidmere (Unawakened)]
[Title: The genius of blackwood]
[Traits: ???,???,???,???]
[Blessings: ???]
[Strength: 180]
[Agility: 140]
[Mana: 200]
[Vitality: 300]
[Qi-Blood: 500]
[Constitution: 100]
[Skills: Shadow blade art]
[Condition: Healthy]
[Potential: A+]
[Honour Points: 1000]
"There's a considerable improvement," Ronan said, studying the floating data. "Well, it's expected. I've trained diligently for three years—never slacking, even for a day. That effort helped me ascend from Ordinary to Adept."
My potential has also increased, i found out that from 0001, as i am still in my growth phase, my potential will continue to increase untill i am adult.
He paused, glancing down at his hands. Despite his promotion in rank, the physical changes were subtle.
"Perhaps it's still early in this stage," he thought aloud. "Or maybe the Adept level mainly refines sensory perception and bodily control."
As one of the heirs of the Blackwood family, he knew his bloodline played a crucial role. The Blackwood Bloodline granted its bearers the instinctive ability to sense fluctuations of mana, movements within shadows, and even perceive outlines through darkness. Danger itself could be felt before seen.
"That alone already mirrors what an Adept can achieve," he mused. "So the improvement feels minor. My bloodline gave me what others earn through advancement."
Still, the combination proved powerful. The heightened senses from his bloodline, when paired with his new level, magnified his awareness beyond normal comprehension. Moreover, his unique 'Use It or Lose It' attribute meant that consistent practice doubled—sometimes tripled—his growth rate compared to others.
"And fourth." He smiled faintly. "To think they begin formal sword training at the age of two in this household. The Blackwoods really don't hold back."
Ronan glanced at the ornate clock.
"Is it time for training already?"
He stepped out into the sunlight, heading toward the private training grounds reserved for the Blackwood heirs.
A graceful woman with red hair and bright eyes greeted him warmly.
"Good morning, young master Ronan. You look energetic as ever."
"Good morning, Teacher Rina. You look lovely today as well," he replied with the cheerful tone expected of a three-year-old, though his composure betrayed an intelligence far beyond his age.
Rina chuckled softly. "Shall we begin today's session?" She studied him fondly. "This child is truly a monster." she thought. "At only three, he's already mastered the first form of the Blackwood family's signature art—the Shadow Blade."
"Show me the result of your recent practice," Rina instructed, her voice calm yet carrying a hint of anticipation as she motioned toward the stone golem standing at the far end of the training ground.
"Yes, Teacher."
Ronan walked to the weapon rack and selected a simple wooden sword. It felt light in his hand—almost too light—but his grip was steady, the posture of one who had repeated these motions thousands of times.
He inhaled deeply. The world around him seemed to grow quieter. Then, from within his small frame, a faint pulse of energy stirred.
A ripple of black mana began to seep from his body, forming a dark haze that coiled around his limbs like liquid smoke.The ground beneath his feet trembled ever so slightly. The wooden blade in his grasp drank in the energy, turning completely obsidian under the pressure of his mana.
Rina's breath hitched. Her sharp instructor's eyes widened—not from fear, but awe.
Ronan lowered his stance, knees bent, muscles tense yet fluid. His breathing slowed to a measured rhythm. Every fiber of his being synchronized with the weapon in his hand. The mana pulsing from him grew steadier, darker, heavier.
Then, in a calm, focused tone, he whispered—
"First Form of the Shadow Blade—Hundredfold Cuts (百斬影)."
The air split.
In that single instant, Ronan's body vanished from sight.
Clank!
Clank!
Clank!
Clank!
Clank!
The sound of metal meeting stone echoed across the training grounds in rapid succession—so fast it became an unbroken rhythm, like a storm of steel and shadow.
A violent gust of wind exploded outward, scattering dust and loose pebbles. The entire arena quivered under the pressure. Afterimages of Ronan's form flickered through the air—dark silhouettes layered upon one another, each leaving a faint crescent trail of black light as his sword carved through the space between heartbeats.
To an untrained eye, it would appear as though a hundred bladeshad struck all at once.
Then—silence.
The echo of the last strike faded, and Ronan reappeared several steps ahead of where he had begun, his stance perfect, his sword held downward. His eyes opened slowly, calm and cold as the shadows that obeyed him.
A faint click followed.
The stone golem behind him shuddered. Thin black lines spread across its body—like cracks in glass—before the entire figure collapsed into a cloud of dust and a scatter of shattered fragments.
The air trembled from the residual mana.
Rina stood frozen, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Incredible…" she whispered, voice trembling with awe. "No matter how many times I witness it, I still can't believe it. To think you've perfected the first form of the Shadow Blade at the age of three… Every movement—precise. Every strike—without waste. Perfect in form and execution."
Her lips curved into a proud, astonished smile. "Truly… the Genius of Blackwood."
Ronan, however, showed no sign of arrogance. He simply stared at the broken remains of the golem, expression calm.
"Thefirst form has become too easy…" he thought silently. "I've already mastered the second form. I wanted to move on to the third, but if I reveal too much strength at my age, it'll only draw unwanted attention."
He exhaled softly, lowering his sword. "Even the awakening of my bloodline—just the first stage—caused a commotion throughout the territory. If I show my second stage now, Father might seal my freedom entirely for my safety."
He remembered clearly—one year ago, when he had first revealed his Stage One Awakening to Rina, the woman had been so shocked she fainted on the spot.
Though he bore the strength of two noble bloodlines, Ronan understood that true power lay not in flaunting one's abilities, but in concealing them until the decisive moment.
"A hidden card is the sharpest blade."
As he wiped the sweat from his forehead, a deep, amused voice echoed from the entrance of the training ground.
"Well, well, well… our youngest is already training so diligently at dawn."
The voice carried a mixture of authority and arrogance. Ronan turned toward the gate, recognizing immediately who it belonged to.