Night had fallen like a velvet curtain drawn across the castle, the pale light of the moon filtering through the stone halls. Only the faint, flickering glow of torchlight cut through the shadows, casting long, undulating shapes that seemed to stretch and reach across the cold, hard stone. The air was thick with anticipation. The steady, distant footsteps of the guards rang through the corridors, a constant reminder that the castle’s vigilance never faltered. Yet, for Edwin, this nightly routine was both a challenge and an invitation.


    He slipped like a shadow through the winding halls, his small frame pressed close to the walls where the torchlight barely touched. Each footstep was calculated, measured, silent. Every distant echo of armored boots drew him into the shadows, where he melded with the dark, his body moving with a fluid grace far beyond his years. It was not just stealth that guided him, but the cultivated energy flowing through his veins, enhancing his senses and sharpening his movements.


    In minutes, he reached the door to his father’s office. The faint moonlight that crept through the narrow corridor pooled on the polished wood, casting a silvered glow across the sturdy surface. This was it, the moment he had been anticipating for years. Curiosity and unanswered questions had brought him to this point. His heart thundered in his chest as his hand hovered over the cold metal knob. It was locked.


    Unfazed, Edwin reached into his pocket and pulled out two needles—one of wood, the other of metal. He had "borrowed" them earlier that morning from the laundry room, along with the "cultivation tub". They had been carelessly left lying around, forgotten and abandoned. The needles weren’t typical tools for the job, but Edwin had learned long ago that ingenuity was just as valuable as skill. The larger medieval needles, more like thin spikes than standard sewing needles, were surprisingly effective for lockpicking.


    With a subtle pulse of mana, he bent the tip of the metal needle, strengthening both tools with an infusion of energy. Lockpicking had been a skill learned in his first life, where the tools had been different but the principles were the same. Slowly, he inserted the wooden needle first, applying pressure to keep the lock in tension. Then, he slid the metal needle into place, maneuvering it with the utmost precision, searching for the subtle resistance of the tumblers. Each click sent a thrill through his fingertips, the tension of the moment humming in his chest.


    A soft click echoed in the stillness, but the door did not open.


    Magic. Of course.


    Edwin smirked, his small hands steadying as he closed his eyes. Beneath the surface of the lock, he could feel the glow of arcane energy, hidden runes etched deep into the metal, their power binding the door. He could almost hear the faint hum of magic, like a whisper, just beyond his reach. He wasn’t surprised. His father was always meticulous.


    With practiced ease, Edwin directed his mana down his arms, flowing into the needles. The magic hummed through his body, infusing the metal and wood, sharpening his senses and focus. As his mana slipped into the lock, he paused, analyzing the runes inscribed along the mechanism. Each glyph was intricately carved, faint but pulsating with power. To the untrained eye, they were just meaningless symbols, but to Edwin, they were a challenge, an encrypted code waiting to be deciphered.


    Every time the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, Edwin’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly abandoned the lock and darted into the shadows, pressing himself against the cold stone of the walls, holding his breath until the danger passed. When the footsteps faded into the distance, he would return to his task, resuming his delicate analysis. The runes, he realized, were far more complex than he''d first anticipated.


    Thanks to his knowledge from both lives, Edwin quickly saw the similarity. In his first life, Edwin had seen inscriptions used to channel spiritual energy and form barriers, much like the way modern encryption worked to protect systems. He realized the magic within the runes was nothing more than an ancient form of coding, one he could understand better than most. With a new sense of confidence, he wove his mana deeper into the mechanism, bypassing each rune with practiced ease, unbinding the intricate weave of magic thread by thread. The clicking sound that followed was the final confirmation of his success.


    The door creaked open, a faint stream of moonlight spilling into the room. Edwin’s heart raced, but his hands remained steady. The office was shrouded in the quiet scent of aged parchment and polished wood. Two walls were lined with shelves, heavy with books on history, kingdom finances, and strategy. His father’s desk, grand and imposing, dominated the center of the room. The moonlight spilled across its surface, catching the edges of silver trinkets and papers.


    Carefully, Edwin focused his mana into his eyes, sharpening his vision. The room sharpened into clarity, the darkness around him fading into the background. He knew exactly where to look. Beneath the desk, half-buried behind a chair’s legs, lay a small chest, his father’s private safe.


    With a grunt, he pulled the chest onto the desk. It was locked, of course. A quick scan of the mechanism told him it was far simpler than the door’s had been. Within seconds, his fingers were working, sliding the wooden needle into place to keep the lock in tension while the metal needle moved with practiced precision.


    But as the chest clicked open, it refused him once again.


    More magic. Another layer of protection.


    Edwin’s expression hardened. This time, he didn’t hesitate. Closing his eyes, he pressed his energy into the lock once more. The runes within were subtle, woven into the wood itself, like the threads of a spell carefully hidden from prying eyes. He could feel their subtle hum as he guided his mana along them, gently loosening their hold. With another surge of energy, the final barrier collapsed, and the chest opened with a groan.


    Inside the chest, neatly arranged, were scrolls and letters, documents his father had carefully hidden away. Edwin’s breath hitched as his fingers brushed over the first scroll. The date was familiar, five years ago, the time of the so-called "bandit" attacks that had forced his parents to lead a dangerous assault. This was the same scroll he had glimpsed as a baby, its contents now unfolding before him. He remembered the words he had only half understood back then:


    “Continued disruption in the region… attacks on supply routes escalating… pressure from external forces demands a response…”


    But now, as he read the full text, the gravity of the situation sank in.


    The neighboring territory had been sending disguised troops, bandits dressed in false identities, intentionally sowing chaos. And what was worse, this plot was being orchestrated by someone high within the kingdom’s own ranks. Edwin''s heart pounded in his chest. This was the true reason behind the great operation his parents had led five years ago. The attack had never been just an ordinary threat. It had been a carefully planned, far-reaching conspiracy.


    He dove deeper, carefully sorting through the letters by date, his brow furrowing as a newer missive caught his attention. The seal was unfamiliar, and the message within referenced something far grander than he had anticipated:


    “Word from the Grand Empire of Zarethia: The Emperor, gravely ill, remains without a clear recovery timeline. His heirs, eager for the throne, grow restless. Territories along the borders brace for upheaval. Alliances across the continent shift. If our monarchy intervenes, or rival factions exploit the Empire’s fragility, hostilities may erupt before we can react.”


    Edwin’s breath hitched. The Empire of Zarethia. The largest, most powerful nation on the continent. The empire''s fracturing would send shockwaves across every kingdom, turning allies into enemies.


    His hands trembling as he carefully returned each document to its rightful place. The realization hit him hard—war, chaos, and political intrigue had been slowly creeping up on them. He had never realized just how precarious their position was.


    He was no longer just a curious child. The world was on the brink of disaster, and he had an obligation to be a part in it.


    With newfound determination, Edwin closed the chest, locking it with a practiced click. As he replaced it under the desk, his resolve solidified. The road ahead would be treacherous, filled with hidden enemies and growing threats. But he would not sit idly by. He would use the power of cultivation, and the ingenuity of technology, to protect his family, his barony, and perhaps the entire continent from the looming storm.


    As he silently exited the room, his footsteps barely a whisper, the weight of what he now knew settled on his shoulders. He was still a child, but he could not afford to wait for the world to collapse before acting. He would not let this world fall into ruin.


    Let them call me a child, he thought, his heart pounding with purpose. But I will not let them destroy everything I hold dear. I have cultivation. I have knowledge. And I will use them both to protect those I love.


    <hr>


    Out in the woods near the barony’s border, the night air was thick with tension. A full moon hung high, casting its cold light over the forest, turning the leaves into flickering silver ghosts. Torches sputtered weakly in the distance, their flames small against the vast, oppressive dark. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, as if the very trees themselves were watching. Somewhere, deep in the woods, a battle raged.


    Knights bearing the Hawthorne crest—an imposing beast encased in thorn-like armor—stood back to back, forming a tight, unyielding circle. Their shields, emblazoned with the same symbol, gleamed faintly in the moonlight. Scuffed and battered, their armor showed the toll of the sudden ambush. Dark streaks of dried mud stained their tunics, while fresh blood stained the edges of their blades. The enemy, clad in dark, matte armor, their faces hidden beneath hooded cloaks, closed in from all directions, silently as shadows. Their dull colors melded with the night, making them invisible until they were almost upon the knights.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The forest echoed with the harsh ring of steel meeting steel, the crackle of blades slicing through the air, the desperate grunts of soldiers locked in mortal combat. The knights fought with the precision of seasoned warriors, their movements fluid and controlled, but the ambushers were relentless. The knights had been riding through the forest, unaware of the trap set before them. Dark figures had exploded from the underbrush like a wave, pincering them from both sides, forcing them into a small clearing where the dense trees offered little room to maneuver.


    Among the chaos, two battles stood out, each a symphony of deadly intent.


    One knight, his armor crackling with static, wielded a sword wreathed in lightning. Every strike he made sent arcs of blue electricity dancing along his blade, illuminating the dark, stormy air around him. With every step, his body hummed with energy, moving faster than the eye could follow. He lashed out, his blade flashing in deadly arcs, but his opponent, a dark figure clad in shadows, was just as fast. The shadow-wielder twisted and flowed, like liquid darkness. Tendrils of shadow unfurled from his form, thick as smoke and sharp as daggers. They wrapped around his arms, absorbing the lightning strikes and countering with savage, fluid strikes of their own.


    The knight lunged, the crackle of his sword slicing the air, but the shadow-wielder was already gone, vanishing into the night with a flick of his cloak. The battle was a blur, flashes of steel, lightning, and shadows, as each warrior pushed their limits. A misstep from either side could end the duel in an instant, but neither of them gave quarter, locked in a deadly waltz of strike and counter.


    Nearby, another knight fought with a halberd, its iron head wreathed in fire. With each swing, flames flared, casting an eerie orange glow across the battlefield. The knight’s arms were a blur of controlled power, his halberd sweeping through the air like a roaring furnace. Each swing sent waves of heat crashing into the enemies in his path, forcing them back in fear of the burning edge of his weapon. The dark-armored figures closed in from every direction, but with every strike, their numbers thinned as they staggered, burned, or fell to the ground in a blaze of searing heat.


    Despite their strength, the Hawthorne knights were being worn down by sheer numbers. The ambushers seemed endless, their relentless wave of attacks pushing the knights to the brink. No deaths had occurred yet, but the knights'' armor was battered and dented, their shields pocked with deep gashes, and their movements slower with each passing minute. The smell of blood, sweat, and charred flesh filled the air as the forest grew thicker with the sounds of battle.


    As the knights held their ground, those who couldn’t fight, were being dragged to the center of the defensive circle. There, they were shielded by the fighters, who moved with precision to protect them. The wounded were tended to as best as possible, though there was little hope of escaping the encirclement intact.


    The dark figures pressed in tighter, their attacks now frantic and wild. The knights’ lines were being tested, and with every passing moment, it seemed as though they might break. But the Hawthorne knights refused to yield, their resolve unshaken. They dug deep, drawing on the training hammered into them since their youth. Their swords flashed, their shields rose, and they fought like men possessed, every blow struck with the weight of honor and duty.


    Just when it seemed the battle had been lost, the air seemed to crack with divine fury. Out of the shadows, a new roar erupted, screams of pain and shouts of surprise shattered the silence. From the ambushers'' rear flanks, an explosion of chaos broke loose. The thunderous gallop of hooves and the unmistakable clash of steel against steel rang through the clearing like a war cry. Reinforcements from the Hawthorne domain surged forward, as if summoned by the gods themselves.


    Seemingly invisible just moments ago, knights and soldiers of Hawthorne erupted from the darkness like specters of vengeance, crashing into the rear of the ambushers'' ranks with a ferocity that shook the very ground beneath their feet.


    As the ambushers reeled in shock, a new horror descended from above. With a scream of ice-cold wind, jagged shards of ice began to rain down like the wrath of the heavens themselves, each shard a deadly spear aimed for their hearts. Cries of terror filled the air as shrouded figures were impaled, their bodies crumpling to the ground in an instant, unable to raise their defenses in time.


    The ambushers’ formation shattered. The battlefield turned into a scene of frantic disarray as they scrambled to escape, their once-coordinated ranks now nothing more than panicked chaos.


    As the battle’s tide began to shift, the shadow-wielder, still locked in a deadly dance with the lightning knight, snarled through gritted teeth. "Retreat!"


    With swift, practiced motion, he reached into a concealed pouch and withdrew a small, delicate glass vial. Inside, a swirling, glowing liquid pulsed ominously.


    The lightning knight’s eyes widened in realization, his instincts flaring. He lunged forward, his boots pounding against the earth, but—


    —It was too late.


    The shadow-wielder wrenched the cork free with his teeth, his eyes never leaving his adversary. In one fluid motion, he swallowed the glowing liquid. Immediately, power exploded within him, a wave of dark energy ripping through his frame. His body trembled with newfound might, and black tendrils of shadow lashed out violently, tearing through the air with deadly force.


    The lightning knight moved with unyielding precision, his every motion synchronized perfectly with his fiery comrade. Together, they surged forward like two forces of nature, twin storms, intent on halting the overwhelming shadow attack that threatened to obliterate their comrades. The air itself seemed to tremble as arcs of lightning crackled through the sky, dancing wildly across the heavens, while the fire knight conjured a wall of infernal flames, its intensity scorching the air.


    For a moment, it was as if the world held its breath. Time seemed to slow as the two elemental forces converged. The clash of lightning and fire, a violent union of raw, untamed power, struck the shadow attack with an explosive force. The collision was nothing short of cataclysmic, lightning crackling against the searing flames, the two elements working together in a blistering display of fury.


    A deafening boom shook the very air around them, a shockwave rippling through the battlefield, rattling trees and sending the ground beneath them trembling. The combined explosion of fire and lightning was like the fury of the heavens themselves, tearing through the darkened woods with a blinding flash. The forest lit up in a brief but blinding blaze of white and orange, a momentary sun in the midst of the night. The impact sent shockwaves surging outward, flinging dirt, rocks, and shattered branches into the air, creating a swirling maelstrom of smoke and debris. The night sky, once dark and silent, was now filled with the echoes of the explosion as the smoke billowed out in every direction.


    The ground quaked beneath their feet, and the heat of the flames, mingled with the raw power of the lightning, seemed to melt the very air. The forest around them seemed to bend and warp under the sheer magnitude of the energy, as though the elements themselves had been forced into an impossible embrace.


    When the dust finally began to settle, the enemy’s assault had faltered. Those who remained scrambled, retreating in the wake of the tempest they had unwittingly unleashed. Like shadows retreating into the dark, they vanished into the depths of the forest, leaving behind only the echoes of their hurried flight.


    The shadow wielder was gone. The Hawthorne knights stood panting and battered, their chests rising and falling as they surveyed the battlefield. The lingering scent of ozone and burning wood hung heavy in the air.


    “Should we pursue them?” Roland, the fire-wielder, asked, his halberd resting against his shoulder, his gaze scanning the distant shadows of the forest.


    The lightning knight, Aldric, wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath heavy. “No. We don’t know what traps lie ahead, and our forces are spent. We need to regroup and assess the damage first.”


    As they stood in the silence of the forest, a raspy voice drifted to them on the wind, its tone weary but still tinged with authority. “I’ve dealt with their mages, Aldric. Heading back now.”


    They both looked around, but there was no sign of the speaker. Only the distant rustle of trees and the creak of strained armor filled the air. The voice did not return.


    Roland exhaled slowly, his lips curling into a grim smile. “That old man’s as abrupt as ever. At least we won’t have to worry about more hidden spells.”


    Before Aldric could respond, a soft feminine voice pierced the tension, its warmth cutting through the cool night. “Are you both unharmed?”


    Evelyn emerged from the shadows, her presence a beacon amidst the carnage. Her mage robes were streaked with dirt, the gem in her staff faintly glowing as if still recovering from the magic she’d unleashed. She crossed the battlefield with purposeful strides, her eyes immediately locking onto Aldric, her gaze sharp, protective. Her hands hovered over him, searching for any visible injury.


    Aldric gave her a weary nod. “I’m fine, Evelyn. But the soldiers, how are they?”


    Her expression tightened with concern as she lowered her gaze, taking in the battered bodies and the grim aftermath of the battle. “No deaths, but many are gravely wounded. Several have lost limbs that will need to be reattached or regrown. We’ll need to tend to them before we can think of our next move.”


    Roland, glancing at the remnants of the skirmish, let out a soft breath. “So... what happens now?”


    Aldric exchanged a glance with Evelyn, his thoughts weighing heavy on the decision. “Half the force will escort the wounded back home. The rest will stay behind to scout the borders. We can’t afford to be caught off guard again.”


    Roland nodded sharply. “I’ll relay the orders.” Without waiting for another word, he turned on his heel and signaled the remaining knights to follow him.


    Evelyn watched him go, her brow furrowing slightly. When her eyes returned to Aldric, the resolve in them had sharpened. “We were fortunate that the old man chose to come with us. Without his magic, we would never have known about this ambush until it was too late.”


    Aldric’s gaze swept over their weary soldiers, some crumpled against trees, others tending to their fallen comrades. “Fortunate or not, I’m grateful. If those hidden mages had been able to weave their spells unchecked, we might not be standing here now.”


    There was a long moment of silence between them, the sound of horses whinnying and flames dying down in the distance. Finally, Evelyn broke the stillness with a hard truth in her voice. “This is likely the last attempt for now. Whoever is behind this gambled everything. They risked too much. I suspect they panicked, desperate to strike before the continent descends into chaos.”


    Aldric’s thoughts momentarily drifted to their son back home. His voice was quiet but resolute. “If they’d been more patient, if they’d waited to gather stronger forces, they could’ve crippled us. But they rushed it, played their hand too soon.”


    Evelyn turned to him, her gaze softening. “And if this conflict really does engulf the entire continent... how will Edwin handle it?”


    Aldric exhaled slowly, the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders. “Edwin’s clever. He’s mature beyond his years, and while he may not be ready for what’s coming, he won’t face it alone. He has time... and us.”


    Evelyn nodded, her expression torn between relief and lingering concern. “Let’s make sure our home stands when the time comes. So that he has a world worth protecting when he’s ready.”


    The night grew colder around them, but despite the tension that still hung in the air, something softer lingered between them: a shared resolve, the unspoken understanding that they would do whatever it took to shield their home and their son from the coming storm. This victory, small as it was, had bought them time. A fragile reprieve before the true conflict began.