Chapter 6: The Sword and the Heir
The celebration lasted long into the evening. Commander Marcus Ravencrest and the returning officers quickly found themselves trapped beneath an endless flood of stories, questions, and congratulations from the people of Ravenhold. It was an unavoidable, familiar fate for anyone returning from a successful campaign, but for the soldiers of the Monster Suppression Campaign, it was a rare opportunity to relax. Laughter echoed throughout the fortress walls as warriors reunited with friends and family after weeks spent beyond the safety of the frontier.
Stories spread quickly through the crowded halls—some wildly exaggerated, others entirely impossible, but most involving Adrian Ravencrest in one way or another. By the time the moon rose high above the estate, Ethan had already overheard at least three different versions of how his father had supposedly defeated a Frostfang Alpha. The number of monsters involved changed with each telling, and the size of the beast somehow doubled every hour. By morning, it would probably be described as the size of a mountain.
Ethan found himself smiling despite knowing better, comforted by the fact that some traditions never changed. The following morning arrived peacefully, and for the first time in several days, he woke before sunrise without his mind immediately racing toward his training regime. The reason for his ease was simple: Adrian Ravencrest was finally home. The realization lingered quietly within his mind as he dressed and made his way toward the dining hall.
When he entered, he immediately noticed how the atmosphere felt warmer, more complete.
At the center of the table sat Adrian, who had already changed out of his heavy campaign armor into simple black clothing embroidered with the silver raven crest of their family. Without his battlefield presence towering over the room, he looked less like the legendary Sword of the North and more like what he truly was—a husband, a father, and the head of a family.
Yet, Ethan knew better than most what that ordinary simplicity concealed. This man was a Knight King, one of the strongest human beings alive, whose aura alone had been known to make entire enemy formations hesitate. He could inspire an instinctive, bone-deep certainty in seasoned soldiers that they were standing before something fundamentally beyond them. Yet here he sat, pouring his own tea and listening patiently while Amelia talked enough for everyone present.
"...and then Brother actually remembered the flowers," Amelia was saying, nodding with great seriousness. "The Frostbell Flowers."
Adrian raised an eyebrow, looking over at Ethan with a glimmer of amusement. "The flowers? That is unusual."
Ethan immediately understood he was being mocked—very subtly, but mocked nonetheless. Across the table, Elena hid a small smile behind her teacup, clearly enjoying the rare family banter enormously.
"Apparently, everyone expected me to forget," Ethan muttered dryly.
"You usually do," Amelia shot back instantly, her response arriving so quickly that even Adrian let out a laugh. The sound caught Ethan completely off guard. For a brief moment, memory and reality overlapped in a painful flash; he remembered hearing that exact laugh years ago, before the wars, before the losses, and before everything changed.
Now he heard it again, perfectly the same, and the simple sound carried far more emotional weight than it should have. For the remainder of breakfast, Ethan spoke less and observed more, wanting to desperately memorize every expression, every conversation, and every fleeting moment. In his previous life, he had assumed there would always be more time, but now he understood how precious such mornings truly were.
Eventually, breakfast came to an end. Amelia immediately disappeared in pursuit of some new adventure—loudly and at full speed, nearly knocking over a servant on her way out—while Elena left to oversee the administrative matters of the estate. This left only Ethan and Adrian behind, and a comfortable, heavy silence settled over the room.
For several moments, neither spoke. Then Adrian leaned back slightly in his chair, his sharp eyes locking onto his son.
"I’ve been hearing some interesting reports from the training grounds."
Ethan resisted the urge to glare in the general direction of the barracks. Sir Gareth Ironwood clearly enjoyed reporting updates far more than was strictly necessary. Up until a few months ago, Ethan had notoriously detested grueling training; while he was disciplined enough to fulfill his duties as the heir, he had always preferred doing just enough to get by, never pushing himself past what was required.
Adrian continued, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Every morning. Every afternoon. And sometimes in the evenings as well. The boy who used to do the bare minimum is suddenly obsessed. Should I be concerned?"
Ethan considered the question carefully, filtering through the countless answers he could not give. He could not speak about the future, the regression, or the countless deaths waiting ahead, so he chose the simplest truth available. "No. I just don’t want to waste time anymore."
The words escaped before he could stop them, and silence filled the room. Ethan immediately realized how strange and heavy that answer must sound coming from a ten-year-old child, but Adrian did not laugh or dismiss it. Instead, he studied Ethan with an unreadable look in his eyes—a mixture of recognition, curiosity, and perhaps even deep understanding.
Eventually, Adrian nodded. "A good answer."
The response surprised Ethan, not because of the praise, but because Adrian seemed to genuinely mean it. The Marquess slowly rose from his chair and walked toward one of the nearby windows, looking out over the vast, snow-dusted lands of House Ravencrest. Forests, rivers, and jagged mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, housing thousands of people living beneath the protection of their banners.
"Do you know why I train, Ethan?" Adrian asked, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "When I was younger, I trained because I wanted to become stronger. Later, I trained because I wanted victory. Now, I train because people depend on me."
The words carried no pride or arrogance, only the simple, undecorated truth of a man who had already proven himself beyond any need for display. Ethan felt something tighten within his chest because he suddenly understood: the Sword of the North did not carry his staggering burdens because he wanted to. He carried them because someone had to, and he had chosen to shoulder them alone.
Slowly, Adrian turned back toward him, a faint smile breaking through his stern demeanor. "If you’re serious about training... then perhaps it’s time we begin properly."
The room fell silent as Ethan simply stared, his breath catching.
Did he just—?
Adrian chuckled, a rare, warm sound. "You look more excited than Amelia."
"I am not," Ethan replied quickly, though his racing heart betrayed him.
"You are," Adrian insisted, and the brief exchange dissolved into a shared laugh. For the first time since his return, Ethan felt a wave of genuine, uncomplicated happiness—a feeling born from the realization that some things had not been lost forever, and this time, he intended to keep them that way.
The laughter gradually faded, yet the warmth lingering within the room remained. For several moments, the comfortable silence that settled between them felt natural, as though the tragic years separating memory from reality had never existed. Unfortunately, Ethan knew better; in his previous life, he had spent decades trying to live up to the man standing before him, desperately trying to carry the impossible responsibilities that once belonged to Adrian. Now, fate had given him another opportunity, and he intended to make better use of it.
Adrian eventually returned to his seat, and though his expression remained relaxed, Ethan noticed a subtle shift. The moment the conversation turned back toward combat, the husband and father disappeared, and the Sword of the North returned. It was a pressure that had nothing to do with mana—something older, forged across countless battlefields and sharpened against every monster tide the North had thrown at him. It was the quiet, absolute authority of a Knight King.
Breaking the silence, Adrian leaned forward. "Show me your hands."
Ethan obeyed, extending his small palms. Adrian examined them for several moments, noting the small, barely noticeable calluses that nonetheless proved repeated, deliberate effort. A faint smile appeared on the Marquess’s face.
"So Gareth wasn’t exaggerating. Your foundation is improving faster than expected."
That statement drew Ethan’s full attention because Adrian was entirely correct; the Heavenly Sovereign Physique had accelerated his growth considerably, though he had tried to keep the changes within believable limits.
"Have you noticed anything unusual?" Adrian asked suddenly, his gaze sharpening.
Ethan’s heart skipped a beat, wondering whether a knight king’s perception extended far enough to detect something so fundamental. Carefully maintaining a neutral expression, he shook his head. "No."
Adrian observed him for a few long, tense seconds before nodding. "Good. Rapid growth often creates arrogance, carelessness, and carelessness gets people killed. Come."
The two left the dining hall and made their way through Ravenhold Estate. Servants greeted them respectfully and knights stepped aside along the walls, yet Adrian acknowledged each person with a simple nod. It was a small gesture, but one Ethan understood much better now—respect flowed both ways, which was precisely why the North loved him, and why soldiers willingly followed him into situations that should have been hopeless.
Several minutes later, they arrived at a secluded courtyard hidden within the inner estate. Unlike the main training grounds, this area remained completely empty, its stone floor bearing the countless scars, weapon marks, and lingering aura marks left behind by generations of warriors.
Adrian stopped near the center, looking around the historic space. "This is where my father trained me. Tomorrow, before sunrise, we begin."
Ethan’s heartbeat quickened, not from fear, but from an unexpected wave of anticipation. He barely slept that night, the restless excitement refusing to be reasoned away. For most people, the opportunity to be personally trained by the Sword of the North was an unimaginable, once-in-a-lifetime privilege. For Ethan, it meant time—time he had lost, lessons he had never fully appreciated, and moments he once believed were gone forever.
Long before the sun rose above the mountains, while the manor remained silent and darkness slowly retreated before the dawn, Ethan was already standing in the secluded training courtyard. To his lack of surprise, Adrian was already there, waiting silently at the center. The cold morning wind swept across the stone as Adrian surveyed him thoroughly, like a commander evaluating a recruit.
Finally, Adrian nodded. "You arrived on time. Pick up a sword."
Ethan selected a wooden training sword from a nearby rack and returned to the center. Adrian remained completely motionless, his arms crossed.
"Attack me."
The request arrived so suddenly that Ethan nearly blinked in disbelief. No explanation, no warm-up, and no lecture—just an order to strike. Ethan adjusted his grip, his stance naturally shifting into a stable, disciplined position that a normal ten-year-old shouldn’t have possessed. He realized his mistake a half-second too late as Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the attack was already launched.
The wooden sword cut through the air with surprising precision, only for Adrian to casually catch the blade with one hand. He hadn’t moved his feet, shifted his weight, or even looked particularly interested.
Ethan wasn’t surprised by the result; even in his previous life, catching Adrian off guard was an agonizingly distant goal. What concerned him more was Adrian’s expression. The Marquess wasn’t looking at the sword; he was looking at Ethan with genuine, profound surprise lingering in his eyes.
"Interesting," Adrian murmured, releasing the blade.
"Again."
The second exchange lasted longer, then the third, and then the fourth. Each attack was effortlessly neutralized with the quiet, almost bored efficiency of a man for whom this particular level of threat registered somewhere below mildly inconvenient. Yet with every exchange, the Marquess’s eyes became more focused, completely locked onto his son’s movements.
Eventually, Adrian raised a hand. "Enough. Who taught you that?"
The question landed like a stone dropped into still water. Ethan knew Adrian wasn’t talking about formal swordsmanship, but rather the raw instincts, fluid weight distribution, and timing of someone who had survived brutal, real violence.
"No one," Ethan answered, choosing the safest truth available. "I watched the knights, the instructors... and you. Whenever I saw someone training, I tried to imagine what they would do next."
Adrian studied him carefully for several moments before a faint smile broke through his serious demeanor. "Either you’re far more observant than any child I’ve ever met, or Gareth has been exaggerating less than usual."
The tension instantly eased, and even Ethan found himself smiling at the thought of old man’s impending embarrassment. Adrian slowly approached, his towering height making Ethan feel like he was standing in the shadow of something ancient and unshakeable.
"Your swordsmanship is rough, but your instincts are very good," Adrian said, placing a heavy hand on Ethan’s shoulder. It carried the unexpected warmth of a man who expressed everything through action and almost nothing through words. "Continue training. You may surprise me one day."
For a moment, Ethan froze. Those exact words existed deep within his memories, spoken by his father many years ago, long before the tragedies fell upon their house. Hearing them again felt more valuable than any system reward or SSS-Rank Physique.
As the morning sun continued to rise, signaling the end of their first session, Ethan followed his father back toward the manor. He paid little attention to the bustling servants or the changing shifts of the guards, his thoughts entirely consumed by the profound realization that he was no longer alone in carrying the heavy burden of the future. A faint smile appeared on his face as they walked through the gates together. For now, that was more than enough.