Chapter 218: Ashenreach I
All good things must indeed come to an end.
My week at home, filled with laughter, half-misunderstandings, and a fair share of chaos, was nearing its close. It was time for me to head westward, to the Ashbluff residence, where I'd meet with Jin and get started on the plans we'd laid out for the Western territories.
'Should I pay a visit to the Luna family while I'm there?' The thought lingered.
The Luna family, where Kali hailed from, would have to be a stop eventually—though not now. Retrieving her family's Grade 6 art would be a monumental task, one best undertaken once I reached Radiant-rank. And that was a journey all its own.
Kali herself, however, was proving indispensable. Alongside Jin, she'd been a pillar in the formation of Noctalis. She wasn't just an ally; she was bound by the mana oath, making her one of the few people I could trust implicitly. Plus, her training and counsel had been invaluable.
But those were thoughts for another day. This morning, my attention was occupied by three highly persistent princesses who, upon learning I'd be leaving, had become exceptionally clingy. Their departures were also scheduled for noon, so it seemed they were intent on making every last moment count.
"Are you sure you have to go to the Ashbluff estate already?" Rachel asked, her pout evident. She clung to my arm, her gaze accusing, as if I'd committed some grievous offense by planning to leave.
Cecilia folded her arms, eyeing me with mock disdain. "And here I thought you were our faithful tour guide for a few more days."
Seraphina, usually the calmest, seemed no less affected. She slipped her hand through mine, her expression softer than usual. "We'll hold you to that tour next time then," she said with a faint smile, her gaze not quite meeting mine.
I couldn't help a laugh. "Alright, alright. I'll be back soon enough, and I'll even brush up on my tour-guide skills."
With exaggerated reluctance, they finally released their hold, and after what felt like endless goodbyes, they boarded their carriage to return to the capital. Watching them leave felt oddly bittersweet, though I reminded myself I'd see them again before long.
I returned to my room to pack, a faint smile lingering as I thought of the week that had just passed.
As I folded my clothes, my parents entered, exchanging glances before turning to me.
"So, it's time for you to head to the West now?" My mother asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.
I nodded. "Yes, thank you both for everything."
Travel to other continents wasn't cheap—especially with portal use involved. But my parents never hesitated to cover the expenses. I'd always known their support was steadfast, yet it struck me again how much they'd quietly done for me, even in ways I hadn't fully grasped before.
"Well, you don't need to keep thanking us," my father said with a warm chuckle, folding his arms in that familiar, grounded way. "After all, I didn't reach integration rank to hoard coins like a dragon."
"That or you enjoy being a knight captain for a Count," I teased lightly.
"Ah, my mysterious motives revealed at last," he said, ruffling my hair. "You know, if I didn't enjoy it, I wouldn't have stayed all these years. I get the rare pleasure of serving with honour and supporting you."
"Always so noble," my mother added, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Though don't think we won't expect you to bring back some memento from the West, Arthur."
"Something legendary, preferably," Count Chase said, striding into the room with a grin. "You know, a blade forged from molten starlight or... I don't know, an enchanted snow globe."
"I'll see what I can find," I promised with a laugh.
My mother sighed, looking a little misty-eyed as she touched my cheek. "You're always running off, but I'm proud of you. Just... keep safe out there. The West has its own way of doing things."
I nodded, catching the undertone in her words. She didn't need to say that the Ashbluffs ruled there with a more ironclad grip than even the Slatemark Empire. The challenges would be different and just as dangerous in their own way.
"Promise me you'll write," she said softly.
"Of course." I pulled her into a hug, feeling the quiet strength of her arms around me.
After a round of farewells, punctuated by Count Chase's firm handshake and a few lingering glances from my family, I stepped into the car, ready for the journey to the West.
The trip passed without issue, and soon I found myself at the gates of Ashenreach, the capital city of the West. Unlike Luminarc or Avalon, Ashenreach had a distinctly different aura—a chill that clung to the air, laced with the unmistakable remnants of necromantic energy. The city was grand, no doubt, but it felt veiled, as though the shadows themselves had history here.
This was a place where death didn't signify an end but a kind of rebirth under the dominion of necromancers and dark mages. Where other cities bustled with vitality, here it was power that moved beneath the surface, quiet yet fierce.
'The handiwork of Ashenreach's necromancers,' I thought, observing the subtle traces of their influence. For powerful families here, necromancy was as common as any other branch of magic. The Ashbluff family itself was anchored by Valen Ashbluff and his wife—two figures who, in terms of sheer power, required few allies. Yet the summons they commanded made them a force even the mighty would think twice about crossing.
I soon arrived at the Ashbluff castle, a looming structure guarded by two Ascendant-rank Death Knights. They stood like statues, but the air around them vibrated with latent menace. Being Valen's summons, they possessed monstrous strength, each capable of holding their own against a Mythos professor or, in my case, of cleaving me in half without a second thought.
As I stepped out of the car, I displayed the sign Jin had given me. The Death Knights' hollow eyes locked onto it, and they bowed, the massive doors creaking open as I approached.
"Welcome," a voice greeted, sharp and measured.
I blinked, catching sight of Jin, his expression as unreadable as ever. But my attention quickly shifted to the two figures standing behind him—Valen Ashbluff and his wife, Camila Ashbluff.
I hadn't expected to encounter Valen himself, the towering figure who, even among Radiant rankers, stood apart. Unlike most others of his rank, who'd long since reached their limits, Valen still radiated potential. His power hummed subtly beneath the surface, lower than the likes of Alastor and Quinn for now, as he was actively suppressing his energy to imprison his own daughter. Yet it was clear this restraint did little to dampen his presence. This was a man whose talent hadn't yet peaked, a man whose strength was destined to grow until it rivalled—perhaps even surpassed—that of the Martial King himself.
If fate allowed, Valen Ashbluff was the one foretold to ascend beyond all others on Earth... until Lucifer's rise in the original novel.
Valen bore a striking resemblance to Jin, sharing the same raven-dark hair and intense, onyx eyes; his presence was commanding yet effortless.
Yet, standing before Valen, it was clear: he was everything Jin strove to be—a perfected, polished version of his own son. This was the root of Jin's deep-seated inferiority complex—the silent shadow cast over him by a man he could not simply outgrow or outshine.
For generations, a Radiant-rank talent emerged only once every two generations. This meant one cohort would inevitably remain in the shadow of the previous, only for the following to rise and surpass both. It was a cycle, one that provided just enough distance between father and son, mother and daughter, so that those who lived in that shadow could eventually find solace in a difference of skill or legacy. Even in this current age of exceptional prodigies, born right on the heels of their Radiant-ranked predecessors, there was often enough disparity in skills to soften the comparisons.
Lucifer, for instance, outstripped his father Arden in raw potential, following his own distinct path. Rachel, destined to become a Saintess of Light, wielded a unique power that diverged from her father Alastor's well-rounded magical mastery. But Jin's case was the rare exception. His father, Valen, possessed the very same talents as Jin himself—only perfected, honed to brilliance, and glorified by a legacy as the hero who had saved the West.
For Jin, there was no comforting divergence in skill or nature. The path he was meant to follow had already been trodden by a man who had set the bar impossibly high.
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