Devourer's Legacy: I Regressed With The Primordial Crest-Chapter 41: The Awakening Ceremony (1)

The Pillar of Genesis.

It was an ancient artifact said to predate even the founding of the Eight Great Houses and it served one purpose - to unveil the truth that slumbered within blood, that is to display the rank of a blood crest.

The way it worked is simple.

When an individual places their hand upon the monolithic spire, the Pillar would absorb a fragment of their essence and emit a glow based on the rank of their Blood Crest.

White for Common.

Green for Uncommon.

Blue for Rare.

Yellow for Epic.

Orange for Legendary.

Golden for Royal.

And sometimes, Red—the rarest, signifying a Unique Blood Crest born once in a generations... if at all.

One by one, the names were called. Children stepped forward—noble sons and daughters, trembling or proud, drank the essence, endured the agony, and placed their hands on the Pillar.

There were a few green glows. Several blue ones. Two children even managed to awaken Epic crests, earning murmurs of interest.

Yet despite these successes, none of the elders, nor the seven patricians, seemed impressed.

As for Lord Zephyr Grim, he didn't even blink.

His eyes remained fixed, cold and unreadable, like a blade watching without judgment.

It was then that Renard heard a familiar name.

"Aedric Grim."

Renard's gaze narrowed slightly at the name. It was One of the twins who picked a fight with him.

'If I remember right, he awakens a Legendary crest.'

Not that it mattered.

Aedric walked toward the spire with a confident swagger, his chin high, as if the outcome had already been decided. The disgrace of his earlier defeat seemed forgotten, buried beneath layers of arrogance.

On his way, Aedric cast fleeting glances toward Renard—never locking eyes, but his message was clear.

"Watch closely, you bumpkin."

Renard didn't humor him. He simply turned his head, uninterested.

The dismissal seemed to have struck harder than a glare as Aedric's steps stiffened, his pride stung.

Determined, he snatched the vial and downed the Essence of Providence in one go.

Unlike most of the others, Aedric didn't collapse. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to remain upright, enduring the burning torment in silence.

'Well, at least he's got that much grit.'

Then it happened.

A surge of orange light erupted around the boy, enveloping both him and the Pillar of Genesis in its radiant blaze.

"Finally, a Legendary crest!"

The crowd stirred for the first time. A hush fell over the hall as a faint silhouette took form within the light—a lion, roaring proudly, its mane blazing like fire.

"A Legendary Crest," the Ceremony Master confirmed, nodding for the first time. "Lionheart. Good."

He even patted Aedric on the shoulder, which was a gesture of acknowledgment.

Aedric stood a little taller, a proud smile forming on his lips as he turned toward the dais. Toward his father.

Toward Lord Zephyr Grim.

But what he received in return was not praise. Not pride. Only a cold, unreadable stare.

Aedric's smile faltered.

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His body stiffened.

Zephyr's eyes seemed to whisper: "Is that all?"

A silence heavier than stone fell between them.

'What a cold man,' Renard thought, feeling nothing as he watched the brief exchange. No envy. No bitterness.

The man seated on the throne—his father by blood—was no father at all.

Only a ruler.

Only the Lord of House Grim.

The ceremony resumed, nevertheless.

More children were called. More crests awakened. Some wept in pain, others roared in triumph. But even after an hour, none surpassed the orange glow that Aedric had achieved.

Until—

"Golden Light!"

A stunned gasp spread like wildfire.

The hall erupted in whispers as blinding radiance flared from the spire.

Someone had awakened a Royal Blood Crest!

***

To the southeast of Tiara Castle, far at the edge of the continent, lay the land known as Ashrend.

A barren, drought-ridden expanse.

It was a region where even the wind carried the dry taste of desolation. Yet, despite its lifelessness, it was still one of the Seven Regions ruled by the Grim Household.

A contradiction, perhaps, but one with a simple explanation.

Ashrend was not empty by chance.

It was a land scorched by the ashes of a mythical creature—a place where death essence permeated the very soil, air, and wind.

The concentration of dark essence was so overwhelming that no crops could grow here. The ground was infertile. The trees, skeletal. Yet for the Grim family, the land was a treasure trove.

Why?

Because while death essence was a bane to humans, it was a boon to beasts.

Beasts had a natural ability to purify such energies, absorbing them and transforming them to suit their own nature. To them, Ashrend was not desolate—it was fertile ground for evolution.

Thus, Ashrend had become a sacred training ground, a territory vital to the Grim household's beast mastery.

And within this desolate land, a lone figure trudged across the cracked earth.

A knight in tattered traveler's garb—his once-shining armor now hidden beneath a worn and rugged cloak, stained by the dust of many roads. He moved from village to village, grumbling under his breath.

"How the hell am I supposed to find him in this gods-forsaken place?"

The man was none other than Zain, Renard's first Knight.

But right now, he looked more like a wandering mercenary with a parchment clutched in his calloused hands.

He sat down beside a dry stone well in the heart of a village no one cared to name, letting out a sigh that came from somewhere deep in his soul.

"Surely, I didn't make a mistake... right?"

It was the hundredth time he'd asked himself that question.

His thoughts drifted back to the day when young master Renard Grim was still in confinement, awaiting the Awakening ceremony.

Renard had approached him in secret and with a serious face, handed him a single piece of parchment, which contained a sketch of an old man. And below it, a name, scribbled in Renard's own hand.

"Find this man," the young lord had said. "He should be somewhere in the Ashrend region."

That was it.

No more clues. No promise of reward. Just a name and a vague direction.

And yet, Zain had obeyed.

What was I thinking?

He ran a hand through his dusty hair, exhaustion threatening to pull him flat onto the dirt.

"Pheww..."

Just then, footsteps approached—light, quick.

Zain looked up to see a young boy, no older than ten, standing beside him with a worn pouch in hand.

"You look tired," the boy said kindly. "Want some water?"

Zain blinked.

For a moment, he considered refusing. But the thirst was too strong, and the boy's offer too genuine.

He accepted the pouch and drank deeply—cool water slipping down his throat like heaven itself.

"Ahhh..."

"Thanks for that! You're a good lad."

He stood, ready to continue his fruitless search, when the boy's next words froze him in place.

"Isn't that Old Man Hobb?"

Zain turned sharply, eyes wide.

"You know this man?" he asked, quickly unfurling the parchment and showing the boy the sketch.

The child leaned forward, squinting.

"Of course I do!" he said casually. "He lives on the edge of the village. Bit strange though."

Zain stared at the boy, stunned for a full heartbeat.

Then, a rare, wild grin spread across his face.

"The young lord wasn't crazy after all..."

Hope sparked in his chest for the first time in months.

---***---