The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family-Chapter 247: Pride’s Ascension

The training grounds of Éclair's First Division lay empty in the predawn stillness, abandoned even by the most dedicated practitioners at this ungodly hour. Frost coated the packed earth, rendering the normally dusty surface into a crystalline canvas that crunched beneath Alex's boots as he approached the central ring.

He wore only a light tunic despite the biting cold. Temperature no longer affected him as it once had. Since his communion with Pride at the Blackthorn Temple, his body had undergone subtle yet profound changes that extended beyond mere physical enhancement.

Alex could feel golden light pulsing within him, following the pathways of the circlet now permanently melded with his flesh. The ornament had disappeared into his brow days after the ritual, leaving behind only a faint marking like a crown etched in gold that remained invisible to others. To the world, he appeared unchanged—the same Alex Lionhart who had always shown exceptional talent. Only he could feel the profound transformation within.

Alex drew his sword with practiced precision, its silver edge catching the first hint of approaching daylight. The blade had been custom-forged by Éclair's master smith using metals extracted from the deepest mountains of the Stone Monarch's domain. It had cost him three months' salary and borne a name pretentious even by Lionhart standards: Sovereign's Reach.

The ceremonial blade he'd received at the Sword Selection Ceremony remained locked in his quarters, untouched since his return from Blackthorn Forest. He couldn't articulate why he'd abandoned the traditional weapon, but something in him felt increasingly distant from the boy who had once treasured it. That blade belonged to a different Alex—one who hadn't yet transcended ordinary limitations.

Now even Sovereign's Reach seemed almost insufficient—a tool unworthy of its wielder.~Still not satisfied?~ Pride's voice resonated directly in his mind, carrying that familiar mixture of amusement and condescension. ~A blade is merely an extension of will. Your will now transcends conventional limitation.~

Alex frowned, executing a series of perfect forms that left golden afterimages hanging in the morning air. "A swordmaster requires a proper sword."

~A vessel requires nothing but acceptance of power,~ Pride's voice echoed within his mind. ~You think too much like a human still.~

The observation stung, though Alex would never admit it. Despite the communion at Blackthorn Temple, despite the unprecedented power now flowing through his veins, he remained conscious of his humanity—clinging to it, perhaps, even as it slipped increasingly from his grasp.

He channeled more energy into his movements. Though invisible to anyone who might observe him, he felt golden light flowing through his veins, transforming his practice into something transcending martial arts. Each strike held power that could carve through reality itself, yet he carefully controlled it, revealing only what looked like exceptional skill rather than supernatural ability. The ground beneath him cracked subtly with each step, the only external evidence of his enhanced existence.

In truth, he had surpassed swordmaster level days after his communion with Pride. The traditional benchmarks used to measure such achievements seemed almost trivial now—tests designed for ordinary humans, not for vessels housing power that predated the Seven Monarchs themselves. Yet Alex understood the value of appearances, of maintaining a narrative that others could comprehend. Today's challenges would serve that purpose perfectly—a dramatic revelation of swordmaster status that would satisfy expectations while concealing his true capabilities.

A distant bell tolled five times, signaling the approaching dawn. Soon the training grounds would fill with Éclair's elite, officers and soldiers alike seeking to hone their skills. Alex's private session was coming to an end.

But not before his true purpose.

He moved to the center of the ruined training ring. With deliberate precision, he pricked his finger against the blade's edge, allowing a single drop of golden blood—no longer the mundane red of ordinary humans—to fall upon the frost-covered ground.

The blood sizzled on contact, burning through frost and earth alike. Golden light spread outward in intricate patterns, forming a perfect circle etched with runes no human language had ever recorded. Alex's communion with Pride had granted him knowledge beyond mortal understanding—fragments of power predating the foundation of the Seven Monarchs.

"Five officers," Alex whispered, his voice carrying harmonics reminiscent of Klaus's transformed speech, though less pronounced, less alien. "Five challenges."

The blood-etched circle flared brighter, responding to his declaration. Éclair's tradition of advancement through challenge was as old as the armed group itself, but Alex intended to push that tradition beyond conventional boundaries. Five officers in a single day—two of them swordmasters—would shatter all precedent.

Today's display would serve multiple purposes: officially claiming swordmaster status within Éclair's hierarchy, demonstrating power sufficient to command respect without revealing its true nature, and—most importantly—sending a message beyond Éclair's walls. News of his achievement would spread across the continent, eventually reaching the Lionhart Estate where Klaus had returned, transformed in ways Alex couldn't yet fully comprehend.

~They will fear you after today,~ Pride observed with satisfaction. ~As they should.~

Alex smiled thinly. "Let them."

Behind him, the sun finally crested the distant mountains, casting his shadow long across the ruined training ground—a dark silhouette crowned in golden light.

*

*

*

Captain Yenova Lionhart studied the formal challenge notices spread across her desk, a muscle twitching in her jaw despite her legendary self-control. Five separate parchments, each bearing Alex's precise handwriting and the Lionhart family seal. Five challenges to be fulfilled consecutively, culminating with Lieutenant Varek—a swordmaster with three decades of combat experience.

"He can't be serious," muttered Commander Elira, who stood at rigid attention before Yenova's desk despite their lengthy association. "Five consecutive duels? No one has the stamina for that, not even a Lionhart."

Yenova looked up, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts. "When has my nephew ever lacked for ambition?"

"Ambition is one thing. This is madness." Elira gestured toward the challenge notices. "Lieutenant Varek alone would test any fighter to their limits. To face him after four previous duels..."

"Is there any regulation forbidding consecutive challenges?" Yenova asked, though she already knew the answer.

Elira sighed. "No, Captain. Tradition merely discourages it through practical consideration. Most challengers can barely stand after a single duel with a superior officer."

"Then we have no grounds to deny him." Yenova gathered the notices, tapping them into a neat stack. "Inform the challenged officers. The duels will commence at midday in the Grand Arena."

"Captain, with respect—"

"I am aware of my responsibilities toward my officers, Commander." Yenova's tone carried a finality that brooked no further argument. "And I am also aware of my nephew's capabilities. The duels will proceed."

When Elira had departed, Yenova moved to the window overlooking Éclair's main courtyard. Below, soldiers went about their morning routines, unaware of the spectacle that would unfold by midday. News would spread quickly once the challenges became public knowledge. Éclair valued strength above all else; such unprecedented ambition would draw attention from every rank.

She pressed her palm against the cold glass, a deep sense of unease settling within her. "What are you trying to prove, Alex?" she whispered to the empty office.

No answer came, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something about her nephew had fundamentally changed in recent months. Nothing she could point to specifically, nothing visible to the eye, but something in his bearing, his confidence, the way he moved... Something just beyond her ability to identify.

Yenova had heard the rumors. Everyone had. Strange whispers circulating about her other nephew, Klaus. Something about a dramatic change in his appearance after awakening from his year-long unconsciousness. Some talked about white hair, others about an unnatural aura that made people uncomfortable in his presence. She had dismissed most as exaggeration, the inevitable distortion that occurred when information passed through too many tongues.

But enough separate sources mentioned similar details to suggest something unusual had indeed happened. Whatever the truth, one thing seemed certain—Klaus had returned different from when he'd departed.

And now something about Alex seemed different too. Nothing she could point to precisely—no visible changes in his appearance—but there was something in his bearing, his confidence, the intensity of his focus that had shifted over the past months. As if he had discovered some well of power within himself that had previously been untapped.

Yenova had said nothing, watching and waiting as her duties required, observing as Alex had showcased increasing skill in incremental displays that could be attributed to genius and intensive training. But today's challenge forced her hand. Five consecutive duels against progressively more powerful opponents would reveal whether her instincts about Alex's change were correct—for better or worse.

"Let it be a manageable power," she murmured, turning from the window. "Let it be something we can still reach."

Outside, clouds gathered on the horizon, dark and ominous against the morning sky—a storm approaching both literally and figuratively.

* * *

News of the unprecedented challenges spread through Éclair's ranks like wildfire, consuming all other topics of conversation by mid-morning. Soldiers abandoned their duties to secure positions in the Grand Arena, officers made bets on how many duels Alex would survive, and the challenges' targets prepared themselves with grim determination.

Alex observed the growing spectacle from his private quarters, a satisfied smile playing across his features as he polished Sovereign's Reach to a mirror finish. Pride's presence hovered in the periphery of his consciousness, a constant companion since the communion at Blackthorn Temple.

~They believe you seek to surpass your previous achievements,~ Pride observed with mild amusement. ~None suspect your true purpose.~

Alex nodded slightly. "Let them think what they will. Today marks more than advancement through Éclair's ranks."

Indeed, the challenges represented something far more significant than professional ambition. Ever since hearing rumors of Klaus's awakening and transformation, Alex had felt an irresistible compulsion to demonstrate his own evolution. Not to Éclair, not even to the Lionhart family, but to Klaus himself.

The silver-haired prodigy had dominated Alex's thoughts for years, a shadow that lengthened with each impossible achievement. Youngest swordmaster in continental history. Contracted with a mysterious beast that some whispered might be a legendary dragon. Somehow surviving whatever catastrophe had consumed Northwatch.

No longer. Today, Alex would claim his own legend.

Since his communion with Pride, he had carefully calculated his displays of skill—showing just enough improvement to be labeled a prodigy, to have his growth attributed to genius and determination rather than supernatural enhancement. He had risen through ranks with seemingly natural progression, each achievement building upon the last in a convincing narrative of exceptional talent honed through discipline.

Today would change that approach. Today, he would reveal enough of his true power to shock Éclair without exposing the full extent of his transformation. A perfect balance—impressive enough to cement his reputation, controlled enough to maintain the illusion that his abilities, while extraordinary, remained within human parameters.

~Your restraint shows wisdom,~Pride commented within his mind. ~Today is merely the first act in a longer performance.~

"A performance that will reach its climax when I finally face Klaus," Alex murmured aloud.

~Precisely. Let these challenges serve as preparation for the true confrontation ahead.~

Alex closed his eyes, savoring the anticipation that coursed through his veins. Since Blackthorn Temple, he had sensed Pride's power integrating more fully with his being, transforming him in ways invisible to external observation yet profound in their effect. His reflexes had sharpened beyond human limitation. His perception had expanded to detect nuances others missed entirely. His strength had multiplied exponentially, though he carefully concealed its true extent.

Today, he would allow just enough of that power to manifest—to overwhelm five increasingly powerful opponents in succession without revealing the supernatural nature of his enhancement.

~Focus on the task ahead,~ Pride advised. ~Today you take another step toward your true ascension.~

The bells tolled midday as Alex stepped into the sunlight, Sovereign's Reach gleaming at his hip. The path to the Grand Arena stretched before him, lined with Éclair soldiers watching his approach with expressions ranging from admiration to skepticism. He walked with perfect confidence, his bearing regal, his movements precise without betraying the supernatural power flowing beneath his controlled exterior.

To anyone watching, he appeared merely as a supremely talented swordsman in his prime—confident, focused, perhaps even arrogant, but still fundamentally human. None could see the truth that he carried within—that Alex Lionhart was no longer merely a talented swordsman with imperial bloodline. He had become something more.

A vessel. An Apostle. Pride incarnate.

Behind him, dark clouds continued gathering on the horizon, the approaching storm mirroring the transformation occurring within his very being.