The Regressed Heir of Ravencrest

The victory celebrations raged deep into the night, the roaring laughter and clinking tankards echoing through the halls of House Bluemoon until the early hours of the morning. Eventually, exhaustion claimed the estate, and the warriors retired to their quarters.

Despite having gone to sleep only a few hours earlier, Ethan opened his eyes before the first light of dawn touched the horizon. Wearing a simple set of dark training clothes, he quietly stepped out of his guest chamber and made his way toward the estate’s main training grounds.

I’ve missed quite a few Daily Missions over the last few days, Ethan thought, his mind lingering on his personal growth routine as the cold air cleared the last remnants of sleep from his mind.

Reaching the vast, stone-paved courtyard, Ethan began immediately. He started with continuous laps along the perimeter, transitioning smoothly into a relentless set of push-ups, sit-ups, and core body-tempering exercises. Once his muscles were thoroughly warm and a thin sheen of sweat glistened against the cold morning air, he drew the Eternal Sovereign Blade. Standing in the center of the yard, he began executing the first few forms of the Northern Heaven War Art.

From an upper gallery overlooking the courtyard, a pair of watchful eyes followed his every movement. Sir Peter had been unable to sleep properly, his mind still occupied by thoughts of how to approach Ethan. When he heard quiet footsteps outside his chamber, curiosity had drawn him from his room. To his surprise, Ethan was already awake and heading toward the training grounds. Peter had followed quietly, concealing his aura so as not to disturb him.

What a profound martial art... Peter marveled silently, leaning against the archway as he watched the fluid power behind Ethan’s strikes. Every form is seamless. To have reached such proficiency at his age... the Successor is far more extraordinary than I imagined.

Just as Ethan completed the sequence and prepared to switch to the Mercenary King War Art, the heavy wooden doors of the training courtyard creaked open.

Sir Peter stepped through the south entrance, while Countess Luna entered from the north. Both paused for a brief moment, equally surprised to find the other there. Luna was even more shocked to find Ethan actively training when the entire estate had retired barely two hours ago.

Ethan paused his form, his eyes shifting between the two visitors. He offered a subtle nod to Peter, having sensed the veteran’s presence long ago—before turning his gaze to Luna, who was staring at him in utter disbelief.

"Are you going to join in on the training, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me?" Ethan asked calmly.

A quiet chuckle escaped Peter’s throat at the boy’s blunt remark.

Luna’s composure broke as her mind scrambled for words. "I—I just thought you... did you even sleep?" she blurted out, her words tangling together.

Ethan offered a faint, teasing smirk as he looked at the young Countess, who in his past life had inspired fear in hardened veterans with a single glance, now struggling for words. "I did... though it seems you might need a few more hours yourself."

Luna grimaced, realizing how badly she had stumbled over her words. A faint flush rose to her cheeks.

Seeing the Countess in an awkward spot, Peter smoothly stepped in to break the tension. "Since we are all awake, let us train as well."

"Ah—yes," Luna replied quickly, clearly relieved by the distraction.

Luna moved to the northern corner of the grounds, unsheathing her spear and beginning her daily drills. Peter took the southern side, loosening his shoulders with a few basic stretches.

However, his attention remained entirely locked on Ethan, who had just begun executing the Mercenary King War Art. The shift in Ethan’s posture was instantaneous. Every movement flowed into the next with practiced precision —his timing, weight distribution, and footwork executing the ancient forms so flawlessly that his boots left faint, rhythmic imprints in the solid stone floor.

Luna occasionally glanced over, watching in silent awe as Ethan performed the complex martial sequence with such effortless mastery.

He really has mastered it... It feels like watching the Supreme Leader... no, it’s a bit different, Peter thought, completely mesmerized.

Although Peter had seen Ethan use the art during the battle at Blackstone Ravine, he had been too focused on battle to truly appreciate the nuances. Now, in the stillness of the dawn, he drank in every single detail with crystalline clarity.

Unconsciously drawing his own heavy broadsword, Peter let his mind immerse itself in the first two forms he had just witnessed—techniques he had personally practiced for decades. He attempted to imitate the subtle shift in weight and flow that Ethan had displayed.

The moment he swung his blade, the sword moved differently than it ever had before. Peter paused, adjusting his stance, and observed Ethan’s footwork once more. He closed his eyes, visualized the trajectory, and swung a second time. This time, the momentum behind the steel felt entirely altered—heavy, precise, and resonant.

He repeated the movement once more, channeling his aura directly through the refined path—

WHRRRRRR!

A sharp, vibrating hum burst from his blade, cutting through the crisp morning air like a ringing bell.

The sudden resonance caused both Ethan and Luna to stop instantly, turning their attention toward the veteran commander. Ethan had known Peter was watching, while Luna recognized the uncanny structural similarity between their martial forms, though she wisely kept her questions to herself.

"It seems you have achieved deeper mastery over the form, Sir Peter," Ethan said smoothly, lowering his blade and walking toward him.

"Ah... yes," Peter stammered, suddenly snapping back to reality.

A wave of embarrassment washed over the Mercenary Leader. He closed his eyes, inwardly cursing himself as he realized what he had just done—observing the martial forms of another warrior without permission was considered a serious breach of etiquette, especially among noble houses.

"That was incredibly rude of me," Peter said, bowing his head slightly in genuine apology. "I should not have observed so intently."

"There is no need for apologies, Sir," Ethan said softly, stopping a few paces away with a calm, understanding smile. "It is my pleasure. And more importantly, it is something you already knew, so you don’t have to apologize."

Peter smiled, relieved that Ethan had taken no offense.

That was when Luna stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with genuine respect. "That was impressive, Sir Peter," Luna said. "I hope we can spar sometime. I would like to learn from you."

Peter looked at Luna, his stoic demeanor snapping back into place, though his voice retained a touch of warmth. "Definitely."

Ethan smiled as he watched the two of them, realizing they must have grown comfortable with one another over the past few days. Finally, Ethan took a long, quiet breath. He knew he could no longer delay matters; he needed to return to Northwatch Fortress soon.

"Luna, arrange a meeting," Ethan instructed, his tone shifting into one of clear, understated authority. "Bring Sir Ben and Lady Teresa. Sir Peter, I hope you will also attend this meeting—and you may bring your commanders as well."

Luna understood instantly without Ethan having to say another word. They were finally going to settle the matters Ethan had come to House Bluemoon for. A strange mix of emotions stirred within her; a thrill of anticipation as she wondered what he intended to say, accompanied by a quiet sadness at the realization that he might leave once everything was settled.

Peter looked at Ethan for a few seconds. Though he had hesitated to approach the boy first, hearing Ethan initiate the meeting meant he no longer had to worry.

"Understood," Peter nodded firmly.

The Crimson Tower — Unknown Location

Meanwhile, in a distant Blood-Red Tower that soared hundreds of floors into the sky, a lone man sat in a pitch-black chamber. Dark, ragged robes draped over his gaunt frame. His face was a horrific mass of ruined skin, scarred deeply with open fissures that continuously oozed pus and fresh blood. Dark, viscous threads of demonic energy gathered at his core, thrashing like violent tendrils as he began chanting guttural, unnatural syllables.

Before him lay a massive magic circle etched into the obsidian floor. Within its perimeter, dozens of captives; men, women, and young children barely a few years old—were bound. Their blood poured from open wounds, slowly pooling into the glowing grooves of the array.

Screams tore through the chamber as the dark energy seeped into their flesh, violently siphoning away their vital life force.

"Don’t kill us! Please!" the men shrieked, thrashing against their chains.

"We beg you... please! At least spare the children!" parents pleaded, tears mixed with dirt and blood streaming down their faces.

The children could only emit distorted, agonizing groans as their small bodies began to wither.

"Aahh... h-he..."

"M-Ma... ahh..."

"Pleaseeee!" a woman sobbed, her heart breaking as she watched her child’s body shrivel into a hollow husk right before her eyes.

The robed man did not give them a single glance. His eyes were entirely devoid of humanity, unbothered by their anguish. The only emotion consuming his mind was a searing, chaotic rage—a bitter, festering anger that clawed at his spirit every time he felt the throbbing ache of his own unhealed wound.

One by one, the lives within the chamber were extinguished. The children, the women, the men, their bodies dried to dust until only the deep crimson lake at the center of the circle remained. Slowly, the pooled blood began to churn. Intricate, glowing runes materialized from the liquid, distorting the very space around them as violent spatial ripples tore through the air.

Seeing the runes take form, the scarred man immediately dropped to his knees, bowing his head to the stone floor.

KRRRRRRAHAHAHA!

A piercing, unnatural laughter echoed directly out of the spatial tears. The sheer sound carried such malicious authority that fresh blood erupted from the robed man’s nose and ears, yet he dared not move a muscle.

The blood in the circle danced, rising into swirling crimson threads as an ancient voice purred from the void:

"Heheheheh... It has been a very long time since anyone dared to call upon me."

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!