The wind over Valcrest Manor carried the smell of damp earth and iron.
Leon Valcrest stood alone at the far end of the training grounds, boots pressed into soil hardened by years of drills. Dawn had not yet fully broken. The horizon was a dull gray, the world caught between night and morning.
This was the hour he preferred.
No instructors.
No whispers.
No comparisons.
Only the spear in his hands.
It was not beautiful. The wooden shaft bore shallow cracks that had been sanded down repeatedly. The metal head was serviceable but far from noble quality. A sword, even a training blade, carried prestige. A spear simply carried reach.
Leon adjusted his grip and lowered his center of gravity.
He inhaled.
Then he thrust.
The spear shot forward in a straight line, stopping just before the wooden post ahead. His arms trembled slightly as he held the position. His back foot dug into the dirt to maintain balance.
Too stiff.
He withdrew and reset.
Again.
The second thrust felt smoother. The third faster. The fourth unbalanced him entirely when he leaned too far forward.
He corrected himself.
No one had taught him the finer points of spearmanship. The academy manuals devoted pages to sword forms, elegant arcs and powerful strikes that split stone. Spears were summarized in a few short sections near the back.
Thrust. Guard. Withdraw.
It sounded simple.
It was not.
Leon thrust again, focusing on the line from his shoulder to the tip. The spear hummed faintly as it cut the air.
He imagined an opponent. A real one. Someone faster, stronger, confident.
Would this reach be enough?
He did not know.
Behind him, laughter rang out as other noble youths began arriving for the morning drills. Steel clashed. Mana flickered as sword techniques were practiced openly, brightly.
Leon kept his back turned.
A voice called out from somewhere near the rack of practice weapons.
"You are early again."
Leon glanced over his shoulder. Aldric Ferrowyn approached, a wooden sword slung casually across his shoulder. Aldric's uniform was freshly pressed, hair tied neatly, posture relaxed.
Leon nodded once in greeting.
"You train as if today matters," Aldric continued, stepping closer. "The awakening ceremony decides everything."
Leon rested the spear against his shoulder. "It decides potential."
Aldric laughed softly. "Potential is everything."
For House Ferrowyn, perhaps it was.
For House Valcrest, it was survival.
Leon watched as Aldric joined the main group. Instructors immediately corrected his stance, praised his tempo, discussed advanced sword forms openly. Even before awakening, Aldric carried the confidence of someone who expected greatness.
Leon lowered the spear again.
He thrust.
If potential decided everything, he would still prepare as if it did not.
The awakening chamber beneath Valcrest Manor was colder than the training grounds.
Stone walls enclosed the circular space, etched with ancient sigils that glowed faintly under torchlight. At the center stood a crystal pillar nearly twice Leon's height. Its surface was smooth and translucent, faint currents of mana swirling within like trapped mist.
Every generation of Valcrest heirs had stood before it.
Some left with promise.
Most left ordinary.
Leon stood in line among the others, hands clasped loosely behind his back. His father stood near the chamber entrance, expression unreadable. Leon's mother stood slightly behind him, fingers intertwined tightly.
They did not speak.
One by one, names were called.
Hands pressed to crystal.
Results announced.
"C-Rank affinity."
"Mage aptitude. B-Rank."
"A-Rank swordsmanship."
Murmurs of approval followed that one. Aldric bowed slightly, a small smile curving his lips.
Leon did not look at him.
His name echoed through the chamber.
"Leon Valcrest."
He stepped forward.
The stone felt colder underfoot as he approached the pillar. He placed his palm against the crystal.
For a moment, nothing happened.
The silence grew heavy.
Then something shifted.
It was subtle at first, like a thread tightening behind his thoughts. A cold current flowed from the crystal into his arm, spreading toward his chest. It did not burn. It did not freeze.
It clarified.
System initializing.
The voice existed only in his mind.
Leon's breathing slowed instinctively.
Analyzing host compatibility.
The crystal pulsed faintly.
The elder overseeing the ceremony leaned forward.
The glow strengthened.
A low hum filled the chamber. Not loud, but persistent.
Gasps broke the silence.
"SS-Rank?" someone whispered.
The light intensified further, no longer faint but steady and bright. Shadows danced across the walls.
Leon felt something align within him, like a weapon settling perfectly into its sheath.
Talent confirmed.
The glow reached its peak.
SSS-Rank Talent awakened.
The chamber fell into stunned silence.
His mother covered her mouth.
His father's jaw tightened.
The elder's eyes widened slightly before he regained composure.
"SSS-Rank," he repeated slowly. "An extraordinary talent."
Hope flared in the room.
Then the system spoke again.
Talent: Spearmanship.
The light dimmed.
The silence shifted.
It was not the same silence as before.
This one carried weight.
"A spear?"
"Unfortunate."
"What a pity."
The elder cleared his throat carefully. "SSS-Rank is beyond rare. However, spearmanship is not the dominant martial path in the current era."
Leon lowered his hand from the crystal.
Inside his mind, the system continued calmly.
SSS-Rank Spearmanship active.
Comprehension speed increased.
Combat insight unlocked.
No techniques appeared.
No power surged through his limbs.
He felt no sudden strength.
Only awareness.
He turned slightly and met his father's gaze. The man stepped forward after the ceremony concluded, resting a firm hand on Leon's shoulder.
"An SSS-Rank talent is a blessing," his father said quietly. "Even if the world does not see it that way."
Leon nodded.
"I will make them see it."
His father studied him for a moment, then gave a small, approving nod.
That night, the manor felt different.
Servants whispered in corridors. News traveled quickly among nobles, and by tomorrow, neighboring houses would know.
SSS-Rank.
Spearmanship.
Leon returned to the training grounds alone under moonlight.
The wooden post still bore the marks from his morning drills.
He lifted the spear.
The system interface lingered faintly in his awareness. It did not guide his hands. It did not correct his stance.
It waited.
Leon adjusted his footing and thrust.
The motion felt cleaner.
Not faster.
Not stronger.
Just clearer.
The spear struck the exact center of a shallow dent in the wood.
He blinked.
He had not aimed for that precise spot consciously.
He withdrew the spear and tried again.
The tip landed within a hair's width of the same mark.
Minor insight gained.
Leon's heartbeat quickened slightly.
"So it responds to repetition," he murmured.
He thrust again.
And again.
By the twentieth thrust, his arms burned. By the thirtieth, sweat soaked through his shirt. By the fortieth, his breathing grew uneven.
The system did not respond again.
Leon smiled faintly despite the fatigue.
It would not reward mediocrity.
Good.
He thrust until his palms blistered.
When he finally lowered the spear, night had deepened. His muscles trembled from exhaustion.
As he turned to leave, a faint sensation brushed the edge of his awareness.
Not a sound.
Not a sight.
A presence.
He paused.
The training grounds were empty.
The manor lights flickered faintly in the distance.
Leon scanned the shadows.
Nothing moved.
He exhaled slowly.
Perhaps it was fatigue.
He stepped away.
Behind him, unseen in the darkness beyond the outer wall, something ancient stirred.
It had once stood on battlefields soaked in blood and rain. It had followed banners that no longer existed. It had held lines against overwhelming tides.
For centuries, it had waited.
Tonight, it felt something it had not felt in a very long time.
A spear that did not waver.
A will that did not bend.
And for the first time in generations, it paid attention.
Leon walked back toward the manor, unaware that the path he had chosen was already being watched.