Ancestral Lineage
Chapter 325 - 325: Progress. Two Years Later...

High above the arena, inside a suspended observatory made of enchanted glass and runed steel, the instructors of Alpa Academy watched in controlled silence. The room was dim, the air dense with unspoken thoughts, and the cracked shimmer of the barrier fracture was still visible from this height, thin, but undeniable.

A single word hung in everyone's mind:

Vorden.

Master Atrius, the Head Instructor of the Warrior Division, broke the silence first.

He leaned forward, black eyes narrowing at the duel log. "He cracked the barrier. With precision, not brute force."

Beside him, the elven Matriarch of the Monk Division, Lady Aelyn, folded her arms. "No spell chants. No incantations. Just movement and control. That's beyond the first-year standard. That's battlefield conditioning."

"He's been trained," muttered Magus Thelemar, Archmage of the Mage Division, his fingers pressed tightly under his nose. "Not taught. Trained. As if he's already fought real wars."

"His cloak skill—'Dark Mantle'—shielded him from Cyclone. A skill designed to disperse mana forms. Even some Paladins can't hold out against that."

"Let's not forget," said the dwarf Grandmaster Brakkon, head of the Forger Division, stroking his beard slowly, "that Alma is no pushover. Her Wind Saber is refined. Almost divine. And he still beat her."

They all turned to the only one who hadn't spoken yet:

High Marshal Xareth, the Head of the Paladin Division. A man of few words, older than most, his body scarred and his posture rigid. He stared at Vorden's image projected in the middle of the table, the boy's face frozen mid-strike.

"What do you see, Marshal?" Brakkon asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and caution.

Xareth didn't answer at first. Then, without looking up, he said:

"A weapon."

Lady Aelyn raised a brow. "Explain."

Xareth finally met their gaze. "He moves like someone forged to be used. That isn't a natural progression. Someone shaped that boy."

He stood and stepped toward the projection, his eyes narrowing on the shadow dancing behind Vorden's frozen figure.

"That cloak of his… It's more than a defense mechanism. It's sentient."

The room went still.

"You think it's an artifact?" Thelemar asked, incredulous.

"No," Xareth replied, voice quiet. "I think it's a part of him."

Brakkon muttered a curse under his breath.

SILENCE THEN…

"Should we be concerned?" asked Lady Aelyn finally.

Xareth turned back to them.

"I'm not sure. But I will say this…"Keep an eye on Vorden."Because if Alma ever gets serious—and Vorden still beats her—""—then he's not just a top student.""He's a kingkiller."

...

TWO YEARS LATER — EMPIRE OF LARICIEM, BORDER TERRITORY OUTPOST 43

The air smelled of rain and stone.

Nestled at the edge of a quiet valley near the Fringewood Forest, Outpost 43 overlooked the sprawling edges of Lariciem's old towns, a cluster of settlements surrounded by silence and shrouded in a mist that hadn't lifted for months. The outpost was a fortress carved into the mountain itself, ancient in design but updated with modern enchantments—glowing runes pulsed gently on the stone walls and magical lights hummed softly above long corridors.

Inside the war-room of the outpost, two elite teams stood on opposite sides of a large, magically projected map. Holograms of towns, roads, and forest paths flickered in the air a smooth black table made of darksteel.

Special Force 1 stood with calm readiness.

Vorden stood at the head of the team, now fully grown into his role as Captain. His hair was short, slightly swept back, with calm, sharp eyes that carried experience and a weight few could match. His uniform was darker than the others, accented with a crimson trim that indicated his role as commander. At his back, a new katana rested in an obsidian sheath that hummed with low spiritual resonance. He radiated a controlled intensity, cloaked by the familiar ripple of his Shadow god-art and something more.

Beside him stood Radar, his hulking form more refined and even more solid than two years ago. Though still youthful, he now bore the calm gaze of someone who had faced real threats. Earth god-art ran through his core like a living mountain, and on his breast pocket gleamed his insignia—Vice-Captain.

Lith, always unreadable, leaned slightly against the wall, his fire affinity pulsing subtly through his veins. The once reckless boy had grown quieter, deadlier. His eyes still burned with that fire-glow when angered. Rumors said his control of Explode had evolved… and his Fire Fists now bore Runic Arms—living extensions.

Kyle, the tactician and support specialist, had matured as well. His technological prowess had merged with magical tactics, forming devastating hybrid systems. He adjusted his monocle-like lens as he studied the map, noting mana fields and interference patterns.

Lisa, dark-skinned with golden eyes, now bore twin daggers with chained grips, a specialist in illusion and blood displacement. She had sharpened her sense-based god-art, capable of tracking enemies by scent, blood flow, or breath.

Kira and Keira, the Red-Twin Vampires, stood together. Kira with a half-smirk and hands folded behind his back, crimson tendrils of aura dancing at his fingertips. Keira, composed and quiet, her long crimson braid swaying with restrained grace. Their synchronization was infamous—they had their own Blood god-art ability: Blood Echo—an ability that allowed them to mirror and amplify each other's abilities mid-combat.

Lastly, Rhoda, the silent observer, a shadowmage and analyst who rarely spoke unless she had to. No one knew where she came from, but she was now an integral part of the team, often seen as the group's invisible blade.

On the other side stood Special Force 2, led by Alma.

She had grown fiercer, her pale silver hair now cropped short, her twin swords gleaming with a wind-forged sharpness. Her cold gaze passed once over Vorden without a word. Her team was equally elite, composed of Warriors, Mages, a Forger just like Radar, and a reclusive Ice Monk.

There was clear tension in the air—not hostility, but something older. Competitive. Heavy with history.

A tall man with a long grey cloak walked to the front of the room—Commander Irvian, mission controller for the Lariciem front and former War General of the Western Empire.

His voice boomed, deep and clear.

MISSION BRIEFING

"Teams. Listen well. This is not training. This is not simulation. You are in Lariciem—a territory known for strange phenomena and forgotten horrors."

He waved a hand, and the map expanded, focusing on a small town named Delafae.

"For the last six months, we've lost contact with the border towns—Delafae, Myrin, and Solwen. No messages. No trade. No scout returns. Every team sent past the Fringewood route has vanished."

He tapped a rune. A holographic image projected a town—frozen in time—empty streets. Fog hanging unnaturally still.

"Delafae is your main target. The strange occurrences began there. Cattle were found mutilated. Locals experiencing dreams that aren't dreams—described as 'mind-walks' into blood-drenched pasts." He glanced at Vorden. "Some even claimed to have seen shadow beasts made of memory."

He turned, gaze firm. "No citizens remain. You are to investigate the cause, neutralize if possible, and report all findings. Retrieval of bodies, if found, is secondary."

Mission Type: High-Risk Investigation & Containment

Location: Delafae Town & Fringewood Border

Threat Level: Unknown (Potential Class-S)

Authorized Response: Full Force Allowed

Other Units Present: Local Guardians, Recon Corps, and Special Force 2

Commander Irvian continued. "This is a joint-op, but each team has autonomy. Special Force 1, Vorden—you are responsible for initial entry. Special Force 2, Alma—secondary entry and strategic positioning."

He gave them both long looks.

"No infighting. No rivalry. If this goes wrong, the Empire suffers—not your pride."

Then, after a breath…

"May the gods guide you."

As the teams filed out, tension followed.

Radar muttered, "I don't like this fog-town crap. Sounds like necromantic residue."

Kira laughed. "Or mental contamination. I'm betting it's a parasite."

Keira said nothing, her eyes watching Alma's group.

Lith, ever blunt, said, "Vorden, if something's there... something wrong... we kill it, right?"

Vorden gave a calm nod. "Only after we understand it."

As they reached the transport corridor, Alma and her group passed by. She paused just a moment beside Vorden.

"Try not to die before we arrive, human."

Vorden didn't blink. "You're late already."

Alma's gaze narrowed—but she said nothing more.

The mission had begun.

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