Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 42: Ser Gavric Veyne

Chapter 42: Ser Gavric Veyne

Days blurred into a steady rhythm at the Veyne Mansion. Kael rose with the dawn, his boots crunching on gravel as he inspected the runestone quarries.

The air was crisp, heavy with the scent of pine and earth, the distant howls of Wolfswood’s wolves a constant setting. He assigned extra guards to the quarry’s perimeter, their weapons glinting in the morning light, their eyes sharp for Dravalia’s raiders or Valthorne’s scouts.

Each day, he checked the fortifications, noting weak points and barking orders to tighten defenses. The workers nodded respectfully to his instructions.

Back at the mansion, Sera had settled in quite easily, her quiet presence blending with the household. She and Sylvara became inseparable, their laughter echoing through the courtyards as they played with wolf pups or practiced archery.

Sylvara’s green eyes sparkled as Sera taught her to nock an arrow, her small hands clumsy but eager. Sera’s grief lingered, but Sylvara’s warmth seemed to ease it, her fire-bright spirit a balm for Mira’s loss.

Kael watched them from afar, his silver eyes softening, though his mind never strayed far from Wolfswood’s threats.

Training consumed Kael’s afternoons. He rode a horse to Wolfsgate, a fortified town three miles from the mansion, its massive stone walls etched with spikes.

The town bustled with over eight thousand souls—merchants hawking daily necessities and runestones, blacksmiths hammering steel, and children chasing cats through cobbled streets.

At its heart lay the training grounds, a wide dirt arena ringed by wooden stands, where House Veyne’s youths honed their skills.

Ser Gavric Veyne, Kael’s uncle and castellan of the Veyne Manor, oversaw the sessions, his grizzled frame clad in dark leather, his primal energy-infused sword resting on his shoulder.

Ser Gavric was a Level 68 First Rank Evolution Primal Master. Despite being over one hundred years of age, he looked in his sixties; his face was weathered like an old oak, his gray hair cropped short.

His eyes which looked sharp and bitter, scanned the trainees—fifteen youths, their ages ranging from fifteen to sixteen, their cultivation averaging Lvl 10.

Kael, at Lvl 8, stood among the lower ranks, but the smarter ones didn’t underestimate him. Whispers of his dungeon exploits had spread, and his silver eyes, flecked with crimson, held a quiet menace.

The group gathered in the arena, their tunics damp with sweat, their weapons—swords, spears, and axes—gleaming under the midday sun.

Ser Gavric’s voice boomed, sounding rough but commanding. "Pair up! Sparring’s live today. No holding back." He pointed at Kael, his gaze lingering. "You’re with Rylan. Show me what that dungeon taught you."

Rylan, a lanky sixteen-year-old at Lvl 10, stepped forward, his spear twirling. His brown hair was tied back, his grin cocky but wary. "Heard you cleared an F-Rank dungeon, Kael," he said, his tone teasing. "Let’s see if you’re as good as they say."

Kael’s lips twitched, his Bloodthread Mantle swaying as he drew the Abyssal Fang Dagger. "Talk less, fight more," he said, his voice low.

The other youths formed a loose circle, their murmurs rising, while Ser Gavric leaned against a post, his sword planted in the dirt.

Two older trainees, Lira and Coren, sat on the stands, their voices carrying over the crowd. "Kael’s got guts," Lira said, her blonde braid swinging as she leaned forward. "But Rylan’s spear’s got reach. Tough call."

Coren snorted, his scarred arms crossed. "Reach doesn’t mean much if Kael’s as fast as they say. Bet he slips that spear and cuts Rylan down."

The spar began. Rylan lunged, his spear thrusting for Kael’s chest, primal energy crackling along the shaft. Kael sidestepped, his —Eclipse Step— blurring his form, reappearing a meter to Rylan’s left.

The crowd gasped, Rylan’s eyes widening as Kael’s dagger flashed, grazing his arm. Blood trickled, but Rylan spun, his spear sweeping low, aiming for Kael’s legs.

Kael leaped, his —Night Predator— trait sharpening his senses, landing behind Rylan and kicking his knee. Rylan stumbled, cursing out but he recovered quickly, his spear jabbing wildly.

Lira whistled, her eyes bright. "Kid’s fast. Rylan’s in trouble."

"He’s too cocky, though," Coren muttered, his eyes gleaming. "He’s toying with Rylan, not serious in the slightest."

Kael ducked another thrust, his —Predator’s Instincts— catching the faint shift in Rylan’s stance. He hurled an obsidian knife, its poison glinting.

Rylan deflected it with his spear, the blade embedding in the dirt, sizzling. The crowd murmured, impressed. Rylan roared, his primal energy flaring, his spear striking like lightning.

Kael parried with his dagger, sparks flying, but the force pushed him back, his boots skidding. Pain flared in his arm, his —Adaptive Regeneration— kicking in, the shallow cut sealing.

Ser Gavric’s eyes narrowed, his voice sharp. "Focus, Kael! You’re not in a dungeon now!"

Kael’s silver eyes gleamed, his smirk fading. He charged, feinting left, then using —Eclipse Step— to vanish, reappearing at Rylan’s flank. His dagger slashed, cutting Rylan’s thigh, poison seeping in.

Rylan grunted, his movements slowing, sweat beading on his brow. He swung his spear in a desperate arc, but Kael ducked, driving his dagger’s pommel into Rylan’s wrist. The spear clattered to the dirt, and Kael’s blade stopped an inch from Rylan’s throat.

"Yield," Kael said, his voice calm but firm.

Rylan panted, raising his hands. "I yield." The crowd erupted in cheers, some clapping, others whispering about Kael’s speed.

Coren laughed, nudging Lira. "Told you. Kid’s a wolf."

Lira grunted, a grudging smile tugging at her lips. "Lucky move. Rylan got sloppy."

Ser Gavric stepped forward, his sword lifted from the dirt. "Good, Kael. But you’re still raw. Speed’s not enough against a real foe." His tone was gruff, but his eyes held a flicker of approval.

He waved the others to continue, pairing them off as Kael sheathed his dagger, his breath steady despite the ache in his arm.

The training ended with the sun high, the youths dispersing, their laughter and complaints echoing. Kael lingered, wiping sweat from his brow, his mind turning to the world beyond the Valoria Kingdom.

Was this world the same as his past life? Considering everything he’d seen so far, none matched his old memories. He needed answers.

He rode to Wolfsgate’s public library, a stone building with ivy-covered walls, its windows glowing with faint light. Inside, the air was cool, heavy with the scent of old parchment. Shelves towered, packed with tomes on Valoria’s history, the Aurelian Empire, and cultivation.

Kael moved quietly, his mantle dampening his presence, drawing no attention from the few scholars hunched over tables.

Cultivation and Bloodlines was the first book he took. It detailed cultivation but mentioned nothing of Eldritch Devourers. Kael’s fingers paused on a passage about Ancient Ruins and Secret Realms, his thoughts drifting to the Seal Fragment in his mantle. No clues, but the absence of his bloodline in these texts unsettled him.

A librarian, an old man with wire spectacles, approached, his voice soft. "Looking for something specific, young lord?"

Kael closed the book, his silver eyes meeting the man’s. "Ancient history. Wars, bloodlines, ruins. Anything old and... unusual."

The librarian’s brow furrowed, his gaze curious, but he knew better than to probe. "Unusual is a broad word. Try the restricted section—there are old texts, sealed for nobles only. Might need your mother’s sigil, though."

Kael nodded, "Thanks. I’ll check it out." He headed to the restricted section which was the top floor of the library. Thankfully, he was with his mom’s sigil.

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